Haggard

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘I’ve not turned my back on a mob before,' Haggard said. 'You'll excuse me, ladies. Brand.' He walked down the steps, while the yells and the whistles grew louder. There was a crunch on his shoulder, and he glanced at the egg which had just landed there; the evil-smelling yellow yoke was dripping down his sleeve. He turned to face his assailant, and had his arm seized by Cummings.

  'Your carriage is over here, sir.'

  'I'll have that fellow.'

  Another egg whistled through the air. Cummings ducked, and it hit the pavement with a splat. 'All of them, sir?'

  Haggard hesitated. But to go into their midst would be to risk being beaten up with little hope of harming any of them. He allowed himself to be drawn away to the comparative safety of the carriage, although for several hundred yards their passage was obstructed by crowds who rocked the vehicle, frightened the horses, and peered at him through the windows to shake their fists and utter their curses and threats.

  The London mob,' Cummings said, attempting a smile. 'One has to get used to them, Mr. Haggard. Even the King has to do that. But once we get you back to your rooms and a hot bath and a change of clothing, and a full glass, why, sir . . .'

  'Where can I drop you?' Haggard asked.

  'Sir?'

  ‘I am not going back to my rooms.' Haggard said. 'I am taking horse for Derleth, today.'

  Cummings frowned. 'Why, sir, do you suppose there may be repercussions there?'

  'Aye,' Haggard said. 'There will be repercussions there, and I am going to cause them.'

  His anger was at a white heat. The entire venture of returning to England had proved a disaster. Instead of a welcome there had been suspicion, save where people had wished to use him for their own ends. The climate was abominable. His election to Parliament, which he had been assured was a formality, had turned out as a slap in the face. He was master of a valley and yet truly master of no one in it. And now he had been told that his own domestic slaves, people he had cared for and thought of since his boyhood, owed him no obligations at all.

  No doubt his best course would be to abandon the whole venture and crawl back to Barbados with his tail between his legs. But he was John Haggard. No court of law was going to chase him away.

  If they wanted to make him into some kind of an outlaw, then by God, they would see what kind of an outlaw he could be.

  He rode north in a mood of black anger, leaving even his London valet, a Cockney by name of Simpson, behind, scarce stopped for more than a meal on the way, trotted through the high street of Derleth Village and up towards the Manor House, sat his horse and gazed at the scar which was to be his house. Yard boys took his bridle, and he dismounted, stamped into the front door of the hall.

  'Mr. John?' John Essex took his hat and coat. 'But we ain' expecting you this time.'

  'Summon the servants,' Haggard said. The black ones. All of them.' He went into the parlour, slapped his hands together in front of the fire; it was very cold out, and there was still snow on the ground.

  'Mr. Haggard?' Emma stood in the doorway, her face a mixture of delight and concern. 'Parliament has not been adjourned?'

  'I doubt I have much place in that Parliament. Well come in,' he shouted at the black people who were assembling at the door.

  They filed in and lined up, John Essex, Henry Suffolk, Annie Kent, wearing her new apron as she was straight from the kitchen, Elizabeth Lancashire, and Amelia. Emma frowned at them, looked questioningly at Haggard.

  'You people are to leave this place.' Haggard said. There is the door. Get out.'

  The slaves exchanged glances.

  'Where you want us for go, Mr. John?' Annie Kent asked.

  ‘I do not care where you go,' Haggard said, speaking very slowly and evenly. 'You no longer belong to me. The court has made that clear. You are free people. Therefore I am free of you. I have no responsibilities towards you. You are to leave now.'

  'Oh, my God,' Emma muttered.

  'But Mr. John, sir,' Essex said. 'We can't just go so. We ain't got no money.'

  'Man, Mr. John, but it cold out there,' Elizabeth Lancashire said. 'You ain't see that snow and thing?'

  'But Mr. John, how we going eat?' Annie Kent asked.

  'This is your concern,' Haggard said. 'Not mine. Get out. Go to James Middlesex and ask him. He may obtain you shelter from his friend Granville Sharp.' He pointed at the door. 'Get out, I'll give you ten minutes to be gone, and one hour to be off my property, or I'll set Mr. MacGuinness on you.'

