John Haggard drew a long breath. 'John Simpson Haggard,' he said. Amazingly, his eyes were dry. He was finished with weeping. He could look around the schoolroom, even try to identify some of the people. Roger was easy enough to spot; he had put on his uniform and was a blaze of crimson, his face equally red, his features strained. Byron was equally simple to see, leaning back, his face a picture of composed contempt as he surveyed the court; he had taken rooms at the inn. But behind them the faces were a blur; the hall was packed quite literally to the door.
'John Haggard,' MacGuinness said, 'you are accused that on the eighteenth of July last you did feloniously and unlawfully kill and murder one Peter Wring gamekeeper, and further that on the said date you did feloniously and unlawfully enter a mill the property of . . .' MacGuinness drew a long breath. 'Mr. John Haggard of Derleth Manor in the village of Derleth in the county of Derbyshire and therein did destroy stocking frames and other equipment to the value of two thousand pounds, and further that on the said date you did set fire to the said mill with a view to destroying it utterly. How plead you to these charges?'
'I plead guilty,' Johnnie said.
There was a violent buzz, and Sergeant McCloud banged his desk with his gavel.
'I will clear the court if I have to,' he remarked. 'Mr. Haggard, you will face the bench."
Johnnie faced them, stared at McCloud. He would not look at his father.
'You understand the gravity of these charges?' McCloud asked. 'Yes, sir.'
'You understand that the penalty is prescribed by law, that we have no room to make exceptions?' 'Yes, sir.'
'Well, then, do you persist in your plea?' 'Yes, sir.'
McCloud sighed, and glanced at Burton.
'Do you not suppose, Mr. Haggard, that it would be better for you to consult counsel before taking such an irrevocable decision?' Burton asked. 'I am sure the bench would agree to an adjournment.'
‘I have no need for counsel, sir,' Johnnie said.
'For God's sake, boy, 'tis your life we are discussing.'
'I have pleaded guilty to murder, sir.'
Burton stared at him for a moment, then threw up his hands and leaned back in his seat. McCloud glanced at Haggard, leaned towards him.
'Do you recommend transportation, or some such punishment, Mr. Haggard?' he said. 'Be sure we shall support you.1
'There is no possibility of transportation for any of the three offences the prisoner has committed.' Haggard did not whisper, and his voice was clearly audible. 'You have done your best to irregularise these proceedings as it is. Justice demands that the proceedings be completed now. I demand it.'
McCloud turned back to the court.
'Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say before I pass sentence?'
Johnnie Haggard's face was pale, but his lips were firmly pressed together. Just a trace of brightness showed at his eyes. ‘I have nothing to say, sir.'
McCloud looked right and left. Burton raised his eyebrows and then closed his eyes. Haggard stared at his son.
McCloud sighed. 'Prisoner at the bar, you have confessed to three grave and criminal offences, each one of which carries with it the death penalty. This court can do nothing more for you. You are therefore sentenced to be taken from here back to your cell, and from thence to a place of execution, and there you shall be hanged by the neck until you are dead.'
Once again the court surged into uproar. People were shouting from the back, 'Murderer,' at Haggard. Others were just shouting. Illing touched John Haggard on the arm. There's a room for you at the inn, Mr. John,' he said, 'if you don't mind my company for the night.'
'Weil have you out, Johnnie,' Byron said. They'll not hang Johnnie Haggard.'
'You'd best stay inside a while, Mr. Haggard,' MacGuinness muttered. 'The people are in an ugly mood.'
'I have faced mobs before, MacGuinness.' Haggard stood up, gazed at Roger, whose mingled anger and disbelief were easy to see. Haggard attempted to signal him with his eyes, but Roger turned away. Even Roger. He did not yet understand the responsibilities of being Squire of Derleth, of being Haggard.
He went down the aisle, and after a brief hesitation Burton and McCloud followed him.
Roger remained seated, staring after them. He did not believe he was truly awake. But what had he expected to happen? Once the case came to court it could have only one conclusion. Father was playing his savage game to the very end. He pushed himself up, found himself face to face with Byron.
'Well, Captain, your father has had his little joke,' Byron said. 'And in very poor taste it is too. How far will you permit it to go?'
