She nodded. That's why we're here. Johnnie didn't shoot Peter Wring. It was Harry.'
'Cold-blooded murder, Emma.' 'Execution, Roger. He raped Meg.'
'Now, Emma, you don't believe that? That was a concoction thrown up by Alice while she was confused by the bang on her head. Even she no longer believes it.'
'But it's true,' Emma insisted, her voice rising. She looked around herself, flushed. Tell him, Meg.'
'Well . . .' Meg licked her lips. 'After you left us that morning. Pa said we must get out of here. Ma and me didn't know what he was talking about, but he was that determined. We couldn't argue him, Captain. It weren't possible. He was like a madman. Tim, too. It was all haste, haste, haste.'
'We left that night,' Emma said. 'Stole away in the darkness like criminals. Well, I suppose we were. Abandoned everything.'
'I know,' Roger said,
‘I
visited you the next day.'
'Did you?' Meg's eyes glowed. Then you would have forgiven me, Captain?'
'Forgiven you, I . . .'
'Finish what you have to say,' Emma insisted.
Meg licked her lips again. 'Well, next day we were into Leicestershire, and still hurrying. They wouldn't talk, Pa and Tim, but by now we knew something dreadful had happened. And at last it came out. Weren't murder, Pa kept insisting. It was justice. Peter Wring deserved to die, and so did Toby Doon and George Illing and all of them.'
'But I told you . . .' Roger began.
'Listen to me,' Meg said, almost fiercely. Toby Doon. It was the first time I'd heard that name. And suddenly I knew that I'd heard it before. When Pa asked me if I could tell him about the men who . . . who attacked me, I couldn't think of a thing. I could only think of them holding me and holding me and holding me. But then I remembered they'd used his name. Someone had said, your turn, Toby Doon. And another had said, hold your trap, you silly bastard.'
Roger frowned at her. 'You'll have heard the name. Meg. In conversation, in . . .'
'How?' Emma demanded. 'Your father's gamekeepers don't come over Plowding way. They're not that popular.'
'Plowding people work in Father's factory,' Roger pointed out. They'd know Toby. It's possible Meg may have heard the name.'
The girl stared at him with her mouth open. 'You don't believe me?'
'I want to believe you. God, how I want to believe you. But you're asking me to believe that Alice was right, that Father
did
engineer the whole thing. My God.' He found himself staring at Emma.
'If he did, Roger Haggard,' she said. 'If he did, then he cannot go through with the execution of Johnnie.'
‘I
doubt he means that anyway,' Roger said. 'It is just his way.'
'His way?' Emma cried. 'You don't know your father very well, Roger. His way? You weren't there when he turned his people out into the snow. You
were
there when he sent his men against Harry and me. Oh, there are so many things. I don't know them all. I can't tell you them all: But when John Haggard determines to do something, he does it. You must stop him, Roger, or that boy will hang. God knows I have no love for your brother, but you cannot stand by and see him hang.'
Roger bit his lip. 'You understand, Meg, and you, Emma, that if I threaten to make the whole thing public, and Father calls my bluff, there will be warrants sworn for the arrest of Harry and Tim? Murder warrants. They'll be taken and hanged.'
'Aye, well,' Emma said. 'Tis a large country.'
'Are you serious?'
'Don't you understand?' she cried,
‘I
'd not do it. Christ, I'd not do it. But we had to come back, and see. If Johnnie had been sent to prison, if he'd been transported, why we could have said nothing. But he's innocent of murder, Roger. And he's played a better part in this, keeping his mouth shut, than he has ever done before.'
Roger gazed at Meg. is that the only reason you came back?'
Her tongue stole out, and then retreated again. They'd not let me, Captain,' she said. They'd not let me.'
'Are you going to sit there the day?' Emma demanded.
Roger got up. 'No. If you're sure, we'll face Father down. Come on.'
'Murderer,' the crowd shouted.
'Jeffries,' bawled someone else, more learned than the rest, and referring to the infamous Bloody Assizes of a hundred and thirty years before.
Haggard stood on the steps of the school hall and gazed at them. He was surprised more than angry. Certainly he was not afraid of them. He was their squire, they were his people. And he was avenging one of them. He felt like holding up his hands, making them a speech, explaining, why he'd been so inflexible. But he'd not appeal to a mob. Not even his own mob. Not any more.
'We'd best be away, Mr. Haggard.' MacGuinness stood at his elbow, faithful as ever.
Or was he faithful? Haggard glanced at him. 'And what would you call me, MacGuinness?'
'Me, sir?' But MacGuinness would not meet his gaze. Even he would condemn the squire, if he dared.
Haggard went down the steps; Ned had come across, as indeed had all the servants from the Hall, and he held the bridle. But he said nothing. Haggard swung into the saddle, looked around him, and the crowd fell silent. But they were all there. He could make out Jemmy Lacey, and his sister; Nugent the butler, Toby Doon and George Illing; Hatchard; Porlock, his face a study in consternation, Mrs. Porlock clinging to his arm. All there. His own people, in whose cause he had wasted more than twenty years of his life. And at the back, Squire Burton and Sergeant McCloud, sitting their horses. All gathered to condemn him, for upholding the law.
He turned his horse, rode through them. They parted before him. From behind him some of the shouts started again, but those within reach of his gaze remained silent. Would not one of them shout, God bless you, squire?
He rode up the drive to the Hall. He had been a fool. He had been a fool to come to England at all. Every catastrophe he had known had arisen from that simple mistake. Well, that was not altogether true. He had been as unpopular in Barbados, and he had suffered even greater catastrophes. But there the sun had shone. There his people had been slaves, who dared not criticise, who dared not even hold any opinion contrary to their master. There, with Emma, he had been happy.
