Haggard

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘I have no card,' Haggard said, refusing to allow himself to be overawed. 'You may announce me. John Haggard, of Barbados, and Miss Emma Dearborn.'

  'No card, sir?' The major-domo's face froze. 'Have you attended Almack's before, sir?'

  'Of course I have not,' Haggard said. 'I only landed in this confounded country this afternoon. Nor am I used to being kept waiting in antechambers. You'll step aside.'

  He moved towards the great staircase, but the major-domo stepped in front of him. ‘I am afraid, sir, that it is impossible to admit you.'

  'Eh?'

  'I have my instructions, sir, from the Duchess of Devonshire.'

  The Duchess of Devonshire? Why, you dolt, I am a tenant of hers. If you will be good enough to inform her that I am here . . .'

  'Her Grace is not attending this evening, sir. No doubt, when you return, you will bring an invitation from her, and then I may admit you. I should also point out, sir, that you are improperly dressed. Gentlemen are not admitted unless they are wearing wigs.'

  'By God,' Haggard shouted. 'You impudent rogue. I've a mind to slit your nose for you, sir. By God, sir . . .'

  'Mr. Haggard, I beg of you,' Emma whispered, clutching his arm. 'Let us begone.'

  'Begone?' Haggard demanded. 'Begone. Why, I'll . . .'He stared at the young man just descending the stairs toward them.

  'My cloak, Martin,' said the man. 'Is my gig waiting?'

  'Of course, Mr. Addison.' Martin gave a shallow bow, and accepted a folded piece of paper.

  Mr. Addison gave Haggard and Emma a brief glance, went to the door.

  'Mr. Haggard,' Emma begged, still dragging on his arm.

  'You, sir,' Haggard said, pointing with his stick.

  Addison half turned, looked at the stick, rather than the man. 'Are you addressing me. sir?'

  There is no one else present,' Haggard pointed out. 'I have just been refused admittance to this rout.'

  'Indeed, sir? Now there is a surprise.'

  The sarcasm was lost on Haggard's anger. 'And I am about to pull this fellow's ears for him. Can you give me a reason why I should not?'

  'Because he would very likely break your head for you, sir,' Addison suggested.

  'By God,' Haggard said. 'Does all London seek to provoke me?"

  Addison allowed himself a smile, and this time he inspected Emma, to his obvious satisfaction, indeed, sir, I am sure the city does not. Especially as I can perceive, both from your complexion and your speech, that you are a stranger to our fair land. You'll take a glass sir, with your charming companion."

  'A glass? Upstairs?'

  'Ah, no. I'm afraid that will not be possible. At my rooms, perhaps.' He held out his hand. 'Henry Addison, at your service.' 'John Haggard. And this is . . .'

  'Haggard?' Addison's brows drew together in a frown, and then as hastily cleared, while his smile broadened. 'Of Barbados.'

  That is so, sir. I have not had the pleasure, I am sure.'

  The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Haggard.' Addison seized Haggard's hand between both of his. 'We had heard, sir, oh indeed, Cummings spread it about, that you were returning to take your place in the forefront of affairs. Derleth, is it?'

  ‘I have purchased the manor, yes,' Haggard said. 'But I am not sure I understand ..."

  'Forgive me,' Addison said. 'Madam?'

  'Miss Dearborn.'

  'Dear Miss Dearborn.' He seized Emma's hand in tum and kissed it. 'You will sup with me. I insist. We have much to discuss. Much.'

  'Sup?' Haggard inquired. 'But we have already . . .'

  Emma pinched his arm. 'We should very much like to sup with you, Mr. Addison.'

  'You'll excuse old Martin, of course.' Henry Addison leaned back and lit a cheroot, smiling at Emma. The fact is, he is completely under the thumb of dear Georgiana.'

  'Georgiana?' Haggard inquired.

  The Duchess of Devonshire, don't you know?'

  'My landlady.'

  'Indeed? We shall have to obtain you an invitation to one of her soirees, as soon as she returns to town, and then all doors will be open to you.'

  'Yet you say everyone knew of my coming.'

