But she never smiled, never shared a single thought. Apart from seeing to the household duties, from sitting at his table, she preferred her own company, either in her room or riding alone through the trees and over the hills.
'You're wet, Father,' she said.
'Aye, well, I've just had a lecture from Mary Prince. Some hot wine will take away the chill.' 'You must change.'
He glanced at her. Don't you want to see me die, he wondered? She at least did not seem to hate Johnnie. 'I have business to attend to.'
'After you've changed,' she said.
Haggard sighed, but he knew she would have to be humoured. He climbed the next flight of stairs, where Simpson was waiting. 'Mr. 'aggard, sir, you are hall wet.'
'If you say that again I shall break your neck,' Haggard remarked, and allowed himself to be stripped of his shirt and breeches, and wrapped in his undressing robe. Then it was the warmth of his study, where a fire blazed, and where Nugent had placed the jug of steaming wine. And where, to his surprise, Alice was waiting for him.
'You'll sit down,'
'I prefer to stand, Father.'
Haggard sighed, drank some wine. There was no point in offering her any, because she did not drink alcohol. 'You are not my servant, you know. You should understand that.'
'Yes, Father.'
'Well?'
‘I have had a letter from John.’
'Have you now. The young devil. I haven't. When is he coming home?' 'He isn't.' 'Eh?'
'He's away to some place in Nottinghamshire . . . Newstead, it's called, with some of his varsity friends.'
'Newstead,' Haggard said. 'Byron. There's a minority.'
'Not any more,' Alice said. The Lord Byron has just become of age, and is leaving Cambridge to take his tour. But before he does he wishes to entertain some of his friends at the Abbey . . .'
The Abbey?'
'Newstead was an Abbey once, before the Reformation. It's still known by that name. Well, that is where John is going for Easter.'
'Aye, well, I doubt we'd be able to provide equal entertainment here,' Haggard said. 'Lord Byron, is it? I'll wager young Johnnie knows more of the aristocracy than I do, already.'
'Father, I think you should write to John and tell him to come here for the vacation instead.'
'Why?'
Alice flushed, ‘I have heard of this Byron person. And his other friends.' She consulted the letter. 'Skinner Matthews, and someone called Hobhouse. They are utter rakes.'
'How do you know?'
'I have heard,' Alice said primly.
'Stuff and nonsense. They are young men with oats to sow. Nothing worse than that. It will do Johnnie good.' They are also Whigs,' Alice said.
'Every man under the age of twenty-five is a Whig. Well, almost,' he added, thinking of young Canning, who had apparently been born a Tory; he had recently earned himself some unwanted notoriety by fighting a duel with Foreign Secretary Castlereagh, over the prosecution of the war. They grow out of it. It will do him good. Ah, Cummings. Where is MacGuinness?'
'Here, sir,' said the bailiff, appearing behind the agent.
'You'll excuse us, Alice,' Haggard said. 'Sit down, gentlemen. Sit down. Have some wine. I'm sorry to have awakened you, George, but I've solved our problem.'
'Problem, Mr. Haggard?' Cummings sat down, filled glasses for himself and MacGuinness. Alice withdrew to the doorway.
'How to replace this loss we are suffering in sugar,' Haggard explained, it came to me like a flash of lightning. Gentlemen, I am bound to say that I think cane has seen its day.'
'Mr. Haggard?' MacGuinness was frowning.
'A great day it has been. And I may be wrong. It may pick up again. But now the Slave Trade has been abolished, and with Wilberforce promoting his Abolition plank for all he is worth, I doubt the fight can be maintained a great deal longer.'
'You'll abandon Haggard's Penn?' Cummings scratched his head.
‘I will not abandon Haggard's Penn. As I have just said, I hope I may be wrong, and things there will improve. Abandon Haggard's Penn? That is my family birthright, Mr. Cummings. I'd as soon abandon the name. But we must expand, in another direction.' He paused, looked at their faces, even smiled at Alice, who had remained standing in the doorway—well, she would, as it was her future as much as Johnnie's he was discussing—took a sip of wine. 'Cotton.'
