Haggard

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘I agree with Mr. Pitt,' Haggard said. There are few barriers to Catholic advancement in the colonies, save of course in the government service. And I cannot persuade myself that the Pope poses any threat to England in this day and age.'

  'Well said,' Pitt agreed.

  'Aye, well, as I said, you choose a hard road,' Dundas repealed. 'And we'd best hope that we are granted the peace to pursue such ideals. What is your opinion of events in Paris, Haggard?'

  'Faith, Sir Henry, I have had little time to consider them. But it appears the French are pursuing, in their own fashion, the goal of constitutional monarchy, which has been a considerable blessing to Great Britain, surely. I would say, if we could see the last of French ambitions, we may well be in for a period of peace in Europe.'

  'My own thoughts entirely,' Pitt said enthusiastically.

  'You do not suppose a French cabinet, even if free from the jurisdiction of a Louis XVI, might be similarly ambitious?'

  Pitt gave a wintry smile. 'A French cabinet headed by whom. Harry? Jacques Necker?'

  The men laughed.

  'No, no, there is a complete absence of warlike intent in France at this moment, to my way of thinking. Indeed, whatever the outcome of the constitutional quarrel, we have little to fear. Louis XVI, God bless him, is less warlike even than Necker. Besides, they have no money with which to go to war. Which does not mean we shall not have occasion to defend ourselves. I fear the Russians, gentlemen. Their appetite is whetted with Poland, and they start to dream of Mediterranean expansion. You'll agree there is naught to stop them in Turkey. As a matter of fact, as Dundas will agree, one of the first acts of the new parliament must be to double the Navy appropriations.' "I'll say amen to that,' Dundas said.

  'So will I,' Haggard said. 'I'm a West Indian, gentlemen. Any scheme for improving and enlarging the Navy will meet with my approval.'

  Pitt finished his port. 'I must be on my way. Tomorrow is a busy one.' He stood up, came round the table, held out his hand. This has been a pleasure, Mr. Haggard. You are going to be a source of strength, sir, I can see that. Be sure you are there when the new Parliament convenes.'

  'You have my word on it,' Haggard said.

  Pitt gazed into his eyes for a moment, then nodded, and left the room, and the other guests went with him.

  ‘I knew you'd appeal to Pitt,' Brand said. This night has seen you properly launched. Haggard. Another?' He had had a great deal to drink himself; his speech was very slightly slurred, and he swayed.

  'I suspect bed is indicated,' Haggard said.

  'Bed,' Brand said. 'I've no notion for it.' He poured himself a glass. 'Come wi' me, Haggard. I'll show you the most beautiful sight you've ever seen.'

  'Not tonight, Brand. Besides, it's raining. I've had just about all of this dismal weather I can stand.'

  'Ah, be off wi' you,' Brand snorted. 'I'm not proposing to go out. I'm proposing to go upstairs and look at my darlings. You'll come with me, Haggard. They're fond of you. Oh, yes, I could tell that at a glance. Fond of you.' He picked up the decanter with his other hand, swayed towards the door, waved away the footman who would have opened it for him, splashing port.

  Haggard followed him into the hall. 'I'm not sure I understand you,' he said. But his heart was pounding like a base drum.

  'Have you no eyes for a pretty girl?' Brand commenced to climb the stairs. There's a rumour you keep one in Derleth. She'd have to go, of course.'

  'Indeed?' Haggard climbed behind him. 'Go where, and when?'

  Brand had reached the upper landing, now he poured some more port, set the decanter on an incidental table. ‘I’m thinking it would be the match of the century, Haggard. You may take your pick. Then you'd really be one of us. There's talk, you know.' He attempted to wag his finger and spilt some more wine. 'You'll not do well, socially, with a thief in your bed.'

  'Addison,' Haggard said. 'I ought to wring his neck.'

  'Ah, bah, 'tis true. But you're a colonial. People forgive easily. And with a wife on your arm, out of the top drawer, why, you'd be presented at court. I'd see to that.' He waved his arm, and this time port splashed on to Haggard's waistcoat. They're along here.'

