Haggard (50 page)

'Meg . . .'He came closer.

'Don't touch me,' she said again. 'Don't ever touch me, John Haggard.'

Haggard stood at the foot of the great staircase to welcome his guests. Alice at his side. And Johnnie had not yet returned. But Haggard did not wish to consider Johnnie's return. Time enough for that when it happened. He could only pray the boy was not hurt. But MacGuinness was a good man.

'Mr. Haggard, I can't tell you wha
t a pleasure this is.' Wedderburn
Webster bustled, shook hands with Haggard, bowed over Alice's hand, turned to introduce the two young women who had travelled with him. 'Miss Frances Annesley, Miss Catherine Annesley. Miss Frances is my fiancee.'

The young woman gave a becoming simper. She was undoubtedly very pretty, dark haired and petite, far more so than her sister, Haggard was disappointed to note. But Miss Catherine was also a good-looking girl.

The pleasure is mine,' he said, kissing their fingers in turn. 'Ours. I have no idea where Johnnie is. He usually returns before dusk. Alice?'

‘I
hear him now,' Alice said. They gazed down the drive, watched the horseman, swaying in the saddle, tumbling up to them. His hat was gone, there was mud on his cloak, and he fell from the saddle, rather than dismounted. 'Johnnie?' Alice cried, running forward.

'Johnnie?' Haggard also started forward, while Webster and the two young ladies stared in dismay.

Johnnie Haggard gazed at his father in horror, glanced at Alice and made for the doorway.

'John,' Haggard said sharply. 'Your guests have arrived.'

Johnnie seemed to recollect himself, stopped, looked at Webster as if he had never seen him before in his life.

'John?' Webster asked. 'May I present my fiancee, Miss Frances Annesley, and her sister, Miss Catherine?'

Johnnie Haggard looked from one to the other of the girls. His face seemed to crumple, and he turned for the inner stairs.

'John,' Haggard snapped. 'Whatever is the matter?'

Johnnie Haggard hesitated, brushed hair from his forehead. 'A fall,' he muttered. 'I was thrown. You'll excuse me, Father. I
...
I must change my clothes.'

He ran up the stairs.

'A fall from his horse,' Haggard explained. 'Alice, you'd best go after your brother, and see that he is not hurt. I expect him down for supper. Mr. Webster, Miss Annesley, come along with me, come along with me, and I will show you to your rooms.' He ushered them into the downstairs hall, allowed them to gush their pleasure over the great staircase, beckoned Nugent to his side. 'Tell MacGuinness I wish to see him, right away," he said.

'Well, sir . . .' MacGuinness twisted his hat in his hands. 'He's not hurt?' Haggard demanded. 'No, sir. The fact is . . .' 'Come along man, spit it out.'

MacGuinness sighed. 'Yes, sir. Well, sir, the fact is Mr. John didn't fight at all.' 'Eh?'

'He ran away, Mr. Haggard.'

Haggard stared at him in utter disbelief. Johnnie, a coward? But the distress on MacGuinness's face was ample proof. John Haggard, running away and abandoning a girl with whom he supposed he was in love? He
could
not believe it. He dared not think about it. It was necessary to pretend it had not happened, at least for the moment. 'What of the girl?' His voice was thick.

'Well, sir, as you supposed would happen, she lay on her back like a good whore and took what was given to her.'

Haggard poured two glasses of port. 'Take one,' he said, and leaned back in his chair. 'There's no risk any of them will be recognised?'

'No, sir. Peter tells me . . .'

Haggard held up his hand. "I don't want to know who they were. MacGuinness. No, no. That will not do at all. Because eventually Johnnie will tell me what happened, and I shall have to agree to punish these fellows. No, no. I must not know their names. Just be sure Johnnie never discovers them either.'

'No chance of that, sir. I can trust these men. And so can you.'

Haggard nodded. 'They got paid enough.' He sighed. 'And they'll never . . .'

They can't say anything about Master John, sir, because that would be to betray themselves.'

'Aye,' Haggard said. But they'll know, he thought, that my son is a coward. Alison's child. But not my only son, by God. Roger is alive. And Roger is coming home. Suddenly he felt almost human again. Roger is coming home. There were other things to be considered than Johnnie's cowardice: the future of Derleth, for a start. He smiled at MacGuinness. 'What of that other matter?'

MacGuinness permitted himself a smile also. There is no cause for worry there either, Mr. Haggard. There has been a lot of talk, and some of it fairly radical, too. Jemmy Lacey, as you may suppose, sir, once he had a few pints in his belly, swore he'd never work for squire, and Maggie Lacey said the same. But that was tavern talk, Mr. Haggard. When I told them the wages we was paying, and when
1
told them you'd negotiated with the buyers and the only cotton that was leaving Derleth in the future was what was spun on our looms, why, sir, they didn't grumble for long.'

