'It's Haggard,' the man said over his shoulder, apparently in response to a query from inside, the wagon.
'Haggard?' Emma's voice. A moment later she joined the man at the back of the wagon. 'Mr. Haggard?'
'Roger,' Roger explained. 'With Charlie and Alice.'
'Roger,' Emma cried, and leapt down the steps. She wore a nightgown and her hair was in plaits. 'Alice.' She seized the children, hugged them against her. 'Charlie.' She wept, quietly, holding them close. 'Oh, you
darlings.
But you shouldn't be out here in the middle of the night. Whatever will your father say?'
'We had to see you, Mama,' Alice said. 'Father said you weren't ever coming back. He said you'd run away. Did you run away, Mama?'
'Did you run away, Mama?' Charlie asked. 'Did you? Did you?'
Emma chewed her lip, glanced at Roger.
‘I
know you didn't run away, Emma,' he said, it was that girl Alison, wasn't it?'
'Why
...
1 suppose it was,' Emma agreed. 'Although I didn't know it at the time. But to have you here . . .' Still hugging them, with Rufus trying desperately to lick her hands, she turned back to the wagon. 'My children, Harry. Would you believe it? They've come to see me. My children. This is Mr. Bold, Roger. Harry, this is Roger Haggard. And Charlie and Alice.'
'Haggard,' Bold said in disgust. He was a short, heavy-set man with a thick black beard and moustache.
'He's not like his father,' Emma said. 'And he's brought my children to see me. Come down and shake his hand.'
Reluctantly Harry Bold came down the steps grasped Roger's hand.
'I came to warn you, too,' Roger explained.
'Warn me?'
'Father saw you at the church this afternoon. At least, he saw you, Emma. He's given instructions for you to be thrown out of Derleth. For your wagon to be destroyed.'
'He did, did he?' Bold said. 'We'll see about that. Who's going to do this piece of dirty work?'
'Mr. MacGuinness, and some men from the village.'
'When?'
'It was to be done tonight. Why . . .' He turned his head. They could hear the sound of people approaching, stumbling and cursing over the uneven ground, voices high and interspersed with nervous giggles. The horse gave a neigh, and Rufus an angry growl.
'They're drunk,' Emma said.
'Aye, they would be.' Harry Bold chewed his lip. 'But there's an awful lot of them. Emma, you'd best into the woods. You be off, children, your pa won't want you to be discovered here.'
'What are you going to do?' Roger asked.
Bold sucked some of his beard into his mouth. 'I don't rightly know.'
'Fight them,' Roger said.
'Eh? One man, against a dozen.' Because the approaching men could be seen now, the burly figure of .MacGuinness at their head. 'I've not even a weapon, save a stick."
'I'll help you,' Roger said.
'A boy?'
There's Rufus.' .
Bold frowned at the dog. 'Will he obey you?' 'Rufus will do anything I say.'
'You can't, Roger,' Emma said, it would be going against your father. And you'll likely be hurt.'
'Those men are coming to hurt
you,
Emma.' Roger pointed out. 'They're going to break up your wagon. Father told them to. But I know he didn't really mean it.'
'He did mean it,' Emma said,
‘I
can't explain now, Roger. But don't suppose your father doesn't know his own mind. Now you take the children and hurry out of here, before . . .'
There they are,' MacGuinness shouted, his voice thick. 'Awake, lads. Let's at them.'
The men surged across the field.
'Get them Rufe,' Roger shouted. 'Sickem, boy.'
Rufus gave a long baying bark, and hurtled away from the wagon like a cannonball. MacGuinness saw him coming and jumped backwards, bumping into Peter Wring immediately behind him.
'Sticks,' Roger shouted. 'You said you'd sticks, Mr. Bold.' That I have.' Harry Bold grasped a stout club and ran down the steps.
'And for me,' Roger said.
'Me, too,' Charlie bawled, jumping up and down.
'You come in here," Emma commanded, seizing her son by the arm and dragging him into the wagon. 'And you, Alice.'
Rufus had scattered the posse as if they had been toys. His snapping jaws could be heard even at a distance, and the one man who had attempted to stand his ground had gone down with the mastiffs teeth in his calf. The rest were tumbled left and right, slowly getting to their feet as Harry Bold and Roger Haggard reached them.
'Now you listen to me,' MacGuinness bellowed, getting up, to stare at Roger in total amazement. 'Master Roger. What in the name of God . . . '
'Got you,' Roger shouted, and hit him across the head with all the considerable strength he could muster. MacGuinness went down without a sound.
'And you,' Bold cried, swinging his club from side to side to fell two other men as they attempted to get up.
'Help me,' screamed the man being savaged by Rufus. 'For God's sake help me.'
'Let him go, Rufe,' Roger commanded. Try another one.'
Rufus reluctantly uncl
amped his jaws and his victim staggered to his feet, gave a wailing cry, and fled back across the meadow, hopping on one foot. It was the signal for the end of the fight. The rest of the expulsion party ran behind him, such as could move. Roger Haggard and Harry Bold stood together, Rufus panting at their side, while Emma came up with a bucket of water, which she emptied over MacGuinness. The bailiff sat up, rubbed his head, and winced, slowly clambered to his feet.
The squire will hear about this,' he said. 'By God he will.'
'I'll tell him myself,' Roger promised.
'He'll be very angry with you,' Emma said.
'He won't. I know he won't. But maybe you'd better move on anyway, just in case.
