Haggard

by Christopher Nicole

  Her head tilted backwards, so that she could look up at him. 'I desire only your love, Mr. Haggard. As I shall give you mine.'

  He lowered his head, checked when he was an inch away from her. But she did not move. Relief spread outwards from his heart and his belly. He dropped his lips on to hers. They were closed, and he stroked them with his tongue. For just a moment they parted, and he was able to touch hers. Her hands came up, and closed on his arms, squeezing, then she released him, and her mouth was gone.

  She stood up, and the pink spots in her cheeks had at last grown, ‘I am happy, Mr. Haggard,' she said. 'Very happy.'

  Then you will call me John.'

  'John,' she said, and held out her hand. 'Shall we join Papa?'

  'But where is she now?' Roger insisted. 'Please, Father.'

  Haggard sighed. How big he was for sixteen years of age; why, they were roughly the same height. 'I do not know where she is now, boy. You understand the situation between us?'

  Roger nodded. 'Emma explained it to me herself. But she said she loved you. And she said you loved her.'

  'Well, of course we loved each other. Then. But love sometimes grows cold. And we were not married. So when she wished to leave me, I had no means of keeping her here.'

  'But why?’ Roger asked. 'Why should she wish to leave you? Where could she possibly go that was better than here?'

  Two terms at Eton had filled out his mind as well as his body. Made him into a true Haggard, Haggard suspected. He would have to be carefully handled.

  He leaned back in his chair, gazed out of the opened window at the brilliant sunlight streaming into the study. This was more like it. He could at last understand why England was occasionally described as the most beautiful country in the world. But June was only thirty days long. Would July be as kind?

  Still, there was no better month for Alison to see Derleth for the first time.

  'You do understand,' he said, 'that Emma was not your mother.'

  'Of course I do, Father. But she was my friend. And now . . . I don't understand why you wish to marry again.'

  'Aye, well, you will when you are a few years older,' Haggard said. 'I will explain it to you, then. Now come along. Miss Brand will be here in a little while. We must go out to meet her.'

  He was determined that Alison, on her first visit to Derleth, should not be disappointed. Everything that had gone wrong with his own arrival had been corrected, so far as he was able. Now he mounted his favourite mare, and saw that the children were also suitably horsed. He led them through the street, MacGuinness bringing up the rear, inspected the bunting hung from the houses, at his direction and paid for with his money, made sure that the Reverend Porlock—Litteridge's replacement—had the church looking sufficiently welcoming.

  He drew rein at the inn. 'Is all ready, Mr. Hatchard?'

  The publican was on the doorstep, in his best suit. 'Aye, Mr. Haggard,' he said. 'All is ready. I'm just giving them a drink, to cure the heat, like.'

  Haggard nodded, and rode on. He wondered what they really thought of him. They had had no reason to love the black people, and they had heartily disliked Emma. Even those who had opposed him in the slavery issue had been whipped into it by Parson Litteridge. Since that troublemaker's departure he had been greeted mostly by smiles, even if he often caught them whispering surreptitiously behind their hands. But they could whisper what they liked. He was Haggard. He had established that fact as firmly here as he ever had in Barbados. No doubt they were each relieved that the girl he had picked out of the mine had been Mary Prince, rather than one of their own. But they'd not criticise. Not even Henry Prince did anything more than touch his hat; he had too great a liking for golden guineas.

  And no doubt that went for the country as a whole. Six months, Pitt had said. Well, the waiting would be over in November, and in September he would be married. It would be time to turn his back on discord and quarrelling, and begin a new life with his new wife. With the most beautiful girl in the land.

  And there she was. The carriage was in sight, rumbling up the London turnpike, and turning to the left to take the road into Derleth. Haggard stood in his stirrups and waved his hat, and handkerchiefs fluttered from the windows of the berlin.

  'Wave,' he commanded the children. 'Wave, damn you.'

  They obediently waved their own hats, and the carriage scraped to a halt. Inside were both Alison and Emily, and their maids. Alison leaned out of the opened window, and gave him her hand. He leaned from the saddle to kiss it and squeeze it. 'Welcome to Derleth,' he said. 'Oh, welcome to Derleth.'