  They gazed at him for a moment, and Amelia started to weep. Annie Kent took her arm and escorted her from the room. Essex and Suffolk stood their ground, chewing their lips.

  'Nine minutes,' Haggard said.

  'Man, Mr. John, sir,' Essex said. 'But this is wickedness you doing. Be sure the Lord going see to you.' He left the room, Suffolk at his heels.

  'Mr. Haggard.' Emma grasped his arm. 'John. Please. You cannot do this.'

  'Cannot?' He freed himself.

  ‘I did not know the law decided for Middlesex. But he wanted to go. These people want to stay. They love you, John Haggard.'

  ‘I do not love them. Now send one of the grooms for MacGuinness, and tell him we need new servants here. Tell him to organise it.'

  She stood before him. 'You cannot do it, Mr. Haggard. I'll not let you.'

  Haggard raised his head. 'You’ll not let me?'

  She bit her lip, flushed, and then the colour faded again. 'If ... if they go, I'll go with them.' Another bite of her lip. 'You've forgotten, but my term of indenture ended last year. I'm as free as you are, Mr. Haggard.'

  'Your term of indenture ended on 17 March 1790,' Haggard said. 'I am well aware of that. I assumed you stayed because you were comfortable here. Perhaps because you loved me.'

  ‘I do love you,' she shouted. 'But so do these people.'

  'Well, I do not love them, as I have said,'

  Emma inhaled, slowly. 'But you do love me.'

  'Whether or not I love you,' Haggard said, 'depends upon you. Now fetch me MacGuinness.'

  Emma exhaled, equally slowly, ‘I meant what I said, Mr. Haggard. Those people are my friends. The only true friends I have. They are your friends as well. Apart from being cruel, it is stupid to let them go.'

  Then go with them,' Haggard said. There is the door. Get out. You have ten minutes.'

  CHAPTER 6

  THE BRIDEGROOM

  ‘I've come to say goodbye, Mr. Haggard.' Emma stood in the doorway. She wore her fur-trimmed crimson pelisse with the hood, and carried a single box. Henry Suffolk waited in the hall with two more, ‘I've taken only a few things. I hope you will not send me away naked.'

  Haggard smoked a cheroot and sipped a glass of port. He had adopted this role deliberately. Stupid girl. But was she now trying to appeal to his better nature? 'Take what you will.'

  She hesitated, bit her lip. ' Tis the children's clothes as well. I'll fetch them from the school. Will you wish them well?'

  Haggard frowned at her. 'You'll not see the children.'

  They are my children, Mr. Haggard.'

  They are mine, Emma. What would you? Take them off to starve?'

  She stared at him, as if unsure what she was hearing.

  'Be sure I shall bring them up,' Haggard said. 'Educate them and see to their inheritance. Can you equal that?'

  Still she stared at him. A single tear rolled down her left cheek. 'What will you tell them of me?'

  ‘I will think up something,' he said. Give in, you silly girl. Throw yourself at my feet and beg my forgiveness. You shall have it. But give in. 'What will you do?'

  'I'll manage, Mr. Haggard.' Her cheeks were pink.

  'By whoring? Not in Derleth.'

  'I'll not stay in Derleth, Mr. Haggard.'

  But she had not denied what she might have to do to keep from starving. Haggard felt in his pocket, took out a handful of golden guineas, threw them on the desk. 'You'll need money.'

  Emma's chin came up. 'Not your money, Mr
. Haggard.'

  'You've some of your own?'

  But now she was as angry as he. ‘I will manage, Mr. Haggard. I'll bid you goodbye.'

  'Close the door,' Haggard said. But she left it open, and he heard her heels on the stairs. He picked up the half empty bottlenof port, hurled it across the room, watched it shatter on the wall and scatter on the floor, leaving red liquid everywhere. The stupid little bitch. Why did he not run after her and seize her and carry her up to their bedroom, and love her into some sense?

  Because he did not wish to. This crisis had loomed too long, and now it was of her making. She was gone, and he was free. Free, he thought. Free.

  So then, are you a bad man, John Haggard? How could you be otherwise, as your name is Haggard, as you are a slave owner? Oh, do not condemn John Haggard. Chief Justice Mansfield's own words. He was but bom to a place in life and has lived that place to its hilt. By God, they'd not seen how he'd live that place. Not yet.

