Alice closed the door. 'And why shouldn't he be there?' she demanded. 'Wring deserved to die. He raped Meg Bold. Don't trouble to deny it. As you deserve to die, Father. For having sent him. You all deserve to die. Only Johnnie doesn't have the stomach for killing.'
Haggard turned to her. 'Your doing?'
'Can you deny it?' she spat at him.
He gazed at her. Was he afraid of her? Was he afraid of anything she could say or do? He decided he was not. Not even if she could prove it. And he didn't suppose she could do that. But it would be necessary to face her down.
He turned back to Johnnie. God, how he hated the boy. Alison's child. How could he do other than hate him? But he kept his voice quiet and even. 'Get up, boy. Don't be a
snivelling
coward all of your life. You believed her?'
Johnnie licked his lips, pushed himself to his feet, isn't . . . isn't it true?'
'Do you really suppose I'd waste the time?' Haggard demanded. Did it matter? Why did he not tell the little lout, and watch
him
squirm with hatred. 'And do you suppose the virginity of a tinker's daughter is worth the life of a man? Her mother was a whore. A whore, do you understand? She was my whore, then when I threw her out she went whoring elsewhere. A whore's daughter, that's who you were puling after.'
'You'll not say that.' Alice struck at him, but he caught her hand easily enough, turned her and sat her on the bed. 'You'll not,' she gasped.
‘I
thought you were a stickler for the truth, miss? You.' He pointed at Johnnie,
‘I
want the names of the men who rode with you. I want the name of the man who shot Peter Wring.'
Johnnie stared at him, mouth opening and shutting.
'So you can hang them all?' Alice snarled.
That's right,' Haggard said. 'So I can hang them all. Quickly, boy, or you'll dangle beside them.'
Johnnie Haggard found his voice,
‘I
was there, Father. I led them. I'll not betray them.'
Haggard's hands opened and shut. But he could not control them. His arm shot out and the flat of his hand slashed across Johnnie's face. The boy tumbled backwards, struck the end of the bed and sat on the floor. The door opened, and Roger stepped in.
'Father?'
'He led them,' Haggard said. 'He's boasting of it. My own son, a Luddite and a murderer.'
'Christ,' Roger said, is it true?'
'He had cause,' Alice gasped. 'He had cause. He . . .'
'He's due for a hanging.' Haggard said. 'Because of her hate.'
Alice's mouth closed, slowly. She bit her lip instead. Roger glanced from one to the other in bewilderment.
'But I'll save you, boy. God knows why. I'll save you, if you'll give me the names of those at your back.'
Johnnie held on to the bedpost to pull himself to his feet. He remained out of reach of his father's hands, and tears were rolling down his cheeks. But his face was set. 'I'll not, Father. They rode with me, at my bidding.'
'Who?'
Johnnie shook his head.
'Why?' Roger demanded, in the name of God, why?'
'I didn't want Wring to die,' Johnnie said. 'But he deserved to. He raped Meg. And Father sent him to do it.' He caught his breath, as if amazed that he should have spoken the words.
Roger stared at his father.
'Do you believe him, boy?'
'I
...
of course I don't.'
'Aye, well, it was all a product of Alice's diseased brain.' 'It was not. It was . . .' But again she checked herself. 'Alice?'
Her shoulders slumped.
‘I
don't know. I
...
I was sure. I lay under the tree, and there were five men. Wring and the others. And I thought I
...
I don't know.' She threw herself on her face across the bed, shoulders wracked by great sobs,
‘I
don't know. Oh, God, I don't know.'
'Christ,' Roger said again. 'Oh, Christ. You believed her, Johnnie?'
‘I
. . . I . . .'
The names, boy,' Haggard said. The names.'
Johnnie shook his head again. 'I won't. They trusted me. I won't.'
Trusted you,' Haggard snorted. 'And you'll hang for them?' Slowly Johnnie's head came up. His lips were trembling. 'Oh, aye,' Haggard said. 'Don't suppose being a Haggard will save you from the noose. You'll hang boy. You'll hang.'
'Of course he means to frighten him,' Roger said. He stood in the centre of the Bolds' kitchen, gazed at the startled faces. Even Harry and Tim looked to be frightened. 'And I wouldn't have supposed Johnnie has the courage of a louse. But he won't betray them.'
'Perhaps he's afraid to,' Emma said. She drove her hands into her hair. 'Perhaps . . .' She gazed at her daughter.
‘I’m
sorry for it, Captain Haggard,' she said. 'Oh, I'm sorry for it.'
'Perhaps if . . . there's nothing you remember about the men who attacked you?'
'Leave the girl be,' Harry Bold growled. 'You think she wants to remember? Leave her be. You've no cause coming here, anyway. You've got trouble in Derleth, that's your business. Haggard's business is Haggard's business. You're happy enough to say that when things are going well. Like you say, it'll serve young puppy right. Beginning what he can't finish. Let him get frightened. Let him get frightened to death. You clear out of here, and leave us be. Captain Haggard.'
Roger looked from one to the other. 'I'd like a word with Meg, alone,' he said.
'You'll not,' Harry said. 'You'll not speak with her. Who do you suppose has suffered worse than any? Worse than your stinking brother ever could. You'll not speak with her, Haggard.'
'Emma?'
Emma sighed, and raised her head. 'She isn't well, Roger. You can see she isn't well. She hasn't been well since that night. Harry's right. You've no right to pry.
You had no right to pry in the fi
rst place. Johnnie deserves a good thrashing.'
