CHAPTER 7
THE STEPMOTHER
Haggard opened his eyes, was for a moment unsure of where he was. Golden hair, tickling his face, brought back memory. Not altogether pleasant memory. He had spent the night with the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, who was also his wife, had had all of those soft curves at his disposal and was yet left with a feeling of dissatisfaction.
Because she had so obviously not enjoyed herself, had been doing nothing more than her duty. But that must have been because it had been their first night together. She had at the least not been afraid of him. And now ... he leaned on his elbow to look down at her. Sleeping, her face was even more lovely than when she was awake; the slightly predatory glitter he had observed at their first meeting was absent.
Gently he blew on the long lashes, watched them flutter and half open, then close again.
'Wake up, sweetheart,' he said. 'We're on our honeymoon.'
'Let me sleep, Mr. Haggard. Please let me sleep.' She rolled over, her back to him.
Haggard sighed, and rang the bell. He continued to gaze at the serrated line of vertebrae marking the pale skin. Her back reminded him of . . . by Christ, he thought. Emma! By now MacGuinness would have carried out his orders. The wagon would have been broken up, and the tinkers driven from the valley. Emma! But she had been cursing him. Why else should she have come back?
But did it matter? He did not believe in curses, so how could she harm him? He had behaved stupidly, because he had been nervous about his wedding. He hoped she hadn't been harmed in any way. But he had still done the right thing. It would be quite impossible for him to enjoy life were she allowed to return to the alley whenever she chose, to stare at him from behind hedgerows, to attempt to reach her children, to utter curses.
There was a tap on the door, and he hastily covered Alison up, pulled on his robe. Simpson entered, followed by Mary Prince, bearing a tray.
'Good morning to you, Mr. 'aggard, sir,' Simpson said, ‘I 'ad no hidea you wished to rise early.'
'I wish to see Mr. MacGuinness,' Haggard said. 'Send someone out for him, and tell him to meet me in the office in an hour. Thank you, Mary.'
Mary Prince put the tray on the table, bobbed her knees in a curtsey, staring at Alison's indistinct form beneath the bedclothes, and withdrew. Simpson followed her.
'What can you have to do this early in the morning?' Alison demanded, suddenly sitting up.
'Tis a vast estate I have here.' Haggard handed her a cup of chocolate.
'And a vast bailiff you have to manage it for you,' she pointed out.
'Aye, well, there are certain things I must see to myself.' He drank his own chocolate, kissed her on the forehead, endeavouring to caress her breasts and watched her lie down again and roll herself into a cocoon, and went next door to his dressing room, where Simpson already had his clothes laid out. 'What does the ballroom look like?'
'Ah, well, Mr. 'aggard, there's been a ball, hall right. Oh, aye, there's been a ball.'
Haggard went downstairs. The maids and the footmen had already been marshalled by Pretty, and were moving slowly to and fro over the floor with huge mops, gathering scattered pieces of wedding cake, the remains of shattered champagne glasses, and even various articles of clothing which had been discarded by the guests. The whole place stank of stale alcohol and stale perfume. Haggard was glad to escape it, down the great staircase into the lower part of the house, where the doors and windows stood wide and the air was clean.
'Haggard.' Brand had been walking up and down the terrace.
'Good morning to you. Sleep well?'
"Eventually. And you?'
Haggard smiled at him. 'Not a wink. Did you expect me to?' 'Ha ha,' Brand said, and slapped him on the shoulder. There's a man for you.' But the smile did not reach his eyes. Td like to have a word.'
'Come into the office.' Haggard held the door for him, closed it behind them. 'You've something on your mind.' He seated himself behind the huge desk.
Brand sat opposite him. 'I'm a happy man, Haggard,' he very obviously lied. 'Alison married to the best chap I can think of, why, I've no reason to be unhappy.'
'But you are,' Haggard said.
'Aye, well, there's no justice in this world.' He chewed his lip, blew his nose.
'If I can help you, Brand, you have but to say.'
'God Almighty, man, 'tis not I need helping. No, no. Haggard . . . I'd not tell you before, in case it spoiled the wedding.' He raised his head, gazed at his son-in-law. 'You've been blackballed.'
'Eh?'
'At White's Club. By God, man. I was that upset. I've resigned myself.'