  'Well, perhaps not everyone. But to anyone with a political bent it was important. Why, John Haggard, of Haggard's Penn, we'll have had no more illustrious West Indian, if you'll pardon the expression, in recent times. The fact is, Haggard, 'tis the colour of your politics that interests me. You'll know Derleth carries a seat?'

  'That is why I chose it.'

  'Aha. We had supposed as much. And you'll know further that Billy Pitt plans to go to the country before the end of the year?'

  'You will have to instruct me in English politics.'

  'Aye, well, it is necessary to increase our majority. There are great things afoot. Oh, aye, great things.' Addison leaned forward. 'So how now. Haggard? Do you vote Whig or Tory?'

  'I doubt I understand the difference,' Haggard confessed. 'But I will tell you this, Addison, I am a slave owner. I do not hold with ill treatment of the unhappy devils. But I understand that my prosperity is based upon them. Now you tell me straight, with all this talk in the air, with the names of Wilberforce and Clarkson echoing from one end of the West Indies to the next, how stands the Tory party?'

  That is simple. To us a man's property is inviolable, and slavery, however undesirable in the principle, is, as you say, an essential part of the economy of the wealthiest part of the British Empire, sir, to wit your own sunlit islands. Nor can we believe that such prosperity can be other than impaired by outlawing the trade.'

  'Well said, sir,' Haggard agreed. Then I am your man.'

  Then, sir, as time is pressing, as I have said, the sooner you are to Derbyshire and in possession of your seat the better. For depend upon it, there will have to be an election, and by Christmas. We wish you to be returned for Derleth, sir. None other.'

  'Here is my hand and my promise,' Haggard said.

  'And I will see to the matter of some proper introductions for yourself and Miss Dearborn. Oh, dear me, the poor young lady appears to be asleep."

  ‘It has been an exhausting day,' Haggard agreed. 'And for me also. I must away to my bed.'

  'Perhaps you'll permit me to escort Miss Dearborn to her lodging?'

  Haggard gave a short laugh. 'Away with you. She lodges with me.'

  Addison frowned at him. 'Here? In London?' 'Until we can move ourselves to Derby.'

  'But . . .' His frown deepened. 'Dearborn. Dearborn. There is a family of that name in Devon.'

  'She has no family, Addison. She was, and I will tell you this in confidence, indentured labour. But the mother of my younger children. I am a lucky man.'

  Addison slowly subsided back into his chair, produced a silk handkerchief, and wiped his brow, indentured labour? And you sought to introduce her to Almack's?'

  Haggard's turn to frown. Tis but a dance hall, is it not?'

  'A dance hall. Ye gods. It is the very centre of London society. What Georgiana would say . . .' He leaned forward again, lowered his voice. 'You have no intention of marrying the young woman?'

  'None at all.'

  Thank God for that. But you are deeply enamoured of her.'

  ‘I'm damned if I see where you have the right to ask me such impertinent questions.'

  'Believe me. Haggard, I'd not give offence. But 'tis important. London is not Barbados. No, indeed. I perceive in you a man of talent, sir. I already know you to be a man of wealth. And I can also discern in you a man of character, a man of determination, a man of decision. Why, sir, to such a paragon the world itself is almost too small a field for conquest. I would wager all London will lie at your feet, sir. But not if you insult the sensibilities of the ladies who rule us.'

  'By God, sir, I've a mind to take offence, at that,' Haggard said. 'Will you pretend to me that no man in London keeps a mistress?'

  Then they would hardly be men,' Addison pointed out. 'But they are discreet, sir. Discreet. And should they desire to make a display
of it, they choose their mistresses from their own society. Now, sir, hear me out. We of the Tory Party need you, and we will honour you, and promote you, should you only make it possible for us to do so. Love your delightful indenture, by all means. But do so at Derleth. I beg of you. And leave her there when you come to town.' He threw himself back in his chair and mopped his brow.

  'Do you know,' Haggard confessed. 'I had thought to have left such backbiting behind me? I had supposed London society as free as air.'

  'I wish it were, Haggard. I wish it were.'