'Sir?' MacGuinness was looking even more confused.
'Hargreaves' machines,' Haggard said. 'Fool that I was, I did not take it up when it was suggested to me, damn near twenty years ago. But by God I'll take it up now. We’ll build a factory.'
They goggled at him.
‘I shall build a factory,' Haggard said, slowly, and patiently, into which I shall put the spinning machines . . . what are they called?'
'Jennies,' Alice said, from the doorway.
That is it. I shall fill the factory with spinning jennies. There is sufficient spare labour going begging in this valley and the valleys around us. We shall turn raw cotton into cloth.'
'Begging your pardon, Mr. Haggard,' MacGuinness said. That is already being done, in Derleth, and the neighbouring valleys. Tis the main support of the people. The women work at it, while the men farm, or go down the mine.'
'I know that,' Haggard said. 'But they will produce much more cotton working in a factory, on machines, than in their own parlour on hand looms.' He gazed at their bewildered faces. 'Don't you see? It will mean that the profit comes to us, instead of being dissipated amongst a hundred separate homes.'
'It's been done,' Cummings said, half to himself. 'Oh, aye, it's been done.'
'Nottingham,' MacGuinness said. There were riots, mind.' 'Riots?' Haggard demanded.
'Aye, well, sir, the people didn't like the idea,' MacGuinness explained.
The people, well, they don't like newfangled things,' Cummings explained.
They don't like having their livelihood taken away from them,' Alice Haggard said, coming back into the room.
'Now don't you start talking nonsense,' Haggard said. 'I shan't be taking anyone's livelihood away from them. I shall be giving them increased security. Guaranteed work, in my factory. Guaranteed wages, in my factory.'
'At a fraction of what they are now earning.'
'Rubbish.'
'But that doesn't matter,' Alice cried, placing her hands on his desk. 'Don't you understand? You would be taking away their independence. You'd be turning them into slaves, wage slaves. You'd change the entire character of the valley. You can't do that.'
'Can't?' Haggard demanded, feeling the anger suddenly starting to bristle. The girl was nothing more than a reincarnation of Emma, sent to plague him.
'You'll make them hate you,' Alice said. 'For Heaven's sake, Papa, for everything wrong you've done, you've done your best by this valley. I've watched you, earning the respect of these people. There cannot be a better landlord in all England. It's the one good thing you've done all your life. You can't destroy that now. You can't.'
Haggard gazed from MacGuinness to Cummings. The two men were scarlet with embarrassment.
The one good thing I've done,' Haggard said, speaking very slowly. 'By Christ. You'll leave this room, miss. Get to your own room and stay there. Be thankful you don't feel the weight of my belt.'
Alice slowly straightened. 'You are evil, after all,' she said.
'Evil. And you can whip me if you wish. You are evil.' She turned and walked from the room.
Cummings shifted his feet, noisily. 'Young women, Mr. Haggard, well, you can never tell how they're going to behave.'
‘I can tell how my daughter is going to behave, by God,' Haggard said. 'She is going to oppose everything I think is best for the family, for the valley. By God I am cursed at that. She's my curse. But I've survived her this long. I'll not let her upset me now. We’ll need a site.'
'We’ll need an architect,' MacGuinness said.
'For a factory?' Haggard cried. 'For God's sake, man, four walls and a roof.'
&
nbsp; 'You'll be employing women as well as men, Mr. Haggard,' MacGuinness said. 'Now there's a difficulty.'
'What difficulty? I employ women as well as men down the mine. I have employed men and women in Barbados. Four walls and a roof. Only the site matters. It should be near running water; that will be our power source. And I don't want to have to look at it all day. Over the hill is best. Close to the mine. Aye, we'll keep all the industry in the valley in one place.' He pointed. 'I'll leave that with you, MacGuinness. But I want it started right away. I want to be in production by the autumn. You'll also settle the rates of pay and secure the labour.'
MacGuinness gazed at the floor. 'You'll not get it here, Mr. Haggard. The lass may well be right. They're independent-minded people in Derleth, who like to earn their own money.'