Haggard frowned at him. 'There was no need to go that far.'
'Ah, well, it's obligatory. Where one's candidate has failed, one is considered to have resigned."
Haggard brought his hands together, rested his chin on them. He could feel the anger swelling in his belly. Blackballed. 'Is there a reason?' he inquired, speaking very softly.
'Well, of course, the committee is under no necessity to give a reason. But . . .'
'But you know what it is. The Prince?'
'Aye, well . . .' Another honk on the nose, it's that business at Easter, throwing your black people into the snow. In the name of God, why did you do it?'
‘I had just been informed that they were no longer slaves of mine. As I had brought them from Barbados as slaves, I could see no reason to maintain them any longer. I prefer white servants in any event.'
'But Christ, man, the cold bloodedness of it. And then, one of them dying. Of exposure, you know.'
'I'm sorry to hear it,' Haggard said.
'But you'd not regard it as any business of yours?'
'No,' Haggard said. 'Not once they ceased to belong to me. You'd do better to quarrel with your laws than with me.'
‘I seek no quarrel with you. Haggard. I'm entirely on your side.
But there it is. Tis events in France, to my mind. The sight of all those stiffnecked ancien rigime people voluntarily handing over their rights and privileges, well, it has given many a reasonable man over here cause for thought. There's talk of a new bill being brought in to outlaw the Slave Trade. You'll have heard that?'
'I know of it,' Haggard said. 'And I'll be there to speak against it. On behalf of the Tory Party. I was promised that by Harry Addison. And by Pitt.'
'Oh, aye, we'll speak against it, and you'll lead. You may be sure of that. On economic grounds at the very least. But there it is. I'm sorry about the blackball.'
'So am I.' Haggard listened to the knock on the door, if you'll excuse me, Brand.'
'Of course, my dear fellow. Of course. I'll see you at dinner no doubt.'
'No doubt.' Haggard stared at MacGuinness, whose head was enveloped in a bandage. 'What the devil has happened?'
The bailiff waited while Brand, also giving him a curious look, left the room. Then he closed the door.
'Well?' Haggard demanded.
'Set upon, we were,' MacGuinness said.
Haggard frowned at him. 'By whom?'
'Well, sir . . .'
'You had men with you?'
'Oh, aye, sir. There were ten of us. But it was this dog . . . barely escaped with my life, I did, and again just now.' Haggard sat up. 'Rufus attacked you?'
'Indeed he did, sir. Encouraged by Master Roger. Master Charles and Miss Alice were there too, sir.'
'Let me understand this,' Haggard said. 'You and ten men went to evict that gypsy, and were set upon by my children?'
MacGuinness flushed. 'Well, sir, Bold helped them.'
'You were defeated by a ten-year-old boy?'
'Well, no, sir, Master Charlie and Miss Alice didn't take part in the fight. It was Bold and Master Roger, sir.'
'A man and a boy,' Haggard said.
'And the dog, sir. Why, there was no one going to fight that dog. Peter Henery has half his calf gone. Like to die, he is. And besides, sir, we didn't know what to do. How to set about it, sir. You'd not hav
e had us break Master Roger's head, now would you?'
'Roger,' Haggard said. Oh, it would have been Roger. Always taking Emma's side. More fond of her than he had been of the memory of his own mother. 'Where is the gypsy now?'
'Well, sir, he left anyway.'
'With Miss Dearborn?'
'I reckon so, sir. She's not to be found. I did hear he was seen over in Plowding.'
Which was the next village.
'Waiting to come back, no doubt," Haggard said. 'The moment my back is turned.' Oh, she had cursed him all right. Blackballed. And that fool Brand had not told him immediately. But all the guests would have known. Addison certainly. He got up. 'You'll shoot that dog, MacGuinness.'
'Yes, sir,' MacGuinness said gratefully.
Haggard opened the door, encountered Pretty. 'Where are the children?'
'I haven't seen them, Mr. Haggard. Still in bed, 1 shouldn't wonder.'
'After being out all night,' Haggard growled. His own children, adding to the long list of those who defied him and sought to bring him down. Oh, undoubtedly he was bewitched. Emma had done it, the first day she had entered his life, for all of his scoffing. And not content with him, she had bewitched his children and even his dog, turned them away from their duty as Haggards.
