Haggard (21 page)

'Of course,' Haggard said. 'Now come down to the Hall for dinner.'

There are letters,' Emma said, her voice curiously soft.

Haggard took the silver tray, sifted through the envelopes. Three from Cummings. One from Willy Ferguson. And one in a curiously upright hand, at once small and precise, and giving off the most delightful scent. A scent he recognised immediately.

'Is there anything of interest?' Emma asked, carelessly.

'Business matters,' he explained. 'You'll excuse me.' He carried them into the study, sat at his desk. Now why was his heart pounding? He had seen through all of the schemes to ensnare him, and had rejected them. The business was at an end. Only a fool would ever reconsider that decision.

But he slit the scented envelope first.

Most esteemed Mr. Haggard,

Where modesty forbids me to utter a word, sheer remorse compels me to write to you. Am I then so wretched a creature? Did I offend you so deeply, or was I so immodest as to arouse nothing but horror in your breast? When we had laid dear Papa to bed—you will be pleased to know that he awoke next day with no ill save a slight pain in the forehead—it was
you
approached
me.
I
had trusted you, Mr. Haggard, as a friend of my fathers, and while I know it was remiss of me to allow myself into your presence wearing nothing more than a nightgown, I must beg you to believe that no thought of propriety crossed my mind in the instant of seeing my beloved father lying there unconscious and for all I knew,
dead.

You were kind to me, and you spoke words of endearment. Words I treasured, as I treasure them now. In the heat of the moment you made certain movements which I endeavoured to resist to the best
of
my ability, without wishing to offend you, both because
of
my father's affection for you and because
of
my own understanding
of
the fine qualities which go to compose your character. Imagine my feelings on awakening, to be informed that you had fled our house, without leaving even so much as a letter behind. Such an act, Mr. Haggard, was scarce that
of
a gentleman, yet I do not reproach you, as I understand the differences between a Barbadian and an Englishman, and refuse to permit such differences to influence in any way my sure judgement
of
your worth.

Yet was I desolated,
at
once to have lost the pleasure
of
your company, and to feel that I had in some way offended your sensibilities. It would be a great relief to me to hear from you to the effect that your abrupt and so far unexplained departure from my father's house was occasioned by circumstances beyond your control. Should this be the case, please be certain that should you ever care to visit us again you will be most welcome, a sentiment with which my father and my sister wish to be associated.

Very sincerely yours,
A.
Brand

Haggard leaned back, the letter still in his hand, the perfume clouding up to clog his senses, his memory recalling the straight blonde hair, the infinitely delicate features so strangely set off by the flaring nostrils, the touch of her lips and her tongue, the gentle caress of her voice.

But the fact was, Emma was as much his wife as any he had ever had. Why, they had lived together now for nearly eleven years. He had even fought a man because she had been insulted. Alison could only be considered as a mistress. But what a delightful mistress she would make. Supposing it were possible.

Emma stood in the doorway. 'If you have finished your letters, Mr. Haggard, dinner is being served. You have yet to tell me what Mr. Nash and yourself have arranged.'

Definitely, Haggard thought as he got to his feet, she is as much a wife as any I have ever had.

'Are you nervous, Mr. Haggard?' Emma asked. It was a cold December evening, and the fire blazed in the upstairs withdrawing room. But because this was a special night, neither Alice nor Charlie had. been sent to bed; Roger sat with them keeping them from annoying their father.

Haggard stood before the fire, hands clasped behind his back. 'What have I to be nervous about?' he asked, it is a straightforward contest.'

‘I
am nervous,' Emma said, 'It is . . . it's a vote of confidence, Mr. Haggard. In you. And a vote of acceptance, of me.' 'Do they not accept you?'

They smile at me, Mr. Haggard, and some even curtsey. They are pleased to see me in their shops, because I spend so much money. Your money, Mr. Haggard. I know not what they would do were I to be cast adrift amongst them.'

'Do you suspect such a fate?'

She raised her head to gaze at him. 'No, Mr. Haggard,' she said,
‘I
am merely making a point.'

Then remember this one,' Haggard said. Their vote, of confidence or of acceptance, is meaningless. Even were they to return Johnson, it would be nothing, to me, and thus nothing to you. It is a contest, that is all. I shall be in the study.'

He closed the door behind him, snapped his fingers to summon John Essex.

'Bring me a bottle of port,' he said. He sat at his desk, leaned back with a sigh. He was spending more and more time in here nowadays. Because it was the most comfortable room in the house. Because he could be alone with his thoughts, and his desires. There was the fact of it. He had been appalled by the effect England, and more especially, Englishwomen, had had on him. He realised that for a week or so here he had been not quite himself. But it was idle to suppose that he no longer desired. It had been an act of will to confine himself entirely to Emma for these past two months. An act of will not to go to town. Time enough when he was elected. If he was elected, as she feared.

But was this the sum of all those ambitions with which he had left Barbados? Instead of a minister
’
of the Crown, a pair of white thighs? Instead of the social lion of an entire county, a pair of white breasts? Instead of a nationally known name, a pair of red lips? Well, no doubt he had a nationally known name, all right, but it was as slave driver and lecher. As for the others, they both were beyond his reach while Emma lay like a deadening weight across his mind.