'Nonsense. Labour goes where the money is. The wholesale buyers aren't going to deal with a lot of cottage industries when they can obtain their goods in bulk from us.' Haggard leaned back in his chair, pointed at MacGuinness. ‘I want work to start on the factory, now.'
There you are.' The sixth Lord Byron leaned from the window of the coach, pointed at the buildings before them. 'Newstead Abbey.'
The other young men stared from both sides of the coach. ' Tis awful decrepit,' remarked Wedderbum Webster.
The Abbey,' Byron agreed. The house is not too bad. You'll see it in a moment. It's built away from the ruin.'
'But where are the trees?' Skinner Matthews inquired. For the road down which they were travelling was lined on either side with only stumps, and indeed there was hardly a tree to be seen in the entire park.
'Ah, well, my great uncle, may the devil bless the poor old sod, cut them down to settle his debts,' Byron commented with a brief laugh.
'And left you with naught with which to meet yours,' Cam Hobhouse shouted.
Byron nodded, a frown flitting over his face. ' Tis a problem, to be sure. Wake up there, Johnnie lad. What do you think of it all?'
John Haggard scratched his head. He had not been asleep, but he supposed he was dreaming. To have been befriended by these men at all, because they were men, every one at least twenty, while he was a freshman of seventeen, had left his head in a whirl. The invitation to spend a week's holiday with them had been like a summons to ascend Olympus. Apart from having completed their university careers, while he was but beginning his, they were so sophisticated and so talented. Webster was a bit of a bore, but no one could doubt that he was a man of the world, if only a tenth of his stories were true; Francis Hodgson, the sixth member of the party, was quiet and withdrawn, but obviously very learned; Skinner Matthews was all fire and wit and bubbling energy; Cam Hobhouse was much more serious, but had considerable ability as a writer, it was said; and then, their host himself. John Haggard was still unsure what to make of him. Remarkably handsome, to be sure, in a raffish fashion, as far as face went, with a somewhat heavy body rendered the more clumsy by his permanent limp —but his right leg was something to be discussed without driving his lordship into one of his frequent moods of violent bad temper. Remarkably talented, too, it was claimed, but at writing poetry rather than prose, and John was no judge of that. And remarkably wicked? John had no idea. This was the first time he had been admitted to intimacy with any of the group; all the rest was hearsay. But Byron had a peculiar way of looking at people, and particularly himself, John realised, which seemed to shroud them in the aura of his personality. 'You must come to Newstead,' he had said, it will only be for a week, because at the end of that time Hobhouse and I are off on our travels. Turkey and the east, there is our destination. Why, my dear Haggard, we may never return. You must come to Newstead.'
‘I am sure I will be boring,' John Haggard had protested.
'You, my dear Haggard, could never be boring. Because you are rich, or will be, and we are poor. Because you are gay, and we are sad. And because you are the most handsome little devil I have ever laid eyes on, and we are ugly.' And he had squeezed Haggard's hand in a peculiarly intimate way which had sent a thrill right through his system.
He had never thought of it before, but he supposed Byron was absolutely right. He was going to be immensely rich when he inherited. Everyone had heard of John Haggard Senior's millions. And almost everyone else at Cambridge was most terribly in debt. As to gaiety, he really did not think he was any happier than Matthews, for example—save that he was genuinely happy, completely contented with his lot and his future, while Matthews' gaiety had an air of desperation, as if he knew he was laughing in borrowed time. And he supposed he was handsome. He had often been told, and not only by his father, that his mother had been the most beautiful woman in England. He had inherited a great deal of those small, exquisitely carved features, just as he had inherited his father's height and cool blue eyes and lank black hair.
But had he really been invited to join five men at Newstead because of his looks?
‘I was but thinking what a splendid place this could be,' he confessed, it is larger than Derleth.'
'Aye, but not so prosperous, I'll wager,' Byron said. 'Still, perhaps it will look as prosperous one day. Now then lads, let's discover the secrets of my ancestral home.’