  He got up, walked to the study window, watched them trailing down the drive. Emma walked at the back; John Essex carried her box; the children's had been left in the front hall. Would she really walk away without seeing them? And did it matter?

  Their shoes left footprints in the snow. And he was free.

  MacGuinness coughed in the doorway. 'I've a list here, Mr. Haggard.'

  'I wish no list, MacGuinness. Just have the house stocked with staff.'

  'Yes, sir.' MacGuinness twisted his hat between his hands. 'About a valet, sir, it'll take time.'

  'Then take your time. I am returning to London tomorrow. Simpson is there.'

  'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard. Then there's a suitable cook . . . well, sir, Mistress MacGuinness was wondering if you'd care to sup wi' us this night.'

  'I'll not go out,' Haggard said. 'Surely you can find someone in the village, even if it's temporary.'

  'Oh, aye, Mr. Haggard.' Once again the twist of the hat. 'About the girl, Margaret Lacey. Do you wish her back?'

  Haggard frowned. He'd be sleeping alone this night. Margaret Lacey. But did he want her, having had her? She was the sort of woman who would soon wish to dominate. And did he want her at all? Emma was gone. The weight was gone. He was more free than he had ever been in his life, he realised. Free to marry whom he liked. How his heart pounded at the thought of it.

  And free, this night, to do what he liked. If he dared. But who would say him nay? He was John Haggard. A mean, vicious man. A slave owner. A very devil, as the London mob had called him.

  ‘I’ll think about it,' he said.

  'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard.' MacGuinness closed the door behind him. Haggard waited for five minutes, until he heard the gentle clop of the hooves on the drive, then he got up and opened the door, remembered that Suffolk would not be there. He pulled the bell rope, and after a few minutes one of the downstairs maids came scurrying up.

  'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard.' She panted, and was clearly terrified.

  'Fetch my hat and coat,' Haggard said. 'And tell Ned to saddle my horse. Not the one I rode from London.'

  'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard.' She scurried off again. A young girl, but plump and perspiring. As if it mattered, when compared with what he had in mind. If he dared.

  He went downstairs, and his outdoor clothes were waiting; the girl had reinforced herself with two others. No doubt they all knew how he had laid Margaret Lacey within twenty-four hours of arriving here. Or perhaps they were afraid he would throw them into the snow as well.

  He mounted, nodded to Ned, the head groom, who waited patiently if resentfully in the cold—he had been growing fond of Miss Dearborn. He walked his horse out of the drive and up the slope, slowly, nonchalantly, a squire going over to inspect his new hall.

  The workmen touched their hats, gazed at him surreptitiously as he rode on. The rumour of what had happened was spreading. He found Nash seated at a trestle table poring over his plans, a clerk at his side; the architect had taken a room at the inn to be near his greatest project.

  'Cold, Mr. Haggard,' he said. 'Damn near freezing.'

  ‘I’m here for a progress report,' Haggard said. 'Not a lecture.'

  'Aye, Mr. Haggard. You're not a man for lectures,' Nash agreed. 'Well, sir, the foundations are going in, as you see. But 'tis a long and difficult task. You'd have done better to wait until the summer.'

  'You'd do better to finish the job, Mr. Nash, and leave the worrying to me. When will you complete?'

  'Ah, well, we're talking about next autumn at the earliest.'

  'A year?' Haggard demanded. 'To build me a house?'

  ‘I wouldn't exactly call this a house, Mr. Haggard. And to get it right will take time.'

  Six more months, Haggard thought, as he turned his horse and rode away. But probably that was all to the good. Six months, of courting Alison Brand. Time enough. She'd be eighteen. There was a better age to be married. And I'll be nearly forty, he realised. But still young. Still virile. Still crying out for womanhood, as he did now.

  And perhaps, after six months, he'd have exorcised this demon in his belly. Perhaps he could do it now. If he dared.

  He turned into the cut between the hills, rode on to the mine. It was nearly dark now and the air was biting at his ears and nose.

  'Mr. Haggard, sir.' The foreman touched his forelock. 'Bitter weather.'

  'Aye,' Haggard said. 'But I'm told there's a summer in this country.' He was amazed at the evenness of his voice, while his throat was clogged and his heart was pounding. If he dared. 'When do they knock off?'

