Haggard

by Christopher Nicole

  'We're on urgent business, man. Come down and open up.'

  'You'll be highwaymen,' the landlord complained.

  'I am John Haggard, Squire of Derleth Hall, with four companions. I've silver coin in my pocket. Now come down or I'll break the door.'

  The window closed, and a few minutes later there was the scraping of a bolt. 'You hold that blunderbuss ready. Mistress,' the landlord said, and cautiously opened the door. 'Urgent business you say? What urgent business?'

  Haggard pushed the door wider and stepped inside. The fire had bumed down but the room was still warmer than the open air. He raised his hat to the large, stout woman, clad in an undressing robe and with her hair concealed beneath a mob cap, who levelled the blunderbuss at his chest. 'John Haggard, ma'am. We seek a . . . a servant of mine who has absconded with my silver.'

  'A thief, you say.' The landlord peered at the other four men as they came in and shook water from their hats.

  'A black man,' MacGuinness explained.

  'A blackamoor. Why . . .' He glanced at his wife.

  'He's been here?'

  'Oh, aye, sir, he's been here. Last evening it was. Stopped to have a bite of supper. I didn't see no silver, though.'

  'But you served him supper,' MacGuinness pointed out. Therefore he had coin.'

  'Why, sir, so he did. Food for these gentlemen, Rebecca. Eggs. Bacon. Bread.'

  'Now that sound attractive.' MacGuinness led the way to the table. 'And some ale.'

  'Right away, sir. Right away.'

  Haggard remained standing. 'Did he stay the night?' 'Well, no, sir. He left with Mr. Sharp.' 'Who the devil is Mr. Sharp?'

  'Well, sir, I don't rightly know. Save that he is a wealthy gentleman.' The landlord set five foaming tankards of ale on the table, while a most delicious smell started to drift in from the kitchen. 'Lives up north, he does, sir, but has business in London, and travels this way regularly. Well, sir, he was here last night with his berlin, on the way to town, and he got talking with this man, sir. I don't know what was said, but Mr. Sharp offered the black man a seat in his carriage, sir, and away they went. About eleven of the clock it was.'

  'And the horse?' demanded MacGuinness. 'It was Mr. Haggard's.'

  They left the horse here, sir. If it is yours, Mr. Haggard, if you are really Mr. Haggard, you are welcome to it.'

  'The devil,' Haggard said. 'What do you suppose has happened?'

  'Now that I couldn't say,' MacGuinness confessed. 'But if this Mr. Sharp is so well known on the road, you may be certain he is known in town also. We shall find him, sir, have no fear.'

  Then let's be at it.' Haggard drank his beer.

  'There's time for a bite to eat, Mr. Haggard,' Lacey protested. 'Why, sir, my belly wouldn't let me leave such a smell without filling.'

  'The lad's right, Mr. Haggard,' MacGuiness agreed. 'If Middlesex has gone with this Mr. Sharp, we'll find him, like I said.'

  'Only if he stays with Sharp,' Haggard pointed out. 'He could be away in a different direction by now.'

  'No, sir,' MacGuinness said. Then he'd have taken the horse with him. My opinion is that we'll find him when we find Mr. Sharp.'

  Haggard sighed, and sat down. But the food, which was now being brought out of the kitchen in great steaming platters of eggs and bacon, was really irresistible. And why should he ride himself to death in pursuit of a slave? So long as they caught up with him in the end. But MacGuinness was a shade too definite in his opinion.

  'You've heard of the fellow,' he asked, as eggs were piled before him. 'Sharp?'

  'Aye, sir, I have, sir.' 'Well?'

  'Well, sir, he's a wealthy gentleman . . . nothing like so wealthy as yourself, of course, but with money to spare, who spends his time supporting our weaker brethren.'

  'A Quaker, you mean?'

  'Now that I couldn't say, sir, but I doubt ft. No, sir, what is the word I am thinking of? Tis a long one, to be sure." 'Philanthropist?'

  The very thing, Mr. Haggard. Education is a wonderful thing. Aye, sir, that's what he is, a philanthropist.' He rolled the syllables around his tongue.

  'Who has taken up the cause of Middlesex, has he?' Haggard said. 'How old would this gentleman be?'

