Johnnie Haggard slowly pushed himself to his feet. 'Bum Father's mill? We'd be hanged. You heard him at supper.'
'Oh come now. He may be an old monster. He'd hardly hang his own son. Anyway, how could he possibly know it was you? Another case of Luddism.'
‘I'd need help,' Johnnie said.
'You'll not lack for that, surely. What about these Bold people?' They hate me.'
They hate you because of what happened to the girl. But if you were now prepared to avenge her . . . you told me they were spinners themselves. They have a grudge on that score as well.'
'He'd cut me off without a penny.'
'Only if he catches you, Johnnie. Who's going to even suppose it could be you? It could be Luddites from anywhere.'
Johnnie Haggard sat on the bed, chewing his lip. ‘I suppose it could be done.'
‘It could and it shall. Listen. Strike while the iron is hot. You want to get over to Plowding first thing tomorrow morning, see these Bold fellows, and tell them what you plan. I'll wager they'll follow you.'
'You'll come with us as well?'
Byron smiled at him. 'I'd be no help to you, Johnnie boy. What, with my game leg? But I'll be here to make sure you have an alibi. It'll be as simple as falling off a horse.' He threw his arm around Johnnie's shoulder. 'It'll be great sport. And it'll make you a man again. And your father will never know, there's the beauty. He'll think it was a judgement from Heaven. Damn, we'll tell him it was. Oh, it will be sport.'
CHAPTER 5
THE MAGISTRATE
A twig snapped, and Johnnie Haggard shuddered. What dreadful memories that sound brought back to him, memories which had in any event been clouding his brain throughout this journey. But he made himself remain still in the saddle, although it was difficult not to shiver in the early morning chill. His horse pricked up his ears inquiringly.
'By all that's holy,' Harry Bold said.
'Maybe he's coming after Meg again,' Tim remarked.
'Aye, like a dog after bitch's scent,' Harry growled.
They carried cudgels as well as their fowling pieces, were spaced as usual, one to either side of the nervous horse.
'Weil not let him go, Pa?'
'Not 'til he's felt the weight of my stick,' Harry said. 'You'll get down, Mr. Haggard. And don't suppose we'd not drop you.'
Johnnie dismounted. Sweat was pouring from his shoulders. But he kept his teeth gritted so that the men would not see his chin tremble.
'Weil treat you better than what you let happen to Meg,' Tim said. 'You may use your fists. Against me. You let me. Pa. I'll tan his hide for him.'
'You can have first go,' Harry agreed.
Johnnie licked his lips. 'Please,' he said. 'I came here to see you. To speak with you.' To his relief his voice did not shake. 'Oh, aye?'
'What brought you, then?' Tim demanded, it's about Meg.' 'Oh, aye?'
Once again his throat and lips were dry. He licked, and swallowed, ‘I know who attacked her.' They gazed at him.
‘It's true,' he said desperately. 'Alice found out. She . . . she and I have been hunting for them these past two years, and we've finally found out.'
'Who are they, then?'
'They're not important,' Johnnie said, it's the man who paid them to attack Meg. To attack me. It's him you want.'
That makes sense. And your sister has found this out as well, has she?'
'Yes.'
'Well?'
‘It's . . . it's Father.'
Once again Bold exchanged glances with his son. His fingers tightened on the stock of his gun. if I really thought that . . .' it's true.'
Harry Bold's brows drew together. 'Haggard? Don't give me that. You're his son."
'But he knew I was courting Meg. He wanted to end it.'
'You could have been killed.'
‘I could have. But they didn't harm me.'
Bold looked at his son. Tim shrugged. 'Could be.'
'Proof,' Bold said. 'Where's your proof?'
'Would I accuse my own father if I didn't know for sure?'
'Who were the men did it?'
'Well, Peter Wring, and the gamekeepers.'
'Wring,' Harry Bold growled.
'But you don't want them,' Johnnie insisted. 'It's Father you want.'