  'I feel as if I am coming home,' she said. 'And are these the children?'

  'Roger, my eldest son,' Haggard said.

  Roger raised his hat.

  'Give me your hand, Roger,' Alison said.

  'And this is my daughter, Alice.'

  Alice, a perfect replica of Emma, even at ten years old, gave a nervous bob to her head.

  'I am pleased to meet you, child,' Alison said, but this time she did not shake hands. 'And that will be Charles. He sits a horse well.'

  'Haggards,' Haggard said. 'Ride on,' he told the driver.

  The whip cracked, and the berlin raced down the hill, followed by its cavalcade. 'She's lovely,' Alice cried. 'Don't you think she's lovely, Roger?'

  Roger did not reply.

  'I don't think she's as lovely as Mama,' Charlie said, and bit his lip as Haggard turned his head.

  'Hush,' Alice said. 'You'll annoy Papa.'

  They were entering the village, and the men were streaming out of the pub to cheer and clap as the carriage rumbled by. Everyone had a foaming tankard in his hand; Hatchard had done his work well.

  'Hooray for Mistress Brand,' someone shouted.

  'Hooray for Mr. Haggard,' shouted another.

  Hats were thrown in the air, beer was spilled, and the whole mass moved along beside the carriage, shouting and cheering.

  They love you at first sight,' Haggard said.

  Alison merely smiled. But it was a more contented smile than he had ever seen before.

  They left the village behind and approached the manor. Beyond, the new house was taking shape, the tower built and dominating the countryside, the adjoining building a gaunt skeleton of wooden uprights only slowly being covered with planking. But already it was making the old hall resemble a barn.

  'Your future home,' Haggard said, and dismounted to open the door for her.

  Alison Brand stepped down, inspected the lined up grooms and footmen, Pretty the butler, restored to his old position, the housemaids and parlourmaids, marshalled by Mistress Wring, Peter's mother, who had come to the Hall as housekeeper. The girls kept their eyes dutifully lowered, Mary Prince included, Haggard was pleased to note.

  Alison swept by them and into the doorway, Emily and Haggard at her heels. In the doorway she stopped, and turned. 'I like Derleth,' she said. 'I like you all.' She smiled at Haggard. 'I will be happy here.'

  'I can see it's going to be magnificent,' Alison said. They had dismounted, the better to inspect the works, stood together at the foot of the tower, which rose forty feet above their heads. 'Can we get up there?'

  'Can we?' Haggard looked over his shoulder. Nash had remained a discreet distance away.

  'Only by ladder at the moment, I'm afraid, Mr. Haggard.'

  'I have never climbed a ladder. Could we, Mr. Haggard?'

  'Of course.' He led her inside the shell of the main building; at the far end the inner wall of the tower was open as if breached. On this, the ground floor, they looked at what would be cellars. A ladder led up to the extended drawing room on the first floor.

  'It looks awfully steep,' Emily complained.

  'Well, then,' Haggard said. 'You stay down here with Roger.

  Alison and I will make the climb.' It was quite impossible to get rid of the girl. Or come to think of it, of his son.

  Alison already had her foot on the bottom rung. 'You'll stay close behind me,' she said.

&
nbsp; Haggard stepped on to the ladder; her skirt brushed his face. He inhaled her perfume, watched her neatly laced boots emerging and disappearing again as she climbed. Her riding habit was in midnight blue, with a matching tricome. As ever, she looked good enough to eat. Certainly to rape. But what a strange thought about his future wife. He had only to be patient.

  She paused for breath, half way up, and to look down at the people beneath her.

  'Be careful,' Emily called.

  Alison laughed, and climbed again, scrambled off the ladder and on to the floor, waited for Haggard to join her. 'It's going to be magnificent,' she said.

  There's another,' he pointed out. 'Leading to the bedchamber.'

  She glanced at him, crossed the floor, and started climbing again. Now they were out of sight of the people below. Up they went, and through the opening on to the upper floor. Here the room was almost complete, although the windows needed to be glazed. Alison stood at the nearest, looked out at the rolling countryside, the trees clustering over the slopes of the hills; the window looked away from the village. 'What an absolutely splendid view,' she said, ‘I feel like a Norman chatelaine, waiting for the onslaught of the Saxons.'

