Haggard

by Christopher Nicole

  He threw both hands down to deflect the blade, knew he had missed. There was a searing thrust of pain into his ribs, and he fell to his knees.

  Apparently he had cried out in alarm, and equally apparently Middlesex had remained on the gallery outside the bedroom, just in case, for immediately the door was thrown inwards and the butler and Suffolk both burst in. The girl was trying to withdraw the knife, either for another blow at Haggard or perhaps to kill herself, but he retained hold of her wrist and after a moment she released the weapon and pulled herself away. Her hand was covered in blood, and she looked at it in horror for a moment before turning towards the open windows.

  But Suffolk already had his hands on her shoulders. The force of the pull threw her off balance, and she struck the floor with a crash and a gasp. Haggard remained on his knees. Between them they had withdrawn the knife and blood was cascading down his side, but surprisingly he felt very little pain.

  'Ow, me God,' Middlesex said, 'Ow me God. Annie Kent,' he shouted. 'Fetch cloth and water. Fetch Mr. Ferguson. Fetch woman. Fetch.'

  'What about this one?' Suffolk inquired, holding Emma by the shoulders and laying her flat again as she attempted to rise.

  'Hold she there,' Middlesex commanded. 'Just hold she. Come now, Mr. John, you got for lie down.'

  Haggard obeyed without meaning to. The floor seemed to come up to meet him. He gazed up at a ring of anxious black faces, soon to be joined by anxious white ones. He heard orders and instructions being given, he felt fingers probing at the wound in his side, and realised he was being wrapped in yards of white bandage. 'Willy,' he said. 'Are you there, Willy?'

  'I'm here, John. Now just let's get you to bed. I've sent for the doctor. Easy now.'

  Haggard was lifted from the floor and laid on his bed. He attempted to smile at them. 'What a damned silly thing, Willy, to survive a duel and be brought down by a chit of a girl.'

  'She'll suffer, John. By God, I'll strip the skin from her bones before I burn her.'

  'No,' Haggard said. 'No. Don't mark her, Willy. Wait for me.'

  Now why did I say that, he wondered? I meant, don't harm her. I don't want to harm her. I have already harmed her.

  The bed was soft, and now the entire room was spinning about him. He closed his eyes, and the spinning increased, whirling about his head, sending him drifting away into unconsciousness, to return to earth with a bump at an unearthly sound, a wailing, anguished scream which seeped through his open windows.

  His eyes opened, and he sat up, only to fall back again. He gazed at Middlesex and Annie Kent, faces drawn with anxiety.

  'What is happening?’ His mouth was dry.

  ‘Is only Mr. Ferguson seeing to that murdering girl, Mr. John.' Middlesex said reassuringly.

  Another scream cut across the afternoon, more dreadful than the first. Haggard forced his eyes open again, summoned all his strength, got his feet out of bed.

  'Man, Mr. John, you got for stay here until the doctor does come,' Annie remonstrated.

  'Away with you,' Haggard said, stumbling for the door.

  'Man, Mr. Middlesex, but what we got for do?' Annie wailed.

  'Go with him," Middlesex decided.

  Haggard reached the stairs, clutched the bannisters, nearly fell, and regained his balance as yet another scream tore through the day making him gasp with its terrible intensity. 'Willy,' he shouted as he half slid and half fell down the stairs. 'Willy.'

  Servants bustled out of the pantries and the withdrawing room and the dining room, stared at their master as, followed by Middlesex and Annie, he stumbled across the hall and on to the verandah, clutched the balustrade to look down on the half dozen overseers who were clustered there, round the naked body of Emma Dearborn. One held her ankles and another her wrists, stretched above her head. Between them her body writhed and twisted on the grass.

  ‘In the name of God,' Haggard shouted. 'What are you doing to her?'

  Tickling her tits with red pepper, John,' Ferguson said. 'Oh, aye, we'll make her know she's alive. Now lads. Let's anoint her tail as well. That'll make her yelp, indeed it will.'

  Haggard fell down the outer stairs, landed on his hands and knees beside them. 'Away,' he shouted. 'Away with you.'

