Haggard

Haggard Page 23

by Christopher Nicole

  'Father.'

  Roger looked unnaturally solemn. Now, how long had he been there? Haggard rumpled his son's hair. 'You've been at the champagne, I'll wager. And why not, on this occasion?'

  'Father. Is it true that Emma has come back?'

  Haggard frowned at him. 'You've been eavesdropping. That's no occupation for a gentleman.'

  ‘I'm sorry, Father. I just couldn't help overhearing. You won't harm her, Father?'

  'Now don't you trouble yourself with Emma, Roger. You have a mother now. A proper mother.'

  'She's only two years older than I,' Roger protested.

  'All the better. You'll be friends as well. As for Emma, you want to forget her. It's I have to apologise to you, boy, for inflicting her upon you all these years. But there it is. A man does many stupid things.'

  'Inflicting her on me?' Roger cried. Then what of Alice and Charlie?'

  They're my children,' Haggard said. 'And I love them dearly. Not so dearly as you, maybe, but just the same . . . you'll not mention their mother to them. It would only make them unhappy.'

  Roger gazed at him for a moment. 'You're going to send her away, again.'

  'Of course I am. We don't want Emma lurking behind every bush in Derleth, now do we?' 'And suppose she won't go?'

  Haggard smiled, and slapped his son on the shoulder. 'She'll go, Roger. She'll go. I'm having MacGuinness see to that. There's naught for you to concern yourself with. Now come along and we'll have another glass.' He slapped him on the shoulder once more. 'She'll go.'

  At last. After four interminable hours of speechmaking and drinking and dancing, of coarse jokes and coarser allusions, the time was come. The bouquet had been thrown, expertly into the arms of Emily, and the bride had been removed up the stairs to her bedchamber. Convention demanded the groom should be elsewhere, and Haggard had been escorted along the upper gallery of the house proper to one of the guest bedrooms, where his clothes had been ripped off and a nightshirt dropped over his shoulders, to the accompaniment of a good deal more ribaldry, and now he had to run the gauntlet of the entire assembly of guests, through the ballroom, while his back was slapped and his nightcap was whisked away and people trod on his toes and shouted obscene remarks at him. But he cared for none of them. After an eternity of waiting, and wanting, all of that beauty was to be his.

  Hands assisted him up the stairs, many of them female, lubricated by the wine and the champagne and the sense of occasion, slapping and squeezing his thighs, seeking to do more and one certainly succeeding with a blow which had him gasping for pain. Then he was in the doorway, being greeted by the shrill cries of the ladies who had acted as maids, and gazing at Alison, sitting up in bed, a bed jacket over her nightgown to assist her modesty, her golden hair loose and resting on her shoulders, her cheeks pink, her mouth slightly open, with just a trace of equally pink tongue. All his.

  Words swirled around his head, but he heard none of them. He had himself had far too much to drink. But he could concentrate, on what was about to come into his possession. He laughed with the crowd, and endured the handshakings and the back slappings, and suddenly found Alice thrust into his arms.

  'You'll say good-night to your father, Alice.' Thus Mistress Wring.

  Haggard hugged the girl, kissed her on both cheeks, did the same for Charlie.

  'Where's Roger, then?' he demanded, his voice thick.

  'Roger?' They looked from left t6 right. 'Where's Roger Haggard?'

  'Slumped in a corner, no doubt, full of champagne,' Brand said. 'Weil find him, John. But it's bed for you.'

  'Aye,' Haggard said. 'When you've all left.'

  'We're to see the consummation,' someone said, very drunk.

  'You'll not.' Haggard bundled them towards the door.

  ' 'Tis the fashion,' a lady cried.

  'You'll not rob us of sport,' a voice complained.

  'Have your sport downstairs,' Haggard suggested. 'Consummate anything you like.' He pushed the last protesting body through the door, slammed it shut, turned the key, and leaned against it. 'Christ, what a rout.'

  'Was it not like this at your first wedding?' Alison asked.

  'Oh, aye. But I was younger then.' He frowned, ‘I'm sorry. I'd not meant to remind you of that.'

  'Of what?'

  He crossed the room, slowly. He supposed she could see the thrust of his penis almost coming through the linen nightshirt. 'Of the difference in our ages.'