  MacGuinness shrugged. 'Older than you, sir, to be sure. Past fifty.'

  Then he should know better. You find him for me, MacGuinness.'

  'Soon as I've had my breakfast, sir. You may count on that.'

  They rode down Piccadilly two days after leaving Derleth. By then Haggard had sent the three tenants home with the horse Middlesex had stolen, and retained only MacGuinness. He did not anticipate any trouble with Granville Sharp, and if MacGuinness was wrong, and Middlesex had taken off in some other direction, well then he was lost anyway, and the only answer would be to take out an advertisement in The Times. But MacGuinness remained confident enough. He made a few inquiries from street vendors and at a coffee shop, and led Haggard down one of the broad, pleasant thoroughfares which stretched away from the open fields where the great May Fair was held every spring.

  There we are, sir,' he said, pointing to a three storeyed house set in its own grounds. 'The town residence of Mr. Granville Sharp.'

  'I'll do the talking,' Haggard said. MacGuinness was far too fond of taking over a conversation. 'Of course, Mr. Haggard.'

  They walked their weary horses through the gate and under the trees. A dog barked, and immediately grooms ran from the stables, while the front door of the house opened to reveal a butler.

  Haggard dismounted. They had stopped for a night's sleep in St. Albans, and the rain had at last ceased, but he still felt chilled and damp and very tired.

  'Good morning, sir,' said the butler, is Mr. Sharp expecting you?'

  'No,' Haggard said. 'But I'll see him just the same.' The butler frowned at him. 'Your name, sir?'

  'John Haggard. I should think he knows it by now.'

  'Ah. Yes, sir. If you'll come this way, sir.' The door was held open, and Haggard and MacGuinness were allowed into the hall, and thence into a small withdrawing room on the ground floor, where a footman relieved them of their hats and coats.

  'A hot bath,' MacGuinness said. That is what I feel like, Mr. Haggard. A large tub filled with boiling water. Does that not appeal, sir?'

  'When we get back to Derleth, MacGuinness.' Haggard turned to face the door as it opened, and was disturbingly surprised. He had prepared himself to loathe Sharp on sight, had built up his antagonism to combat any suggestion of exhaustion or pity for Middlesex. But he found it hard to hate the short, slight, well-dressed and open-faced man who entered the room. Granville Sharp wore a Cadogan wig and carried a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. He blinked at his visitors, gave them a benign smile.

  'John Haggard,' he said. 'Welcome, sir. Granville Sharp.'

  He extended his hand; Haggard had to refuse to take it with a conscious effort of will.

  'You have knowledge of some property of mine, sir.'

  Sharp gazed at him for a moment. 'Property of yours,' he said at last. 'My God, how easily the words roll off the tongue of a nabob. We are speaking of a human being, sir.'

  'Where is he?' Haggard demanded.

  'That, sir, I am not prepared to tell you.'

  Haggard frowned at him. 'You are condoning larceny, sir, at the very least. I would be within my rights to take him by force.'

  'What, Mr. Haggard, will you assault me in my own home? Be sure that I have six stout fellows waiting outside just in case your West Indian temper gets the better of your good sense.' He opened the door as he spoke; there were indeed six footmen waiting, expressions suitably determined.

  'By God,' Haggard said, ‘I had supposed you a gentleman.'

  ‘I hope I am, Mr. Haggard. An English gentleman. Now answer me this conundrum, sir. Can there be such a thing as a gentleman who is also a slave owner?'

  Haggard glanced at MacGuinness, who raised his eyebrows helplessly. They are too many for us, Mr. Haggard.'

  Tell me where he
is,' Haggard said.

  'I shall not do that, sir,' Sharp said.

  'But you'll not deny that you assisted him to abscond?'

  ‘I shall do more than that, Mr. Haggard. He is my responsibility, as of now.'

  ‘I have a witness,' Haggard said.

  Then shall I repeat it, for the benefit of your witness?'

  'Sir,' Haggard said, ‘I respect your motives, as you wish to spend your life in aiding our less fortunate brethern. However, you have put yourself beyond the law, and in addition, believe me, done Middlesex no good at all by this madcap venture. Now let me see him. I promise you, no violence shall be done in your house. I merely wish to speak with my servant.'

