Haggard (46 page)

'Believe me, sir, I am too happy. Will he like me, do you suppose?'

'Like you? He will love you, Johnnie.' Haggard released him, gazed up at this house. 'Roger is alive and well,' he shouted, unable to control himself any longer. 'Roger is alive and well.' He looked at his daughter, still framed in the doorway, watched her face break into a smile and then a laugh. He could not ever remember having seen Alice laugh before.

'He
will
love you,' Alice said. 'Roger . . . why, he was the kindest, bravest, nicest boy I ever knew. You will never have met anyone like Roger. Why, he is like Father, with none of Father's sternness. You will love him, Johnnie.'

'I have no doubt of it.'

She studied his face. 'But you do not like the idea of giving up the major part of your inheritance.'

He caught her hands. That has naught to do with it at all. My inheritance means nothing to me, Alice. Really and truly. I am just delighted to be able to give up the responsibility, of being the Haggard heir. Can you understand that?'

She frowned at him. 'I suppose I can.'

it means I am so much more
free,
to do anything I wish, without the fear of disgracing the name.'

Her frown deepened. 'What an odd thing to say. How could you disgrace the name?'

'Well . . . you know I really have not been very keen on opposing Father. I felt it was disloyal for his only son, his heir . . .'

'You mean you'll do something about the factory?' Her grip tightened. 'Oh, say that you will.'

'Well . . .' He flushed, it's just about complete.'

The machines aren't here yet. Father could still change his mind.'

'I doubt it. And hadn't we better wait for Roger? He is the one Father is more likely to listen to.'

'Oh, you . . .' She threw his hands away from her. 'You're afraid of him.'

'Well . . . aren't you?'

'No. I've told him what
1
think. But he just ignores me.'

'And don't you suppose he'd ignore me? Believe me, Ally, Roger is your best bet.'

'When he comes home,' she said, and wandered to the window. But Roger.
He
had never been afraid to oppose Father. And now there could be no question that Father would listen to him. Roger.

John Haggard stood up. 'You'll see that I'm right. And I promise you this; whatever Roger decides to do, he will have my complete support. Now I must be off.'

She turned back to him. 'Where?' The frown was back. 'You aren't doing anything stupid, are you Johnnie?'

He gave a guilty laugh. 'Of course I'm not. I'm just enjoying riding over the countryside. In another week I'll be at Cambridge again. What a bore. I really am enjoying being free.' He blew her a kiss, ran down the stairs, called for his horse, swung into the saddle and sent it racing away, through the cut in the hills, past the mine and around the looming shell of the factory, over the following hills and into the woods beyond. Free, he thought. Free of the burden of being the next Haggard. Free to do as I wish, think what I wish, feel what I wish. Free to love, whomever I wish.

He pulled rein, slowed his horse to a walk. There was the nub of the matter.
Whomever
I wish.
Whatever
I wish. Supposing I know what I wish. Supposing I dared to think about it.

Supposing I could forget the gentle caress of Byron's fingers, sliding over my penis. My God, he thought. I dare not. Sodomy carries the death penalty. But girls
...
he knew only the housemaid amidst the dirty plates. Then what of Meg Bold? A peasant girl, and therefore not one to see through his weaknesses, to do anything more than accept him. In what guise? She had given every indication of liking him, revealed nothing but pleasure whenever he called, which was as often as he could escape the Hall. And Emma and Harry Bold had equally become used to his visits, and prepared to welcome them. But no doubt, encouraged by Alice, they counted him a firm and valuable ally in the looming crisis that they could see ahead. What would their action be? And again, to what? Because he
was
considering the girl in the guise of a wife. He
had
to marry beneath himself, someone who would submit and submit and submit. And besides, she was such a lovely girl. She actually made him
want
her, and he had never felt that about any girl before. The future, should he let her go, was unthinkable.

Then what of Father? That was something he had never considered, because marriage to Meg Bold had never seemed a possibility, before. But Father was at last happy. Why, he had never seen him so happy or seen him happy at all. And a happy father might well be a father who would welcome a reconciliation. So Meg was the daughter of a working man. Her mother had been good enough for Father's bed.

But he had never married her. John Haggard plucked at his lip as his horse made its way into the open country beyond the trees. That had been his greatest crime. At least according to Alice. And his greatest mistake. Had he married Emma, he would have lived a happy life.
And I would never have been born
, John thought. Or at least, I would be Emma's son, and Meg would be my sister. Oh, happy thought, that Father had been a
bad
man. And it would all turn out for the best. He had no doubts about that.

The cottage was in front of him; the roses still bloomed against the walls. He would always remember this cottage with roses blooming against the walls. And Meg was standing in the doorway to wave at him.

‘I
s your mother at home?'

'Why of course, Mr. Haggard. Have you come to see her, then?' Meg flushed as she spoke, aware of her forwardness. John Haggard gave her a smile and chucked her under the chin.

'I have come to see you. But I've some news I know your mother would like.'

Meg regarded him for some moments, a half smile on her face, then she looked over her shoulder. 'Mama. Mr. Haggard is here.'

Emma Bold came outside, drying her hands on her apron. 'And welcome you are, Mr. Haggard.'

‘
I have great news, Mistress Bold. My brother Roger has been found.'

She stared at him, a frown slowly gathering between her eyes. 'Roger? You mean he is alive?'