And there, with another Emma, he could be happy again.
He dismounted, left the reins hanging; the horse peered after him inquiringly. He walked to the door, and it opened for him. Mary Prince. Of all the servants, only Mary Prince had remained.
'You look tired, Mr. Haggard,' she said. 'A glass of port will do you good.'
Haggard glanced at her. Mary Prince. He could remember the coal dust dribbling down those slender legs. Mary Prince. He had taken her on the day his world had fallen apart. The day he had thrown Emma out. Mary Prince.
He climbed the stairs. 'Mr. Haggard?' she called.
'Leave me,' he said.
'But, Mr. Haggard . . .'
'Go away,' he shouted. 'Go and join your friends in the village. Go and chant, murderer, with them. Leave me alone.'
He climbed the next flight, opened the bedroom door. Alice was sitting up; when she saw him her face seemed to close.
'Where is your maid?'
‘I
sent her away. I sent her to the village.'
'She is supposed to stay with you, day and night.'
‘I
am not a child, Father. Nor am I truly ill any more. I asked her to bring me a report of the trial.'
Haggard nodded, sat on the bed. She regarded him as if he were about to assault her, carefully eased herself away from him. How like Emma she looked. In many ways, how like Emma she was. And they knew each other so very well. He did not want sex from her, or from anyone. He was too tired. Too dispirited, perhaps, at this moment, anyway. But he wanted her company. Even if she would not speak, he still wanted her company. Just to see her, that red stain on her shoulders, those small composed features. Just to see her was to remember. Just to remember was to be John Haggard'
s of Haggard's Penn, once more.
'Well?' she asked.
'He was found guilty.'
'And?'
Haggard shrugged. 'The law is quite specific about each one of his crimes. Certainly about murder.' ' 'He didn't kill Wring. Not Johnnie.' 'He has never denied it.'
Her frown began to gather. 'And you allowed sentence to be passed? On your own son? You could stop it. Father.' She seized his hand. 'However much you hate Johnnie. However much you hate me. You cannot let him hang.'
She had never taken his hand before. Her fingers were cool. 'Hate you, Alice. I have never hated you.'
She stared at him, and flushed. Her fingers relaxed, but they did not move. 'You'll save him, Father. Please. Oh, God, please.'
Haggard gazed at her. 'We'll leave this place,' he said. 'You and I, Alice. We'll leave the Hall. Roger will be back to live here, soon enough. We'll leave it, you and I, and we'll return to Barbados. You remember Barbados?"
'I . . .' Her eyes were wide,
‘I
remember Barbados.'
'Will you come with me, Alice? Back to the Penn? Back to the sunlight and the sea and the trade wind?' He smiled. 'Back to the hurricanes? Do you remember the hurricanes?" But even hurricanes would be better than English weather. Hurricanes were something for a man to match himself against. A man could not fight this deadly, endless rain. 'I should have gone back, years ago. I should never have left. But we'll go back now. Will you, Alice?'
'If . . . if you wish it. Father. If you'll save Johnnie.'
'You'd bargain?'
Her chin came up. 'If that's how it must be Father. Me, for Johnnie.'
He frowned at her. There was no love in her eyes. Not even a suggestion of affection. She was concluding a business deal. Why, Alison had looked like that when they had sat around the table in Brand's house, discussing the marriage contract. Me, for Johnnie. She was set to be the martyr. She'd look after him for the rest of his life, sacrificing her own happiness, and never letting him forget it for an instant.
He moved her hand, got up.
‘I
will Father,' she said. 'I'd never leave you. I swear it. Just let Johnnie live.'
Haggard closed the door behind him. He walked along the corridor, climbed the stairs to the tower room. However empty it was nowadays, it remained ready for occupation. The bed was made, the room was carefully swept and dusted every day. The desk was neat, and there would be paper in the drawer.
He stood at the window, looked out at the deer park. This was the most attractive view in Derleth, away from the village and the cut to the mine and the factory. He was a fool to have abandoned it. He was a fool.
Hooves. He went to the other window, looked down on the road from the village, on the drive, watched Roger galloping up to the house. Behind him there was a pony and trap and some people, women. Come to beg for Johnnie's life. Everyone in the world, begging for Johnnie's life. Loving Johnnie. Hating Haggard.
Haggard sat at the desk, took out a sheet of notepaper, and began to write.
Roger flung himself from the saddle, ran at the door. Mary Prince stood there. 'Captain? Oh, Captain . . .'
'Where is my father?'
'He went upstairs. He seemed very upset, Captain.'
Haggard took the stairs three at a time. At the top of the second flight he saw Alice, just leaving her bedroom. 'Alice?'
'Father was here,' she said. 'He was in a very strange mood.'
'Wouldn't you be, after sentencing your son to death? Where is he now?'
‘I
don't know. He said we were going back to Barbados, and when I agreed, he just turned and walked out of the room.'
The sound of the shot was dull in the huge, empty house. For a moment they stared at each other, then Roger ran along the corridor, Alice limping behind. But she did not climb to the tower, remained in the withdrawing room below, turned to look at Emma and Meg as they came in, escorted by Mary Prince.
'What . . .'
‘I
don't know. There was a
...
oh, God, I don't know.' Roger came slowly down the stairs, holding the sheet of paper in his hand.
'John?' Emma asked. 'Mr. Haggard?' She ran for the stairs. Roger caught her arm. 'You'll not wish to go up there, Emma?'
She shrugged herself free,
‘I
am as much wife as he ever had, Roger Haggard.' She climbed the stairs.