  'And I, sir, forbid it in my house,' Sharp said. 'Oh, you are a big man, Mr. Haggard, a wealthy man, a rich man, and a most forceful personality. I doubt Middlesex would retain his courage were he to come face to face with you.'

  'You leave me no option but to take you to law,' Haggard said.

  Sharp gave a brief bow. Then, sir, I look forward to seeing you in court.'

  Haggard stared at him for some seconds. He had never been so angry in his life; his every instinct called out for him to smash his way through this house until he found the Negro. But it was a strange anger. He did not want to flog Middlesex. He had always supposed himself a friend to his blacks, and more especially his house slaves. He did not even want to harm Sharp. He just felt like committing an act of violence upon someone or something, it did not matter who or what.

  But his instincts were also warning him that this was not Barbados. John Haggard was not omnipotent here, beyond the reach of the law just because he owned the largest plantation in the land. And if he was to achieve his seat in Parliament, then he must not be seen to break the law.

  'Be sure, sir, you shall see me in court.'

  'How long will it take?' he asked Cummings, when the three men met over dinner in a private chamber off the tap room of the inn where MacGuinness had found him a room.

  ‘I will begin this afternoon, Mr. Haggard,' the agent said. 'You may leave it to me. I'll to a magistrate, he is a friend of mine, and have a summons made out, and deliver it before nightfall. Oh, we'll have Mr. Sharp, and the man Middlesex, in court by the end of this week, you may be sure of that.'

  The end of this week?' Haggard demanded. 'I had not meant to remain this long.'

  'Ah, well, sir, the wheels of justice grind slowly. But they do grind.'

  The devil," Haggard gazed at MacGuinness. 'Then you'd best return to Derleth, MacGuinness. Report to Mistress Dearborn on what has happened, and tell her I will be back as soon as possible.'

  'Of course, Mr. Haggard. But I cannot leave you here, without a manservant. And you've not even a change of linen.'

  'I will procure a manservant for Mr. Haggard and some clothing,' Cummings said, indeed, sir, I would take it as a privilege if you would care to move in with me. Mistress Cummings would be more than pleased to see to your requirements.'

  Haggard was not sorry to move. But the Cummings lived in the city itself, a small, cramped house set on the edge of a narrow thoroughfare leading away from Threadneedle Street. The windows were small and the interior gloomy; the furniture was well worn and the smell was musty. To cap Haggard's depression, Mistress Cummings turned out to be very nearly as old as her husband, and however attractive she might once have been, she was now tall, thin, angular and a trifle brusque.

  'Mr. Haggard,' she said, her mouth widening into a wintry smile. 'This is a privilege.'

  But her gaze was suspicious; no doubt Cummings had regaled her with tales of Emma. Haggard could only console himself with the thought that it was for only a few days, while Mrs. Cummings was at least an excellent cook.

  But, he reflected as he accompanied Cummings to court three days later, wearing a new broadcloth suit hastily run up by the agent's tailor, he could not for a moment pretend that England was in any way like his expectation of it. So what had he expected? That they would provide a guard of honour as he left the ship, that the sun would shine, that all the nobility of London would come flocking to see him, that the villagers of Derleth would line the street and wave flags as he rode through them, that Derleth Hall would turn out to be a palace, that his coal mines . . . but he did not know what to think about the coal mines. He did not know what he dared think of them. For some reason, whenever he remembered those naked, coal-stained girls, his breeches seemed to halve in size. And he had spent his entire life surrounded by naked humanity.

  He reasoned that it was just the transition which was confusing

  He reasoned that it was just the transition which was confusing and upsetting him. And his precipitate flight from London. While now he had come back without notice, simply in pursuit of a runaway. It would be different once he was an MP, when he visited the city to take his place in the Commons, when his voice would be heard pronouncing on all the great issues of the day, when his new manor house was built, when Emma . . . but strangely he did not wish to think about Emma either at this moment. There were too many others.

  He must merely keep on his course, completing each step in his plan as it came upon him. And the first step was the regaining of James Middlesex, the understanding of all who came into contact with him that he was Haggard, and not to be trifled with. He gazed across the small courtroom at the black man, no longer wearing his Haggard livery, but in a suit of grey no doubt provided by Sharp, who sat beside him. 'Who is the third man?" he asked Cummings.