  'Aye, well, I was about to ring the bell, Mr. Haggard.'

  Then do so.' Haggard dismounted, stretched his legs, listened to the clanging. 'How far down do they go?'

  'A hundred foot and more, Mr. Haggard. But they hear the bell.'

  Haggard stood above the ladder, watched the first heads beginning to appear in the cold dusk. As usual, the men came first. They glanced at Haggard in surprise, one or two touched their foreheads, the rest put on their coats and made their grimy way back down the road to the village. And they had accused him of being a slave owner, Haggard thought bitterly. Was he not just as much a slave owner now? Only this was legal. He paid these people, just enough to live on, so they would have to continue working. And as he was here at all, they were as much his to do what he wished with as any black in Barbados.

  Saving only his own conscience. Well, he had had a conscience in Barbados too, and that had prevented him from ever giving way to any of his excessive moods. Until Emma. Then it had been Emma herself, keeping him in check. But now she too was gone, and he was a free man. So, the devil with his conscience. He was here for a purpose.

  The children clambered out of the pithead, bobbed their heads anxiously at the squire. Ten and eleven, he estimated their ages. In the main. But as he remembered from that first day, there were others. It was difficult to decide looks, the possibility of beauty, in the dusk and the dirt. He waited for them all to get out, the older ones bringing up the rear. 'You,' he said.

  They all stopped, and turned, insensibly huddling closer together. Haggard pointed. 'I mean you.'

  The girl looked behind her in confusion. She was one of the oldest of the children, going on her size. She was the one he especially remembered; he was sure of that. She had yellow hair, matted and coated with dust, and was somewhat taller than her companions. She had breasts, too, to which the dust clung entrancingly, and a pouting belly, and narrow thighs. It was impossible to decide whether or not there was pubic hair, because of the dust which coated her belly. But she had good legs, long for her body and sturdy. Coal dust dribbled down them as she shivered.

  'What is your name?' Haggard asked, heart pounding fit to burst.

  'Mary, your worship. Mary Prince.'

  'There's a pretty name,' he said, ‘I am short of a parlour maid at the Hall, Mary Prince. Would you like the job?'

  'I'd have to ask me mum, your worship.'

  'Would you like the job, Mary Prince?'

  'Oh, aye, your wors
hip. But I'll have . . .'

  'First let's see you know what you're at,' Haggard said, and indicated his horse. 'You can mount up behind me.'

  She gaped at him, mouth open, then she looked down at herself. 'I'm that dirty, your worship.'

  'Clean dirt,' he said. 'Ha ha.' God, how he wished he could snap his fingers and transport them both to the privacy of his bedchamber, away from the staring eyes, from the foreman's sly grin. But he'd not give up now. He was Haggard. Nothing he could ever do in the future would change that simple fact, for these people, for everyone in England. Not to behave like Haggard would do him no good, and leave him without any pleasure at all. Besides, this was something he wanted, as he had not wanted since seeing Emma for the first time. Everything he had done, almost everything he thought, he realised, since arriving in this misbegotten land, had been conditioned by this single overwhelming want.

  He swung himself into the saddle. 'Come along, Mary Prince.'

  She glanced at her companions once again, then at the foreman, who shrugged. She put on her threadbare cloak, and approached the animal. Haggard put down his arm for her.

  'I'll dirty your clothes, your worship.'

  'I have others,' Haggard said.

  Her fingers closed on his arm and he lifted her from the ground. He felt her hands on his back.

  'Hold me round the waist,' he said.

  Her arms went round his waist, and he looked down on her hands, clasped together in front of him. They were dirty hands, but well shaped. He looked to either side, saw a long coal dust stained leg dangling there. She was sitting astride, wearing nothing but a cloak.

  He kicked the horse forward, and they trotted down the road. Behind them the other children walked, still staring.

  'How old are you, Mary Prince?' Haggard asked.

  'I'm thirteen, your worship.'

  Younger even than Emma had been, Haggard thought. But they were already through the gap, arid there were candles burning in the Hall windows. Haggard rode up the drive, dismounted by swinging his right leg over the horse's head, held up his hands for the girl. She swung her leg over in turn, dropped on to him; he caught her under the armpits and set her on the ground. For a moment she leaned against him, then hastily stepped back.