CHAPTER 4

THE RUNAWAY

It was the first time she had ever used his name.

'Middlesex will come back,' she said. 'I'm sure of it.'

Haggard frowned at her, at the same time wondering why he was so angry. But he was angry. It was a combination of many things, the boys and girls at the pit head, the attitude of the parson, his self-contempt at the course of bribery on which he was engaged— but most of all the sudden realisation that he was in the centre of a country which consisted entirely of Emmas, that however much he might love her, or might have loved her once, she was no longer the uniquely beautiful and sexual creature she had been in Barbados. And could not all those new Emmas be similarly bent to his will, similarly rendered his and only his?

But he loved her. Did he, still? She was the mother of two of his children.

'He's a runaway,' he said. 'I'll fetch him back. By God, I will.'

The horse done saddle, Mr. John.' Essex stood in the doorway, with the pistol case. Suffolk was behind him, with Haggard's hat and cloak.

'You want me to come with you, Mr. John?'

'No,' Haggard said. A white posse would be more appropriate, he thought, in a white man's country.

'Can I come, Father?' Roger already had on his hat and coat.

'No. You'll be soaked to the skin. But you can help me with these boots.'

Suffolk knelt before one leg, Roger before the other. Emma recovered from a fit of sneezing.

'And won't you be soaked to the skin, Mr. Haggard? You'll catch a cold just like me.'

'Oh, go to bed,' Haggard snapped, standing up and stamping his feet to make sure they were comfortable, if I'm not back by-Sunday morning, mind you attend church. With the children.' He went outside, pulled his hat lower over his eyes, adjusted the weight of the pistols in his pockets. The rain settled around him like a wet blanket. Whatever had possessed Middlesex to abscond? No Haggard slave had ever absconded. Perhaps it was, after all, only an explicable mistake. But what mistake could take a slave away from his proper situation?

He mounted, walked his horse down the drive. He did not look over his shoulder, although he knew that every window in the house was filled, from Emma in the withdrawing room to the servants on the ground floor to Charlie and Alice in the nursery upstairs. This was something entirely out of their ken. The remarkable thing was that it was out of his as well.

He rode down the main street of the village. It was Friday night, and Derleth was a glow of candle light. A prosperous community, MacGuinness had said, even if their lungs were filled with coal dust. But it was the thought of all those other places which were also filled with coal dust which kept ranging through his mind. He had not been so affected in years. He could not ever remember having been so affected.

He drew rein outside the inn, from whence there came the sound of voices and laughter. He dismounted, opened the door of the pot room, went in, gazed at the men, and women, and children, gathered there, some sitting at a long table to one side, most standing, drinking ale from pint pots, gossiping and giggling. Certainly they looked happy enough.

Hatchard the publican saw the squire in the doorway-, and touched his forehead. Slowly the understanding that they were in the presence of a superior being spread away from the bar counter. Conversation ceased, and smiles died, and everyone in the room turned.

'Good evening to you all,' Haggard said. 'Good evening, Mr. Haggard,' they chorused. 'I need some help,' Haggard said. 'One of my people has absconded.'

They stared at him, not apparently understanding his meaning.

'Mr. Haggard?' MacGuinness emerged from a table at the far side of the room, his face red, his mug of beer still in his hand.

'Ah, MacGuinness. I would like you to organise a posse for me. One of my blacks has run off.'

MacGuinness came closer, a fixed smile on his mouth. 'Let me buy you a mug of ale, Mr. Haggard.'

'I've no time for ale, MacGuinness. Nor any inclination.'

'Please, Mr. Haggard.' MacGuinness lowered his voice.

Haggard remembered what he'd been told that morning. And an extra half an hour would not matter very greatly. 'All right, MacGuinness. I'll take a'mug with you. But I shall buy. I shall buy for everyone.' He shouldered his way through the crowd. 'Mr. Hatchard, you'll serve everyone in the room, and render the tally to me.'

‘Indeed I will, Mr. Haggard. The squire's buying, lads and lasses. Who'll give a cheer for the squire?'

The noise echoed, and the room burst into a babble of conversation. People squeezed Haggard's fingers, and one or two even slapped him on the shoulder. A full tankard of ale was thrust into his hand, and he found himself against the counter, with MacGuinness beside him.

'Your health, Mr. Haggard. That was a masterly stroke, it was.' He lowered his voice again. 'Now what's the trouble?'

'My man, Middlesex, has run off. I'm damned if I know why. But I'll have him back.'

MacGuinness commenced to frown. 'Run off,' he muttered. Then his expression brightened. 'He stole, of course. Took some money?'

'Why, I have no idea. I doubt it.'

'He stole, Mr. Haggard. That's what you must tell these people if you'd obtain their help.'

Haggard's turn to frown, ‘I'm not sure I understand you.'

'Well, Mr. Haggard . . .' MacGuinness drank some beer. 'English people, and especially people up here, well, sir, they don't much hold with slavery. I doubt they'd come with you to return a man to bondage. No sir.'

'But he's my property.'

'No doubt, sir, no doubt. According to law. But well, sir, they'll not have it, sir. Believe me. I know them well. And you want to remember almost your entire electorate is in here, saving the parson.'

'You mean I must just let him go, unless I ride after him myself?'

'No, sir. You tell them not that he's an absconding slave, but that he's a thief and a robber, sir, who took money from the kindest master who ever lived. And one of your horses, I'll be bound. They'll ride with you then, sir. They don't hold with thieving.'

Haggard scratched his head; he had never told a lie in his life. But he had never had to deal with a runaway, either. He straightened his tricorne. 'Very well, Mr. MacGuinness. If I must stoop to subterfuge. Let's get it done.'

'Leave it to me, sir.' MacGuinness banged on the counter with his empty mug. 'Now you listen to me, lads,' he cried. 'As you know, this gentleman who has just bought you all a pint, is the new squire, Mr. Haggard. And you can take it from me, lads, that he's the best and kindest gentleman any of you will ever have known, or ever will know. So what do you think has happened to him? His very own butler has run off with the family silver. Every last piece of valuable from the manor dining room. Can you believe it, lads? This scoundrel, who has lived and worked with Mr. Haggard all of his life, and been looked after by Mr. Haggard, all of his life, has now turned on the hand that has fed him, all of his life. What time did he leave, Mr. Haggard?'

'Early this morning.'

'Would he have been a black man, Mr. Haggard?" someone asked. 'Aye.'

'I saw a black man riding down the street, on way to pit,' the man said.

'And so did I,' said another.

'Where was he heading?' MacGuinness asked.

'For the London road.'

'Aye,' Haggard said, ‘I made the mistake of letting them have a look at London during the couple of days we were there.' Middlesex was intelligent enough to suppose that in so big a city he would easily disappear.

'But he weren't carry no bag of silver,' said the first man. 'Leastways I didn't see none.'

'He had saddlebags, didn't he?' MacGuinness asked. 'He wouldn't have been stupid enough to carry it in his arms. I need three volunteers to ride after him, with Mr. Haggard and me.'

There was a moment's silence while glances were exchanged.

'You'll be well paid,' Haggard said.

'I'll come with you, Mr. Haggard,' a young man said. 'Peter Wring is the name.'

Thank you Wring. Anyone else?' 'Me, sir. Jemmy Lacey.'

Very obviously Margaret's brother, alike in size and in his handsome looks. Haggard wondered he hadn't noticed him before. Thank you, Jem.'

'And me, Mr. Haggard. Toby Doom'

Then let's be at it. There are horses in my stables.' Haggard finished his ale, went to the door, ‘I thank you. I thank you all.'

' Tis us to be thanking you, Mr. Haggard,' Hatchard said. 'We'll back you, sir.'

'At least there'll be no problems with your election, Mr. Haggard,' MacGuinness said. The two men rode down the London road, jolting in the saddle as even the horses could not avoid occasionally stumbling in the deep ruts carved in the rain softened earth by the stage coaches. Their three companions rode behind.

'Would there have been in any event?'

'Independent people, Derleth folk,' MacGuinness said. 'Why, Squire Redmond, that was here before you, sir, he didn't get on too well with them, was always cursing at them for lazy dirty scum. He never drank with them.'

'And he took his seat in the Commons just the same,' Haggard said.

'Ah, but there was some question of it, sir. There was talk of an opposition candidate, but they couldn't raise the deposit money. But eleven of them abstained. Mr. Redmond was elected by five votes.'

'Yet he was elected,' Haggard pointed out. 'Nor is there the slightest prospect of a community of farmers and coal miners raising the money to finance a parliamentary deposit.'

'Still, sir, it's best to be a popular squire, if it can be managed,' MacGuinness said.

'No doubt,' Haggard agreed, and gazed down the turnpike in front of them. The rain was falling harder than ever, and the road had remained empty, save for the stage, which had rumbled by them several hours before. But now he could see lights.

' Tis a village, sir,' MacGuinness said. 'And a good place to stop, if you'll pardon the liberty.'

'Stop?' Haggard inquired.

'Well, sir, it must be nearly dawn, and we've ridden all night. The horses need fodder, and if you'll pardon me, sir, so do we. And a warm fire for an hour.'

'And what of Middlesex? Will he have stopped, do you suppose?'

'He must eat as well, Mr. Haggard.'

'Oh, very well.' Haggard pulled his horse into the gateway of the inn, dismounted, stretched. He was very tired. And hungry. He stamped up the steps to the door, banged his fist on the panelling.

It was some minutes before a window opened over his head. 'Who's there?'

'Five men, seeking breakfast.' 'It's four o'clock in the morning.'

'We're on urgent business, man. Come down and open up.'

'You'll be highwaymen,' the landlord complained.

'I am John Haggard, Squire of Derleth Hall, with four companions. I've silver coin in my pocket. Now come down or I'll break the door.'

The window closed, and a few minutes later there was the scraping of a bolt. 'You hold that blunderbuss ready. Mistress,' the landlord said, and cautiously opened the door. 'Urgent business you say? What urgent business?'

Haggard pushed the door wider and stepped inside. The fire had bumed down but the room was still warmer than the open air. He raised his hat to the large, stout woman, clad in an undressing robe and with her hair concealed beneath a mob cap, who levelled the blunderbuss at his chest. 'John Haggard, ma'am. We seek a . . . a servant of mine who has absconded with my silver.'

'A thief, you say.' The landlord peered at the other four men as they came in and shook water from their hats.