'Indeed. He is in the Army, in Spain. He has been in the Army, for the past seventeen years. He is all of a hero.'

'Well, glory be,' Emma said. 'He was a fine boy. Your father must be very happy.'

‘I
have never seen him so happy,' John Haggard confessed.

This is a great day,' Emma said. 'Come inside, Mr. Haggard, and take a bowl of broth with us.'

'I . . .'John Haggard made a great fuss of securing his horse's rein to the ring in the wall, it is such a lovely day. Mistress Bold, I thought I would take a walk.'

Emma frowned at him. 'You rode twelve miles, to take a walk, Mr. Haggard?'

'Well
...
I thought Miss Meg might like to walk with me.'

Emma's mouth opened, and then closed again. She looked at her daughter.

'Could I Mama? I'd like that. Really I would.'

Emma looked from one to the other. She was flushed, and seemed uncertain what to do. John Haggard could almost read her thoughts. The innate suspicion of the intentions of a gentleman added to the understanding that here was a possible crisis added to the consideration that the girl was almost his sister—completely set off by the fact that he was John Haggard.

'Please, Mama,' Meg said.

'Mind you're not long,' Emma said, and went inside. 'She likes you. I know she likes you, because she told me so,' Meg said.

'She fears I may be too like my father.' He held the gate for her. Her arm brushed his as she went through, and he inhaled her scent. No perfume for a tinker's daughter. But a magnificent freshness.

'And are you too like your father, Mr. Haggard?' John Haggard walked at her side. 'I'd like it very much if you'd call me John.'

'You're Mr. Haggard,' she pointed out, very seriously. 'One day you'll be squire.'

'No. Don't you see? I can't be squire, now. I thought I had to be before. Everything I did had to he subject to that consideration. But now that Roger will be coming home, why, I'm nothing. I'm just a younger son. I'll probably be sent into the Army, or the Navy. Or the Church.'

When she frowned, she looked just like her mother,
‘I
wouldn't like to think of you in the Army, Mr. Haggard.'

'John.'

She looked over her shoulder to make sure the cottage had disappeared. 'John.'

'I don't think I'm really cut out for the Church.' Their knuckles brushed against each other, and he allowed his fingers to extend. A moment later hers caught in his. Her hand was dry and strong,
‘I
know. I could ask Father to find me a position in the city. Or better yet, of course; he can make me manager of the plantation, in Barbados. There it is.'

'Barbados?' she cried.

'Wouldn't you like to visit Barbados?'

'Me, Mr. Haggard?'

'John. Yes. You see . . .' His turn to look over his shoulder and make sure they were alone. They had walked down the road from the cottage gate, and there was a stand of trees between them and the house. He stopped, and when she turned to face him, he took her other hand as well. 'Meg . . .' How solemn was her face, her eyes. And he knew he was flushing. 'Do you know, I've thought of no one but you since I met you, back at Easter? All last term, I could do no work for thinking of you. And since seeing you again this summer, oh, Meg, oh, dear, dear, Meg, I have dreamed of you every night.'

'Oh, Mr. Haggard,' she said, flushing in turn and trying to free herself.

'Meg,' he said, tightening his grip and bringing her closer. 'I love you, Meg.'

'Oh, Mr. Haggard.' But she had stopped pulling.

‘I
want you to marry me.'

'Marry
you?' Her consternation was complete.

'Because we can marry, don't you see? I'd never lie to you, Meg. When I was Father's heir, well, I had to think of him, of the estate, I had to be prepared to marry as he chose, or certainly as he thought best. But now that Roger is coming home, why, I'm no longer important. I can do what I like with my life. And I can marry whomever I like. Whomever I love.'

'Marry you,' she muttered. 'Marry Mr. Haggard.'

'John.'

'Oh, Mr. Haggard,' she said, and came against him. Her head was tilted back and her mouth was open. He kissed it, felt her body against his, moving, her hands sliding his shoulders, and realised that here, for the very first time in his life, was a girl asking him to take her. She was his, all his, to do with as he wished.

He held her arms, gently pushed her away from him. Her mouth was still open as her eyes were closed, but they now opened in turn, in alarm. It could not be explained to her. He could not tell her about the girl on Byron's dining table, the whore at Cambridge. She would hardly appreciate that, and she might not understand, in the first flush of love, that he did not
want
to have her until they were married, that he wanted nothing sordid or immoral to enter their lives at all.

'You have made me so happy, Meg,' he said. The happiest man in all the world.'

She closed her eyes again,
‘I
love you, Mr. Haggard,
’
she said, as if practising.

'John,' he reminded her.

'John.'

'But you must listen, Meg.
I
have to go away to Cambridge, the day after tomorrow. I won't be back until Christmas.' Her eyes opened again.

'But I will be back, then. Only you mustn't tell a soul about us, not now. Do you understand?'

Her chin moved up and down, but clearly she didn't.

'Because
they
might not understand, might not wish us to. Even your mother. You must leave the telling to me. When the time is right. Will you do that?'

'Oh, yes, Mr. Haggard. Oh, yes.'

'John,' he said, and kissed her again.

'Well?' Haggard barked. 'Well?'

MacGuinness stood on the far side of the desk, shifted from one foot to the other. 'They have been delayed, Mr. Haggard. Nothing more than that. Apparently they are delicate machines, and can easily go adrift. But they are on their way, I promise you. They will be here by the end of the month.'