'No farther, you may be sure of that,' Roger said.
'Aye, well, it will be a close run thing. Sentence has been passed. You're talking of a reprieve now.'
'I shall organise it.'
‘I wish you fortune. I am to Derby to obtain the Lieutenant's intercession, whether Johnnie wishes it or not.' 'On what grounds?'
Byron closed one eye. 'On an irregularity. Surely it is an irregularity for Haggard to try his own son?' 'Even if he did not ask for clemency?'
'An irregularity is an irregularity, Haggard. I'll make him listen if I have to keep him up all night.'
There's not time. There is only one man can save Johnnie now, and that is Father. And by God, I will see to it that he does. You'll excuse me, my lord.' He turned away, pushed his way through the crowd, stopped as a woman stepped in front of him, stared at Margaret Bold.
Emma stood behind her. Each woman wore a shawl thrown over her head and gathered under her chin, and would have been indistinguishable had they not removed them. But Meg, and Emma in Derleth? And after having run away.
He seized the girl's hands. 'Meg.' It was outrageous of him to be happy. But never had he been so happy. 'Oh, Meg.'
'We must speak with you, Roger.' Emma's voice was low.
'You shall. You shall. Come on.' He escorted them towards the door, and checked. From outside they could still hear the chanting of the crowd. He did not know what might be happening out there; he did not suppose it would greatly worry his father. But Meg, and Emma . . . 'We'd best wait awhile,' he said.
They are cursing the squire,' Emma said.
'Aye. Who'd have thought it, eh? After all these years.' He found them seats; the hall was rapidly emptying, and they were almost alone in the comer of the room. 'Oh, Meg, Meg . . .' Once again he took her hands. To run off . . .'
‘It was Pa's doing,' she said. 'Pa, and Tim. They made us go.'
'Because they were afraid?'
Meg glanced at Emma.
They were afraid, Roger. Did you know?'
He shrugged. 'I guessed.'
'But you did not ride after them?'
'I was more concerned with Johnnie.'
She nodded. That's why we're here. Johnnie didn't shoot Peter Wring. It was Harry.'
'Cold-blooded murder, Emma.' 'Execution, Roger. He raped Meg.'
'Now, Emma, you don't believe that? That was a concoction thrown up by Alice while she was confused by the bang on her head. Even she no longer believes it.'
'But it's true,' Emma insisted, her voice rising. She looked around herself, flushed. Tell him, Meg.'
'Well . . .' Meg licked her lips. 'After you left us that morning. Pa said we must get out of here. Ma and me didn't know what he was talking about, but he was that determined. We couldn't argue him, Captain. It weren't possible. He was like a madman. Tim, too. It was all haste, haste, haste.'
'We left that night,' Emma said. 'Stole away in the darkness like criminals. Well, I suppose we were. Abandoned everything.'
'I know,' Roger said, ‘I visited you the next day.'
'Did you?' Meg's eyes glowed. Then you would have forgiven me, Captain?'
'Forgiven you, I . . .'
'Finish what you have to say,' Emma insisted.
Meg licked her lips again. 'Well, next day we were into Leicestershire, and still hurrying. They wouldn't talk, Pa and Tim, but by now we knew so
mething dreadful had happened. And at last it came out. Weren't murder, Pa kept insisting. It was justice. Peter Wring deserved to die, and so did Toby Doon and George Illing and all of them.'
'But I told you . . .' Roger began.
'Listen to me,' Meg said, almost fiercely. Toby Doon. It was the first time I'd heard that name. And suddenly I knew that I'd heard it before. When Pa asked me if I could tell him about the men who . . . who attacked me, I couldn't think of a thing. I could only think of them holding me and holding me and holding me. But then I remembered they'd used his name. Someone had said, your turn, Toby Doon. And another had said, hold your trap, you silly bastard.'
Roger frowned at her. 'You'll have heard the name. Meg. In conversation, in . . .'
'How?' Emma demanded. 'Your father's gamekeepers don't come over Plowding way. They're not that popular.'
'Plowding people work in Father's factory,' Roger pointed out. They'd know Toby. It's possible Meg may have heard the name.'