'A black man,' MacGuinness explained.

'A blackamoor. Why . . .' He glanced at his wife.

'He's been here?'

'Oh, aye, sir, he's been here. Last evening it was. Stopped to have a bite of supper. I didn't see no silver, though.'

'But you served him supper,' MacGuinness pointed out. Therefore he had coin.'

'Why, sir, so he did. Food for these gentlemen, Rebecca. Eggs. Bacon. Bread.'

'Now that sound attractive.' MacGuinness led the way to the table. 'And some ale.'

'Right away, sir. Right away.'

Haggard remained standing. 'Did he stay the night?' 'Well, no, sir. He left with Mr. Sharp.' 'Who the devil is Mr. Sharp?'

'Well, sir, I don't rightly know. Save that he is a wealthy gentleman.' The landlord set five foaming tankards of ale on the table, while a most delicious smell started to drift in from the kitchen. 'Lives up north, he does, sir, but has business in London, and travels this way regularly. Well, sir, he was here last night with his berlin, on the way to town, and he got talking with this man, sir. I don't know what was said, but Mr. Sharp offered the black man a seat in his carriage, sir, and away they went. About eleven of the clock it was.'

'And the horse?' demanded MacGuinness. 'It was Mr. Haggard's.'

They left the horse here, sir. If it is yours, Mr. Haggard, if you are really Mr. Haggard, you are welcome to it.'

'The devil,' Haggard said. 'What do you suppose has happened?'

'Now that I couldn't say,' MacGuinness confessed. 'But if this Mr. Sharp is so well known on the road, you may be certain he is known in town also. We shall find him, sir, have no fear.'

Then let's be at it.' Haggard drank his beer.

'There's time for a bite to eat, Mr. Haggard,' Lacey protested. 'Why, sir, my belly wouldn't let me leave such a smell without filling.'

'The lad's right, Mr. Haggard,' MacGuiness agreed. 'If Middlesex has gone with this Mr. Sharp, we'll find him, like I said.'

'Only if he stays with Sharp,' Haggard pointed out. 'He could be away in a different direction by now.'

'No, sir,' MacGuinness said. Then he'd have taken the horse with him. My opinion is that we'll find him when we find Mr. Sharp.'

Haggard sighed, and sat down. But the food, which was now being brought out of the kitchen in great steaming platters of eggs and bacon, was really irresistible. And why should he ride himself to death in pursuit of a slave? So long as they caught up with him in the end. But MacGuinness was a shade too definite in his opinion.

'You've heard of the fellow,' he asked, as eggs were piled before him. 'Sharp?'

'Aye, sir, I have, sir.' 'Well?'

'Well, sir, he's a wealthy gentleman . . . nothing like so wealthy as yourself, of course, but with money to spare, who spends his time supporting our weaker brethren.'

'A Quaker, you mean?'

'Now that I couldn't say, sir, but I doubt ft. No, sir, what is the word I am thinking of? Tis a long one, to be sure." 'Philanthropist?'

The very thing, Mr. Haggard. Education is a wonderful thing. Aye, sir, that's what he is, a philanthropist.' He rolled the syllables around his tongue.

'Who has taken up the cause of Middlesex, has he?' Haggard said. 'How old would this gentleman be?'

MacGuinness shrugged. 'Older than you, sir, to be sure. Past fifty.'

Then he should know better. You find him for me, MacGuinness.'

'Soon as I've had my breakfast, sir. You may count on that.'

They rode down Piccadilly two days after leaving Derleth. By then Haggard had sent the three tenants home with the horse Middlesex had stolen, and retained only MacGuinness. He did not anticipate any trouble with Granville Sharp, and if MacGuinness was wrong, and Middlesex had taken off in some other direction, well then he was lost anyway, and the only answer would be to take out an advertisement in The Times. But MacGuinness remained confident enough. He made a few inquiries from street vendors and at a coffee shop, and led Haggard down one of the broad, pleasant thoroughfares which stretched away from the open fields where the great May Fair was held every spring.

There we are, sir,' he said, pointing to a three storeyed house set in its own grounds. 'The town residence of Mr. Granville Sharp.'

'I'll do the talking,' Haggard said. MacGuinness was far too fond of taking over a conversation. 'Of course, Mr. Haggard.'

They walked their weary horses through the gate and under the trees. A dog barked, and immediately grooms ran from the stables, while the front door of the house opened to reveal a butler.

Haggard dismounted. They had stopped for a night's sleep in St. Albans, and the rain had at last ceased, but he still felt chilled and damp and very tired.

'Good morning, sir,' said the butler, is Mr. Sharp expecting you?'

'No,' Haggard said. 'But I'll see him just the same.' The butler frowned at him. 'Your name, sir?'

'John Haggard. I should think he knows it by now.'

'Ah. Yes, sir. If you'll come this way, sir.' The door was held open, and Haggard and MacGuinness were allowed into the hall, and thence into a small withdrawing room on the ground floor, where a footman relieved them of their hats and coats.

'A hot bath,' MacGuinness said. That is what I feel like, Mr. Haggard. A large tub filled with boiling water. Does that not appeal, sir?'

'When we get back to Derleth, MacGuinness.' Haggard turned to face the door as it opened, and was disturbingly surprised. He had prepared himself to loathe Sharp on sight, had built up his antagonism to combat any suggestion of exhaustion or pity for Middlesex. But he found it hard to hate the short, slight, well-dressed and open-faced man who entered the room. Granville Sharp wore a Cadogan wig and carried a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. He blinked at his visitors, gave them a benign smile.

'John Haggard,' he said. 'Welcome, sir. Granville Sharp.'

He extended his hand; Haggard had to refuse to take it with a conscious effort of will.

'You have knowledge of some property of mine, sir.'

Sharp gazed at him for a moment. 'Property of yours,' he said at last. 'My God, how easily the words roll off the tongue of a nabob. We are speaking of a human being, sir.'

'Where is he?' Haggard demanded.

'That, sir, I am not prepared to tell you.'

Haggard frowned at him. 'You are condoning larceny, sir, at the very least. I would be within my rights to take him by force.'

'What, Mr. Haggard, will you assault me in my own home? Be sure that I have six stout fellows waiting outside just in case your West Indian temper gets the better of your good sense.' He opened the door as he spoke; there were indeed six footmen waiting, expressions suitably determined.

'By God,' Haggard said, ‘I had supposed you a gentleman.'

‘I hope I am, Mr. Haggard. An English gentleman. Now answer me this conundrum, sir. Can there be such a thing as a gentleman who is also a slave owner?'

Haggard glanced at MacGuinness, who raised his eyebrows helplessly. They are too many for us, Mr. Haggard.'

Tell me where he is,' Haggard said.

'I shall not do that, sir,' Sharp said.

'But you'll not deny that you assisted him to abscond?'

‘I shall do more than that, Mr. Haggard. He is my responsibility, as of now.'

‘I have a witness,' Haggard said.

Then shall I repeat it, for the benefit of your witness?'

'Sir,' Haggard said, ‘I respect your motives, as you wish to spend your life in aiding our less fortunate brethern. However, you have put yourself beyond the law, and in addition, believe me, done Middlesex no good at all by this madcap venture. Now let me see him. I promise you, no violence shall be done in your house. I merely wish to speak with my servant.'

'And I, sir, forbid it in my house,' Sharp said. 'Oh, you are a big man, Mr. Haggard, a wealthy man, a rich man, and a most forceful personality. I doubt Middlesex would retain his courage were he to come face to face with you.'

'You leave me no option but to take you to law,' Haggard said.

Sharp gave a brief bow. Then, sir, I look forward to seeing you in court.'

Haggard stared at him for some seconds. He had never been so angry in his life; his every instinct called out for him to smash his way through this house until he found the Negro. But it was a strange anger. He did not want to flog Middlesex. He had always supposed himself a friend to his blacks, and more especially his house slaves. He did not even want to harm Sharp. He just felt like committing an act of violence upon someone or something, it did not matter who or what.

But his instincts were also warning him that this was not Barbados. John Haggard was not omnipotent here, beyond the reach of the law just because he owned the largest plantation in the land. And if he was to achieve his seat in Parliament, then he must not be seen to break the law.

'Be sure, sir, you shall see me in court.'

'How long will it take?' he asked Cummings, when the three men met over dinner in a private chamber off the tap room of the inn where MacGuinness had found him a room.

‘I will begin this afternoon, Mr. Haggard,' the agent said. 'You may leave it to me. I'll to a magistrate, he is a friend of mine, and have a summons made out, and deliver it before nightfall. Oh, we'll have Mr. Sharp, and the man Middlesex, in court by the end of this week, you may be sure of that.'

The end of this week?' Haggard demanded. 'I had not meant to remain this long.'

'Ah, well, sir, the wheels of justice grind slowly. But they do grind.'

The devil," Haggard gazed at MacGuinness. 'Then you'd best return to Derleth, MacGuinness. Report to Mistress Dearborn on what has happened, and tell her I will be back as soon as possible.'

'Of course, Mr. Haggard. But I cannot leave you here, without a manservant. And you've not even a change of linen.'

'I will procure a manservant for Mr. Haggard and some clothing,' Cummings said, indeed, sir, I would take it as a privilege if you would care to move in with me. Mistress Cummings would be more than pleased to see to your requirements.'

Haggard was not sorry to move. But the Cummings lived in the city itself, a small, cramped house set on the edge of a narrow thoroughfare leading away from Threadneedle Street. The windows were small and the interior gloomy; the furniture was well worn and the smell was musty. To cap Haggard's depression, Mistress Cummings turned out to be very nearly as old as her husband, and however attractive she might once have been, she was now tall, thin, angular and a trifle brusque.

'Mr. Haggard,' she said, her mouth widening into a wintry smile. 'This is a privilege.'

But her gaze was suspicious; no doubt Cummings had regaled her with tales of Emma. Haggard could only console himself with the thought that it was for only a few days, while Mrs. Cummings was at least an excellent cook.

But, he reflected as he accompanied Cummings to court three days later, wearing a new broadcloth suit hastily run up by the agent's tailor, he could not for a moment pretend that England was in any way like his expectation of it. So what had he expected? That they would provide a guard of honour as he left the ship, that the sun would shine, that all the nobility of London would come flocking to see him, that the villagers of Derleth would line the street and wave flags as he rode through them, that Derleth Hall would turn out to be a palace, that his coal mines . . . but he did not know what to think about the coal mines. He did not know what he dared think of them. For some reason, whenever he remembered those naked, coal-stained girls, his breeches seemed to halve in size. And he had spent his entire life surrounded by naked humanity.