He climbed the stairs, passed some of the house guests, who greeted him and stopped to stare after him as he ignored them.
And leading the rout was Roger. The very last Haggard, until Alison should give birth. If he could be sure of that, he'd a good mind to cut the boy off. As it was, they'd all had far too easy a life. He'd been an indulgent father, there it was. Indeed, he thought, as he started on the second flight, leaving a trail of staring housemaids behind him, he'd not been sufficient of a father. The fault was his. He had left their upbringing to Emma, had not understood that once she left he would have to play a more positive part. But leaving them to Emma had been the mistake. Witchcraft apart, they had absorbed her ideas, and she had never lifted her hand to any of them, would not have dreamed of it. She had very nearly ruined his children.
He stamped along the corridor, threw open Alice's door. The girl was just sitting up, being served her breakfast by Hailing the new nursemaid.
'Father?' Her eyes were wide.
'Out of bed,' Haggard commanded. 'Get into Roger's room.' He went next door, to where Charlie was still asleep. 'Up,' Haggard shouted. 'Go into Roger's room.'
Charlie crawled out of bed, gazed at his father. Haggard grabbed his shoulder and half threw him into the coridor. Then he opened the door of Roger's room.
'Father?' The boy sat up.
'Get out of bed,' Haggard said. 'You . . .'He pointed at Alice and Charlie. 'Come in here.'
They filed into the room; Charlie's eyes were already filling with tears.
1 understand you went to see the tinker, last night,' Haggard said.
'Mama was there,' Alice said.
'I took them, sir,' Roger said. His head jerked at the sound of an explosion. 'Father?'
That is MacGuinness shooting Rufus,' Haggard said.
For a moment the children stared at him, then Roger ran at him, fist swinging. 'You'll not kill Rufus,' he shouted. 'You'll not.'
Haggard threw up his left arm to catch the blow, threw a right himself. His fist landed on Roger's chin and the boy fell backwards, hit the bed, and sat down heavily.
'You'll not kill Rufus,' Charlie shrieked, also running forward. 'You'll not.'
Haggard caught his wrists without difficulty, pushed him away.
'You didn't kill Rufus, Father? Not really?' Alice's eyes were also full of tears.
‘I’ll not have any animal savaging my people,' Haggard said. He unbuckled his belt, pulled it from round his waist, I’ll not have my children disobeying me. And I'll not have you seeing that whore again. Is that understood?'
They stared at him. Charlie was sobbing openly now. Alice's face was set; only a single tear rolled down her cheek. She looked so like her mother Haggard wanted to flee. But he had to make them understand that he was their father, that he was Haggard, that they must grow up to be like him. And he had to subdue Roger. The boy was slowly climbing to his feet, his chin already an angry red stain. He started to put up his hand to rub it, then made himself stop.
'You first, Charlie,' Haggard said. 'Bend over that bed.'
Charles Haggard glanced at his sister, seeking support. But there was none to be had. He walked to the bed.
'Nightshirt up,' Haggard commanded. The boy obeyed, leaning over the mattress. Haggard sent the belt whistling through the air, and Charlie screamed and hopped up and down. Haggard hit him again, the strap leaving an angry weal across the white flesh.
'Ow,' Charlie bawled. 'Owowowow.' He began to shake with fear and anger and pain. Haggard hit him twice more.
'Now stand over there,' he commanded. 'You're next. Alice.'
She gazed at him for a moment. He had never beaten Emma, hut he was about to beat her now. Because here was the same stain of auburn hair, the same eager features. The same slender body, the same long legs, as she hitched up her nightgown and leaned over the bed.
'Mr. Haggard? Whatever are you doing?'
Haggard's head turned in anger as the door opened, but it was Alison, wearing an undressing robe, frowning her disbelief.
‘I am disciplining my children, madam,' Haggard said. 'I'd be obliged if you'd not interfere.' He turned away from her, the belt already scything through the air. Alice had been starting to rise, supposing herself saved; the flailing leather caught her while she was off balance and threw her back on to the bed, a startled murmur escaping her lips. Haggard hit her again, watched the white flesh inflaming. Alice's fingers clawed at the bedclothes and her toes drummed on the floor as she pushed herself up.