The girl stared at him with her mouth open. 'You don't believe me?'
'I want to believe you. God, how I want to believe you. But you're asking me to believe that Alice was right, that Father did engineer the whole thing. My God.' He found himself staring at Emma.
'If he did, Roger Haggard,' she said. 'If he did, then he cannot go through with the execution of Johnnie.'
‘I doubt he means that anyway,' Roger said. 'It is just his way.'
'His way?' Emma cried. 'You don't know your father very well, Roger. His way? You weren't there when he turned his people out into the snow. You were there when he sent his men against Harry and me. Oh, there are so many things. I don't know them all. I can't tell you them all: But when John Haggard determines to do something, he does it. You must stop him, Roger, or that boy will hang. God knows I have no love for your brother, but you cannot stand by and see him hang.'
Roger bit his lip. 'You understand, Meg, and you, Emma, that if I threaten to make the whole thing public, and Father calls my bluff, there will be warrants sworn for the arrest of Harry and Tim? Murder warrants. They'll be taken and hanged.'
'Aye, well,' Emma said. 'Tis a large country.'
'Are you serious?'
'Don't you understand?' she cried, ‘I'd not do it. Christ, I'd not do it. But we had to come back, and see. If Johnnie had been sent to prison, if he'd been transported, why we could have said nothing. But he's innocent of murder, Roger. And he's played a better part in this, keeping his mouth shut, than he has ever done before.'
Roger gazed at Meg. is that the only reason you came back?'
Her tongue stole out, and then retreated again. They'd not let me, Captain,' she said. They'd not let me.'
'Are you going to sit there the day?' Emma demanded.
Roger got up. 'No. If you're sure, we'll face Father down. Come on.'
'Murderer,' the crowd shouted.
'Jeffries,' bawled someone else, more learned than the rest, and referring to the infamous Bloody Assizes of a hundred and thirty years before.
Haggard stood on the steps of the school hall and gazed at them. He was surprised more than angry. Certainly he was not afraid of them. He was their squire, they were his people. And he was avenging one of them. He felt like holding up his hands, making them a speech, explaining, why he'd been so inflexible. But he'd not appeal to a mob. Not even his own mob. Not any more.
'We'd best be away, Mr. Haggard.' MacGuinness stood at his elbow, faithful as ever.
Or was he faithful? Haggard glanced at him. 'And what would you call me, MacGuinness?'
'Me, sir?' But MacGuinness would not meet his gaze. Even he would condemn the squire, if he dared.
Haggard went down the steps; Ned had come across, as indeed had all the servants from the Hall, and he held the bridle. But he said nothing. Haggard swung into the saddle, looked around him, and the crowd fell silent. But they were all there. He could make out Jemmy Lacey, and his sister; Nugent the butler, Toby Doon and George Illing; Hatchard; Porlock, his face a study in consternation, Mrs. Porlock clinging to his arm. All there. His own people, in whose cause he had wasted more than twenty years of his life. And at the back, Squire Burton and Sergeant McCloud, sitting their horses. All gathered to condemn him, for upholding the law.
He turned his horse, rode through them. They parted before him. From behind him some of the shouts started again, but those within reach of his gaze remained silent. Would not one of them shout, God bless you, squire?
He rode up the drive to the Hall. He had been a fool. He had been a fool to come to England at all. Every catastrophe he had known had arisen from that simple mistake. Well, that was not altogether true. He had been as unpopular in Barbados, and he had suffered even greater catastrophes. But there the sun had shone. There his people had been slaves, who dared not criticise, who dared not even hold any opinion contrary to their master. There, with Emma, he had been happy.
And there, with another Emma, he could be happy again.
He dismounted, left the reins hanging; the horse peered after him inquiringly. He walked to the door, and it opened for him. Mary Prince. Of all the servants, only Mary Prince had remained.
'You look tired, Mr. Haggard,' she said. 'A glass of port will do you good.'
Haggard glanced at her. Mary Prince. He could remember the coal dust dribbling down those slender legs. Mary Prince. He had taken her on the day his world had fallen apart. The day he had thrown Emma out. Mary Prince.