  The agent was frowning. ' Tis Barcroft, the attorney.'

  'Do we need an attorney?'

  ‘I would not have supposed so. You have but to lay claim. Now.' For the magistrate was peering at them. 'Will the plaintiff stand up?'

  Haggard stood up.

  'State your name and occupation and address.' ‘I am John Haggard, late of Haggard's Penn in the island of Barbados, but now resident at Derleth Hall in Derbyshire.' 'State the charge you propose to bring.'

  He found himself becoming irritated by the monotonous disinterest of the voice.

  'My charge is very simple,' Haggard said.

  'Your Honour.'

  'Eh?'

  'You will address the bench as Your Honour, Mr. Haggard.'

  Definitely he should have had an attorney. Cummings was incompetent. 'My charge, Your Honour,' he said, his voice slowing to that even tone which betrayed his anger, 'is that that black man over there, whose name is James Middlesex, is my slave, whom I brought from Barbados as my butler, and who ran away from Derleth Hall six days ago. He was aided in his escape by Mr. Granville Sharp, whom you see sitting next to him. I pursued my slave, but was prevented from regaining him by Mr. Sharp. I am here today, Your Honour, to obtain restitution of my lawful property.'

  The magistrate peered at him for a while longer, then nodded. 'You may sit down, Mr. Haggard. Mr. Sharp?'

  Barcroft stood up. ‘I represent the defendant. Your Honour.' 'Yes, Mr. Barcroft.'

  'Your Honour . . .' Barcroft grasped the lapels of his coat. 'My client contends that there is no charge for him to answer, by the very simple reason that slavery is not recognised in this country, therefore the man Middlesex cannot be a slave, therefore he cannot be accused of having run away from anyone. My client is prepared to admit that the man Middlesex borrowed a horse belonging to Mr. Haggard, but the animal has since been returned, and Mr. Sharp is prepared to pay a reasonable sum as rental for the animal during the two days it was away from Derleth Hall.'

  'One moment, Mr. Barcroft,' the magistrate interrupted. 'Do I understand from what you have said, that your client does not deny assisting the man Middlesex to abscond?'

  'My client does not deny befriending the man Middlesex and assisting him, Your Honour. Certainly he denies assisting him to abscond, because how may a free man abscond?'

  'Hum,' said the magistrate. 'Hum. Mr. Haggard?'

  'I am amazed that you listen to such rubbish,' Haggard said.

  'Mr. Haggard? This is a court of law.'


  'And I expect it to uphold the law, Your Honour. I am an Englishman, and I own certain property. That man is mine, just as the horse he took is mine, just as Derleth Hall is mine. No one can deny these things. A man's property is inviolable. There is the oldest of all English Common Laws. I must insist upon the return of Middlesex to my care.'

  'Hum,' said the magistrate. 'Hum. Mr. Barcroft?'

  'Your Honour,' said the attorney. This great nation of ours has ever led the entire world in the efficacy of our laws, the transparent goodness, humanity, lawfulness of our laws. Your Honour, in common with many other nations, centuries ago we recognised the pernicious institution of serfdom. We allowed certain men to rise above themselves and seek to own others less fortunate than themselves. Your Honour, for two centuries my ancestors and yours fought for that terrible injustice to be abolished. Your Honour, a hundred years ago we won that fight. When King William came to the throne, uplifted and protected, but also constrained, by the Bill of Rights, the possibility of one man enslaving another was gone from this great land of ours. Your

  Honour, I know not, and I care not, what barbarous practices obtain in remote colonies such as Barbados. You know, and I know, that the West Indies have ever been a breeding ground for piracy and every ill known to mankind. Possibly conditions in those savage climes necessitate different men who project different attitudes. But this is not Barbadian soil on which I am standing. I am standing on English soil, Your Honour, and regardless of what I have done, no man has the right to enslave me. If I am in debt and cannot pay, my creditor has the recourse of sending me to prison. If I have committed murder or treason, the law has the recourse of taking my life. But so long as I am alive and English, no man can put fetters on my wrists and say, you belong to me. Your Honour, to grant the claim that this man Middlesex be returned to Mr. Haggard's custody, to the whip and the chain and the insults of serfdom, would be to lower our great country once again to the level of Russian autocracy. It cannot, it will not, happen here, sir.'