'Aye. The lad is talking sense,' Harry Bold said. 'We won't go
far, Emma. But we'll be off Haggard's property.' He grasped Roger's hand, gave it a squeeze. 'Maybe one day we'll be welcome here, eh? It's been a pleasure, Mr. Haggard. A real pleasure. If you ever need a helping hand, be sure to call on Harry Bold.'
CHAPTER 7
THE STEPMOTHER
Haggard opened his eyes, was for a moment unsure of where he was. Golden hair, tickling his face, brought back memory. Not altogether pleasant memory. He had spent the night with the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, who was also his wife, had had all of those soft curves at his disposal and was yet left with a feeling of dissatisfaction.
Because she had so obviously not enjoyed herself, had been doing nothing more than her duty. But that must have been because it had been their first night together. She had at the least not been afraid of him. And now
...
he leaned on his elbow to look down at her. Sleeping, her face was even more lovely than when she was awake; the slightly predatory glitter he had observed at their first meeting was absent.
Gently he blew on the long lashes, watched them flutter and half open, then close again.
'Wake up, sweetheart,' he said. 'We're on our honeymoon.'
'Let me sleep, Mr. Haggard. Please let me sleep.' She rolled over, her back to him.
Haggard sighed, and rang the bell. He continued to gaze at the serrated line of vertebrae marking the pale skin. Her back reminded him of . . . by Christ, he thought. Emma! By now MacGuinness would have carried out his orders. The wagon would have been broken up, and the tinkers driven from the valley. Emma! But she had been cursing him. Why else should she have come back?
But did it matter? He did not believe in curses, so how could she harm him? He had behaved stupidly, because he had been nervous about his wedding. He hoped she hadn't been harmed in any way. But he had still done the right thing. It would be quite impossible for him to enjoy life were
she allowed to return to the
alley whenever she chose, to stare at him from behind hedgerows, to attempt to reach her children, to utter curses.
There was a tap on the door, and he hastily covered Alison up, pulled on his robe. Simpson entered, followed by Mary Prince, bearing a tray.
'Good morning to you, Mr. 'aggard, sir,' Simpson said,
‘I
'ad no hidea you wished to rise early.'
'I wish to see Mr. MacGuinness,' Haggard said. 'Send someone out for him, and tell him to meet me in the office in an hour. Thank you, Mary.'
Mary Prince put the tray on the table, bobbed her knees in a curtsey, staring at Alison's indistinct form beneath the bedclothes, and withdrew. Simpson followed her.
'What can you have to do this early in the morning?' Alison demanded, suddenly sitting up.
'Tis a vast estate I have here.' Haggard handed her a cup of chocolate.
'And a vast bailiff you have to manage it for you,' she pointed out.
'Aye, well, there are certain things I must see to myself.' He drank his own chocolate, kissed her on the forehead, endeavouring to caress her breasts and watched her lie down again and roll herself into a cocoon, and went next door to his dressing room, where Simpson already had his clothes laid out. 'What does the ballroom look like?'
'Ah, well, Mr. 'aggard, there's been a ball, hall right. Oh, aye, there's been a ball.'
Haggard went downstairs. The maids and the footmen had already been marshalled by Pretty, and were moving slowly to and fro over the floor with huge mops, gathering scattered pieces of wedding cake, the remains of shattered champagne glasses, and even various articles of clothing which had been discarded by the guests. The whole place stank of stale alcohol and stale perfume. Haggard was glad to escape it, down the great staircase into the lower part of the house, where the doors and windows stood wide and the air was clean.
'Haggard.' Brand had been walking up and down the terrace.
'Good morning to you. Sleep well?'
"Eventually. And you?'
Haggard smiled at him. 'Not a wink. Did you expect me to?' 'Ha ha,' Brand said, and slapped him on the shoulder. There's a man for you.' But the smile did not reach his eyes. Td like to have a word.'
'Come into the office.' Haggard held the door for him, closed it behind them. 'You've something on your mind.' He seated himself behind the huge desk.
Brand sat opposite him. 'I'm a happy man, Haggard,' he very obviously lied. 'Alison married to the best chap I can think of, why, I've no reason to be unhappy.'
'But you are,' Haggard said.
'Aye, well, there's no justice in this world.' He chewed his lip, blew his nose.
'If I can help you, Brand, you have but to say.'
'God Almighty, man, 'tis not I need helping. No, no. Haggard . . . I'd not tell you before, in case it spoiled the wedding.' He raised his head, gazed at his son-in-law. 'You've been blackballed.'
'Eh?'
'At White's Club. By God, man. I was that upset. I've resigned myself.'
Haggard frowned at him. 'There was no need to go that far.'
'Ah, well, it's obligatory. Where one's candidate has failed, one is considered to have resigned."
Haggard brought his hands together, rested his chin on them. He could feel the anger swelling in his belly. Blackballed. 'Is there a reason?' he inquired, speaking very softly.
'Well, of course, the committee is under no necessity to give a reason. But . . .'
'But you know what it is. The Prince?'
'Aye, well . . .' Another honk on the nose, it's that business at Easter, throwing your black people into the snow. In the name of God, why did you do it?'
‘I
had just been informed that they were no longer slaves of mine. As I had brought them from Barbados
as
slaves, I could see no reason to maintain them any longer. I prefer white servants in any event.'
'But Christ, man, the cold bloodedness of it. And then, one of them dying. Of exposure, you know.'
'I'm sorry to hear it,' Haggard said.
'But you'd not regard it as any business of yours?'