  Haggard knew where the sisters' bedroom was. Now he was hard as a rod; he had drunk enough himself to have lost just a little control of his wits. Presented at court? Why, of course he had to be presented at court. He was John Haggard.

  Drunk as he was, Brand appeared to be a mindreader. 'Because they're a damnably stuffy lot,' he grumbled, fumbling at the doorknob. 'It's the Queen, God bless her. All of her sons are lechers. Every one. Why that Frederick tried to make advances to my Alison. Spurned him, she did. Nothing but debts and worries, she said. She has an old head, she has. But Her Majesty now, she'll receive no one with the slightest blemish on his affairs. No, indeed.'

  The room was dark, and filled with the scent which the girls both used. Haggard waited while Brand reached up and took a candle from a holder on the wall, held it above his head as he went inside.

  'Aren't thev splendid?' He drew the side drape from around the bed.

  Haggard tiptoed forward, stood beside him. The girls wore white linen nightgowns, and as the fire still glowed in the grate and the room was warm, they had half kicked off their covers. They lay facing each other, Alison on the outside, with her back to him, Emily facing him. There arms were stretched towards each other, and their fingers were interwined; the position pushed their breasts together and thrust them out of the tops of the gowns. Their legs were clearly to be delineated beneath the soft material. Haggard licked his lips and found that his throat was dry. How strange, he thought, that they should share a room, and a bed. Or is Brand even more strapped than I had imagined?

  Ladies. It was remarkable how inadequate that one word made him feel. But since Susan he had only ever bedded serving girls, and thieves. And even Susan had possessed none of Alison Brand's beauty.

  Take your pick, Haggard,' Brand said, turning towards him.

  'Really, Brand, this is somewhat unseemly. I am a widower, and old enough to be Alison's father.'

  'Alison, is it? Thought as much.'

  ‘I'd not considered marrying again.'

  'Stuff and nonsense. A man must have a wife. Come along and we'll talk about it.' He turned away, and the girls fell back into shadow. Haggard followed reluctantly, watched his host appear to subside forward, losing the candle and hitting the floor with a most tremendous crash.

  'For God's sake,' Haggard cried, almost falling over him in turn. But Brand did not reply, and the candle had fallen from his hand and rolled against the wall, going out in the process.

  'Papa?' Alison scrambled out of bed.

  Haggard stepped over the unconscious man into the gallery, found another candle, held it above his head. Both girls were out of bed now, and kneeling beside their father.

  'He just fell over,' Haggard said helplessly.

  ‘I don't think he's hurt himself.' Alison opined, 'except perhaps a bruise. We must get him to bed.' She looked up, gave a brief smile. 'He will be all right, Mr. Haggard. Truly.'

  'He always is,' Emily explained.

  Haggard knelt beside them, got his hands into Brand's armpits. His shoulder brushed Alison's, and her hair flopped against his face. 'You mean this has happened before?'

  'Mmm,' Alison said, straining. Slowly they pulled Brand to his feet, and Haggard got one of his arms over his shoulders. Alison went round the other side, took the other arm, and Emily came behind. 'Just along here,' Alison panted.

  'Can I assist you. Miss Alison?' asked the butler, coming up the stairs with a footman at his heels.

  'No thank you. Partridge,' Alison said. 'I'm sure we can manage. You may retire.'

  Partridge disappeared, and Emily was opening the door to Brand's bedroom. Haggard and Alison dragged him across the floor and laid him on the bed.

  'You may go back to bed, Emily,’ Alison said. 'But . .

  'Go back to bed.' Alison climbed on to the bed to k
neel beside her father, began to loosen his cravat. Haggard stood above her, holding the candle at her shoulder, listened to the soft sound of the door closing as the younger sister withdrew. He looked down on the gently curving sweep of back beneath him, on the upturned bare feet—she was sitting on her heels as she tugged at the cloth—on the golden hair which had fallen forward to each side of her ears to expose her neck. He inhaled her perfume, and felt quite dizzy with desire. She was seventeen years old. Another Emma had come into his life, but this one had no drawbacks at all. So he would have to marry her. The thought was suddenly extremely pleasant.

  But how could he even think like that, with Emma waiting, warm and loving, for him at Derleth? And sniffing and sneezing? But that could only be a brief misfortune.