He climbed the stairs. 'Mr. Haggard?' she called.
'Leave me,' he said.
'But, Mr. Haggard . . .'
'Go away,' he shouted. 'Go and join your friends in the village. Go and chant, murderer, with them. Leave me alone.'
He climbed the next flight, opened the bedroom door. Alice was sitting up; when she saw him her face seemed to close.
'Where is your maid?'
‘I sent her away. I sent her to the village.'
'She is supposed to stay with you, day and night.'
‘I am not a child, Father. Nor am I truly ill any more. I asked her to bring me a report of the trial.'
Haggard nodded, sat on the bed. She regarded him as if he were about to assault her, carefully eased herself away from him. How like Emma she looked. In many ways, how like Emma she was. And they knew each other so very well. He did not want sex from her, or from anyone. He was too tired. Too dispirited, perhaps, at this moment, anyway. But he wanted her company. Even if she would not speak, he still wanted her company. Just to see her, that red stain on her shoulders, those small composed features. Just to see her was to remember. Just to remember was to be John Haggard's of Haggard's Penn, once more.
'Well?' she asked.
'He was found guilty.'
'And?'
Haggard shrugged. 'The law is quite specific about each one of his crimes. Certainly about murder.' ' 'He didn't kill Wring. Not Johnnie.' 'He has never denied it.'
Her frown began to gather. 'And you allowed sentence to be passed? On your own son? You could stop it. Father.' She seized his hand. 'However much you hate Johnnie. However much you hate me. You cannot let him hang.'
She had never taken his hand before. Her fingers were cool. 'Hate you, Alice. I have never hated you.'
She stared at him, and flushed. Her fingers relaxed, but they did not move. 'You'll save him, Father. Please. Oh, God, please.'
Haggard gazed at her. 'We'll leave this place,' he said. 'You and I, Alice. We'll leave the Hall. Roger will be back to live here, soon enough. We'll leave it, you and I, and we'll return to Barbados. You remember Barbados?"
'I . . .' Her eyes were wide, ‘I remember Barbados.'
'Will you come with me, Alice? Back to the Penn? Back to the sunlight and the sea and the trade wind?' He smiled. 'Back to the hurricanes? Do you remember the hurricanes?" But even hurricanes would be better than English weather. Hurricanes were something for a man to match himself against. A man could not fight this deadly, endless rain. 'I should have gone back, yea
rs ago. I should never have left. But we'll go back now. Will you, Alice?'
'If . . . if you wish it. Father. If you'll save Johnnie.'
'You'd bargain?'
Her chin came up. 'If that's how it must be Father. Me, for Johnnie.'
He frowned at her. There was no love in her eyes. Not even a suggestion of affection. She was concluding a business deal. Why, Alison had looked like that when they had sat around the table in Brand's house, discussing the marriage contract. Me, for Johnnie. She was set to be the martyr. She'd look after him for the rest of his life, sacrificing her own happiness, and never letting him forget it for an instant.
He moved her hand, got up.
‘I will Father,' she said. 'I'd never leave you. I swear it. Just let Johnnie live.'
Haggard closed the door behind him. He walked along the corridor, climbed the stairs to the tower room. However empty it was nowadays, it remained ready for occupation. The bed was made, the room was carefully swept and dusted every day. The desk was neat, and there would be paper in the drawer.
He stood at the window, looked out at the deer park. This was the most attractive view in Derleth, away from the village and the cut to the mine and the factory. He was a fool to have abandoned it. He was a fool.
Hooves. He went to the other window, looked down on the road from the village, on the drive, watched Roger galloping up to the house. Behind him there was a pony and trap and some people, women. Come to beg for Johnnie's life. Everyone in the world, begging for Johnnie's life. Loving Johnnie. Hating Haggard.
Haggard sat at the desk, took out a sheet of notepaper, and began to write.
Roger flung himself from the saddle, ran at the door. Mary Prince stood there. 'Captain? Oh, Captain . . .'
'Where is my father?'
'He went upstairs. He seemed very upset, Captain.'
Haggard took the stairs three at a time. At the top of the second flight he saw Alice, just leaving her bedroom. 'Alice?'
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