'Your own Pa?' Tim inquired. 'You want us to kill your own Pa?'
'Kill him? I said nothing about killing him.'
'Oh, aye,' Bold remarked. 'You'd not have him killed. What do we do, write him a letter of protest? Take Squire Haggard before Magistrate? He is Magistrate, boy.'
'Listen.' Johnnie found himself panting. 'Don't you think I thought of killing him, too, when I first found out? Don't you think I hate him as much as you do? I know now that Alice was always right, that he is a horrible man. I want to hurt him. I want to avenge Meg as much as you do. But killing him isn't the answer. For one thing, you'd . . . we'd be caught. We'd be hanged. What kind of revenge would that be? Don't you see? We must do something which can't be traced back to us. We must smash his frames.'
'Smash frames?'
'And burn the mill, as well.’ Bold frowned at him. 'Bum mill?' That'll hit him where it most hurts.'
'And you don't suppose arson is a hanging offence? So is frame breaking, nowadays.'
'But he'll never suspect us,' Johnnie said urgently. 'It'll just be a case of frame breaking spreading to Derleth. He's sure it could never happen here. It'll really upset him when it does.’
'Burn mill,' Tim said, half to himself.
There's watchmen,' Harry Bold said.
'One man. And I'll tell you something else; the watchmen for the mill are Father's gamekeepers. So we'd be getting our own back on them as well.'
Harry Bold pulled his beard. 'You'll be riding with us, Mr. Haggard?'
'Of course I will. I'll set the torch with my own hands. But there must be no guns. No bloodshed.' 'Oh, aye?'
'Sticks. No one must ever suspect it wasn't just a case of frame breaking.'
Harry Bold hesitated, then nodded. 'All right, Mr. Haggard. We'll do it next time Peter Wring is watchman.'
'I said there's to be no killing,' Johnnie insisted.
'Who said anything about killing?' Harry demanded. 'But you'll not stop me blacking his eye. You find out when he'll be there, and tell us.'
Johnnie chewed his lip in indecision. But having taken them into his confidence, he had to trust them. 'All right.' 'Where'll we meet?'
'In the woods beyond mill. At one in the morning.' 'We’ll be there. Mr. Haggard. Just name the day.' ‘I’ll let you know.' Johnnie Haggard mounted his horse, rode into the trees.
There's a turn up,' Tim commented.
'Aye. Little bastard. 1 don't know what he's at, Tim, boy, but we're going to damn well make sure we gets what we want, eh? You leave it to me.’
Roger Haggard sat his horse in the trees, used his telescope to watch the turnpike and the wood beyond, and the little cottage. Carrying out a military reconnaissance, he thought. Captain Haggard, on duty. His heart pounded more painfully than at any time in Spain.
And his arm was free of the sling, today for the first time. He could move the fingers; the severed tendons must be on their way to mending. It really was a quite miraculous cure, but it carried with it the concomitant that he must soon return to the Army. Only a week ago he would have been happy to do so. Time enough to come home to Derleth for good when the war was over, when he had had a little more time to acclimatise himself to the prospect of spending the rest of his life here, of being squire. For the moment he felt like a fish out of water. His mind told him that everything Father did was right, that only by creating wealth and more wealth could England remain as strong as she needed to be; and he knew wealth could in the main only be created by wealth. But his heart told him there was something wrong with the way Father was doing it. There had always been something wrong. It was surely wrong to extract the wealth of sugar from the sweat of slaves, just as it was surely wrong to extract the wealth of cot
ton and the wealth of coal from the labours of people prevented from ever enjoying noonday sunlight, from playing cricket when the weather was fine, from enjoying life in proportion to the work they put into living. And the two were irreconcilable. Therefore it would be best to go away again and return when he had decided irrevocably on which side of the fence he wished to take up his position.
As if there could ever be any doubt on which side of the fence Roger Haggard would have to take up his stance.