He reasoned that it was just the transition which was confusing

He reasoned that it was just the transition which was confusing and upsetting him. And his precipitate flight from London. While now he had come back without notice, simply in pursuit of a runaway. It would be different once he was an MP, when he visited the city to take his place in the Commons, when his voice would be heard pronouncing on all the great issues of the day, when his new manor house was built, when Emma . . . but strangely he did not wish to think about Emma either at this moment. There were too many others.

He must merely keep on his course, completing each step in his plan as it came upon him. And the first step was the regaining of James Middlesex, the understanding of all who came into contact with him that he was Haggard, and not to be trifled with. He gazed across the small courtroom at the black man, no longer wearing his Haggard livery, but in a suit of grey no doubt provided by Sharp, who sat beside him. 'Who is the third man?" he asked Cummings.

The agent was frowning. ' Tis Barcroft, the attorney.'

'Do we need an attorney?'

‘I would not have supposed so. You have but to lay claim. Now.' For the magistrate was peering at them. 'Will the plaintiff stand up?'

Haggard stood up.

'State your name and occupation and address.' ‘I am John Haggard, late of Haggard's Penn in the island of Barbados, but now resident at Derleth Hall in Derbyshire.' 'State the charge you propose to bring.'

He found himself becoming irritated by the monotonous disinterest of the voice.

'My charge is very simple,' Haggard said.

'Your Honour.'

'Eh?'

'You will address the bench as Your Honour, Mr. Haggard.'

Definitely he should have had an attorney. Cummings was incompetent. 'My charge, Your Honour,' he said, his voice slowing to that even tone which betrayed his anger, 'is that that black man over there, whose name is James Middlesex, is my slave, whom I brought from Barbados as my butler, and who ran away from Derleth Hall six days ago. He was aided in his escape by Mr. Granville Sharp, whom you see sitting next to him. I pursued my slave, but was prevented from regaining him by Mr. Sharp. I am here today, Your Honour, to obtain restitution of my lawful property.'

The magistrate peered at him for a while longer, then nodded. 'You may sit down, Mr. Haggard. Mr. Sharp?'

Barcroft stood up. ‘I represent the defendant. Your Honour.' 'Yes, Mr. Barcroft.'

'Your Honour . . .' Barcroft grasped the lapels of his coat. 'My client contends that there is no charge for him to answer, by the very simple reason that slavery is not recognised in this country, therefore the man Middlesex cannot be a slave, therefore he cannot be accused of having run away from anyone. My client is prepared to admit that the man Middlesex borrowed a horse belonging to Mr. Haggard, but the animal has since been returned, and Mr. Sharp is prepared to pay a reasonable sum as rental for the animal during the two days it was away from Derleth Hall.'

'One moment, Mr. Barcroft,' the magistrate interrupted. 'Do I understand from what you have said, that your client does not deny assisting the man Middlesex to abscond?'

'My client does not deny befriending the man Middlesex and assisting him, Your Honour. Certainly he denies assisting him to abscond, because how may a free man abscond?'

'Hum,' said the magistrate. 'Hum. Mr. Haggard?'

'I am amazed that you listen to such rubbish,' Haggard said.

'Mr. Haggard? This is a court of law.'

'And I expect it to uphold the law, Your Honour. I am an Englishman, and I own certain property. That man is mine, just as the horse he took is mine, just as Derleth Hall is mine. No one can deny these things. A man's property is inviolable. There is the oldest of all English Common Laws. I must insist upon the return of Middlesex to my care.'

'Hum,' said the magistrate. 'Hum. Mr. Barcroft?'

'Your Honour,' said the attorney. This great nation of ours has ever led the entire world in the efficacy of our laws, the transparent goodness, humanity, lawfulness of our laws. Your Honour, in common with many other nations, centuries ago we recognised the pernicious institution of serfdom. We allowed certain men to rise above themselves and seek to own others less fortunate than themselves. Your Honour, for two centuries my ancestors and yours fought for that terrible injustice to be abolished. Your Honour, a hundred years ago we won that fight. When King William came to the throne, uplifted and protected, but also constrained, by the Bill of Rights, the possibility of one man enslaving another was gone from this great land of ours. Your

Honour, I know not, and I care not, what barbarous practices obtain in remote colonies such as Barbados. You know, and I know, that the West Indies have ever been a breeding ground for piracy and every ill known to mankind. Possibly conditions in those savage climes necessitate different men who project different attitudes. But this is not Barbadian soil on which I am standing. I am standing on English soil, Your Honour, and regardless of what I have done, no man has the right to enslave me. If I am in debt and cannot pay, my creditor has the recourse of sending me to prison. If I have committed murder or treason, the law has the recourse of taking my life. But so long as I am alive and English, no man can put fetters on my wrists and say, you belong to me. Your Honour, to grant the claim that this man Middlesex be returned to Mr. Haggard's custody, to the whip and the chain and the insults of serfdom, would be to lower our great country once again to the level of Russian autocracy. It cannot, it will not, happen here, sir.'

'By God,' Haggard said.

'Hum,' said the magistrate. 'I must ask you to control your temper, Mr. Haggard.'

Then return my property,' Haggard said.

'Hum,' said the magistrate, ‘I really feel that this entire matter is beyond my jurisdiction, and should be referred to a higher authority.'

Haggard frowned at him. He could not believe his ears. 'You are confessing your incompetence to pronounce on a matter of law?'

'Be careful, Mr. Haggard,' the magistrate said. 'Or I will hold you in contempt. I can understand your situation. But I must also take note of Mr. Barcroft's arguments. There is no slavery in England. That is the law. Why, sir, I shudder to think of the consequences were any judgement of mine to suggest a restoration of so uncivilised a possibility. At the same time, the man was not enslaved here, but was brought from overseas. Now there is a complicated matter.'

'And as there must be many other gentlemen who, like myself have black servants, Your Honour,' Haggard pointed out, 'can you not shudder to consider the consequences of a judgement which would set all of them free?'

‘It is not proven that such other black servants are slaves, Your Honour,' Barcroft said.

'Gentlemen, gentlemen, these cross arguments are both irregular and confusing. And I repeat, it seems to me that the issues at stake here are too great to be decided in this brief discussion. Should you wish to pursue your claim, Mr. Haggard . . .'He paused, peered at Haggard once again, this time more hopefully. 'You do wish to pursue your claim to this man's person?'

'He belongs to me,' Haggard said. 'Why do you suppose 1 should not wish to pursue my claim?'

Then you will have to take the matter to a superior court. 1 would suggest, Mr. Haggard, that you employ an attorney to see to your interests, and that you instruct him to brief a barrister for the presentation of your case. Thank you, gentlemen.'

'Wait just one moment,' Haggard said. 'How long will this reference to a higher court take?'

‘It will be expedited as soon as your solicitor prepares your case, Mr. Haggard. Certainly not more than a year.'

'A year?' Haggard shouted.

'You will address me as Your Honour, Mr. Haggard.' 'A year,' Haggard repeated. 'And what of the custody of Middlesex?'

'Ah,' said the magistrate.

'Your Honour,' Barcroft said. The defendant will of course be happy to cooperate with Your Honour's decision to refer the matter to higher court. But you must see that such a decision is meaningless should the man Middlesex be returned to the custody of Mr. Haggard. He will be immediately treated as a slave. Why, Your Honour, we cannot even be sure he will be here to appear in a year's time.'

'Are you suggesting Mr. Haggard would . . . ah . . .do him an injury?'

That I cannot say,' Barcroft said, casting Haggard a contemptuous glance. 'But we do know that Mr. Haggard owns a sugar plantation in Barbados. Once given inalienable rights over the body of Middlesex he might well decide to return him to that bondage from which he has so fortunately escaped.'

'Hum,' said the magistrate. 'There's a point, Mr. Haggard.'

'You will have to take my assurance on the matter,' Haggard said.

'Hum,' said the magistrate.

'Your Honour, I must protest,' Barcroft said. 'It would be quite intolerable to expose Middlesex to Mr. Haggard's whims and angers and cajoleries, without hope of redress, until the case is decided one way or the other.'

'And what proof have we that Mr. Sharp will not send Middlesex from the country during the year?'

'Gentlemen,' said the magistrate. 'You will address the bench and not each other. Mr. Sharp will give financial assurance that Middlesex will appear before a superior court as and when he is required to do so. In the meanwhile he is remanded in the custody of Mr. Sharp.'

'By God,' Haggard said, ‘I have never heard such a travesty of justice.'

'I will overlook that remark, Mr. Haggard, as I am about to adjourn this court.' The magistrate stood up. 'Court adjourned.'

'Congratulations, Barcroft.' Sharp shook hands with his attorney, as did Middlesex. 'You did us proud.'

Haggard glared at them. He could not recall ever being so angry in his life. British justice. Why, he might as well have stayed in Barbados. At least there he had known exactly where he stood.

'We'd best leave, Mr. Haggard,' Cummings muttered. There is a gentleman . . .'

The devil with it,' Haggard growled. He left his seat and crossed the floor. Sharp saw him coming and stepped away from the other two.

'My day, Mr. Haggard. But you'll have another chance.'

Haggard stared at him, brows drawing together. 'Do you suppose this is some game, sir?'

'I regard it as a contest, certainly, Mr. Haggard, between at best two different interpretations of the law, at worst between the forces of repression and the forces of liberty. It is a contest I propose to win, if it is possible to do so, but I can respect a formidable adversary.'

'By God,' Haggard said. He looked at Middlesex. 'Have you nothing to say to me?'

Middlesex chewed his lip. 'Well, I must be sorry to have caused you this trouble, Mr. John.'

'Why?' Haggard demanded, in the name of God, why? Have I ever ill-treated you? Have I ever shown you anything but kindness? Come now, man, speak the truth.'

'Well, Mr. John, is a fact you have always been good to me.'

Haggard scratched his head in sheer frustration. 'Yet you have run away.'

'Well, Mr. John, sir, is a fact a man got for be free, if he can.