  Alison smiled at him. 'I'd surely not wish to find myself in bed with any tyro.'

  She was his. He sat on the bed, took her in his arms. She came to him. slowly, and he kissed her on the mouth; while he did so he reached up and slipped the cap from her head, stroked the hair, held her close, felt the touch of her tongue entering his mouth, reluctantly released her as she slid away, frowned at her expression. For just a moment her face had been filled with distaste, even a suggestion of repulsion. But then she smiled, and was as lovely as ever.

  'Be gentle with me, Mr. Haggard,' she whispered.

  Roger Haggard lay in his bed and listened to the sounds of revelry coming from the ballroom. He would not have slept in any event, not only on account of the noise, but because he was still not used to his new bedroom, so much grander than the one at the old Hall. But tonight there was no chance of sleeping, anyway. Emma was here. She had not disappeared, as Father would have it. She was here, to watch her lover be married. Then she must love him still. Then everything Father had told him, and Alice and Charlie, must have been a lie.

  Because of Alison Brand. What hold could she have over Father, to make him do such a terrible thing? But he had done it, and now he was going to send Emma away again, without allowing her to see them, breaking up her wagon—why Emma should be travelling in a wagon was beyond his comprehension—perhaps even injuring her.

  He sat up, heart pounding. Father himself had always drummed into him, do what you know is right, without looking right or left, without hesitating. Obeying that simple precept had involved him in more fights than any other boy at Eton. But it had also earned him total respect far more quickly than any other new boy, as well. And Father would himself agree, whenever he escaped from Alison's power. Because it had to be some sort of power. There was simply no other explanation.

  He thrust his feet out of bed, dragged on his clothes, carried his shoes in his hand. He opened the door; there was no diminution in the music, the raised voices and the laughter coming from below him; the celebrations were not likely to end before dawn. He tiptoed along the corridor, went into Alice's room, drew the drapes and shook his sister by the shoulder. 'Ally. Wake up.'

  She grunted, rolled towards him, and opened her eyes to peer into the darkness. 'Who is it?'

  'Me, stupid. Listen. Get up, and get dressed.'

  Alice Haggard pushed hair from her eyes. 'Whatever for?'

  'I'll tell you later. Just do it. I'm going to wake Charlie. No noise, now. Wait for us here.'

  Charlie's room was immediately beyond. He got his brother out of bed, helped him dress, then they both returned to Alice; she was also dressed and waiting for them, sitting on the side of her bed and yawning, ‘I don't understand. I was fast asleep.'

  'Listen,' Roger said. 'Emma is in Derleth.'

  'Emma? Mama?' Alice's voice rose.

  'Ssssh. Yes. She was in the crowd at the wedding.'

  'But Father said . . .'

  'Never mind what Father said. She was there. But she's going to be sent away again, tonight. Would you like to see her?'

  'Mama,' Charlie said, and began to cry. 'Mama.'

  'Be quiet,' Roger insisted. 'Or I'll leave you behind. Come along now. Follow me. But be quiet.'

  He opened the bedroom door, stepped into the empty corridor, listened; all sound was submerged by the cacophony from the ballroom. And most of the servants would be there too. He turned to his right, away from the main part of the house, went along the back staircase, cautiously made his way down. Here there were candles burning in their ho
lders along the walls, and the smells of habitation; they were close to the pantries. But there was not a soul in sight. Down the next flight he went, to reach the ground floor. The side door stood wide, allowing the night air to drift in and send the candle flames guttering, throwing huge shadows against the wall and across the floor.

  'Ooooh.' Alice grabbed his hand. 'It's scary.'

  'Ssssh,' Roger commanded, and looked out of the door. To his left the blaze of light from the ballroom threw itself across the front garden and the carriage park, absolutely filled with equipages in neat rows. To his right the crowded stables, containing several times their usual number of inhabitants, were seething with restless movements. But the grooms and yard boys had been given the night off, and were all at the inn in the village; from down the hill there was more distant carousing. The only danger lay in crossing the yard immediately by the house, lit by the glow from the ballroom; the rest of the drive was in darkness.

  'Now when I say the word,' Roger said, 'run across the light. Quickly now.'

