Haggard (37 page)

There's no ill news, Mr. Haggard?' Hatchard inquired.

Haggard ignored him. So, the crop, whatever it was, would have to be low labour intensity, and amenable to this climate. Just as it had to be non-perishable. Whoever heard of non-perishable food?

Wheels rumbled, dogs barked, brakes squealed. Haggard raised his head.

The northbound stage, Mr. Haggard,' Hatchard said apologetically. There'll be passengers.'

Haggard nodded, took his ale into the corner, sat down again. The doors were (lung open, three men came bustling in, red faced and cloaked against the spring winds and rain, calling for ale and for food. Behind them came an elderly married couple, obviously sore and cramped from sitting in the coach. And behind them again came the coachman himself, humping a small chest.

'For Jem and his friends,' he said. "You've the payment?'

^‘
Oh, aye, right here.' Hatchard produced a bag of coin.

'Good business,' the driver said. 'Good business.' He turned as Haggard approached. 'And a good day to you Mr. Haggard, sir. Why, 'tis a pleasure stopping at Derleth, indeed it is.'

‘I’ll
apologise for the disturbance, Mr. Haggard,' Hatchard said.

'But these people are here for dinner.'

Haggard nodded.
‘I’ll
not clutter up your taproom, Hatchard. What's in the box?' 'The box, sir?' That one.'

'Why, cotton fibre, sir.'

Haggard frowned at him. 'Cotton fibre?'

'Oh, aye, sir. Jemmy has quite a cooperative going. Didn't you know, sir? There are twelve families in on it. The women spin the cotton, you see, sir, and the men weave it into good cloth, and then the buyer comes, oh, regular, and pays coin for it. Tis a thriving community we have here, Mr. Haggard.'

Haggard continued to frown. 'But where does the fibre come from?'

'Why, from the Americas, sir. The colonies what were. The United States. 'Tis a thriving trade.'

'Cotton fibres,' Haggard said. 'By God.' He finished his ale. 'You'll give everyone here a drink, on the squire, Hatchard. I'm pleased to see them, that I am.'

Haggard strode up the hill, regardless of the spring drizzle which had suddenly started. He was still Haggard. He had but to put his mind to a problem, and it was solved. The door was opened for him by one of the under footmen, and he marched through, the dogs still excited at his heels.

'Mr. Haggard.' Mary Prince was thirty years old now, and housekeeper of Derleth Hall ever since the death of Patience Wring. She had put on far too much weight, and had never been very beautiful. But if she understood she would never again be for his bed, she was happy enough to supply him with those of her inferiors as he fancied—her son had emigrated to the Canadian colonies with his pockets full of Haggard guineas. He would not return. Haggard had no intention of ever recognising a bastard again. But Mary was content enough, and fussed over her master as if she were still his mistress. 'You're soaked through, that you are. You should take care, Mr. Haggard.' She pulled off his coat. 'And your shirt.'

The devil with my shirt,' Haggard snapped. Tell Morton to prepare me some mulled wine. Where is Mr. Cummings?'

'Why, sir, he's asleep.'

'Send someone to wake him up and tell him to come down to the office. And send one of the lads for MacGuinness. I want them both in my office in ten minutes. Haste now.' He slapped her bottom and climbed the stairs, stopped halfway up, gazed at the woman standing above him. Oh, indeed, he would never again recognise a bastard. Alice remained a massive weight lying across his mind and his pleasure. And the strange thing was that he was content it should be so. He had wanted to marry her off, once. He had produced a string of suitors, and she had turned them all away. She was a pretty young woman, prettier at twenty-eight than ever she had been as a girl. She possessed her mother's hair, and wore it loose, as Emma had done, no doubt the more to remind him of that particular crime, as she would have it. And he had to admit she managed his house with supreme efficiency. The girls were terrified of her, as indeed were the footmen and even Nugent the butler. If she chose to live and die a spinster, why should he quarrel with that? It was the most convenient for him.

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’l
l 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’l
l need a site.'

'We’l
l need an architect,' MacGuinness said.

'For a factory?' Haggard cried. 'For God's sake, man, four walls and a roof.'