All the people I am meeting, they are free, Mr. John. And they asking me, why you are not free? How are you a slave? They asking, Mr. John, and I am thinking. How am I a slave?'

'And there you have it in a nutshell, Mr. Haggard,' Barcroft said.

Haggard looked from one to the other, then turned back to Sharp". He was aware of a feeling of total humiliation. Sharp had made a fool of him, in the most public fashion. There was only one course of action left to a gentleman, and a Haggard. 'You, sir, are nothing more than an agitator. And, through the mouth of your attorney here, you have seen fit to cast the gravest aspersions upon my honesty and indeed my humanity. I regard that as an insult, sir." My second will call upon you.'

Sharp gathered up his papers. 'And he will be shown the door, sir. I am not afraid to be a coward. Go and fight with your fellow planters, and leave honest men in peace.' He walked past Haggard to the door. Middlesex and Barcroft followed.

For the first time in his life Haggard was speechless. It had never occurred to him that it was possible for a gentleman to refuse a challenge. He stared after the disappearing men, his fists opening, shutting.

'Mr. Haggard,' Cummings said.

'I doubt this country is truly for me,' Haggard said, it is composed of lawyers and cowards so far as I can see.'

'Not entirely, Mr. Haggard. There is a gentleman most anxious to have a word with you.'

'And I have no desire to speak with anyone at this moment,' Haggard said.

'Please, sir. It will certainly be to your advantage.'

Haggard sighed, allowed himself to be escorted to the back of the courtroom, where he found a very elegant man, older than himself, and only of medium height with a stocky build, but dressed in the height of fashion in a dark green heavy cloth garrick overcoat, white buckskin breeches and black leather Hessian boots with braided tops and a gold tassel hanging from each. His coat was pale green, worn over a pique waistcoat, his hat was a grey felt with a silk cord, which he now proceeded to raise. His face was uncommonly fine, having small, perfectly etched features, small nose and mouth and chain all fitting smoothly into the other. He made Haggard feel like a tramp.

'John Haggard.' He held out his hand. Thomas Brand, at your service.'

Haggard shook hands. "You find me at a difficult moment, sir.'

‘Indeed, that magistrate is a confounded Whig. Not to be trusted. You are staying on in town?'

Haggard shrugged. There seems little point. Cummings here can find me an attorney. It seems I must crawl back to Derleth with my tail between my legs.'

'Stuff and nonsense,' Brand said. 'You'll not let a trifling setback like this disconcert you? Not John Haggard, I'll be bound. You'll dine with me, sir. I insist upon it.'

'You are very kind,' Haggard said. 'Perhaps you'd explain your interest in me.'

‘I had heard you were a plain-spoken man as well. It will be my pleasure. You'll excuse us, Cummings.'

The agent did not seem offended. 'Of course Colonel Brand. I'll see to the matter right away, Mr. Haggard.'

'Aye,' Haggard said, and followed Brand outside into the drizzle. Here a phaeton was waiting, and a moment later they were seated side by side, the gate closed and a rug thrown across their knees. Brand drove himself, handling reins and whip with considerable skill.

‘I was told of your arrival in England by Harry Addison,' he explained.

'Ah,' Haggard said. Then you'll be a political gentleman.' 'Indeed I am. I am one of the Tory whips.' 'You'll have to explain that to me.'

'It is my business to marshal sufficient support for Mr. Pitt in the Commons, whenever he feels the need of it. I may say he is most anxious to meet you. Will you not stay over for another few days?'

To meet Pitt?'

'Amongst others.'

'Aye, well, with this business over Middlesex dragging its feet, I doubt I will be much use to you.'

'But you must, Mr. Haggard. These are tumultuous times approaching. We shall need every vote we can find to carry through Mr. Pitt's programme. No, no, sir. You have suffered a setback. Believe me, every right thinking man will sympathise with you. But nothing more can be done, at least by you personally, until the case comes again to court. Now you must concentrate on your election. Of course it is a simple matter, owning Derleth Hall as you do, yet must you campaign forcefully, allow your views to be heard, bring yourself before the public. I may say we were disappointed at the haste with which you abandoned London.’

‘I received little welcome here,' Haggard pointed out. 'And I wished to see my new home.'

'You would have been welcomed, had you but spared the time,' Brand insisted. 'But that is an omission on our part for which I humbly apologise, and which I personally shall see is remedied. But first, dinner.' He turned the phaeton through the driveway of a house situated in a close off Bond Street. Yard boys hurried forward to take the bridle, while others opened the gate to allow their master down. Brand waited for Haggard, escorted him into the entry hall. 'I'd have you meet my daughters,' he said. 'Alison, and Emily.'

For the second time that morning. Haggard found himself bereft of speech as well as breath. For Alison Brand was breathtakingly lovely. About the same height as her father, she possessed similar features, but on her refined to such an extent that save for the delicious flare of her nostrils she might have been carved from marble. Her complexion was pale, with just a touch of colour at her cheeks, and the whole was shrouded in a halo of magnificently fine pale gold hair which descended past her shoulders in a dead straight shawl. Her figure had the slenderness of youth, but that it would match up to the promise of the face and the hair Haggard did not doubt for an instant.

Her sister was but slightly less perfect, and had the more ready smile; Haggard observed that although they were not twins, Alison being clearly the elder, they dressed alike, each wearing a simple blue gown, with a high waist and a low bodice, bosom modestly hidden by a white fichu, and their movements and gestures were remarkably similar, as were their voices, low and caressing.

'Mr. Haggard,' Alison said, extending her hand and leaving him uncertain whether to shake it or kiss it. 'Papa has told us so much about you.'

'Mr. Haggard,' Emily said, her actions duplicating her sister's, 'it is a pleasure to have you in our house.'

They look after me," Brand said, 'now that my dear wife has passed on. Ah, me, I must prepare myself to lose them, would you not say Haggard? Next summer Alison will be eighteen, and for presentation at court. If she does not run off and elope before then.'

Alison flushed prettily. 'Papa listens for the sound of ladders against my bedroom window, every night,' she said. 'You'll take a glass of punch, Mr. Haggard.' She led him into the withdrawing room, her sister at her side, while Haggard realised he had not spoken since entering the room. He was John Haggard. He was not the sort of man to be struck dumb by feminine beauty or feminine poise like some mooning youth. Yet he could think of absolutely nothing to say.

'Papa tells us you will be spending a few days with us,' Emily said, sitting beside him on the settee.

'Why, I . . .'

'Of course you will, Haggard. What, a man of your calibre staying with an agent? I'll send my man for your things.'

It was time to assert himself. 'You are too kind,' he said. 'But really it would be an imposition on your household. You will have heard, I am sure, Brand, that I am an uncouth colonial, who does not wear a wig, as you can see, and whose habits are truly appalling. Why, I was refused admission to Almack's on my last visit to town.'

'Everyone who is anyone has been refused admittance to Almack's, at some time or other, Mr. Haggard.' Alison Brand had seated herself on a straight chair opposite him. it really is a mark of distinction. But if it would suit you to return there, we shall see to it that you are admitted. As for being a colonial, I consider you as a breath of fresh air blown in to scatter away the cobwebs of this stuffy city.'

She paused, and looked almost surprised at the temerity of her speech, which only added to her attraction. Haggard glanced at Brand to see if he had taken offence, but the colonel continued to smile.

'As I said, Haggard, they rule me with a rod of iron. And mighty pleasant it is, too. I'd take deep offence, man, were you to refuse my invitation. How else could I have you meet the more important members of our party?'

He sat at Brand's right hand, opposite the tall, spare figure of Mr. Pitt. On his right, consuming port in great quantities, was the huge, jolly frame of Henry Dundas, while opposite Dundas in turn was his earlier acquaintance Henry Addison. Completing the party, at the foot of the table, was a very young man named Canning, like Haggard not yet an MP but who was apparently a protege of the Prime Minister.

The six of them had dined alone, the young ladies being despatched to have supper in their own quarters. In fact it had occurred to Haggard, during the three days he had spent in this house, that for all Brand's pretence of being subject to petticoat government, he ruled his household, and his daughters, with an iron will. Certainly there could be no doubt that he was the centre of the conspiracy which had as its object the ensnarement of one John Haggard. To what end? Merely to ensure he became a staunch supporter of the Tory cause? Or something far deeper, far more sinister, perhaps, looked at in the cold light of day, but impossible to regard as other than a delightful prospect when continually subject to the sight and the scent and the rustle and the gentle voices of the two sisters. With his senses in a continual state of inflammation in any event, he found it difficult to keep his hands off them whenever he saw them, and he saw them all day, for they had been deputed by their father to show him something of London, and each morning they had taken him sightseeing, to the Tower, and the Park, down the river by ferry to Greenwich and into the city to view the Bank of England. They had clustered close as the rain had dripped from their bonnets and soaked their pelisses, and when he had said, 'Now there is a remarkable thing,' as he had gazed up at the great colonnades of the Bank, ‘I keep more than a million inside those vaults, and this is the first time I have ever seen the place,' Alison had given an almost hysterical laugh and clung to his arm for a moment.

So then, a plot. A Brand beauty in exchange for the Haggard money. An absurd idea, with Emma waiting for him in Derleth. And besides, as Alison was only seventeen and her sister a year younger, the difference in ages was a shade too great to contemplate. But a plot which could make no progress as he was aware of what was intended. And meanwhile it was almost the limit of pleasure to be so blatantly wooed by two such gorgeous creatures. Almost the limit of pleasure. And the limit remained, if the opportunity presented itself. If he dared. For these were ladies, not serving girls.

But he was John Haggard. It was only necessary to establish himself amongst these Tory barons instead of depending upon the support of someone like Brand, and that should not take long.

So then, are you a bad man, John Haggard? Or are your ambitions too great to be contained by manners of convention? It was not a question he wished to answer at this moment.

'Ireland,' Pitt was saying. There is our prime concern, gentlemen.'

'You choose a thorny path,' Dundas grumbled.

The path of justice,' Pitt insisted. 'Oh, they are mostly savages. I am under no false impressions about that. They rob and they steal and they murder each other without compunction. But the fault is surely ours. It was the ambition of Strongbow took us across the sea. Now, how long ago was that? Nearly six hundred years. And in all that time successive English governments have treated the Irish as a conquered, and more, an inferior species. In the last two hundred years the quarrels have been deepened by the difference between Catholic and Protestant. It must end, some day, and the sooner it does the better. I would regard my entire parliamentary career as a failure should I not eradicate the penalties of worshipping the Catholic faith, bury the Test Act, and have Irishmen, Protestant or Catholic, sitting at Westminster before I die.'