  They nodded, got their breathing under control, and heard Rufus growl. The mastiff came slowly round the corner of the house, no doubt seeking some relief from the noise. Now he stood facing the door, front legs spread, nostrils twitching as his teeth bared.

  it's me, silly.' Roger said, and the dog came forward, wagging his entire rear quarters, to have his head stroked. 'You'll come with us,' Roger decided: For to tell the truth he had been a little apprehensive of exploring Derleth Valley in the dark. 'But you mustn't bark. Promise?'

  Rufus licked his hand and panted.

  'Come along now,' Roger said. 'All together. Go.'

  The children dashed across the lighted area. Rufus gave a joyous yelp and ran behind them, barking excitedly; midnight games were something he had always wanted to enjoy. They tumbled into the darkness, hid behind the last of the berlins, crouched there panting. Rufus lay down beside them.

  'Oh Rufus,' Roger said.

  'They must have heard that din,' Alice pointed out.

  But amazingly no one came out to discover what was exciting the dog. Derleth Hall was not concerned with intruders this night.

  'Come on,' Roger said, and led them into the darkness, walking now so that Rufus would have no more excuses for barking. They made their way down the drive, reached the road leading to the village. 'A wagon,' Roger said. 'She's in a wagon.'

  'I saw a wagon parked in the meadow behind the church,' Alice said. 'When we were there this afternoon.'

  'That must be it. Weil cross the cemetery.'

  Now Rufus led the way, apparently knowing where they were going. The children huddled behind, casting nervous glances at the headstones, at the willows which loomed above the church. There was no moon, and the night was very dark.

  'It's scary.' Charlie kept saying.

  'We can't come to any harm with Rufus here,' Roger promised him. 'Rufus would never let anyone hurt us." But he was grateful to discover the end of the trees and the low wall which marked the limit of the church property. And there was a wagon, parked by the remains of a fire, its horse hobbled a little distance away, raising its head to give a nervous whinny as it scented the dog.

  'Who's there?' a man called.

  Roger inhaled, stepped away from the wall, Alice and Charlie at his hack. 'Roger Haggard.'

  'Haggard?' Now they could see the man, leaning over the tailgate of the wagon, just as they could make out the pots and pans and other goods dangling from the roof above him. 'Keep that dog away from my horse.'

  Roger snapped his fingers. 'Come here, Rufe. Come on, boy.'

  Rufus returned, tail wagging.

  'It's Haggard,' the man said over his shoulder, apparently in response to a query from inside, the wagon.

  'Haggard?' Emma's voice. A moment later she joined the man at the back of the wagon. 'Mr. Haggard?'

  'Roger,' Roger explained. 'With Charlie and Alice.'

  'Roger,' Emma cried, and leapt down the steps. She wore a nightgown and her hair was in plaits. 'Alice.' She seized the children, hugged them against her. 'Charlie.' She wept, quietly, holding them close. 'Oh, you darlings. But you shouldn't be out here in the middle of the night. Whatever will your father say?'

  'We had to see you, Mama,' Alice said. 'Father said you weren't ever coming back. He said you'd run away. Did you run away, Mama?'

  'Did you run away, Mama?' Charlie asked. 'Did you? Did you?'

  Emma chewed her lip, glanced at Roger.

  ‘I know you didn't run away, Emma,' he said, it was that girl Alison, wasn't it?'

  'Why ... 1 suppose it was,' Emma agreed. 'Although I didn't know it at the time. But to have you here . . .' Still hugging them, with Rufus trying desperately to lick her hands, she turned back to the wagon. 'My children, Harry. Would you believe it? They've come to see me. My children. This is Mr. Bold, Roger. Harry, this is Roger Haggard. And Charlie and Alice.'

  'Haggard,' Bold said in disgust. He was a short, heavy-set man with a thick black beard and moustache.

  'He's not like his father,' Emma said. 'And he's brought my children to see me. Come down and shake his hand.'

  Reluctantly Harry Bold came down the steps grasped Roger's hand.

  'I came to warn you, too,' Roger explained.

  'Warn me?'

  'Father saw you at the church this afternoon. At least, he saw you, Emma. He's given instructions for you to be thrown out of Derleth. For your wagon to be destroyed.'

