Did he still hate them that much?
Or was it more likely that he was afraid of his own reactions, afraid that if he set out to defend slavery, he would find that it was indefensible.
The understanding had been growing on him for ten years.
Something else that was Emma's doing, although she did not know it. He had always been inclined to ask himself questions, always vaguely afraid, and equally uncertain, although he would never admit that to anyone. He wondered, about too much. He wondered who, or what, had made the decisio
n which had caused him to be born
in the Great House and James Middlesex, for example, to be bo
rn
in a slave logie. He wondered who had made the decision that Father and Susan should die, and he should live. And why. And he wondered why someone like Emma Dearborn had been sent to him, so strangely, and at so strange a time. Even more, who had sent him to her, when she had been about to die.
'Mr. Haggard?' She rested her hand on his arm.
'Aye,' he said. 'What would you have me do?'
'Me, Mr. Haggard?' Her surprise was utter.
'Supposing, of this moment, I told you you could have anything you desired in the world, go anywhere, be anything, what would you choose?'
She flushed. 'I have everything I could wish, right here, Mr. Haggard.'
'Save security.'
‘I
am secure in your love, and . . .' She bit her lip.
'And while I live. But think, Emma. Let your imagination run riot. What would you have, what would you do? Suppose you are the mistress of Haggard's. Not my wife. My daughter, inheriting the plantation and everything that goes with it?'
'Oh, Mr. Haggard . . .'
Think, Emma, and tell me. You have an imagination. Use it.'
'Well . . .' She licked her lips, drank some sangaree, leaned forward, her face suddenly intense, and the more lovely for that. Too much of the time it revealed only suspicion and a smattering of fear. But now she was animated in her thoughts, in her imagination. 'I'd go to England, for a start.'
'Sell Haggard's?' Haggard pulled his nose. ' Tis the ultimate source of our wealth, even if you could find someone to pay the price.'
'I'd not sell Haggard's, Mr. Haggard. Never. But it can be managed by an attorney, surely.'
'Mm. What would you do with your life?'
'I'd go to Derbyshire, Mr. Haggard. I'd buy a manor house there, and live a civilised life.' 'Derleth Hall, I'll wager.'
She leaned back in her chair. That's something personal.'
"And what do you call a civilised life? Balls and hunts and fetes and gossip?'
They help you to understand you're alive.' 'And if you were a man?'
'Well, Mr. Haggard . . . Derleth is a county borough. It carries its own seat, and there are only a few electors. You'd not lack for something to do.'
'Parliament, by God.' He got up, walked to and fro, paused at the verandah rail to stare at his plantation.
His
plantation. He had never known anything else. But was the girl not right, however much of a private dream she was indulging? Had he not been thinking that very thought, with increasing force, every day for ten years, and rejecting it only because it was too great a step to contemplate? To be born, and live, and die, on Haggard's, surrounded by hatred and by criticism, could he really say, as he breathed his last, that he had lived? He was a slave owner. He had been born a slave owner, and he would die one, but could marshalling gangs of black men and women, ordering their floggings, granting them holidays, really be the beginning and end of his life? Because he hated it. The realisation came to him with a sense of shock. What heresy. But could he not do more for Haggard's, for all the West Indies, by taking his seat in the Commons, than he could ever do by stalking this verandah and defying all of Barbados? It would be an adventure, a great and glorious adventure, and he had never truly adventured. Certainly Willy Ferguson was capable of managing the plantation. And his children would grow up away from the atmosphere of hate. And it would also be a magnificent way of settling his own conscience of helping those people he despised. Let them prepare remonstrances and petitions. He would stand on the floor of the House itself to make the cause for slavery.
'I have angered you,' Emma said, softly.
'You have made me think,' Haggard said. 'I have not thought, except about you or the plantation, for too long.'
'You told me to imagine whatever I chose.'
'So I did. How soon can you undertake a sea voyage?'
'Mr. Haggard?' She scrambled to her feet. 'You wouldn't. Would you?'
'I asked you a question.'
Tomorrow. But Mr. Haggard . . .' She panted with excitement.
They'll call me a coward,' he said, half to himself. 'Who ran away because he could no longer face up to them.' 'Oh, Mr. Haggard.'
'Would you call me a coward, Emma?'
'How could
1,
Mr. Haggard? You are the boldest man I have ever known.'
He put his arm round her shoulders. Suddenly he was excited as she. It occurred to him that, even with Emma to love every night, he was becoming bored.
