'Aye, well, it takes all sorts. I'd agree with you that his lordship was a bad influence. But now he's gone . . .'
'You talk as if there was nothing wrong,' Haggard said. 'As if it scarce matters whether
a man loves a man or a woman. By
God . . .'
' Tis Johnnie concerns me,' Roger shouted. 'Surely this farce has gone far enough. Only Johnnie matters now. I wish to know when you are going to drop the charges.'
Haggard stared at him for several moments, then turned on his heel and went inside.
Surely this farce has gone on long enough. He sat at his desk and stared at the closed door. To know what to do. He was John Haggard. He could do anything he wished, within reason. But he was Justice of the Peace for Derleth. Over the years these people had grown to respect him and to trust him. and now one of their number had been killed, in his service, and he had promised to bring the murderer to justice.
But the murderer was his own son. A snivelling coward who was also a sodomite. Did he wish such a son? Could a man execute his own son?
He was John Haggard. He could do anything he wished. Therefore he could drop the charges and release Johnnie. So perhaps the people of Derleth would then hate him as much as everyone else hated him. Would that be so very hard to bear?
And what of Johnnie? He had stumbled on the truth, even if he no longer believed it. Was he then confessing that he would execute his son to prevent his own crime being discovered? Then what of Alice?
Unworthy thoughts. All unworthy thoughts. He was overtired, and he was too emotionally disturbed. Where was the John Haggard who had ridden out to face Malcolm Bolton? Then it had been a simple matter. The cause of the duel had been puerile. But it had had to be fought. And if it had to be fought, it had to be won. Better to kill in a puerile cause than to be killed in one. He had made the decision without the slightest hesitation. That was Haggard law. Do what is right, and what is right for Haggard is right for the community at large. It had to be so
. But for his wealth and his pa
ternalistic attitude, Derleth would have declined into a vast slum. Haggard law.
And Johnnie was Alison's son. How had he hated her, while she had lived, just as he had hated her since her death. Could Johnnie really be any different? He had all of his mother's perversions, all of his mother's secret ambitions and desires which had so infuriated him. Johnnie should never have been born. He should have been the babe which had killed her, and he should have died with her. There was the truth of the matter.
But could a man kill his own son? It had been done before. There was even a Biblical text about it, something about plucking out mine own eye, if it offends me. He found himself smiling in his despair. John Haggard, quoting the Bible.
'Gentlemen.' He stood in the doorway of his study.
'Mr. Haggard.' Squire Burton of Plowding took-his hand. 'We . . . well . . .'He glanced at Sergeant McCloud.
' Tis a devilish situation, Haggard,' McCloud remarked. 'A devilish situation.'
Haggard closed the door, indicated chairs. He'd not anticipate. The fact is, Haggard . . .' Burton wiped his brow. 'You'll not be sitting?' 'Why not?'
'For God's sake, man, you cannot try your own son.' 'Why not?'
'Well . . .' He glanced at McCloud.
Who cleared his throat. The fact is, Haggard, we are wondering if you'd like to withdraw the charge. Then we could enter a
nolle prosequi,
and the whole thing could be forgotten. There is not a shred of evidence that your son was involved . . .'
'He confessed to it.'
'Save his confession, I was going to say. Now, sir, if he were to withdraw that confession, I do not see how we could proceed. I don't suppose we could. Now, sir, there is yet time for you to convince the young man of his utter folly. I've no doubt some girl is involved, what?' He paused, and gave a nervous laugh. 'Or . . . something of that nature. He's protecting someone. Well, sir, it's absurd. So, sir . . .'
'He has confessed to murder and to arson and to frame breaking,' Haggard said. 'It is written down . . .' it can be mislaid, easily enough.'
'You are asking me to condone a miscarriage of justice.'
in the name of God, sir, is it not a miscarriage of justice to hang your own son? It will come to that, sir. Once we take our places and he takes his, why, sir . . .'
'You'll know he has refused counsel?' Burton asked.
That is his prerogative,' Haggard said. 'It would be useless in any event.'
There was a knock on the door, and MacGuinness pushed in his head. 'Master John's been taken down, Mr. Haggard.'
'Thank you, MacGuinness. We hold court in the school hall, gentleman. Shall we go?'
'Haggard . . .'
'They are waiting for us, gentlemen.' Haggard opened the door, in the circumstances, McCloud, I'd be obliged if you'd act as chairman.' 'What are we to do?' Burton whispered.
McCloud hesitated, then his face cleared. 'He means to punish the boy. That's certain. But he'll never hang. The sentence will have to be commuted.'
To transportation? Is that any better?'
McCloud sighed, and shrugged. Haggard had remained just outside the door.
'They are waiting, gentlemen.'
'State your full name,' MacGuinness requested.
John Haggard drew a long breath. 'John Simpson Haggard,' he said. Amazingly, his eyes were dry. He was finished with weeping. He could look around the schoolroom, even try to identify some of the people. Roger was easy enough to spot; he had put on his uniform and was a blaze of crimson, his face equally red, his features strained. Byron was equally simple to see, leaning back, his face a picture of composed contempt as he surveyed the court; he had taken rooms at the inn. But behind them the faces were a blur; the hall was packed quite literally to the door.