  'He did, did he?' Bold said. 'We'll see about that. Who's going to do this piece of dirty work?'

  'Mr. MacGuinness, and some men from the village.'

  'When?'

  'It was to be done tonight. Why . . .' He turned his head. They could hear the sound of people approaching, stumbling and cursing over the uneven ground, voices high and interspersed with nervous giggles. The horse gave a neigh, and Rufus an angry growl.

  'They're drunk,' Emma said.

  'Aye, they would be.' Harry Bold chewed his lip. 'But there's an awful lot of them. Emma, you'd best into the woods. You be off, children, your pa won't want you to be discovered here.'

  'What are you going to do?' Roger asked.

  Bold sucked some of his beard into his mouth. 'I don't rightly know.'

  'Fight them,' Roger said.

  'Eh? One man, against a dozen.' Because the approaching men could be seen now, the burly figure of .MacGuinness at their head. 'I've not even a weapon, save a stick."

  'I'll help you,' Roger said.

  'A boy?'

  There's Rufus.' .

  Bold frowned at the dog. 'Will he obey you?' 'Rufus will do anything I say.'

  'You can't, Roger,' Emma said, it would be going against your father. And you'll likely be hurt.'

  'Those men are coming to hurt you, Emma.' Roger pointed out. 'They're going to break up your wagon. Father told them to. But I know he didn't really mean it.'

  'He did mean it,' Emma said, ‘I can't explain now, Roger. But don't suppose your father doesn't know his own mind. Now you take the children and hurry out of here, before . . .'

  There they are,' MacGuinness shouted, his voice thick. 'Awake, lads. Let's at them.'

  The men surged across the field.

  'Get them Rufe,' Roger shouted. 'Sickem, boy.'

  Rufus gave a long baying bark, and hurtled away from the wagon like a cannonball. MacGuinness saw him coming and jumped backwards, bumping into Peter Wring immediately behind him.

  'Sticks,' Roger shouted. 'You said you'd sticks, Mr. Bold.' That I have.' Harry Bold grasped a stout club and ran down the steps.

  'And for me,' Roger said.

  'Me, too,' Charlie bawled, jumping up and down.

  'You come in here," Emma commanded, seizing her son by the arm and dragging him into the wagon. 'And you, Alice.'

  Rufus had scattered the posse as if they had been toys. His snapping jaws could be heard even at a distance, and the one man who had attempted to stand his ground had gone down with the mastiffs teeth in his
calf. The rest were tumbled left and right, slowly getting to their feet as Harry Bold and Roger Haggard reached them.

  'Now you listen to me,' MacGuinness bellowed, getting up, to stare at Roger in total amazement. 'Master Roger. What in the name of God . . . '

  'Got you,' Roger shouted, and hit him across the head with all the considerable strength he could muster. MacGuinness went down without a sound.

  'And you,' Bold cried, swinging his club from side to side to fell two other men as they attempted to get up.

  'Help me,' screamed the man being savaged by Rufus. 'For God's sake help me.'

  'Let him go, Rufe,' Roger commanded. Try another one.'

  Rufus reluctantly unclamped his jaws and his victim staggered to his feet, gave a wailing cry, and fled back across the meadow, hopping on one foot. It was the signal for the end of the fight. The rest of the expulsion party ran behind him, such as could move. Roger Haggard and Harry Bold stood together, Rufus panting at their side, while Emma came up with a bucket of water, which she emptied over MacGuinness. The bailiff sat up, rubbed his head, and winced, slowly clambered to his feet.

  The squire will hear about this,' he said. 'By God he will.'

  'I'll tell him myself,' Roger promised.

  'He'll be very angry with you,' Emma said.

  'He won't. I know he won't. But maybe you'd better move on anyway, just in case.

  'Aye. The lad is talking sense,' Harry Bold said. 'We won't go far, Emma. But we'll be off Haggard's property.' He grasped Roger's hand, gave it a squeeze. 'Maybe one day we'll be welcome here, eh? It's been a pleasure, Mr. Haggard. A real pleasure. If you ever need a helping hand, be sure to call on Harry Bold.'

 

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