The carriage was stopping, and footmen were waiting to assist the young gentlemen. Also waiting were a bevy of housemaids, all young and remarkably pretty—'Chose them myself,' Byron boasted—and a large shaggy dog which assaulted its master with every evidence of affection.
'Mind how you go,' Byron advised.
John was last down, pausing to admire the Abbey itself, the roofless main hall of which stretched away from the side of the house before dwindling into tumbled cells and cloisters. Now he followed Matthews through the great doorway, to hear his friend give a startled exclamation. 'For God's sake. Rescue. Rescue.'
John ran forward, checked at the sight of the large brown bear, controlled to a certain extent by the chain around his waist, but into whose clutches Matthews had inadvertently strayed, and who now appeared to be attempting to kiss the young man.
'Byron,' John shouted. 'Help us.'
Byron limped into the hall, caught the bear a resounding thwack across the nose, at which the animal reluctandy released its victim and turned its attention to its master. But Byron was too quick for it, retreating out of reach with another pat, this time less violent.
'Tis only Bruin,' he explained. 'Why, down to last year I had him at Cambridge with me.'
'At Cambridge?' Webster shouted. 'What did the Fellows say?'
Byron winked. 'What could they say? I wished to take one of my dogs, and was forbidden. The rule was there, and I was helpless. But the rule specified dogs. So when I went out and bought myself Bruin, they were helpless. Why, I even put him up for a degree, as he spent several terms in residence. But they've no humour. Now come along lads, the girls will show you to your rooms, but no dalliance.' He laid his finger on his nose. That comes later. Tomorrow we will start to dig.'
To dig?' Hobhouse inquired.
'Why else are we here? Think of it, man. This place was an Abbey, back in the sixteenth century. Before it was ever given to my ancestors. Now do you not suppose, when the monks heard the tramp of armoured feet approaching. Great Harry's minions, no less, come to strip them of their wealth, that they went out and buried it? I swear this place is standing on top of a gold mine, can we but find it. And you'll not deny I need to discover a gold mine more than most? Tomorrow we dig.'
His enthusiasm, his tireless energy, flowed over them like cool water. And the house was comfortable enough. John tried the bed, bounced on it while the maid stood just inside the doorway and watched him. 'Will that be all, sir?' she inquired hopefully.
He must act the part for which he had obviously been invited. 'For the moment,' he said. She gave a little simper and withdrew. What would she say, he wondered, what will she say, when she discovers I am quite virginal? And was suddenly nervous. He had ever been too concerned with games, with cricket and football and swimming, to bother himself too much a
bout women, and during his first weeks at Cambridge he had resisted the temptation which had been thrown in his way by his elders. But he was about to become a man, here at Newstead.
He sat up as the door opened. 'Well, Johnnie, lad.' Byron limped into the room, closed the door behind him. 'Comfortable?'
'Indeed I am.'
Byron sat on the bed beside him. ' Tis the second best room in the house.'
'Oh, but . . . what of Cam?'
‘Is further away. I have had you put next to me. After all, you are my protege are you not?' Once again the long, serious stare.
'Well, I . . .' John felt his cheeks burning, ‘I wish I knew why.'
'Have I not told you?' 'Nothing I could believe.'
'You are too modest. But there is more. I remember you from Harrow.'
'Do you? You were in the Sixth.'
'And even then had a reputation for misanthropy, I'll be bound. But I do remember you. 1 remember your first night, when we made you get up to those antics.'
‘I hated you all,' John confessed.
'And I thought, there is the prettiest lad I have ever seen. I was all of mind to pull your cocker for you.' He paused, staring at his friend. 'Would you have hated me the more for that?'
‘I would have blacked your eye for you.' John flushed. 'Or at least tried.'
'Spoken like a man,' Byron said, and got up to wander the room, in his slow and embarrassing fashion. 'And then, after I had left, I could not but hear how you were prospering, captain of cricket . . .'
'You played for the school.'
'Ha ha. But once, in that game we had with Eton.' 'And top scored, as I remember.'
Haggard Page 30