  They stared at him, slowly released the girl. Emma's legs came up as if powered by a spring, her knees hugged against her belly, and her hands tore at her breasts.

  'Water,' Haggard shouted. 'Fetch water. And butter.' He crawled towards her.

  'Let her suffer, John,' Ferguson said. 'And you should be in bed. You're bleeding again.' He attempted to grasp Haggard under the armpits to help him to his feet.

  'Let go of me,' Haggard said, and Ferguson withdrew as if stung. Haggard reached the girl, and Middlesex was already beside him with a bucket, while Annie had a smaller bucket filled with home churned butter. Haggard emptied the water over the girl's chest, bringing another moan, then gently parted her hands and rubbed the butter on the swollen nipples and aureoles. Tears were flooding from her eyes and he did not know if she could see him or not.

  'She's going to burn, anyway, Mr. Haggard,' said one of the bookkeepers. 'Petty treason, it is, to take a knife to a master. She has to burn.'

  Haggard thrust one arm under Emma's knees, the other under her shoulders, reached his feet with a gigantic effort. He could feel the blood trickling down his naked leg.

  'John . . .'Ferguson reached for him again. This is madness.'

  'Away.' Haggard said, and found himself at the foot of the steps, the entire afternoon revolving round and round his head. He gritted his teeth and commenced the ascent, foot in front of foot, step by step. The girl was making a peculiar moaning sound, and she was shivering as if frozen, for all the heat in the afternoon.

  Amazingly he was at the top and crossing the hall. But in front of him loomed yet another Bight, an endless accumulation of heights to be mounted. His teeth were clamped so tight he could almost feel the enamel wearing away. But up he went, again and again and again, aware that Middlesex was immediately behind him, waiting to catch him if he fell backwards.

  The gallery. And in front of him the opened door to his bedroom. Now the afternoon had turned black, and he could hardly breathe. He fell forwards, keeping his balance by an act of will, hit the bed with his thighs and fell across it, the girl rolling out of his arms to come to rest against the pillows where she had so recently rested her head.

  'Help me,' Haggard snarled. .

  Middlesex held his legs and got him into the bed. He rolled on his back, stared at the canopy above his head, watched it turn black. And felt the girl beside him.

  'Don't die, Mr. Haggard,' she begged. 'Please don't die.'

  CHAPTER 2

  THE MISTRESS

  The flickering light of a candle caught Haggard's attention, and he found he could focus. On Tom Meade's face, examining his wound, bending over him. 'You took your time,' he said.

  Meade's head turned. 'Awake, are we? Well, that's something.' He straightened. 'You've lost enough blood to kill most men. There's a trail from here to the front steps and back again. What were you trying to do, commit suicide?'

  Haggard tried to sit up, but found he could not move.

  'Now you listen to me,' Meade said. The wound itself isn't serious; the blade was deflected by a rib. But you're dangerously weak. A fever now and you wouldn't have a hope in hell of survival. So you just lie in that bed for two weeks. Not a minute less. I'll be out each day. Now let go of that witch and I'll take her into town.'

  With an enormous effort Haggard turned his head. Emma Dearborn lay, or rather crouched, beside him; his left hand gripped her right wrist. She gazed at him, with huge, beseeching eyes.

  'Come along, girl,' Meade said. 'She stays here,' Haggard said.

  'For God's sake, John, have you forgotten? She stuck the knife into you. Don't you suppose she's just waiting for an opportunity to do it again? Hand her over and we'll have her hanging by morning.'

  Haggard continued to lo
ok at the girl. Her tongue came out and circled her lips. 'She stays here,' he said again. 'But you lot can clear off. I need my sleep.'

  Meade drove both hands into his hair. 'Have you lost your senses entirely? She was a condemned felon before you picked her up. Now she's a murderess, all but. What in the name of God has got into you?'

  'Out,' Haggard said. 'Out. James, are you there?'

  ‘Is here, Mr. Haggard."

  'Is Mr. Lucas here?’

  'I'm waiting, John.'

  'You're invited to dinner. Sorry I can't be with you. Serve Mr. Lucas the best wine, James. Dr. Meade as well if he wishes to stay. Willy, are you there?'