'She's . . .' Haggard glanced at Meg. Her eyes were wide, beseeching him not to betray her. How like Alice she is, he thought. She had given him everything she had to give. Now she did not want him to allow her family to discover that. He shrugged. 'If that's the way you feel, Mrs. Bold. I'll say good day.' He went to the door, hesitated there, looked over his shoulder,
if
you should want to see me again, you'll know where I am.'
He sat his horse in the trees, and watched the cottage through his glass. But without hope, now. He had sat here for three hours, and she had not come. She had not even left the house to feed the chickens. He could not believe that she could have used him, so coldly and dispassionately, to regain her womanhood. Dispassionately? He could not believe she was that good an actress.
But she was not coming. And he was wasting time. Valuable time. There was so much to be done at the Hall, where Johnnie was confined to his room. Father had used the emergency power granted the Justices of the Peace by the recent legislation to hasten the trial—summary justice in the case of frame breaking had in any event been one object of the law—and the neighbouring magistrates who were required to make up the quorum were already sent for. If he was about to frighten his son, he was making a very good job of it.
She was not coming, and there was an end to it. For a last time he levelled the telescope. Slowly a frown gathered between his eyes. Meg had not come out to feed the chickens for the very simple reason that there were no chickens. Nor was there any smoke issuing from the chimney. Fool that he was for not noticing that immediately.
Would it have made any difference? He kicked his horse, cantered across the meadow, down the path. The front door was locked, but he could peer in through the windows. The stocking frames were still there, as was the empty range, the four chairs, the wooden table. Nothing else. He went round the back, stared into the bedroom. There were no blankets, no clothes. The Bolds had abandoned their home.
'But do
you
believe it?' Roger demanded.
Byron sat on the terrace, gazing out across the deer park. 'What I believe, my dear Haggard, is immaterial. Your brother certainly believed it, as he had been told so by his sister. It is she you wish to question.'
Roger sighed, and sat down. 'And drive her a little further out of her mind? What advice did you give Johnnie?'
'Ah,' Byron said,
‘I
dissuaded him from doing anything foolish.' 'You would not call murder foolish?' 'Now you know that was not premeditated.'
'Not by Johnnie, at any rate,' Roger agreed. 'I know
that.''
But by his accomplices? By Harry Bold and his son? If they knew, or if they even believed, that Peter Wring had raped Meg, there was motive enough. Motive enough for them to flee, afterwards, too. For fear that Johnnie would betray them, while he, poor deluded fool, was now set on playing the hero. But, Roger wondered, did he really want them betrayed? Did he want Meg's brother and father to hang?
Did he want Johnnie to hang? But that was nonsense. Father would never let it come to that.
He got up. 'I had thought you were returning to town.'
‘I’ll
stay, if you don't mind,' Byron said. 'Johnnie is one of my closest friends. I'll not desert him.'
'Good of you,' Roger remarked, drily, and went inside. He climbed the stairs to his father's office, but the room was empty. He went upstairs again, opened Alice's door. But she had asked for, and been given, some more laudanum, and was asleep. He seemed to be surrounded by grey clouds, through which he could not push. But that was nonsense. He was Roger Haggard. He had pushed through thicker clouds than these in the past.
He ran downstairs, called for Corcoran. 'I may need a couple of good arms.'
‘I’m
with you, sir,' Corcoran agreed.
They rode through the gap, gazed at the burned out mill. Under MacGuinness's directions, men were already clearing the blackened timbers, dragging out the shattered frames, testing the walls for strength. Squire had said rebuilding would commence immediately, and it was doing just that. While Peter Wring still awaited burial. While John Haggard junior still awaited trial.
'MacGuinness,' Roger called.
The big man raised his head, slapped his hands together, came towards the horse. His labourers stopped working and watched.
'I'd like a word with you, Mr.
MacGuinness,' Roger said, in private.'
’I
aye, Captain Haggard. In good time, sir. In good time.' 'Now,' Roger said.
MacGuinness shook his head. 'Squire's orders are to have this site cleared by the time he returns from Derby. Can't stop for nothing, Captain Haggard.'
'MacGuinness . . .' Roger hesitated. The other men had laid down their tools and drawn closer. Amongst them were the remainder of the gamekeepers. Wring's accomplices? Alice thought so. But Alice had as good as admitted her mistake. And in any event, they were closing their ranks against
him.
He was the outsider, now. He'd been away too long.
MacGuinness smiled at him. 'You ask squire, Captain Haggard. You ask him if I can stop to speak with you, and I'll be willing. You ask squire.'
Ask squire. Roger was in front of the house to greet
his father. 'Father. We must..’
'What's he doing here?' Haggard's arm was outflung, the finger pointing at Byron.
'Well, he's Johnnie's friend . . .'
'Friend?' Haggard's voice rasped. 'Lover, more like. They're a pair of damnable sodomites. You,' he shouted, stamping on to the terrace. 'You are no longer welcome here, sir. Get off my property.'
Byron stood up. His face was cold, if his cheek were bright. 'Your manners do you little credit, Mr. Haggard. I am your son's friend.'
'You, sir? Why . . .'
'His only friend, I would estimate,' Byron continued. 'Oh, I shall leave your miserable Folly, sir, as you demand it. But I shall not go very far.'
He went inside, and Roger scratched his head in sheer amazement. 'Surely you've no right to make such an accusation?'
'No right?' Haggard snapped. 'Johnnie as good as confessed it. My son . . . Christ, I can hardly believe it.'