Emma. He got up, walked to the window. He had needed nothing more in Barbados. But in Barbados he had worked from dawn until dusk, had been eager to do no more than find her arms when he returned to the house. Now he saw her all day, unless he went out, but there was so little to go out for. MacGuinness kept insisting he should inspect the mine, but the thought of those naked dust-stained white bodies at once repelled him and beckoned him in the most obscene of ways. The village was a no-man's-land at the moment. He would not go amongst them until they either accepted him or rejected him. And he hated to look at the ugly scars already marking the ground where the new Hall would arise. It would be the finest building in the land when it was completed, but he did not wish to see it until then.

So Emma, a soothing, loving spirit, ever at his side. Perhaps there was an equal cause of his trouble. Sometimes he wished to love savagely without feel for the object, only for the satisfaction of his own desires. As he had, indeed once loved Emma. But in Emma's case, his conscience had reacted so violently against the harm he had done her that he had been too gentle ever since. And Emma liked gentleness. He could not suddenly begin to savage her now, after eleven years.

How would Alison Brand wish to be loved?-

'Mr. Haggard. Mr. Haggard.' The door was open and Emma stood there, MacGuinness and Roger at her shoulder. The result.'

Haggard stood up. 'MacGuinness?'

'Eleven votes for you, Mr. Haggard. Four for the schoolmaster. My congratulations, sir.' Haggard shook hands.

'You're an MP, Papa,' Roger shouted. 'An MP.'

'Aye.' Haggard sat down again. 'Four votes for the schoolmaster. You must discover who the other three were.'

‘I
have already done so,' MacGuinness said.

'You'll not punish them for voting against you, Mr. Haggard,' Emma begged.

'I merely wish to identify those who would oppose me, sweetheart.' He frowned at her. 'You have not congratulated me.'

‘I
am not certain there is cause for congratulation.'

in the name of God,' he said. 'An hour ago you were bewailing the possibility that I might not be elected.'

'But now that you are,' she pointed out, 'you will be away in London, nine months of the year.'

Away in London. To Westminster itself, to take his place upon the national stage. Whenever he was permitted to do so.

'I must apologise for not submitting your name to the Speaker.' Pitt said when they met in the lobby after the first session of the new house. 'But I am reserving you for whenever next Wilberforce launches one of his tirades against the Slave Trade, which I imagine will be at the conclusion of your lawsuit with Sharp. You have no real knowledge of India, have you?'

This having been the subject of the first debate.

‘I
have not, sir,' Haggard said.

'And Philip Francis dreams of it day and night. He was there once, you know. Indeed, it was he brought the indictment against poor Warren Hastings. Now tell me, what do you think of our institution?'

I am overwhelmed. Haggard thought. To sit opposite men like Charles Fox and Dick Sheridan, of whom I have only ever read, to be standing here conversing with the Prime Minister, while other members pass us by and cast me envious glances . . . 'Interesting,' he said. 'A trifle cramped.'

'Ah.' Pitt laid his finger alongside his nose, it
is
cramped, of course. But designedly so, my dear Haggard. When we have a full attendance, when some issue of national importance is in debate, it electrifies the atmosphere to have insufficient room. Men are standing everywhere, pushing and heaving against the others, desperate to be heard and to hear. Were there comfortable seats for all, why, the Commons would be like a university debating society, with half its members permanently asleep.' He gave one of his delightful smiles, which entirely relieved the sombre cast of his features. 'Even more than there are now. What did you think of His Majesty?'

it will give you some idea of my ignorance, Mr. Pitt, when I tell you he is somewhat smaller than I had supposed.'

'Ah. Monarchs ever appear as larger than life in the imagination. But he has been ill, you know. Indeed. Most gravely. I will arrange an introduction for you, when you are settled in. There is something else we must arrange for you. You have no objection to joining one of our clubs?'

'I should be flattered.'

'Good. I shall find you a proposer.' He snapped his fingers.

'Brand, of course. It will work very well. And a man must belong to a club, Haggard, if he is to prosper in London society. White's, I think. Then it will matter naught what the mob thinks of you.' He gave a nod and walked away.

Now what the devil did he mean by that, Haggard wondered? What have the mob got to do with me? As for being proposed by Brand
...
he saw the colonel starting towards him.

'John Haggard. I had not the chance to congratulate you on your election. We had heard there was some opposition.'

‘I
nspired by Sharp.' Haggard shook hands. 'But it was easily disposed of.'

‘I
am glad of that. There was a rumour the fellow saved his deposit.'

'Well, what would you? I've an independent-minded community at Derleth. I'd not have it any other way.'

'Of course not, my dear fellow. You'll sup with me?' 'Well . . . where?'

'At home of course. The girls are waiting to renew their acquaintance. After your abrupt departure.'

'Ah, well, I must apologise about that, Brand. There was urgent news from Derleth.' How easily the lie slipped from his tongue. By gad, he thought, this country is making me a degenerate.

'Of course, Haggard. I never doubted it for a moment. But the least you can do is eat with us, and make your peace with Alison.'

'And have you a comfortable place to stay, Mr. Haggard?' Alison Brand smiled at him, but he was not sure her pleasure quite reached her eyes. He was not sure of anything very much. His memory of her beauty had been quite inadequate, the more so as this night she had adopted the growing feminine leaning towards simplicity. No powder in her hair, which was arranged in a chignon on the back of her head, allowing only a few curls to descend on to her forehead. And no corset, either; her crimson gown, high waisted but with a low, and open bodice, which left only the bottom halves of her breasts concealed at all, lay against her thighs and outlined her legs as she moved. She wore a gold locket suspended on a chain round her neck and no other jewellery. It was impossible to stop looking at her, just as it was impossible not to discover the most extravagant thoughts as he did so.