  'Yes, John.' Another voice from the darkness.

  'You're in charge for the next fortnight.'

  'Yes, John.'

  'But so help me God no one is to attempt to lay a finger on this girl. James, fetch some food for her. Can I eat, Tom?' 'A broth. I've ordered it prepared.'

  'Then send it up.' Haggard sighed, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. Nothing more than that. Just exhausted. It had been a long day.

  'Mad,' Meade remarked at large. 'Stark, raving mad.'

  But people were filing out of the room. Haggard waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps. Then he released the girl's wrist. She rubbed it with her other hand. 'You asked me not to die,' he said. 'After stabbing me. What changed your mind?'

  He could just see her in the semi-darkness; the candle was now in its holder on the far side of the room, ‘I don't want to be burned alive,' she said. "Or to hang.'

  He smiled at her. 'Honest enough.'

  'But I did stab you, Mr. Haggard. Why didn't you let them take me?'

  Haggard raised his arm, and she came closer, allowed him to feel the texture of her hair, run his hand over her shoulder and down on to her breast, still slippery with butter. 'You're mine,' he said. 'I want you here.'

  'Do you suppose I could have a bath, Mr. Haggard?' Emma propped herself on her elbow, looked down at him.

  'You may have anything you wish,' Haggard said. 'There is a bell pull behind the bed. But have it here, where I can watch you.'

  She gazed at him for some seconds, in a peculiarly intense way she had. Then she leaned forward and licked the end of his nose. 'You must not be excited.'

  She got out of the bed, pulled the silk cord. She had not left the bedchamber for ten days, had slept snuggled up against him. He had not tired of either watching her or feeling her. She moved with an unconscious grace, full of the most delightful little intimacies, the way she flicked her head to settle her hair on her back, the way her breasts just trembled, the way her belly fluttered, the way the slivers of muscle rippled down her legs. All of these things Susan had possessed, as indeed no doubt all women, but for four years he had seen none of them. No doubt he had been foolish, to turn his back on sex for that long. Or had he merely been fortunate, in that had he sought it earlier, he would never have found it in Emma?

  She sat beside him, held a glass of water for him to drink. He took her hand, guided it beneath the sheet to feel him harden.

  'No,' she said. 'You are not well yet.' But she left her hand there for a moment. To reassure him? That she would, eventually, give herself to him?

  He wondered if he was not, indeed, being a fool. He was John Haggard. He snapped his fingers and people jumped. And he owned this girl. But he knew nothing about her, save that the seamen from Biddies' ship thought of her as a witch. Perhaps she was, and he was bewitched.

  'Yes, sir, Mr. John.' Annie Kent stood in the doorway.

  'Miss Emma would like a tub, Annie. She'll have it here.'

  'Mr. Haggard . . .' Emma began, withdrawing her hand.

  'You'll do as you're told,' Haggard said.

  ‘I going fetch the tub,' Annie said.

  'I wish you to be well, and strong,' Emma said. 'And you are still very weak.'

  'Why?" Haggard asked, ‘I bought you for my bed. When I am well again, I shall want you twice in every day. Will you fight me twice in every day?'

  'No,' she said.

  'Why not?'

  ‘I have nothing left to fight for,' she said. 'And I understand more. Is it true you had just killed a man when you bought me?' 'Yes.'

  'I can understand your mood. And you saved me from those men.'

  Those men are my bookkeepers. And my friends. You will have to see a lot of them, living here.'

  'As long as I am your mistress, Mr. Haggard. I do not have to fear them.'

  He held her arms, brought her down on to his chest so he could

  kiss her mouth; no strength required here, she seemed to enjoy kissing him. 'You've a very cool and calculating head on those lovely shoulders.'

  'When I remember,' she said enigmatically, and pushed herself away as Annie Kent bustled back into the room behind a bevy of girls carrying the tub and buckets of boiling water. Emma gathered her hair on the top of her head, secured it there with a ribbon, sank into the heat. She soaped, gazing at him, her mouth half open and her cheeks pink. Too pink merely for heat. She still felt embarrassed, at performing so intimate a function before him. Yet she had worn not a stitch of clothing for ten days, had used the pot beside him, for ten days, had assisted him in his own necessaries.