'Keep still,' Haggard commanded. He struck her again, watched her head turn and her mouth sag open. From the corner of his eye he saw Alison putting her arms around the still weeping, still wriggling Charlie. The fourth blow brought a wail from Alice's lips, and for the next two she shrieked her agony, while tears stained the bedclothes.
'Get up,' Haggard said.
Slowly Alice pushed herself away from the bed, but she seemed unable to rise, remained on her hands and knees. Roger had to help her to her feet, and she leaned against him and wept, loudly and uncontrollably, her shoulders shuddering.
'Whatever have they done?' Alison inquired.
'They have been consorting with tinkers and gypsies,' Haggard said.
'We went to see Emma,' Roger said, face pale. 'Aye,' Haggard said. 'Now it's your turn.' Roger looked at Alison. 'I'll not scream. Father,' he said. 'But I would prefer us to be alone.'
'Get on with it,' Haggard growled. 'Alison is your mother, now.' Roger hesitated, then turned away, raised his nightshirt, leaned over the bed. Haggard's arm swung rhythmically, crashing the belt into the muscular buttocks, watching the flesh redden, watching the boy wince, watching him biting his lip, and watching too his penis harden with the first couple of blows before sagging again. He glanced at Alison from the corner of his eye. Her tongue was showing between her teeth and her nostrils were flaring.
He gave the boy twelve strokes of the belt, and was then exhausted. He threw the belt on the floor, if it happens again, it'll be double,' he said. 'Now you'll spend the rest of this day in your rooms, and there'll be no dinner.' He turned away from the boy, who still knelt, not looking at him.
'I hate you,' Charlie screamed, ‘I shall always hate you.'
Haggard turned back.
'You have done a hateful thing, Father.' Roger spoke evenly, as if he had not felt the blows. Haggard felt his anger, dissipated by the emotional exhaustion of the whipping, returning to seize his mind. If his discipline was not enough for them, then he'd discover a discipline which would suffice.
Then you'll have cause,' he snapped. 'Eton, by God. That is for the sons of gentlemen.' His hand stretched out, the forefinger pointing. 'You'll leave school now, and take a commission in th
e Army. I'll see to that. And you . . .' He pointed at Charlie. 'You're for the Navy. Weil see how you like that.'
'You can't,' Alice shrieked. 'Charlie is only ten.'
Time enough,' Haggard said. 'And you, miss, watch your tongue or I'll find somewhere for you as well. Are you coming, madam?'
Alison Haggard seemed to awaken from a trance. She released Charlie, went through the door Haggard was holding for her. Outside there were half a dozen maids and even some of the guests. They stared at Haggard as if they were seeing a ghost.
The coach is ready, Mr. Haggard.' Ned stood in the study doorway, hat in his hands.
Haggard nodded, went outside. Charlie was weeping as usual. Roger's face was firmly set. In the month since his flogging had his face ever been less than firmly set? Haggard did not know; his children had avoided him for that time. Behind the two boys Alice was also crying.
'You'll stop that,' Haggard commanded. 'You'll do well, Charlie. Just remember you're a Haggard. You'll tell the truth, and you'll turn your back on no man, and you'll do what's right. You understand me?'
Charlie's head started to come up, and then he gazed at the floor again. 'Yes, sir.'
'And stop that beastly weeping. You'll look after your brother as far as Portsmouth, Roger.'
'Yes, sir,' Roger said.
'Here's a guinea, no, here's two.' He felt in his pockets for the coins. 'One each. Spend it wisely. Now, have you said goodbye to your mother?'
Roger shook his head. 'No sir,'
'Why not?'
'We don't know where she is, Father.'
'Stuff and nonsense.' But the fault was Alison's, he knew. She seldom left her bedchamber before two of the afternoon, although she knew the boys were leaving this morning. 'You'll come along with me.'
He led them up the stairs again, Alice dutifully trailing behind. They had not forgiven him. They had not forgiven him. But today he was in a good humour, not disposed to be annoyed by his children, even prepared to see their point of view. He would have resented a beating like that. He had never had one. His father had been too kindly a man. Perhaps had he used his belt, John Haggard thought, I might have been less of a monster.
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