  'Now his boots,' Alison panted, sliding down the bed. She undid the laces, and began to pull.

  'Can I help you?' Haggard asked.

  She shook her head, got the first boot off, cheeks pink with effort, turned her attention to the other.

  'I should apologise for being in your room.' Haggard said. 'The fact is, your father . .

  'Wished you to see us, sleeping,' she said without raising her head. 'I hope we were decent.'

  'You were entrancing,' Haggard said without meaning to.

  The second boot fell on to the floor, and Alison's head at last came up to allow her to look at him. Was she smiling? He could not be sure in the flickering candlelight.

  'Well, you were,' he said defensively.

  'I think we can leave him like this,' Alison decided. 'He'll be all right.' She uncoiled herself, got off the bed, waited.

  For him to do what? He stood beside her, and with sudden decision put his arm round her shoulders, at the same time moving forward as if escorting her to the door. She half turned, into him, then gave a little sigh and rested her head on his shoulder.

  'Alison.' He snuffed the candle with his free hand, dropped it to the floor, lifted her into his arms, kissed her on the mouth. Her tongue was shy, and almost attempted to escape his, before she hugged him as tightly, and as passionately. His arms were round her shoulders, and the nightdress was slipping. He drove his hands downwards, found her buttocks, gave them a squeeze and attempted to move between, carrying the cloth with him, but she gave a little wriggle and slipped away altogether.

  'Alison.' He reached for her, and she stepped back and opened the door.

  'You must speak with Papa.' she said. Tomorrow.'

  'But you." She left her hand on the doorknob, and he caught it, allowed himself to be drawn outside into the comparative light of the gallery.

  ‘I will do whatever Papa tells me to do,' she said. 'But I know he likes you, Mr. Haggard.' 'Do you like me. Alison?' 'I will like you, Mr. Haggard.'

  He brought her closer, but she was shaking her head, slowly. 'You must speak with Papa.'

  'Before 1 can kiss you? I have already kissed you.'

  'Do you just wish to kiss me, Mr. Haggard?'

  His fingers relaxed in surprise at the directness of her question, and she freed her hand. 'After you've spoken with Papa.'

  After I have spoken to Papa. Haggard pulled rein, sat his horse on the hilltop looking down into Derleth Valley. For a moment there he had nearly lost his senses. He was John Haggard. He had no need, and certainly no desire, ever to marry again. He had his son and heir, and two other children besides. He had Emma. Pray to God she had got over her cold by now. And besides, the Brands were clearly after his wealth as much as his obvious ability to rise in the ranks of the Tory hierarchy. It was a trap well avoided.

  But how splendid it would be if Alison could be at his side, looking down at his valley. His to possess, with none of the drawbacks of marriage. There was a dream.

  And had he not acted too hastily? He had fled the Brand house as if it had contained the devil, whereas it might well have contained his future social standing. However much Pitt appeared to like him, he was only of interest as a parliamentary candidate. Friendship and political advancement would depend upon his acceptance by the great London hostesses. That had been made painfully clear. And he had fled, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, who wanted only to be his wife.

  Because of Emma? She was his conscience. But more than that, he knew. She was his halter, the one force on earth which restrained him from descending into the pit of angry profligacy which was so much more attractive in England than ever in Barbados. Are you a bad man, John Haggard? Oh, indeed. But here at the least, acting an honourable role.

  He walked his horse down the road and into the village street. It was late afternoon, and the miners were already home. Several were outside the inn, and Haggard nodded to them as he passed. They hastily raised their hats, but there were no smiles and no greetings. The last time he had seen them they had been drinking at his expense, and had been happy enough to smile then. Surly lot. They compared very badly with the happy black people of Haggard's Penn.

  The village fell behind and he passed the church and the vicarage, where candles already glowed at the windows, before approaching the manor house, and a much warmer welcome. There were no dogs to gallop out and greet him—he must put that right, immediately—but the grooms waited to take his bridle, and John Essex opened the door for him.

  'Man, Mr. John, sir, but is good to have you back.' John Essex took his hat and cloak. 'But you didn't catch that stupid black man?'