'You aren't really going to do it, Mr. Haggard?' Her voice had sunk to a whisper.
Haggard kissed her on the ear. 'What do they call colonists who make a lot of money and return to England to live a life of ease?'
'Why . . . nabobs, Mr. Haggard.'
'Aye,' he said. 'Nabobs. Well, then, Emma Dearborn, stand back and look at your first nabob.'
CHAPTER 3
THE
NABOB
'Man, but you ever see such houses?' demanded James Middlesex.
'Man, but there ain't no sun.' complained John Essex.
'Man. but what is that thing?
’
cried Annie Kent.
'Man. that does be a castle,' explained Henry Suffolk.
'Man. but you ever see church like that?' Elizabeth Lancashire inquired, pointing at the dome of St. Paul's.
'Man. but it too cold,' Abraham grumbled, pulling his cloak tighter around his massive chest.
They stood together in the waist of the
Yarmouth Lass
as she ghosted up the Thames on the rising tide; there was just enough wind
to
keep her steerage way. They were excited, and happy. In the beginning they had been terrified. Although none of them had ever made the Middle Passage from Africa, they had heard sufficient tales about it from their parents and grandparents. They had been unable to convince themselves that an ocean voyage, even in the company of the Master, could be any different. They had been unable to estimate the length of time required to travel from Barbados, up the arc of islands, using the current and the trade wind, to the Bahama Passage where the westerlies could be found which would drive them across to Europe. But three days ago. when land had finally come in sight through the autumnal mists, their spirits had begun to rise.
And what of my spirits? Haggard wondered. He stood on the poop deck, Emma at his side; her two children hugged against her.
Roger preferred to stand by himself, leaning on the gunwale. He was a silent, introverted boy. On the voyage, for the first time ever. Haggard had attempted to befriend him, as well as he was able—in leaving Barbados he had turned his back on Susan, and all resentment against the child who had caused her death. Besides, the experience had been new to both of them—the handling of the ship, the care of the rigging. Captain Biddies' daily exercise in navigation, as much as the wind and the sea, had been equally fascinating. Yet Roger smiled seldom, regarded his
Besides, the experience had been new to both of them—the handling of the ship, the care of the rigging, Captain Biddies' daily exercise in navigation, as much as the wind and the sea, had been equally fascinating. Yet Roger smiled seldom, regarded his father with watchful suspicion. It would take time. But there would be time, once they got to England.
And at least Emma was happy; no doubt when she had left here, in the hold of this selfsame vessel more than ten years ago, she had supposed she wo
uld not see England again. But I
have never seen it before. Haggard reminded himself. And he was not impressed at this moment. The sky was grey, as it had been unfailingly grey for the past week, and the city which was opening in front of him, if far larger than anything he had imagined possible, was huddled close together and suggested dirt and disease, while the air, even on the river, was tainted with the nostril-choking stench of coal smoke and wood-smoke. Yet, like his slaves, he was happy enough to come to land. It had been his first ocean voyage as well, and John Haggard could not be allowed to show fear, or apprehension, or even concern at the odd wave slapping the hull.
But at least the heaving sea had precluded thought. Now it returned with redoubled intensity. Barbados had been amazed at the news that he was going. Thus Willy. No one had come to say goodbye, nor had anyone in the crowd gathered on the shore of the Careenage done more than stare. No doubt they thought him a coward, running away from them. Well, was he not a coward? Emma had made him so. Emma and her children and his fears for them. Or was that just male pride bubbling over? On every count this move was at once desirable and sensible. He alone of all the Barbadian planters had never been to England; his father's foolish love had robbed him of that essential youthful broadening of the mind. Certainly, as he was thirty-seven years old, it was time to put right that mistake. And again, he was Haggard. Was it not right that he should take his place upon a larger stage than the Barbadian House of Assembly? Why, who could tell what future lay before him? At the least he did not doubt his brains or his ability. So perhaps Haggard's Penn would not be quite so prosperous under an attorney as under himself. He had every confidence in Willy Ferguson, but the fact was that it was no longer essential to his well-being; to continue to regard the plantation as the fount of his wealth, he recognised, was merely to pander to family pride. The Haggard fortune was too diverse to be confined to sugar. His great grandfather, happening to be in England at the time, had delved into the murky depths of the South Adventure, and had had the sense to take his profit before that Bubble had burst so alarmingly. On such a foundation, added to the growing profits from sugar, had the Haggard millions been based. And they
were
millions. He kept a million pounds at interest with the Bank, and another million in consols. His plantation pulled in a yearly profit of a hundred thousand, and itself was worth another million, at the least. He had naught to fear from the future. He could be what he was, what he had always been, Haggard, do what he liked, live as he chose, for the rest of his life and still bequeath to Roger a handsome fortune. Fear and uncertainty were really childish emotions.