He paused to drink some port, and the table was for a moment silent.

'Have you any strong views on the matter, Haggard?' Brand asked.

‘I agree with Mr. Pitt,' Haggard said. There are few barriers to Catholic advancement in the colonies, save of course in the government service. And I cannot persuade myself that the Pope poses any threat to England in this day and age.'

'Well said,' Pitt agreed.

'Aye, well, as I said, you choose a hard road,' Dundas repealed. 'And we'd best hope that we are granted the peace to pursue such ideals. What is your opinion of events in Paris, Haggard?'

'Faith, Sir Henry, I have had little time to consider them. But it appears the French are pursuing, in their own fashion, the goal of constitutional monarchy, which has been a considerable blessing to Great Britain, surely. I would say, if we could see the last of French ambitions, we may well be in for a period of peace in Europe.'

'My own thoughts entirely,' Pitt said enthusiastically.

'You do not suppose a French cabinet, even if free from the jurisdiction of a Louis XVI, might be similarly ambitious?'

Pitt gave a wintry smile. 'A French cabinet headed by whom. Harry? Jacques Necker?'

The men laughed.

'No, no, there is a complete absence of warlike intent in France at this moment, to my way of thinking. Indeed, whatever the outcome of the constitutional quarrel, we have little to fear. Louis XVI, God bless him, is less warlike even than Necker. Besides, they have no money with which to go to war. Which does not mean we shall not have occasion to defend ourselves. I fear the Russians, gentlemen. Their appetite is whetted with Poland, and they start to dream of Mediterranean expansion. You'll agree there is naught to stop them in Turkey. As a matter of fact, as Dundas will agree, one of the first acts of the new parliament must be to double the Navy appropriations.' "I'll say amen to that,' Dundas said.

'So will I,' Haggard said. 'I'm a West Indian, gentlemen. Any scheme for improving and enlarging the Navy will meet with my approval.'

Pitt finished his port. 'I must be on my way. Tomorrow is a busy one.' He stood up, came round the table, held out his hand. This has been a pleasure, Mr. Haggard. You are going to be a source of strength, sir, I can see that. Be sure you are there when the new Parliament convenes.'

'You have my word on it,' Haggard said.

Pitt gazed into his eyes for a moment, then nodded, and left the room, and the other guests went with him.

‘I knew you'd appeal to Pitt,' Brand said. This night has seen you properly launched. Haggard. Another?' He had had a great deal to drink himself; his speech was very slightly slurred, and he swayed.

'I suspect bed is indicated,' Haggard said.

'Bed,' Brand said. 'I've no notion for it.' He poured himself a glass. 'Come wi' me, Haggard. I'll show you the most beautiful sight you've ever seen.'

'Not tonight, Brand. Besides, it's raining. I've had just about all of this dismal weather I can stand.'

'Ah, be off wi' you,' Brand snorted. 'I'm not proposing to go out. I'm proposing to go upstairs and look at my darlings. You'll come with me, Haggard. They're fond of you. Oh, yes, I could tell that at a glance. Fond of you.' He picked up the decanter with his other hand, swayed towards the door, waved away the footman who would have opened it for him, splashing port.

Haggard followed him into the hall. 'I'm not sure I understand you,' he said. But his heart was pounding like a base drum.

'Have you no eyes for a pretty girl?' Brand commenced to climb the stairs. There's a rumour you keep one in Derleth. She'd have to go, of course.'

'Indeed?' Haggard climbed behind him. 'Go where, and when?'

Brand had reached the upper landing, now he poured some more port, set the decanter on an incidental table. ‘I’m thinking it would be the match of the century, Haggard. You may take your pick. Then you'd really be one of us. There's talk, you know.' He attempted to wag his finger and spilt some more wine. 'You'll not do well, socially, with a thief in your bed.'

'Addison,' Haggard said. 'I ought to wring his neck.'

'Ah, bah, 'tis true. But you're a colonial. People forgive easily. And with a wife on your arm, out of the top drawer, why, you'd be presented at court. I'd see to that.' He waved his arm, and this time port splashed on to Haggard's waistcoat. They're along here.'

Haggard knew where the sisters' bedroom was. Now he was hard as a rod; he had drunk enough himself to have lost just a little control of his wits. Presented at court? Why, of course he had to be presented at court. He was John Haggard.

Drunk as he was, Brand appeared to be a mindreader. 'Because they're a damnably stuffy lot,' he grumbled, fumbling at the doorknob. 'It's the Queen, God bless her. All of her sons are lechers. Every one. Why that Frederick tried to make advances to my Alison. Spurned him, she did. Nothing but debts and worries, she said. She has an old head, she has. But Her Majesty now, she'll receive no one with the slightest blemish on his affairs. No, indeed.'

The room was dark, and filled with the scent which the girls both used. Haggard waited while Brand reached up and took a candle from a holder on the wall, held it above his head as he went inside.

'Aren't thev splendid?' He drew the side drape from around the bed.

Haggard tiptoed forward, stood beside him. The girls wore white linen nightgowns, and as the fire still glowed in the grate and the room was warm, they had half kicked off their covers. They lay facing each other, Alison on the outside, with her back to him, Emily facing him. There arms were stretched towards each other, and their fingers were interwined; the position pushed their breasts together and thrust them out of the tops of the gowns. Their legs were clearly to be delineated beneath the soft material. Haggard licked his lips and found that his throat was dry. How strange, he thought, that they should share a room, and a bed. Or is Brand even more strapped than I had imagined?

Ladies. It was remarkable how inadequate that one word made him feel. But since Susan he had only ever bedded serving girls, and thieves. And even Susan had possessed none of Alison Brand's beauty.

Take your pick, Haggard,' Brand said, turning towards him.

'Really, Brand, this is somewhat unseemly. I am a widower, and old enough to be Alison's father.'

'Alison, is it? Thought as much.'

‘I'd not considered marrying again.'

'Stuff and nonsense. A man must have a wife. Come along and we'll talk about it.' He turned away, and the girls fell back into shadow. Haggard followed reluctantly, watched his host appear to subside forward, losing the candle and hitting the floor with a most tremendous crash.

'For God's sake,' Haggard cried, almost falling over him in turn. But Brand did not reply, and the candle had fallen from his hand and rolled against the wall, going out in the process.

'Papa?' Alison scrambled out of bed.

Haggard stepped over the unconscious man into the gallery, found another candle, held it above his head. Both girls were out of bed now, and kneeling beside their father.

'He just fell over,' Haggard said helplessly.

‘I don't think he's hurt himself.' Alison opined, 'except perhaps a bruise. We must get him to bed.' She looked up, gave a brief smile. 'He will be all right, Mr. Haggard. Truly.'

'He always is,' Emily explained.

Haggard knelt beside them, got his hands into Brand's armpits. His shoulder brushed Alison's, and her hair flopped against his face. 'You mean this has happened before?'

'Mmm,' Alison said, straining. Slowly they pulled Brand to his feet, and Haggard got one of his arms over his shoulders. Alison went round the other side, took the other arm, and Emily came behind. 'Just along here,' Alison panted.

'Can I assist you. Miss Alison?' asked the butler, coming up the stairs with a footman at his heels.

'No thank you. Partridge,' Alison said. 'I'm sure we can manage. You may retire.'

Partridge disappeared, and Emily was opening the door to Brand's bedroom. Haggard and Alison dragged him across the floor and laid him on the bed.

'You may go back to bed, Emily,’ Alison said. 'But . .

'Go back to bed.' Alison climbed on to the bed to kneel beside her father, began to loosen his cravat. Haggard stood above her, holding the candle at her shoulder, listened to the soft sound of the door closing as the younger sister withdrew. He looked down on the gently curving sweep of back beneath him, on the upturned bare feet—she was sitting on her heels as she tugged at the cloth—on the golden hair which had fallen forward to each side of her ears to expose her neck. He inhaled her perfume, and felt quite dizzy with desire. She was seventeen years old. Another Emma had come into his life, but this one had no drawbacks at all. So he would have to marry her. The thought was suddenly extremely pleasant.

But how could he even think like that, with Emma waiting, warm and loving, for him at Derleth? And sniffing and sneezing? But that could only be a brief misfortune.

'Now his boots,' Alison panted, sliding down the bed. She undid the laces, and began to pull.

'Can I help you?' Haggard asked.

She shook her head, got the first boot off, cheeks pink with effort, turned her attention to the other.

'I should apologise for being in your room.' Haggard said. 'The fact is, your father . .

'Wished you to see us, sleeping,' she said without raising her head. 'I hope we were decent.'

'You were entrancing,' Haggard said without meaning to.

The second boot fell on to the floor, and Alison's head at last came up to allow her to look at him. Was she smiling? He could not be sure in the flickering candlelight.

'Well, you were,' he said defensively.

'I think we can leave him like this,' Alison decided. 'He'll be all right.' She uncoiled herself, got off the bed, waited.

For him to do what? He stood beside her, and with sudden decision put his arm round her shoulders, at the same time moving forward as if escorting her to the door. She half turned, into him, then gave a little sigh and rested her head on his shoulder.

'Alison.' He snuffed the candle with his free hand, dropped it to the floor, lifted her into his arms, kissed her on the mouth. Her tongue was shy, and almost attempted to escape his, before she hugged him as tightly, and as passionately. His arms were round her shoulders, and the nightdress was slipping. He drove his hands downwards, found her buttocks, gave them a squeeze and attempted to move between, carrying the cloth with him, but she gave a little wriggle and slipped away altogether.

'Alison.' He reached for her, and she stepped back and opened the door.

'You must speak with Papa.' she said. Tomorrow.'

'But you." She left her hand on the doorknob, and he caught it, allowed himself to be drawn outside into the comparative light of the gallery.

‘I will do whatever Papa tells me to do,' she said. 'But I know he likes you, Mr. Haggard.' 'Do you like me. Alison?' 'I will like you, Mr. Haggard.'

He brought her closer, but she was shaking her head, slowly. 'You must speak with Papa.'

'Before 1 can kiss you? I have already kissed you.'

'Do you just wish to kiss me, Mr. Haggard?'