'What of Lacey?'

'Headed the lot, Mr. Haggard. He'll be at the factory, come Monday morning.'

'Tis as I had expected,' Haggard said. 'You've done well, MacGuinness. Well. I'll not forget it.' He waited for the door to close, slowly lowered his head into his hands.

'Oh, Johnnie, Johnnie.' Alice Haggard sat on her brother's bed and massaged his shoulders with her fingertips, it could have happened to anyone.'

'But I ran away.' Johnnie raised himself on his elbows, stared at her. 'Anyone else would h
ave fought them.' There was no p
oint in trying to keep what had happened a secret from Alice; she would discover the truth of the matter soon enough from the Bolds.

'It was your first, well, fight, I suppose,' Alice said, it wouldn't happen again.'

‘I
t will happen every time again.' H
e threw himself on his back.

'I am a coward. There is no need to pretend. My God, what Father would say . . .'

'No one is going to tell Father,' Alice said.

'But what am I to
do
?’
Johnnie begged.

Alice sucked her upper lip beneath her teeth. She was still haunted, often enough, by the memory of slaves screaming as they had been flogged. But the only physical violence she had experienced had been a whipping from her father. She found her brain could not cope with the idea of being held on the ground and raped by five men. What Meg must be feeling like did not bear consideration.

But then, she realised, her brain could not cope with the idea of
any
man touching her body. It was an aspect of life she had always rejected utterly. Meg was different. Meg was more down to earth. Meg might even recover from being raped, where Alice knew
she
would have curled up and died.

But that Harry Bold and Emma would ever forgive Johnnie for what had happened was impossible. No amount of wishful thinking could change that certainty.

'It's so
unfair,''
she said. 'For God's sake, I have ridden over those meadows and through those woods for five years, visiting Mama, and I've never been molested. I've never heard of anyone being molested . . .'

There were five of them,' Johnnie moaned. 'Alice, I must go away, and never come back. Otherwise I am disgraced for ever.'

'Oh, stuff and nonsense,' Alice said, and held him close again. Five men, appearing from nowhere, to rape a girl. Five men who had disregarded the implicit threat in their victim being a Haggard. They could not have known he would prove a coward. They could not have known he would not have ridden back to Derleth and called out his father's people, scoured the entire countryside as far as Nottingham, if need be, to catch them and hang them. They could not have known.

She found herself staring past her brother's head at the mirror on the wall, was surprised by the expression on her face. Five men who had appeared from nowhere, to commit a dastardly crime, a crime which might specifically have been designed to end the possibility that Johnnie Haggard could ever marry Margaret Bold.

The first thing you must do,' she said, still holding him close, 'is get up and get dressed and come down for supper.'

‘I
could not,' Johnnie moaned,
‘I
could not face anyone. Certainly not Father.'

Alice shook him. 'You
will
face Father. And you'll be charming to Miss Annesley. No one, but no one, must even guess what might have happened. Do you understand?'

He raised his head to look at her. 'But . . .'

'You must
pretend,
Johnnie. I will help you. And I will help you regain your self respect, too. Can't you see. there is only one thing you can do. You must track these men down.'

He frowned at her, through his tears. Track them down?'

'And avenge Meg. And yourself.'

'Avenge Meg?' he asked s
tupidly. 'Find the men? But how
can I find the men? They'll be miles away by now. Perhaps Father . . .'

'You are not to tell Father,' she said fiercely. 'Nothing. Let him suppose it
was
a fall from a horse. He'd never forgive you for being a coward. This is something you must do by yourself. Those men beat you. You must get your own back. I will help you.'

'You?' He sighed. 'Anyway, how can I?
I
have to go back to Cambridge.'

‘I
told you. I will help you. I have friends in the village, and I have my friends in Plowding. Besides, the Bolds will help me.
1
will discover who those men were, and then I will deliver them to vour justice.' She sq
ueezed his arm. 'And next time y
ou will not fail.'

He stared at her. 'Could I? Do you really suppose we could?'

'We shall,' she promised him. if you will but play your part. Now go and dress yourself.' She kissed him on the forehead, left the room, closed the door behind her and leaned against it. And I shall find out who
paid
those men, she thought, and deliver him also to your vengeance, dear Johnnie.

CHAPTER 4

THE PRODIGAL

The two horsemen drew rein at the top of the rise, where the London turnpike branched into Derleth Valley. It was just noon on a June day, and the sun was high and scorching down on the village, and the duck filled pond, and the green beyond, sparkling from the windows of the church, making the grotesque house on the far side of the valley glow. 'Home,' Roger Haggard said.