And Emma? He had not raised the subject of her indenture, still could not believe she was unaware that she was free to walk away from him whenever she chose. He could not help but wonder whether the whole idea of coming to England was not some plot on her part to facilitate her escape. Except that she did not
need
to escape.
He looked down at her, found her looking up at him. 'Happy?'
'Oh, yes, Mr. Haggard.'
'Does it get much colder than this?'
'Oh, yes, Mr. Haggard. Why, it's just October. Come January there will be snow everywhere. Especially in Derbyshire.'
'Then we must obtain some warmer clothing.' He wore a cloak, as did she, but only cotton underneath. But now even he began to feel some excitement as the last sail was brought in, and the
Yarmouth Lass
came alongside the quay, where a crowd of men, and even some women, were waiting.
There we are, Mr. Haggard,' Biddies said. 'Safe and sound.'
‘I
ndeed, Biddies, and
I
am grateful for it. Would my agent be here, do you suppose?
’
'He is, sir. The tall gentleman in the tail coat. He'll be first aboard, you may lay to that.'
Haggard inspected Cummings. How odd, he thought, that I should have corresponded with this man for thirteen years, allowed him the investment of my capital, and yet now be seeing him for the first time? George Cummings was about fifty, he estimated, both tall and thin, with a large nose and a square chin. He wore dark brown, tail coat, waistcoat, breeches and even boots, and looked every inch a solid merchant. But he also wore a small wig, tied in a bow o
n the nape of his neck, Haggard
observed as he raised his hat
to
the people on the poopdeck. 'John Haggard, I'll be bound.' he shouted, 'I'd have known you anywhere.'
He did not wait f
or the gangplank to be run out, but leapt over the bulwarks and came up the ladder, hand outstretched. Haggard squeezed the strong fingers, and felt reassured.
'It's good to be here, Mr. Cummings,"
'A safe voyage?"
'Aye. Not a hurricane in sight
.'
'And this is Mistress Haggard? Faith, sir, I had no idea you had wed again."
Emma flushed.
"I have not wed again. Mr. Cummings,
’
Haggard explained. 'This young lady is my housekeeper.' 'Housekeeper? Ah. And this . . .
’
'My son, Roger. My daughter, Alice. My younger son, Charles.'
Cummings shook hands with Roger, patted the children on the head while he clearly endeavoured to collect his thoughts. 'And those blackamoors on the deck . . .'
'Are my domestic slaves.'
'Ah.' A frown flitted across Cummings' features, but disappeared quickly enough. 'I'll arrange transport for them. You'll want to get ashore, Mr. Ha
ggard. I've a hotel rented for y
ou , , .'
'Were for Derbyshire,' Haggard said. 'You did obtain that property ?'
'Oh, indeed, Mr. Haggard. Well, there was no sale in the beginning. It was necessary to buy up the mortgage and threaten to foreclose. And that cost a pretty penny. I doubt you'll see an adequate return."
'I am not concerned with a return on that outlay, Mr. Cummings. It is where I will live. And where I wish
to
commence living as soon as possible. Is it far?'
'Three days by coach, Mr. Haggard. And will you not like to see something of London Town?
’
'Not if all of it stinks like the river.'
Cummings smiled, deprecatingly. 'Your hotel is well removed from the river, Mr. Haggard. And if you do not wish to look at London Town, be sure that London Town wishes to look at you. I will arrange transport to Derlet
h as soon as can be done, sir, I
do promise you that. But you will need time to rest, and establish your gear ashore, and there's
business to be attended to, oh,
indeed, sir, you'll not be bored." He glanced at Emma, and his ready smile almost faded. 'No, indeed, sir."
‘I
sn't it wonderful?' Emma cried, peering out of the window of her carriage. They had left the stench and the grime and the crowds of the docks behind, and after winding their way through narrow and unprepossessing streets had emerged into a broader thoroughfare, with a great park looming on their right, while the buildings to their left each seemed to be as large as Haggard Great House.
'Hyde Park, Miss Dearborn.' Cummings was seated opposite them, Roger beside him. 'Oh, 'tis a lovely spot. And the last of all sights for a g
reat number. Over there is Tyburn
Brook, and if you look through the trees you'll see the gallows.'