'John Haggard,' MacGuinness said, 'you are accused that on the eighteenth of July last you did feloniously and unlawfully kill and murder one Peter Wring gamekeeper, and further that on the said date you did feloniously and unlawfully enter a mill the property of . . .' MacGuinness drew a long breath. 'Mr. John Haggard of Derleth Manor in the village of Derleth in the county of Derbyshire and therein did destroy stocking frames and other equipment to the value of two thousand pounds, and further that on the said date you did set fire to the said mill with a view to destroying it utterly. How plead you to these charges?'
'I plead guilty,' Johnnie said.
There was a violent buzz, and Sergeant McCloud banged his desk with his gavel.
'I will clear the court if I have to,' he remarked. 'Mr. Haggard, you will face the bench."
Johnnie faced them, stared at McCloud. He would not look at his father.
'You understand the gravity of these charges?' McCloud asked. 'Yes, sir.'
'You understand that the penalty is prescribed by law, that we have no room to make exceptions?' 'Yes, sir.'
'Well, then, do you persist in your plea?' 'Yes, sir.'
McCloud sighed, and glanced at Burton.
'Do you not suppose, Mr. Haggard, that it would be better for you to consult counsel before taking such an irrevocable decision?' Burton asked. 'I am sure the bench would agree to an adjournment.'
‘I
have
no need for counsel, sir,' Johnnie said.
'For God's sake, boy, 'tis your life we are discussing.'
'I have pleaded guilty to murder, sir.'
Burton stared at him for a moment, then threw up his hands and leaned back in his seat. McCloud glanced at Haggard, leaned towards him.
'Do you recommend transportation, or some such punishment, Mr. Haggard?' he said. 'Be sure we shall support you.
1
'There is no possibility of transportation for any of the three offences the prisoner has committed.' Haggard did not whisper, and his voice was clearly audible. 'You have done your best to irregularise these proceedings as it is. Justice demands that the proceedings be completed now. I demand it.'
McCloud turned back to the court.
'Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say before I pass sentence?'
Johnnie Haggard's face was pale, but his lips were firmly pressed together. Just a trace of brightness showed at his eyes.
‘I
have nothing to say, sir.'
McCloud looked right and left. Burton raised his eyebrows and then closed his eyes. Haggard stared at his son.
McCloud sighed. 'Prisoner at the bar, you have confessed to three grave and criminal offences, each one of which carries with it the death penalty. This court can do nothing more for you. You are therefore sentenced to be taken from here back to your cell, and from thence to a place of execution, and there you shall be hanged by the neck until you are dead.'
Once again the court surged into uproar. People were shouting from the back, 'Murderer,' at Haggard. Others were just shouting. Illing touched John Haggard on the arm. There's a room for you at the inn, Mr. John,' he said, 'if you don't mind my company for the night.'
'Weil have you out, Johnnie,' Byron said. They'll not hang Johnnie Haggard.'
'You'd best stay inside a while, Mr. Haggard,' MacGuinness muttered. 'The people are in an ugly mood.'
'I have faced mobs before, MacGuinness.' Haggard stood up, gazed at Roger, whose mingled anger and disbelief were easy to see. Haggard attempted to signal him with his eyes, but Roger turned away. Even Roger. He did not yet understand the responsibilities of being Squire of Derleth, of being Haggard.
He went down the aisle, and after a brief hesitation Burton and McCloud followed him.
Roger remained seated, staring after them. He did not believe he was truly awake. But what had he expected to happen? Once the case came to court it could have only one conclusion. Father was playing his savage game to the very end. He pushed himself up, found himself face to face with Byron.
'Well, Captain, your father has had his little joke,' Byron said. 'And in very poor taste it is too. How far will you permit it to go?'
'No farther, you may be sure of that,' Roger said.
'Aye, well, it will be a close run thing. Sentence has been passed. You're talking of a reprieve now.'
'I shall organise it.'
‘I
wish you fortune. I am to Derby to obtain the Lieutenant's intercession, whether Johnnie wishes it or not.' 'On what grounds?'
Byron closed one eye. 'On an irregularity. Surely it is an irregularity for Haggard to try his own son?' 'Even if he did not ask for clemency?'
'An irregularity is an irregularity, Haggard. I'll make him listen if I have to keep him up all night.'
There's not time. There is only one man can save Johnnie now, and that is Father. And by God, I will see to it that he does. You'll excuse me, my lord.' He turned away, pushed his way through the crowd, stopped as a woman stepped in front of him, stared at Margaret Bold.
Emma stood behind her. Each woman wore a shawl thrown over her head and gathered under her chin, and would have been indistinguishable had they not removed them. But Meg, and Emma in Derleth? And after having run away.
He seized the girl's hands. 'Meg.' It was outrageous of him to be happy. But never had he been so happy. 'Oh, Meg.'
'We must speak with you, Roger.' Emma's voice was low.
'You shall. You shall. Come on.' He escorted them towards the door, and checked. From outside they could still hear the chanting of the crowd. He did not know what might be happening out there; he did not suppose it would greatly worry his father. But Meg, and Emma . . . 'We'd best wait awhile,' he said.
They are cursing the squire,' Emma said.
'Aye. Who'd have thought it, eh? After all these years.' He found them seats; the hall was rapidly emptying, and they were almost alone in the comer of the room. 'Oh, Meg, Meg . . .' Once again he took her hands. To run off . . .'
‘I
t was Pa's doing,' she said. 'Pa, and Tim. They made us go.'
'Because they were afraid?'
Meg glanced at Emma.
They were afraid, Roger. Did you know?'
He shrugged. 'I guessed.'
'But you did not ride after them?'
'I was more concerned with Johnnie.'