  'A good time to be alive,' Haggard said at her shoulder.

  'Do you think so? I am happier now.'

  He put his arms round her waist, brought her back against him. 'Do you know this is the first time we have been alone since our betrothal?'

  'Well . . . you are such a passionate man, dear Mr. Haggard.' Her hands were on his arms, seeking to free them. Gently he spread his hands, allowed the fingers to wander upwards, over the hardness of her corset and just to touch the underside of her breasts. She gave a little shiver, and this time exerted her strength to free herself and move away.

  'And you are not a passionate woman, Alison?'

  She turned, eight feet away, and faced him, hands clasped in front of her. 'I do not know what I am, Mr. Haggard.' She shrugged. 'How could I?'

  But there was a peculiar expression in her eyes, which he could not understand. He moved towards her. 'You can permit yourself passion with me, my darling.'

  Her hands came up, between them. 'When we are married, Mr. Haggard. It is only three months now.'

  Three months,' he said. 'An entire summer, just sitting here, with naught to do . . .'

  'You could join a hunt,' she said. 'I know it is too early in the year, but you could train up a pack of hounds, break in some horses.'

  'Hunt,' he said. 'I suppose I could.'

  'I recommend it highly,' she said. 'Where is the nearest pack?' 'I have no idea.'

  She frowned at him. 'But . . . your neighbouring gentry?'

  'I have never met them.'

  They have not come to call, Mr. Haggard?'

  'Why, no, they have not.' He shrugged. 'I suppose they approve neither of my being a slave owner, nor of my earlier liaison.'

  'Well, they will have to change,' Alison decided. 'As they will be happy to, once we are married. Mr. Haggard, I have the most splendid news.'

  He took her hands. Tell me.'

  'Papa has secured us invitations to the Duchess of Devonshire's ball, at Almack's. Can you believe it, Mr. Haggard?' Her eyes glistened. 'The Prince will be there.'

  'Damn and blast the thing,' Haggard complained, surveying himself in the mirror. 'I see no point to it. Especially in the summer.'

  'Hit must be worn, Mr. 'aggard,' Simpson explained, carefully adjusting the wig for the third time. 'There is no 'elp for it. Now, sir, does that not look proper?'

  Haggard sighed. The thing was at least straight. But it made him look absurd, and every time he moved his head a spray of powder scattered across the shoulders of his black coat.

  'Hevery other gentleman will be wearing one, sir,' Simpson pointed out.

  'I suppose you're right. My cane.'

  "ere we are, sir. And the 'at.'

  All brand new. There was a pun for you. Brand had himself seen to his future son-in-law's clothes. Now he waited while Simpson pulled the tails straight, gave a last brush to the shoulders—the only hope of keeping them clean was for Simpson to attend him to the ball itself—and stood back. There we are, sir.'

  Haggard descended the stairs, to where Brand was pacing up and down the hall.

  'Ah, Haggard, there you are. My word, but you look splendid. Quite splendid. You'll be the sensation of the ball, I do declare. And 'tis important, mind. Important. Everyone has heard of you, not enough have seen you and talked with you.'

  'I am surprised I am allowed in at all,' Haggard observed.

  'Ah, bah, I told you that London society has a short memory for detail. You will take them by storm. Yes, indeed.'

  Haggard found himself once again before a mirror, peering at himself. The wig was still in place, and by keeping his head very still he could reduce the powder landslide. But why did he bother? Why was he vaguely excited and why were there butterflies in his belly? He was John Haggard. If he really wanted to. no doubt he could buy Almack's itself, and impose his own rules upon their silly functions. If he wanted to. But it was necessary to remember that, or these haughty duchesses and their lackey-like followers would reduce him to a jelly with their stares. How Bridgetown society would laugh could they but know the truth of it.

  if only the girls would be ready,' Brand grumbled. 'Ah, there you are, my dears. Come along now. You know we mustn't be late. Weil be turned away if we're late.'