'Ugh,' Emma said, and leaned back in her seat.
Haggard gazed at the houses, at the great trees, at the ordered gardens. He was, after all, impressed, despite himself. Just as, although he would scarce admit it to himself, he had been impressed by the sheer size of the city, by the number of vessels loading or unloading in the Pool, by the hustle and bustle of the streets through which they had passed, the vast numbers of people, sufficient of them clearly poor and half starving, to be sure, but equally many of them prosperous and busy, by the endless shops and emporiums, by the eager street hawkers, from young girls selling flowers or shell fish to gnarled old men offering to perform any service from catching rats to sharpening knives. The place was
alive,
in a way Barbados had never been. And not a black face to be seen. He wondered what the slaves, following in another equipage, would think of it all, just as he wondered what they must be thinking at travelling in a coach.
He glanced at Emma; had she ever travelled in a coach and four before? But she was staring out of the other window, as the berlin left the road and rumbled through a pair of wrought iron gates before proceeding down a short, winding driveway, bordered with oaks, and coming to a halt before a mansion with a high portico and a display of great mullioned windows. Here there were yard boys and grooms waiting to take the horses' bridles, and footmen lined up to see to the baggage, the whole marshalled by a very dignified gentleman in a black tail coat. And everyone with a white face.
'We're to stay
here?’
Emma whispered.
"Tis not very large,
1
agree,' Cumm
ngs apologised. "But as it is only for a few days . . . will it suffice. Mr. Haggard?'
The door was swinging open and the steps were being unfolded,
‘I
'm sure it will do very well," Haggard said, and stepped down.
'Good afternoon, sir,' said the dignified gentleman.
Haggard glanced at Cummings, unsure of his response.
'Hardy will be your butler, Mr. Haggard.'
'Ah,' Haggard said. 'And good afternoon to you, Hardy. But I have brought my own people.'
'For Derleth, sir. You may be sure it will take them some time to find their feet.'
Haggard supposed he was right. It would take some time for any of them to find their feet. He walked through the open door and stopped at the sight of the half dozen maids, all starched white aprons and caps, hastily bowing to their master. White girls, who in the West Indies would not lift a finger to help themselves. Marshalling them was an elderly woman in blue, every bit as dignified as Hardy.
'Mistress Broughton, Mr. Haggard,' Cummings explained. 'She will be your . . . ah, housekeeper.'
Haggard half turned, to look over his shoulder at Emma.
'The word has a different connotation, in England, sir,' Cummings whispered, somewhat urgently, for Mistress Broughton was frowning.
'My pleasure, Mistress Broughton,' Haggard said, and stared at the marble floor, the oak-panelled walls, the paintings, mainly of race horses and their riders; through the door to his right at a small withdrawing room, down the hall to another doorway, and up the curving stairway in front of him to the first floor gallery.
'I'm sure 'tis not so elegant as your own house, Mr. Haggard,' Mistress Broughton said. 'But we do our best. Ma'am.' She gave Emma a brief curtsey, at the same time glancing at Cummings in turn for information.
'Ah, yes,' Cummings said, suddenly very businesslike. 'You'll wish to inspect upstairs, Mr. Haggard, and decide upon bedrooms.'
Haggard nodded, and climbed the stairs, Mistress Broughton at his elbow, Emma and Cummings behind. 'Come along, children,' Emma said.
'My dear Mistress Haggard,' Mistress Broughton said. 'One of the girls will see to them. Margery,' she commanded, 'show the children the garden.'
'Oh,' Emma said,
‘I
'm not . . .' She bit her lip.
Mistress Broughton turned her frown on Cummings, who gazed at Haggard in a helpless fashion, and waggled his eyebrows.
Clearly it was time to take charge. 'Miss Dearborn is my companion,' Haggard said.
Mistress Broughton's mouth opened, and then shut again.
'But I am sure one of the girls
can
see to the children, at least until Amelia arrives, Emma,' Haggard said. 'Now, Mistress Broughton, you were to show me the bedchambers.'
'Of course, Mr. Haggard.' Mistress Broughton hurried in front of him, up another flight of stairs, along another gallery, and opened a pair of double doors. This is the master suite.'
Haggard stepped into a small withdrawing room, furnished with well-upholstered chairs and settees, in a generally rose pink motif, which also applied to the walls; beyond another pair of double doors led to the bedchamber itself, where the great tester as well as the hangings were once again in rose pink.