But that had been last week. Now he wished to stay here forever. Now the thought of returning to the horror that was Spain lay across his happiness like a leaden bar.
His happiness. He had not supposed ever to use such a word again. But he was happy. He could laugh, and he could sing. And he could sit his horse here, for nearly an hour, waiting and watching, feeling the slow growth of pleasure as he watched her come out of the back door of the cottage, her chores completed, and walk, with apparent casualness, across the little vegetable garden, before stepping into the wood.
He touched his horse with his heels, and it obediently moved forward. No drumming of hooves to alarm Emma. He had been prepared to do that, had Meg decided against coming. But she was there.
Meg Bold. A small, red-headed elf, whom life and his own brother had treated abominably. How could he hope to put that right? And why, indeed, after his fine words, had he not forced Johnnie to accompany him to kneel before the girl and humbly beg her pardon. He had not really wanted to do that, had been relieved to learn that Johnnie had already left the Hall this morning, saddled up and gone no man knew where. He had leapt to horse himself, supposing that the young scoundrel might have anticipated matters and ridden over to Plowding. But he had not possessed even that much courage.
He was a strange lad. Certainly quite lacking in spunk. He would sit at dinner, thinking to himself, for the most part ignoring everything that was said around him. Roger doubted they could ever be friends. Certainly not after last night's quarrel.
He had entered the same stand of trees as Margaret. Now he drew rein, and waited. She was the country girl. She would find him, when she was ready. If she wished. A fine sweat gathered on his brow.
'Good morning, Captain Haggard.'
He dismounted, released the reins. Cavalier was too well trained a mount to wander far.
Meg came through the trees, pushing auburn hair from her forehead with her right hand, threadbare blue skirt held from the ground with her left. Her feet were bare, the toes dusty. He had a sudden agonised thought that no doubt she went barefoot in the rain and the snow as well. But they were beautiful feet.
Thank you for coming,' he said.
'It is a long ride, from Derleth,' she said seriously.
'A worthwhile one.' She was close enough for him to take her hand. She looked down at it, curiously, lying in his, but made no effort to withdraw it.
'You've news of Alice?'
'She will be well.'
‘I can't stay long,' she said. 'Ma will miss me.' 'You'd not make me ride twelve miles, just to turn round and go back again?'
She made no reply, and very gently he rested a hand on each shoulder.
'Johnnie hasn't been here? Has he?'
'Johnnie?' She stepped backwards so suddenly and so violently he had no time to release her; his hands scraped across the bodice of her gown, and she gave a little shiver. But she did not move away, and his hands once again settled on her shoulders.
'He came home yesterday,' Roger explained. 'And went out again early this morning.'
Her cheeks were pink. 'He'd not come here, Captain Haggard. Pa would kill him.'
'And what would you do in his defence?'
Her eyes flickered. 'I don't want him to come here, Captain.'
Still she had not moved, and Haggard's hands were on fire. He must either step away himself, or he must bring her into his arms. Her face was only inches away; he could feel her breath.
'What do you want, Meg?'
Her eyes came up, great blue-green pools.
'Suppose . . . suppose I were a wizard, Meg,' Roger said, 'and could grant you any three wishes. Now, there is something to think about.' He attempted a smile, but the girl's face was entirely serious. Her lower lip sucked in beneath her teeth for a moment. Tell me,' he said.
‘I . . . I'd have to think,' she said.
'Has Emma never told you about the good things in life?'
Meg shrugged; her shoulders rose and fell in his hands. 'What's good, Captain Haggard? Mama says she's happier now than she ever was at Hall.'
He had made a mistake. He was losing her. She could envisage none of the things he would have chosen, or any lady would have chosen. She was afraid of them. Therefore she would be afraid of him.
But he could not contemplate losing her. It was time to launch all his reserves, in a do or die effort.