His fingers relaxed in surprise at the directness of her question, and she freed her hand. 'After you've spoken with Papa.'

After I have spoken to Papa. Haggard pulled rein, sat his horse on the hilltop looking down into Derleth Valley. For a moment there he had nearly lost his senses. He was John Haggard. He had no need, and certainly no desire, ever to marry again. He had his son and heir, and two other children besides. He had Emma. Pray to God she had got over her cold by now. And besides, the Brands were clearly after his wealth as much as his obvious ability to rise in the ranks of the Tory hierarchy. It was a trap well avoided.

But how splendid it would be if Alison could be at his side, looking down at his valley. His to possess, with none of the drawbacks of marriage. There was a dream.

And had he not acted too hastily? He had fled the Brand house as if it had contained the devil, whereas it might well have contained his future social standing. However much Pitt appeared to like him, he was only of interest as a parliamentary candidate. Friendship and political advancement would depend upon his acceptance by the great London hostesses. That had been made painfully clear. And he had fled, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, who wanted only to be his wife.

Because of Emma? She was his conscience. But more than that, he knew. She was his halter, the one force on earth which restrained him from descending into the pit of angry profligacy which was so much more attractive in England than ever in Barbados. Are you a bad man, John Haggard? Oh, indeed. But here at the least, acting an honourable role.

He walked his horse down the road and into the village street. It was late afternoon, and the miners were already home. Several were outside the inn, and Haggard nodded to them as he passed. They hastily raised their hats, but there were no smiles and no greetings. The last time he had seen them they had been drinking at his expense, and had been happy enough to smile then. Surly lot. They compared very badly with the happy black people of Haggard's Penn.

The village fell behind and he passed the church and the vicarage, where candles already glowed at the windows, before approaching the manor house, and a much warmer welcome. There were no dogs to gallop out and greet him—he must put that right, immediately—but the grooms waited to take his bridle, and John Essex opened the door for him.

'Man, Mr. John, sir, but is good to have you back.' John Essex took his hat and cloak. 'But you didn't catch that stupid black man?'

Haggard frowned at him. Was it possible that Essex did not sympathise with Middlesex? 'If I had, he'd be with me now,' he said, and went to the foot of the stairs.

'Father.' Roger came out of the pantry, arms outstretched. Haggard gave him a hug. Even in ten days he seemed to have grown some more.

'Papa.' Charlie was tugging at his hand, with Alice jumping up and down behind him.

'Here I am, safe and sound,' he said, squeezing them each in turn. How febrile the world of London seemed beside this domestic bliss.

'Mr. Haggard.'

Emma stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at him. She wore a blue gown, high necked and prim. Her hair was loose and was the autumn stain he had always loved. And the glowing red was gone from her nose, as the thickness had disappeared from her voice. Haggard released the children, ran up the stairs. 'Emma. Oh, my darling Emma.'

She was in his arms, and he was kissing her mouth. Here was no shyness, only desire. Here was what he had always wanted, and it was the only thing he would ever want. He swept her from her feet, hurried along the corridor, the children running behind.

Annie Kent and Amelia emerged to clap their hands at the fun. The door of the bedchamber was open, and he carried Emma through. Her arms were tight around his neck, her cheek pressed against his. But her scent was absent from the room.

He set her on her feet, and frowned at her.

"You commanded me to move out,' she said.

'I command you to move back in.'

'And I must obey your commands, sir,' she said, with a smile. 'Off you go, children,' she said. 'Your father and I have things to discuss.'

'Come along, come along,' Amelia shouted, clapping her hands. 'You all can see yo' mother and father got business?'

The door closed. Haggard unfastened Emma's buttons, slid the gown away from her shoulders, thrust his hand inside to find and caress her breasts. She lay back against his chest, and sighed. 'Did you miss me, Mr. Haggard?'

'I missed you, Emma. My God, how I missed you.' Gently he pulled her nipples hard, as he knew she liked, and she wriggled her bottom against the front of his breeches.

'What must the children think?'

That we love each other.' He released her to undress himself, watched her tall, slender beauty unveiling itself in front of him, leapt forward and caught her again. She gave a gasp, then she was in the bed and he was lying on her belly, pushing the hair from her forehead, kissing each eye and her nose and her chin.

'Mr. Haggard,' she said into his ear. 'I have let Margaret Lacey go-'

Haggard kissed her on the mouth, raised his head to smile at her. 'The devil with Margaret Lacey, Emma. You are my housekeeper’

CHAPTER 5

THE TYRANT

Mr. Johnson, the schoolmaster, stood in front of the fire, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. He was a short, heavy-set man, with pugnacious features, presently somewhat embarrassed. It was as usual raining outside, and his boots left damp imprints on the hearthrug.

'Mr. Johnson.' Haggard held out his hand. Never had he felt in such a bubbling good humour. Even the climate was nothing more than an irritation. 'I'm sorry I've not yet been down to the school, but you'll have heard I was in London.'

'Oh, indeed, Mr. Haggard. A bad business.'

'You may say that again. Sit down, man, sit down. A bad business. I'll have the scoundrel back, I promise you. I was merely hoodwinked by the intricacies of English law. I'll have him back.' He frowned. 'Aren't you going to sit down?'

'I would prefer to stand, Mr. Haggard.'

'Suit yourself. At least have a glass of wine.'

Thank you, sir, but no.'

'Well, you'll excuse me if I have one.' Haggard drank deeply. 'I've been inspecting my orchards and the wood. Now there is a pleasant spot. Or it would be if this confounded rain would ever stop. I think I will erect the new manor house closer to that wood. You know I'm going to build?'

'Well, sir, Mr. Haggard . . .'

'I've a man called Nash coming out to see me. Oh, aye, we'll replace this gloomy ruin with something more suitable. But not to fear, Johnson, not to fear. There will be ample funds for improving your school. Now then, I assume this isn't just a social visit?'

'No, sir, Mr. Haggard. The fact is . . .'

'But I'm glad you're here in any event. I have it in mind to call an election meeting. I'd like to explain to my people just what I propose, when I am elected. Never does any harm to communicate, eh?'

Johnson licked his lips. 'It is about the election that I wish to speak, sir.'

Haggard leaned back. 'Well, go ahead.' 'May I first of all ask some questions, sir?' 'Anything you like.'

'Well, sir, is it true that all of the black servants you have here are slaves?'

Haggard frowned at him. They are slaves, Mr. Johnson, if it is any concern of yours.' His frown deepened. 'You disapprove of slavery?'

Johnson's face was slowly turning crimson with embarrassment. 'Every right-thinking man must disapprove of slavery, Mr. Haggard.'

Haggard allowed his finger to point. 'Are you accusing me, Mr. Johnson, of being a wrong-thinking man?'

'By no means, Mr. Haggard.' Johnson forgot his earlier resolution and sat down, ‘I understand your background, sir. You were born to a certain station in life, and the higher that station, the less likely are we to question the perquisites that accompany it. I would hope, sir, that when the facts are put to you, you would appreciate them, and be swayed by them.'

The facts?' Haggard sat up. 'Don't come to me with any balderdash, Johnson.' The anger was back, bubbling in his belly, quite dispelling his mood of contentment. Why, it seemed that this entire country was engaged in a vast conspiracy against him. 'I'll give you some facts. Have you ever seen happier or healthier people than my blacks?'

'No, sir. But . . .'

'Do you know the sort of existence their forefathers had in Africa? A continual round of murder and mayhem, an unending sequence of disease, a total absence of literature of any refinement, and I may add, the worship of the most vicious and heathen gods you may care to name. Compare that existence with the lives they now live.'

'Yet are they subject to the whim of a single man, sir.'

'Do you not suppose they were subject to the whim of their king, in Guinea?'

Johnson sighed, and stood up again. 'Mr. Haggard, if indeed your ancestors removed these people from Africa in order to elevate their standard of living, they are to be honoured. But, sir, they did not apparently consider the matter in its entirety. To take a man from one bondage, and clap him in another, is hardly Christian, even if the second bondage is less severe than the first. And I may say, sir, that on the evidence presented before the'

Royal Commission, in many cases this second bondage is far more severe than the first. Of course I excuse you from such a stricture, Mr. Haggard. Every report says that you have ever been a humane man. Yet, sir, are you but one amongst hundreds, perhaps thousands. And in addition, sir, I am bound to say, that by belonging to such a community you place yourself in the dock of human opinion along with them.'

Haggard scratched his head. 'I really am totally confounded, Mr. Johnson. But I will tell you this: I do not propose to be lectured in my own house and by my own schoolmaster. You have said your piece, and I am perfectly willing to allow you your own point of view. But I regard the matter as now closed.'

'That decision must be yours, Mr. Haggard. But I will not be silenced,' Johnson said.

'In the name of God, man, have you come here to quarrel with me?'

Johnson's flush, which had faded during his lecture, now began to gather again. 'No, sir, and I apologise for my heat. I came here, sir, to make certain inquiries, resulting from rumours I have heard and information I have received. I now feel it is only proper for me to tell you that I have decided to stand as parliamentary candidate for Derleth.'

Haggard stared at him for a moment in total bewilderment. Then he laughed. 'You must have lost your senses.' Johnson got up.

Haggard kept his temper with an effort. 'And the deposit?' That has been made available.'

'Sharp, by God.' Haggard got up. 'Granville Sharp. He seeks to bring me down. Well, we shall see about that. Do you seriously suppose the electors of this borough will vote for their schoolmaster instead of their squire?'

'We shall have to find out, sir. But they are Englishmen, Mr. Haggard. And to any right-thinking Englishman, slavery is an abhorrence. I will bid you good day.'

MacGuinness panted, rolled his tricorne between his hands. ' Tis a meeting. Hard by the church.'

Haggard nodded. 'You've some lads?'

'Oh, aye. Ten of them. But costly, Mr. Haggard. A guinea apiece.'

'Well, hopefully it won't come to violence.' He put on his hat, fastened his coat. Emma stood in the doorway to watch him, Roger at her side. 'You'd not assault the schoolmaster, Mr. Haggard?

‘I'd not assault anyone, sweetheart. But I cannot have my people suborned.' He looked up at the ten mounted men. 'Peter Wring, is that you?'

‘It is me, Mr. Haggard, sir. And I've Toby with me as well.'

'Good man. And Lacey?'