  But everything about her was surprising. She did not speak like a servant girl, and certainly she did not act like one. Her past was worth investigating. But to do that would allow her a personality of her own, and he was not sure he wanted to risk that.

  James Middlesex stood in the doorway. 'Begging your pardon, Mr. Haggard, but some gentlemen are here.'

  'Ask them to come up,' Haggard said.

  'No,' Emma said, hopping out of the bath.

  'Fetch a robe for Miss Emma,' Haggard commanded, 'and come over here to prop me up.' The girls fussed about him, thrusting pillows under his back, while one of their housegowns was found for the girl. Harry Lucas hesitated in the doorway. Behind him were Peter Woodbury and the Reverend Paley.

  'Come in,' Haggard said. 'James, chairs for these gentlemen.'

  The visitors each glanced at Emma, who had taken up a position by the window, untangling her hair with Haggard's brush.

  The matters are confidential, John,' Lucas said.

  'She talks to no one save me, Harry, so there's no risk to your confidence.'

  Lucas licked his lips.

  'Pull the bell, Emma,' Haggard said. 'Our guests will have a glass of sangaree. Come to think of it, so will I. And so may you.' 'It may not be good for you,' Emma said.

  'Of course it will be good for me. I feel better today than I have all week. Well, Harry? The inquest?'

  'Death by misadventure. The coroner added a corollary deploring duelling in any form, but particularly between gentlemen of unequal skills.'

  'Did you come out here to annoy me, Harry? Or on matters of business? Malcolm Bolton would have shot me down had I not hit him first.'

  'Aye, well, the fact is, you did hit him first. I'm not here to criticise, John. You asked.'

  'So I did,' Haggard agreed. 'Sangaree.' He took the goblet from Middlesex's tray, raised it. ‘I think we should drink to my health.'

  Lucas sipped, cautiously, exchanged glances with his two companions. 'John ... I really would like a word in private.'

  'Off you go, James,' Haggard told his butler.

  ‘I did not mean . . .' Lucas bit his lip.

  'I've made that position clear. For God's sake, man, unbend a little. Say what you will.'

  Lucas sighed. 'Aye, well, you'll have heard the news?' 'What news?'

  That the French have taken Brimstone Hill,' Woodbury snapped. 'St. Kitts is theirs. Last year it was Grenada and St. Vincent. Man, things are getting serious.'

  'What was Rodney doing while this was happening?'

  'Rodney is in England. Hood was in command. But it matters naught. We just do not have the ships to be everywhere at once. It is up to each island to look to its own defence. Now, we, that is the House, would like to know
how many people we can call on, from each plantation, and what defensive measures each plantation has already taken.'

  They'll not come here,' Haggard said.

  'Now, John . . .'

  Take my word for it,' Haggard said. 'What, beat a hundred miles to Windward to sack a few sugar plantations? The frogs have more important things to do. If we do not have sufficient ships to guard everywhere, they have even less to attack with, and protect. As you say, they have taken St. Vincent, and Grenada, and now St. Kitts. That is the limit of their ability to hold. They'll not come here.'

  Lucas scratched his head. 'You'll not co-operate?'

  There is no need. Volunteers? I've my own force.'

  They talk of keeping all the sugar to send home in convoy.'

  'Stuff and nonsense,' Haggard said. 'I'm grinding next month. My sugar will not rot here until you can accumulate twenty ships, if you ever can.'

  Woodbury looked through the windows at the fresh painted houses, the fat cattle in the meadow. 'Your last crop got through, then?'

  ‘I shipped in four bottoms,' Haggard said. 'Only one was taken.'

  'Not that it would have made much difference to you if all had been lost,' Woodbury said.

  'Indeed, Peter, it would have meant no profit for the year. I would not have liked that.'

  The Reverend Paley cleared his throat. Obviously he was afraid Woodbury would antagonise their host before the real purpose of the visit could be discussed. The fact is, John,' he said, 'you'll agree things are going from bad to worse.'