  'Aye, well, no doubt you have given me good advice. And to say the truth, I have not been greatly impressed by what I have seen of this city of yours. It was Cummings' idea that I should spend some time here. I will leave for Derleth in the morning.'

  'And when you come back, you will be one of us.'

  'Oh, indeed,' Haggard said. 'When I come back I will know more of this land, you may be sure of that.'

  There.' Emma said, rolling down the window of the berlin to point. If she had guessed the reason for their abrupt departure from town she had not revealed it, had bubbled with enthusiastic gaiety all the three days they had spent on the road, despite the fact that the previous morning she had begun sneezing and was now suffering from a streaming cold.

  'A pretty picture, Mr. Haggard,' Cummings said. And if he had certainly guessed the reason behind Haggard's decision to abandon the city, he had been wise enough to keep it to himself.

  Haggard decided he could not be referring to the gallows, fortunately vacant, which loomed beside his window. The berlin had halted on a shallow hill, and below him the valley was delineated. The road led down and through a small village, rather reminiscent of the bookkeepers’ village on Haggard's, save that there was more than one street, and the houses were not quite so orderly and by no means similar in size or shape; vines grew up the walls, smoke drifted from the chimneys, and at the far end waited an inn, fronting on to the village green beyond which there was a sizeable pond, the home, it appeared, of a flock of ducks.

  Behind the village, to either side, there was open pasture, grazed by sheep, and at a distance of perhaps a half a mile, reached by a winding lane between the gravestones, was the grey stone church; close by were the vicarage and then the village school.

  'Old, that is,' Cummings said, indicating the church. 'Twelfth century. There are some houses in the village date back that far too.'

  'And the manor,' Emma said. 'Do you like the look of it, Mr. Haggard?'

  The somewhat rambling building was in the far distance, and the afternoon was well advanced. 'I shall reserve judgement until we get closer. I was told there are coal mines.'

  'In those hills beyond the manor house, Mr. Haggard,' Cummings said. 'Oh, a goodly return is to be obtained from them.'

  'But no farms?'

  'Seven farms, sir. Also beyond the hills, but all paying rent to the manor, to be sure.'

  'Then what do the people of the village work at?'

  'Why, sir, they are mainly miners. But there's a deal of home work, as well. They spin cotton in those cottages. Or they did before the American colonies revolted. But the cotton trade is picking up again, sir. You've a prosperous community down there, Mr. Haggard. No backslidings on the rent roll. I'll promise you that.'

  There's no water.'

  'Indeed there is, sir. The Derleth River comes down from the hills over there, and runs hard by the Manor House. Good fishing, too. You'll not see it from here. But it traverses your park.'

  Then let's to it,' Haggard said, and rubbed Roger's head.

  The cavalcade, for there were two other carriages behind, containing the slaves and the baggage, rumbled down the hill and along the main street. Doors and windows opened, people looked out to oversee the arrival of their new squire. Many waved, and Emma waved enthusiastically back.

  'Do you recognise any of them?' Haggard asked.

  'One or two. But they'll not know me.' She was wearing her new deep crimson pelisse, lined with ermine, and a matching velvet hat.

  Haggard watched the Manor House approaching. It formed one arm of a U-shaped series of buildings, outhouses, stables. It was three storeys high, with somewhat small windows and a sloping roof. Unpainted, the stone was weathered a deep green where it could be seen beneath the ever-present ivy.

  Waiting in the courtyard were a score of people. But he had anticipated this, after his London experience. And at least here, he reflected as he climbed down, there was no Hardy and no Mistress Broughton. The butler was a very old fellow, who found it hard to stand straight.

  'Welcome to you, Mr. Haggard, sir,' he said. 'Pretty is the name.'

  'Good evening to you. Pretty.'

  'John MacGuinness, at your service, Mr. Haggard.' This was a big, bluff fellow with a red face.'

  'Mr. MacGuinness is your bailiff, Mr. Haggard,' Cummings explained. 'Anything you desire, just mention it to him.'

  'Oh, aye, Mr. Haggard, anything you desire.'