The men exchanged glances. 'Well, sir. no. Lacey wouldn't join us.'

Haggard mounted. Because of his sister, he wondered?

'Will you take the dog, Mr. John?' John Essex asked.

Haggard pulled the mastiffs ears. But he was only a pup. 'I don't think we'll need him.'

'Please let me come, Father,' Roger begged. 'If there's to be a fight, I can swing a stick as well as anyone.'

'Your business is to look after Emma,' Haggard said. 'Anyway, there isn't going to be a fight. We're going to attend a meeting, that's all. Weil be back by ten o'clock.' He turned his horse and rode into the darkness, followed by his men.

Emma looked down at the boy who stood beside her, put her arm round his shoulder and gave him a squeeze; Rufus rubbed against his leg—he had immediately adopted Roger as his master. 'Time enough, Roger.'

He made no reply, and after a moment she released him. He was a strange boy. She was the only mother he had ever known, and she believed he was genuinely fond of her. Certainly no one, watching him play with Charlie and Alice, could doubt that he loved them. But equally no one could doubt that he worshipped John Haggard, wanted only to be included in his father's plans and ambitions.

'Does he really go to assault Mr. Johnson?' Roger asked.

'Of course not. It is just his way. And Mr. Johnson is really being very wrong in bringing discord to Derleth. His business is teaching, not quarelling with his squire.'

Roger went into the house, and Emma closed the door, is what he said true, Emma? Is it wrong to have slaves?'

Emma sighed. 'Some people say it is wrong to drink strong liquors, or eat rich foods. Some people say it is wrong to be ambitious, and certainly wrong to be rich. When you are a man, you will have to decide for yourself, what is right and what is wrong.'

He gave her a curious glance. 'Emma? Is it true that Papa owns you too?'

At last, she thought. For how many years had she waited for that simple question to be asked. 'Your father and I are lovers,' she said.

'But did he buy you?' Roger persisted.

Emma put her arm back around his shoulders as they climbed the stairs. 'Why, yes, he did. He saved me from being hanged, because of a lot of superstitious men. I will tell you about it, some day.'

'And he owns you?' Roger asked.

'Not any more.' She smiled. 'I doubt he knows.'

'And yet you stay with him?'

She gave him a squeeze. 'I told you, I love him. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to be here for the rest of his life.'

'For the rest of my life, Emma. I don't want you ever to go.'

She rubbed his head. 'For that kind thought, you can sit at the table with me for supper.'

'But Emma, is Papa a good man? Do you think he is a good man?'

'He's a good enough man for me, Roger Haggard,' she said. 'Now off you go and wash your hands.'

Haggard drew rein in the shelter of the willows which grew around the little cemetery. By the side of the schoolhouse a platform had been erected, and on it there stood the Reverend Litteridge. Litteridge, Haggard thought bitterly. He might have known he would be involved. Seated to either side of him were half a dozen other men, none of whom Haggard recognised, save for the schoolmaster and the very obvious slight figure of Granville Sharp himself. In front of the rostrum, breaths clouding into the still November air, were a considerable number of men, and some women; Haggard estimated that most of the village must have turned out to hear what their vicar had to say, as they turned out most Sunday mornings for the same purpose.

He dismounted, handed his reins to Peter Wring, and made his way through the trees and into earshot.

'A blight,' Litteridge was saying. 'A blight across our fair land, and more especially, our fair village. Now, my friends, Mr. Haggard is not a bad man. Indeed, there is sufficient evidence that he is a good and generous one, according to his lights. But are his lights in accord with our way of thinking? We have this man, born and bred a planter, and therefore, my friends, by definition belonging to the most stiff-necked and arrogant group of men in the world. And do not his actions indicate his attitude? He wishes to return to England, to enjoy the proceeds of his slave-created wealth. So he commands his agent to buy Derleth Hall. No matter that the Redmonds have lived here for four generations. They were not slave owners. Thus they were not wealthy people. There were debts. As we all have debts. So Mr. Haggard's agent buys up the mortgage, and forecloses. There is an end to the Redmonds. And what do we next see? Mr. Haggard takes up residence, with his entourage, of slaves, black and white, my friends. For living in the hall is a woman who was convicted as a thief, and deported from this area across the seas, where she could suffer her sentence in justice. But she was a pretty girl, so Mr. Haggard with another snap of his arrogant fingers, buys her and takes her to his bed, and now brings her back to Derleth as lady of the manor. Can you believe that, my friends? A convicted thief, sentenced to transportation, returned to us as our better. Is this the sort of man you would have represent you in Parliament, my friends, make the laws that will govern this country, stand on our behalf in matters of national import? But I have not yet finished. This man, this Haggard, is also a slave owner, as I have said. And when one of his people, unable any longer to bear the heavy burden of bondage, sought succour away from Derleth, what does Haggard do? He calls for a posse, saddles up, and rides in pursuit, for all the world as if James Middlesex had been a convicted criminal, like his own paramour. A man whose only crime, if it can possibly be a crime, was to seek his freedom, an act any one of you would be honoured for attempting should you ever find yourself in so iniquitous a position. Is this man you would choose to represent you?'

The parson paused, straightened, listened to the murmurs of agreement which came from in front of him. Haggard left the trees and walked towards the platform. For a moment he did not appear to be noticed, then heads began to turn and a muttering began.

'You'll excuse me, Mr. Litteridge,' Haggard said. 'But you'll not refuse a man the right to speak for himself?'

Litteridge blinked at him. Even in the darkness he seemed to turn pale.

'Do you give others that right, Mr. Haggard?' he demanded.

'I've never stopped a man airing his opinions yet,' Haggard said, and mounted the steps to the platform. 'Well, now,' he said, raising his voice. 'Do I have the right to speak?'

'Nah,' someone shouted. 'Tis the parson's platform.'

'Be gone wi' you,' bawled someone else, apparently addressing the last speaker. ' Tis squire's right.'

'Aye,' said someone else. 'Let the squire speak.'

Haggard grinned at them, the widening of his mouth hiding the surging anger in his belly. 'My right,' he said. My right, he thought, to have to wait on the whim of a bunch of stinking coal miners. 'Well then, listen to me,' he said, speaking loudly and clearly, but not shouting. ' Tis true I am a slave owner. And there is the sole reason these men have elected to oppose my taking a seat in the Commons. A slave owner. They have filled your heads with notions about my brutality, about the iniquity of the trade, about the degradation of being a slave. You know my people at the Hall. Are they starving? Are they naked? Answer me that, my friends. Those are slaves. My slaves. Haggard slaves.'

'One ran away from you,' a voice said.

'Aye, so he did,' Haggard said. 'As the prodigal son ran away.' There was a roar of approval.

Haggard raised his hands. 'You want to be represented in Parliament. You want the best for this great country of ours just as you want the best for this village. Now let me ask you this. Who is better qualified to achieve that best, a schoolmaster, or your very own squire? Now Parson Litteridge has just accused me of every vice he can think of. But I accuse him of the greatest vice of all. The vice of being uncharitable. For what is another of the charges he has brought against me? That I keep, as my mistress, a girl from this very village, convicted of theft. Let me tell you about Emma Dearborn, my friends. She was transported, as the vicar says, sold into bondage for ten years. Had I not purchased her, someone else would have done so, and used her hardly, I can promise you that. But in addition, falsely accused of a crime on board the vessel in which she was imprisoned, she would have been sentenced to hang. I could not permit that, my friends. I bought her. And having done that, I fell in love with her. She is a beautiful girl. So I love her. Have none of you fellows ever fallen in love with a beautiful girl?'

There was a bellow of laughter and a chorus of ayes.

'But you ain't married her,' shouted someone from the back.

'No, I have not married her,' Haggard said. 'I have no intention of ever marrying again. I am a widower, and will remain so. And I'd expect every man to respect that decision.'

Another chorus of ayes. But the voice at the back, a vaguely familiar voice, was not to be silenced.

'Fine words, Mr. Haggard. You ain't marrying again because you can't keep your hands off nothing in skirts. That's why he wants us to send him to Westminster, lads. So he can fuck every wench in London.'

Haggard peered into the darkness, could only make out a blur of faces. 'You'll come forward, sir,' he said. 'And repeat those words.'

'Who'll make me?' demanded the voice.

'Why, I will,' Haggard said, and stepped down from the platform. His heart pounded and he could feel the blood surging through his veins, but he was quite cool. He had not fought anyone for too long. Perhaps there was all of his trouble, the sole cause of his uncertainty. And this would be as vital a conflict as that in which he had opposed Malcolm Bolton. This crowd was not altogether against him, but they were not altogether for him, either. Now they parted willingly enough to let him through, while there was a brief scuffle at the rear, and someone shouted, 'Stand up to him, Jemmy, if you're so loud with your voice. He can't hang you for speaking.'

Haggard reached the back of the throng. Jemmy Lacey. He might have known it. He wondered if Margaret was also here. 'Well, Lacey,' he said. 'What do you have to say to me?'

The young man licked his lips, but he was realising that he was surrounded by his friends, not the squire's, and that he was at least as big a man. ‘I said you was a lying lecher, Mr. Haggard. I'll not go back on that.'

'Then back yourself with your fists,' Haggard said, and hit him on the face, not hard, but just sufficient to sting.

Lacey gazed at him in astonishment for some seconds, then gave a grunt, lowered his head, and ran forward. Haggard clasped both hands together to use as a club on the nape of the young man's neck as he came up, but although Lacey gave another grunt he was not stopped. His arms went round Haggard's waist as his head crunched into Haggard's stomach with breathtaking force. The impact carried Haggard back, and he tripped and sat down, Lacey landing on top of him.

'Go it, Jemmy boy,' someone shouted.

'Lay into him,' shouted another.

Haggard struck down again, aware that he had only a few seconds of breath left, as Lacey continued to burrow into his stomach. Again and again he hit the young man, and at last there was a slight slackening of the grip. He rolled to his left, and Lacey went with him. this time underneath. Haggard managed to get a knee up, and the young man grunted and released him. They reached their knees together, Lacey once again grasping at him. but Haggard evaded the clutching hands and gained his feet. Certainly he could not afford again to find himself in that bearhug. He watched Lacey rising, and moved forward, balancing himself, leading a left hand which crunched on Lacey's chin and left a stain of blood, from his own torn fingers, Haggard realised. But now was no time to worry about that. While Lacey was off balance he threw his right fist with all his weight behind it. The blow caught the other side of Lacey's chin with a jar which travelled right up Haggard's arm into his shoulder, left his right hand for a moment numb with pain. But Lacey was staggering. Haggard moved forward, hit the young man three times in the stomach, sinking the blows with all his force into the heavy coat. Then he switched back to the face, hurling three more blows, splitting Lacey's cheek and landing another in his eye. The young man gasped, and fell to his knees.