  Haggard frowned at him. Was it possible that Essex did not sympathise with Middlesex? 'If I had, he'd be with me now,' he said, and went to the foot of the stairs.

  'Father.' Roger came out of the pantry, arms outstretched. Haggard gave him a hug. Even in ten days he seemed to have grown some more.

  'Papa.' Charlie was tugging at his hand, with Alice jumping up and down behind him.

  'Here I am, safe and sound,' he said, squeezing them each in turn. How febrile the world of London seemed beside this domestic bliss.

  'Mr. Haggard.'

  Emma stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at him. She wore a blue gown, high necked and prim. Her hair was loose and was the autumn stain he had always loved. And the glowing red was gone from her nose, as the thickness had disappeared from her voice. Haggard released the children, ran up the stairs. 'Emma. Oh, my darling Emma.'

  She was in his arms, and he was kissing her mouth. Here was no shyness, only desire. Here was what he had always wanted, and it was the only thing he would ever want. He swept her from her feet, hurried along the corridor, the children running behind.

  Annie Kent and Amelia emerged to clap their hands at the fun. The door of the bedchamber was open, and he carried Emma through. Her arms were tight around his neck, her cheek pressed against his. But her scent was absent from the room.

  He set her on her feet, and frowned at her.

  "You commanded me to move out,' she said.

  'I command you to move back in.'

  'And I must obey your commands, sir,' she said, with a smile. 'Off you go, children,' she said. 'Your father and I have things to discuss.'

  'Come along, come along,' Amelia shouted, clapping her hands. 'You all can see yo' mother and father got business?'

  The door closed. Haggard unfastened Emma's buttons, slid the gown away from her shoulders, thrust his hand inside to find and caress her breasts. She lay back against his chest, and sighed. 'Did you miss me, Mr. Haggard?'

  'I missed you, Emma. My God, how I missed you.' Gently he pulled her nipples hard, as he knew she liked, and she wriggled her bottom against the front of his breeches.

  'What must the children think?'

  That we love each other.' He released her to undress himself, watched her tall, slender beauty unveiling itself in front of him, leapt forward and caught her again. She gave a gasp, then she was in the bed and he was lying on her belly, pushing the hair from her forehead, kissing each eye and her nose and her chin.

  'Mr. Haggard,' she said into his ear. 'I have let Margaret Lacey go-'

  Haggard kissed her on the
mouth, raised his head to smile at her. 'The devil with Margaret Lacey, Emma. You are my housekeeper’

  CHAPTER 5

  THE TYRANT

  Mr. Johnson, the schoolmaster, stood in front of the fire, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. He was a short, heavy-set man, with pugnacious features, presently somewhat embarrassed. It was as usual raining outside, and his boots left damp imprints on the hearthrug.

  'Mr. Johnson.' Haggard held out his hand. Never had he felt in such a bubbling good humour. Even the climate was nothing more than an irritation. 'I'm sorry I've not yet been down to the school, but you'll have heard I was in London.'

  'Oh, indeed, Mr. Haggard. A bad business.'

  'You may say that again. Sit down, man, sit down. A bad business. I'll have the scoundrel back, I promise you. I was merely hoodwinked by the intricacies of English law. I'll have him back.' He frowned. 'Aren't you going to sit down?'

  'I would prefer to stand, Mr. Haggard.'

  'Suit yourself. At least have a glass of wine.'

  Thank you, sir, but no.'

  'Well, you'll excuse me if I have one.' Haggard drank deeply. 'I've been inspecting my orchards and the wood. Now there is a pleasant spot. Or it would be if this confounded rain would ever stop. I think I will erect the new manor house closer to that wood. You know I'm going to build?'

  'Well, sir, Mr. Haggard . . .'

  'I've a man called Nash coming out to see me. Oh, aye, we'll replace this gloomy ruin with something more suitable. But not to fear, Johnson, not to fear. There will be ample funds for improving your school. Now then, I assume this isn't just a social visit?'

  'No, sir, Mr. Haggard. The fact is . . .'

  'But I'm glad you're here in any event. I have it in mind to call an election meeting. I'd like to explain to my people just what I propose, when I am elected. Never does any harm to communicate, eh?'