'And right pretty it is too, Captain,' Corcoran agreed. He pointed. 'But what might that be, your honour?'

Roger smiled; he did this as easily as ever, for all the tightness induced in his face by the constant pain from the arm he carried in a sling. ' Tis my home, you rascal, as you well know. Come on.' He touched his horse with his heels, and the pair rode down the lane towards the inn. And Roger found himself frowning. A Friday in June. Already the cricket pitch should be being mown with scythes, and the jugs of ale and cider should be being prepared for the afternoon's match—but the green was empty, as indeed was the street.

'Weil stop at the inn,' he decided.

'I'm all in favour of that, your honour,' Corcoran agreed. He was in favour of any suggestion which might come from his master. He knew that he had to be the most fortunate private in the entire British Army, to have found someone like Captain Haggard and to have been taken away from the marching and fighting, the killing and the dying, that was Spain, even if only for a season. He hastily dismounted and hurried round the horses to be there if needed. But dismounting was less of a problem to Roger than mounting; he did not use his right arm for that.

He went up the steps, pushed open the door, knowing that Corcoran would see to the horses. He stepped into the gloom.
blinked, realised that it was the first time he had ever entered this place. He had shaved off his moustache, but he did not suppose there was the least chance of being recognised.

'Sir?' Hatchard peered at him from behind the counter, frowning at the crimson jacket, and the grey trousers, the e
mpty sword belt and the well worn
shako, the bandaged right arm.

'A mug of ale,' Roger said. 'And one for my man.'

'Right away, sir.' Hatchard had them on the counter before Corcoran could gain the room.

'Now there's a happy sight, Mr. . . .
’
He raised his eyebrows us Roger shook his head.

'What's the name of this village, landlord?'

'Why, sir, Derleth.'

'Ah. And is it then, derelict?'

'Bless you, sir, no. You'll not find a more populous community in the county.'

'But everyone is away visiting.' 'Working, sir. Working.' 'On a Friday afternoon?'

'Aye, well, the squire is not a man to have idle hands about the place, sir. He reckons Saturday afternoon is enough to have free, what with Sunday as well, and who's to say he's not right.'

Roger drank beer. 'The squire being Mr. Haggard?'

That's correct, sir. You'll have heard of the gentleman?'

‘I
have. But tell me this, landlord. What do the people work at? I'd heard there were coal mines about here, but you'll not pretend they occupy an entire village?'

' Tis the mill, sir.'

'Mill?'

'Oh, aye, we spin cotton in Derleth, Captain.' Roger found himself frowning. They always have spun cotton in Derleth.'

Hatchard did not appear to notice the slip, indeed they have, sir. But on hand looms. Regular cottage industry it was. sir. Then the squire got to thinking about it, and decided it would be best for all, or at least, best for himself and best for the wholesaler, if the business was put in order, you might say. So he built the mill. You'll not see it from here, it's over the hills by the coal mine. But it employs everyone in the village, just about. Leastways, all those not coaling, or farming. Even brings in people from Plowding.'

'But why should the people spin cotton for my . . . for Mr.
Haggard, when they can do so for themselves?' Roger demanded. 'He can't be paying them that much.'

'Well, sir, there's them that say he don't pay anyone enough. But that's just gossip, sir. No, no, the fact is, Mr. Haggard signed a contract with the wholesaler that he'd buy only from the factory, so it was spin at the mill or not at all. The mill can produce so much more cloth, you see, sir, than any number of hand looms. Well, sir, what with rents going up, and the cost of grain, well, sir, there weren't much choice.'

Roger scratched his head. 'And the people didn't object?'

'Lord above, sir, 'tis the squire they're working for. Oh, there was some talk. There's been a bit of unrest, farther north. They was burning frames in Nottingham and thereabouts, only last winter. And like I said, there's been talk. Wild talk. But not more than that. There's no man in Derleth, or for twenty miles about, would openly oppose Mr. Haggard. No, sir.'

'A hard man, is he?'

'Well, sir, he has a way with him, that he has.' Roger finished his beer, signalled for a refill, and for Corcoran. 'He's family?'

'Well, sir, yes and no. And there's the main part of the trouble, if you ask me.'

‘I
am asking you. What trouble?'

'Mr. Haggard can be fierce, when he's a mood to it. But it's all to do with his misfortunes, I'd say. Sixteen years now he's been a widower . . .' Hatchard sighed. 'And then, the boy being lost at sea. and the heir also going astray, although, mind you, sir, there is talk that he's been found, and will be coming back again. That's done wonders for the squire, that it has. Smiles, nowadays, he does.'