  Haggard nodded, walked down the row of gamekeepers and grooms and yardboys and footmen and women. Once again all the housemaids were young girls, all white, and one at least definitely pretty. And if they were not slaves, they were most definitely his servants, and as they lived in his village, his tenants as well. He was aware of a most peculiar sensation, which he could not identify.

  And was distracted by a shout behind him. 'Tom Pretty. Well, glory be. I'd have thought you dead by now.'

  Haggard turned, watched Emma embracing the butler, who was blinking at her uncertainly. 'Miss ... not Emmy Dearborn?'

  'The same. Tom. The same.'

  'But . . .'He scratched his head and displaced his wig. 'We heard . . .'He glanced at Haggard. 'What did you hear. Pretty?'

  That . . . well, sir, that she'd been sent overseas.' 'Which is where I have come from, Pretty. Shall we go inside, Emma?'

  She flushed. 'Of course, Mr. Haggard,' hurried in front of him into the somewhat low hallway.

  Haggard sniffed as he climbed the stairs. 'Damp.'

  'Aye, well, 'tis an old building,' MacGuinness explained. 'But we've a fire in here.' He opened the door to the winter parlour, which was certainly cosy enough.

  Haggard nodded. 'You've made arrangements for my people?'

  ‘Indeed, sir, their rooms are all prepared. Will you come upstairs?'

  He climbed the next flight, and Haggard waited for Emma to precede him. ‘I'm sorry, Mr. Haggard,' she whispered. Truly I am. It was just that, well, I knew him as a girl.'

  There'll be many people here you knew as a girl,' Haggard pointed out. 'But you'll bear in mind that you have risen above them.'

  'Of course, Mr. Haggard.' She paused on the landing, blew her nose. 'This house is just as I remember it.'

  MacGuinness had opened the door of the main bedroom. Here too a fire blazed in the grate, but nothing could expel the lingering smell of damp.

  This house, Mr. MacGuinness, is a recipe for rheumatism,' Haggard said.

  Tis a damp neighbourhood, sir, what with the river and the canal. But no one ever died of rheumatism.' His attempted smile died as he saw Haggard was not amused.

  There's a housekeeper?'

  'Oh, indeed, sir. Margaret. Come along, girl.'

  She had followed them up the stairs, and Haggard saw to his surprise that she was the pretty one. Indeed, now he could look closer, he could see that she was somewhat older than the other girls, although clearly still in her early twenties. She was tall and solidly built, with a mass of curly dark hair, at present carefully pinned beneath her cap, but yet attempting to escape in every direction. Her features were regular, and dominated by her large brown eyes. Now she gave a brief curtsey.

  'Margaret, is it?' Haggard said. 'You'll have fires on, day and night in the bedrooms.'

  'Of course, sir.'

  'Show me,' Emma decided.

  'Yes . . . mum,' Margaret agreed. The two women left the room, but did not close the door behind them. Haggard heard Margaret's voice .
. . 'Are you really Emmy Dearborn? Well, what a . . .' They were beyond earshot."

  'Well, sir,' MacGuinness said. 'I hope you are satisfied?'

  'Hum,' Haggard said. 'You'll stay to dine.'

  Thank you, sir.'

  'And tomorrow you can show me the coal mines.'

  Haggard stood on the raised platform and gazed at the entrance to the mini-shaft. It was a dull day with a smattering of drizzle in the air; his tricorne was pulled low over his forehead and his cloak was gathered tightly around his shoulders. But the entire scene would have been gloomy even had the sun been shining, he thought. The greenness of the hills behind, and they were far more green than in Barbados, was quite offset by the huge mound of slag on the far side of the pit itself, by the discolouration of the grass, and even of the water; the canal which ran straight as a rule into the distance was muddy brown in colour.

  And even these evidences of the contamination caused by the coal were pleasant to look upon compared with the yawning black pit in front of him.

  'Men work down there?'

  'Oh, indeed, Mr. Haggard,' said the manager. 'Well, we employ all sorts. Men to do the hard work, you understand. But we have the kiddies doing the drawing.'

  'Kiddies?'

  'Well, they're small see, and able to get through the passages easier than grown men, who have to crawl. And we don't have to pay them no more than a quarter of a man's wage. They'll be up, now.'