  For the first time that evening Haggard forgot about himself. Descending the stairs towards him was the most marvellous sight he had ever seen, Alison Brand wearing an ice pink evening gown, slashed in a low decolletage, and with her hair quite disappeared beneath the towering white wig in which was embedded a variety of precious stones, rubies and emeralds and sapphires—his engagement present to her. But even the jewels seemed irrelevant. The absence of hair from her neck and shoulders left them as well as her face quite exposed, and far more lovely than he had ever realised them to be. Suddenly he was almost afraid of her. All of that beauty, and soon to be his.

  He hardly noticed Emily, wearing pale green, although he had supplied her jewellery as well.

  'Am I suitable, for the future Mrs. Haggard?' Alison asked, and extended her left hand to allow the huge diamond to sparkle in the light.

  Haggard kissed her knuckles. 'You are suitable to be the Queen of England,' he said.

  She smiled at him. 'You'd best not suggest that to the Prince,' she said, 'or you might lose me.'

  'Come along, come along, do,' Brand said. 'We shall be late. I know we shall be late. Turned away from Almack's. My God, what a disaster. We shall never hold up our heads in society again.'

  Haggard followed him through the door. 'You forget I have already been turned away from Almack's, and am doing quite well at holding up my head.'

  Brand did not reply, climbed into the coach even in front of his daughters; he was clearly very agitated, and in a curious way his concern soothed Haggard's own nervousness. He could sit beside Alison and enjoy the evening—it was still daylight—and enjoy too the sensation of possessing so much beauty.

  He could even enjoy once again encountering the formidable Martin, as usual flanked by an army of footmen, all gold and green and powdered wigs, bowing as he took Brand's card.

  'Colonel Brand, and the Misses Alison and Emily Brand, and . . . Mr. John Haggard,' he said. The information was hastily passed up the stairs, immediately in front of them, and was announced by the major-domo.

  'Look at them,' Alison said, without appearing to move her lips, which were fixed in a smile..

  Haggard surveyed the scene in astonishment. He had not supposed the ballroom could be so large—and it could only be a fraction of the whole area, for archways led away to other rooms in which there were tables laden with cold foods, other tables laden with champagne and chilled wines, and yet other tables covered in green baize and surrounded by chairs; clearly every possible taste was catered for here.

  But for the mom
ent it was the ballroom which was the centre of attention; this was packed, with women, everyone as magnificently dressed as Alison, although not one as good looking, with men, the majority in black suits and white shirts and cravats, like himself, but with a smattering of red-coated and high-collared

  army officers, and even one or two in the dark blue and gold braid of the Navy. He knew none of them, although he had been told Addison would be here—but every head was turned in his direction, and as he watched, a woman came towards them, and the whole room seemed to diminish in splendour. .

  She was about thirty-five years of age, he estimated. Her natural good looks, and she must have been a rare beauty in her youth, were enhanced by her air of absolute confidence and indeed arrogance, as much as by her gown, which was in midnight blue with sequined hem and sleeves, or by her decolletage, which was breath-taking, or by her jewellery, which even Haggard's somewhat inexperienced eye—West Indian women seldom displayed much wealth—could be costed at several thousand pounds. She moved across the floor in a long glide, and allowed Brand to take her hand.

  'Colonel Brand.' Her voice was a very gentle caress. 'How good of you to come. And your utterly charming daughters. Why, they grow more beautiful with every passing day.' She stood before Haggard. 'And this is Mr. Haggard,' she said, her voice slightly lowered. 'My evening is guaranteed success, Mr. Haggard. All London has been waiting to see you. And no one is going to be disappointed, I am sure. Allow me to introduce you.'

  He realised that she was offering him her arm, and that she was escorting him down the line of ladies and gentlemen, rather as if he was visiting royalty, which he supposed he very nearly was. Their names flowed around him, their smiles seemed to bathe him, their jewels and their breasts winked at him, but he heard and saw none of them. His brain seemed suffocated by the scent and the aura of the woman on his arm. What misfortune, he thought, that I should have become engaged to Alison before meeting her; what an affair we could have had.

  If she chose. But as they reached the end of the first row and she smiled at him, he could not doubt that she would choose.