'Well then . . . suppose I could put back the clock, Meg? Suppose I could make those men disappear from your life, make you as you were before that night.' Oh, stupid Roger Haggard. He was truly grasping at straws. And he had lost. He watched her face close. Because suppose she said yes? Of course she would say, oh can you? And what would he say then? Then you'd be back with Johnnie,' he said, in another attempt at humour.
Her eyes gloomed at him. 'He'd still be a coward, Captain Haggard.'
Haggard found his jaw slipping, and hastily closed his mouth. But was she not absolutely right? 'But you . . .'
She stepped backwards, and his hands fell to his side. She turned away from him again.
'Do you hate those men, very much?'
He could hear her inhaling, ‘I would like to see them hang,' she said, her voice quite different to anything he had heard before, ‘I would like to stand beneath them, and watch them kick their last,' she said, ‘I would like to drag on their feet.' She fell to her knees, keeping her back to him. 'And I'd like to . . .' Her voice died.
Haggard knelt beside her. That's one dream I will make come true,' he said, ‘I promise you that, Meg.'
Her head turned, and she looked at him. Roger felt the pounding in his heart increase.
'But you'd not change what happened.' he said.
Still the sidelong glance, ‘I want everything Ma had,' she said. 'I want it for me, and I want it for Ma. But I don't want it ever to end. I know Johnnie could never give me all those things. He asked me to marry him, Captain Haggard. And I said yes. Even if I knew it would never be. But he ... he didn't want to touch me. And I didn't know if I wanted him to. Now . . .' Again the little shrug. 'Now I can't marry anyone, Captain. I've had five men inside me. There's no man would take me to his bed as his wife. But that's how it should be, Captain. Isn't that so? Because no man who would marry me could give me what I want. Would you give me what I want, Captain?'
Haggard took her shoulders again, and very gently brought her towards him, half expecting her to pull away. But she came, and her eyes stayed open, seeming to grow wider and wider. They had thought her no more stable than Alice. And all the while, for two years, she had been thinking and philosophising to herself, making up her mind what she wanted . . . and what she would have, if not from him, from some other man.
Did that thought disturb him? Her face was against his now. He could kiss her eyes and her forehead and her nose and each cheek, and only slowly allow himself the luxury of her mouth. His hands slid from her shoulders down to the small of her back and then sought the gentle curve of her buttocks. She shuddered against him and moved, freeing one leg; her knuckles brushed his stomach as she lifted her skirt.
Her mouth slid from his. 'Don't hurt me, Captain Haggard,' she said.
Very gently he eased her on to her back. But he wanted to look as well as to touch, himself lifted the skirt of the gown above her knees, slowly uncovered the smoothly muscled flesh of her thighs. She lifted her body to allow him to raise the gown higher; she wore nothing underneath. Meg Bold, a tinker's daughter. His for the taking, really. So why did he tremble, and find it difficult to
breathe? Why did he gently lower his head to kiss her pulsing groin, to move the dress higher with his head?
Her hands touched his cheeks, pressing him closer, and her knees came up, hugging him tighter yet. 'Love me, Captain Haggard,' she said. 'Oh, love me.'
He had to release her, kneel away from her, to take off his breeches. He thought, what an absurdity, for Roger Haggard to lie upon a bed of fallen leaves, to listen to the buzzing of the bees and the calls of the birds, when there were so many beds at his command. But this was what she wanted. This was what she must have wanted from the moment the men had left her alone —someone to do what they had done, and in the same place, only with love and with gentleness. He realised it probably did not matter who, save that he had to be a gentleman. But it did not even make him angry.
Her eyes were closed. He knelt between her legs; they parted readily enough at his touch. She breathed evenly, keeping herself under control. He understood that he was sharing the supreme moment of her life, and the most dangerous as well. If he hurt her, or even disgusted her, her life as a woman would be finished. She'd never risk this again. He kept himself back, breached her with only his tip, heard her moan and watched her head turn to and fro on the grass. Was she pretending? He knew nothing save whores, there was his trouble. And Alison had been the greatest whore of all. But Alison had not allowed him to enter.
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