Equally breathless. Haggard waited, each fist a mass of seething pain, heart throbbing, and head too, listening to the silence around him, 'Up, Jemmy,' he said. 'Up.'

Lacey remained on his knees, spitting blood. Haggard turned away, walked towards the trees; MacGuinness waited with his horse.

There cheers for the squire,' someone called. 'Who'll give three cheers for the squire? Hip hip . . .' There was a surprisingly loud response.

'Fighting,' Emma said. 'Brawling, and with a man as far beneath you as the mud beneath your feet. Your clothes are ruined, and your hands . . .' She was extending them as she spoke, over a bowl of warm water held by Annie Kent, while Elizabeth Lancashire and Amelia hovered, armed with cotton wool and lint. 'Are they very painful?'

They ache,' Haggard said, removing one from her grasp to take a drink of mulled wine. 'What do you reckon, MacGuinness?'

'You did well, Mr. Haggard. Well. There's not a man in the village won't respect you now.'

'You have to fight people to gain their respect?' Emma demanded, opening the remains of Haggard's shirt. 'My God.'

There was a great red bruise on his belly where Lacey's head had ground into his ribs.

These are Englishmen, Miss Dearbon,' MacGuinness explained. 'Fisticuffs is their natural way of expression, and they love to see a nob, if you'll pardon the expression, Mr. Haggard, who can handle himself. Oh, aye, I reckon you did yourself a power of good tonight, Mr. Haggard. And the schoolmaster a power of harm. Well, I'll be away home.'

'Fisticuffs,' Emma growled, and glanced at Roger, standing beside the maids, staring at his father with rapt attention. 'A fine example for the boy.'

'Did you really beat him to a pulp, Father?'

‘I beat him, boy,' Haggard said, 'and there's an end to it. You'd have done as much.'

‘I should hope not,' Emma said, carefully washing the last of the blood from the cuts on Haggard's hands.

'He will,' Haggard said. 'You'll remember you're Roger Haggard, boy, when you get to Eton. You'll never lie, and you'll never turn your back on any man.'

'No, sir,' Roger promised.

'And when you know you're right, boy, you'll fight, no matter however many are against you.' 'Yes, sir.'

'Men,' Emma grumbled. But she nestled against him that night in bed. 'Did you really fight him because he insulted me?'

'He insulted me,' Haggard pointed out. 'But I fought him because the vicar insulted you. I couldn't very well fight Litteridge.'

'Will he leave here?'

Haggard smiled. 'Not before the election, I'll wager. After that, well, we'll have to see. I've more important things on my mind. MacGuinness tells me this Nash fellow arrives tomorrow.'

'What I have in mind,' Haggard explained, 'is a tower. A crenellated tower, high—I want to see over the trees—with a building attached.'

The three men, MacGuinness and Haggard and the architect, stood on a knoll about a mile away from the manor, and on the far side from the village. The hills which separated them from the coal mine were close behind them, and the trees clustered thickly to either side. It was, to Haggard's mind, the prettiest spot in the valley, and the most secluded; before them stretched his own deer park. Now he watched the architect, pulling at his chin. John

Nash was a short, spare man, only a few years older than Haggard himself, with thoughtful brown eyes and a disarming smile.

Which he now put to use. 'You're expecting to stand a siege, Mr. Haggard?'

'I want it to look as if it might once have stood a siege.' Haggard said. And smiled himself. 'I'm a romantic, Mr. Nash.'

'I can see that,' Nash agreed, and led them forward over the sloping ground, it would be cheaper over there.'

The cost does not concern me.'

Nash nodded. There is good news for an architect. You'll want your own accommodation in the tower?' That's right.' 'Water closets?' 'What are they?'

'Privies, Mr. Haggard. But much more hygienic, as they can be plumbed in to give you a constant flow of water, as you require.'

'Of course,' Haggard said. 'And a bathroom attached to every bedroom.'

Nash frowned at him. 'Now there will be a real expense, Mr. Haggard. And why?' 'Just do it, Mr. Nash.' 'Of course, sir.’

'And a staircase,' Haggard added.

Nash nodded, ‘I will let you have a complete plan in due course, Mr. Haggard. I will delineate all the staircases.' ‘I mean a grand staircase,' Haggard said. Nash frowned. 'How grand?' 'You've been to Almack's?'

indeed I have, sir. A facsimile of the main staircase.' 'Not a facsimile, Mr. Nash. I wish an exact replica, in every way.'

Nash sighed. 'May I point out, sir, that it will take up a great deal of room? I presume you are thinking of the entrance to the main withdrawing room.'

"Which will be in the tower.'

'Quite impossible. You'd not have a tower, Mr. Haggard. You'd have a citadel.'

Haggard pulled his nose, then snapped his fingers. 'I have it. The grand staircase will lead from the entry hall into the main withdrawing room, which will be partly situated in the lower building, to be sure. But that room will extend into the tower. In other words, the tower will grow out of the main building.'

Nash scratched his head. 'Which will make it entirely useless for defence.'

Haggard smiled at him. 'Who am I going to defend it against, Mr. Nash? My own people here in Derleth? No, no. The exterior of the tower must appear as if it might once have been used for defence. But inside I wish it to be the most comfortable place you can imagine. And the master bedroom, which is to be on the top floor immediately beneath the roof, must be the most comfortable of the lot. Now, other things. I want a private pistol range in the basement. And I want a flower garden. Roses. Masses and masses of roses.'

Nash regarded his notebook as if frightened of it. 'With water closets in every room.'

'Of course. And a bathroom.'

Nash nodded. 'I will prepare plans. But I am bound to say, Mr. Haggard, that this project will cost not a penny less than a hundred thousand.' He peered at Haggard.

'Of course,' Haggard said. 'Now come down to the Hall for dinner.'

There are letters,' Emma said, her voice curiously soft.

Haggard took the silver tray, sifted through the envelopes. Three from Cummings. One from Willy Ferguson. And one in a curiously upright hand, at once small and precise, and giving off the most delightful scent. A scent he recognised immediately.

'Is there anything of interest?' Emma asked, carelessly.

'Business matters,' he explained. 'You'll excuse me.' He carried them into the study, sat at his desk. Now why was his heart pounding? He had seen through all of the schemes to ensnare him, and had rejected them. The business was at an end. Only a fool would ever reconsider that decision.

But he slit the scented envelope first.

Most esteemed Mr. Haggard,

Where modesty forbids me to utter a word, sheer remorse compels me to write to you. Am I then so wretched a creature? Did I offend you so deeply, or was I so immodest as to arouse nothing but horror in your breast? When we had laid dear Papa to bed—you will be pleased to know that he awoke next day with no ill save a slight pain in the forehead—it was you approached me. I had trusted you, Mr. Haggard, as a friend of my fathers, and while I know it was remiss of me to allow myself into your presence wearing nothing more than a nightgown, I must beg you to believe that no thought of propriety crossed my mind in the instant of seeing my beloved father lying there unconscious and for all I knew, dead.

You were kind to me, and you spoke words of endearment. Words I treasured, as I treasure them now. In the heat of the moment you made certain movements which I endeavoured to resist to the best of my ability, without wishing to offend you, both because of my father's affection for you and because of my own understanding of the fine qualities which go to compose your character. Imagine my feelings on awakening, to be informed that you had fled our house, without leaving even so much as a letter behind. Such an act, Mr. Haggard, was scarce that of a gentleman, yet I do not reproach you, as I understand the differences between a Barbadian and an Englishman, and refuse to permit such differences to influence in any way my sure judgement of your worth.

Yet was I desolated, at once to have lost the pleasure of your company, and to feel that I had in some way offended your sensibilities. It would be a great relief to me to hear from you to the effect that your abrupt and so far unexplained departure from my father's house was occasioned by circumstances beyond your control. Should this be the case, please be certain that should you ever care to visit us again you will be most welcome, a sentiment with which my father and my sister wish to be associated.

Very sincerely yours, A. Brand

Haggard leaned back, the letter still in his hand, the perfume clouding up to clog his senses, his memory recalling the straight blonde hair, the infinitely delicate features so strangely set off by the flaring nostrils, the touch of her lips and her tongue, the gentle caress of her voice.

But the fact was, Emma was as much his wife as any he had ever had. Why, they had lived together now for nearly eleven years. He had even fought a man because she had been insulted. Alison could only be considered as a mistress. But what a delightful mistress she would make. Supposing it were possible.

Emma stood in the doorway. 'If you have finished your letters, Mr. Haggard, dinner is being served. You have yet to tell me what Mr. Nash and yourself have arranged.'

Definitely, Haggard thought as he got to his feet, she is as much a wife as any I have ever had.

'Are you nervous, Mr. Haggard?' Emma asked. It was a cold December evening, and the fire blazed in the upstairs withdrawing room. But because this was a special night, neither Alice nor Charlie had. been sent to bed; Roger sat with them keeping them from annoying their father.

Haggard stood before the fire, hands clasped behind his back. 'What have I to be nervous about?' he asked, it is a straightforward contest.'

‘I am nervous,' Emma said, 'It is . . . it's a vote of confidence, Mr. Haggard. In you. And a vote of acceptance, of me.' 'Do they not accept you?'

They smile at me, Mr. Haggard, and some even curtsey. They are pleased to see me in their shops, because I spend so much money. Your money, Mr. Haggard. I know not what they would do were I to be cast adrift amongst them.'

'Do you suspect such a fate?'

She raised her head to gaze at him. 'No, Mr. Haggard,' she said, ‘I am merely making a point.'

Then remember this one,' Haggard said. Their vote, of confidence or of acceptance, is meaningless. Even were they to return Johnson, it would be nothing, to me, and thus nothing to you. It is a contest, that is all. I shall be in the study.'

He closed the door behind him, snapped his fingers to summon John Essex.

'Bring me a bottle of port,' he said. He sat at his desk, leaned back with a sigh. He was spending more and more time in here nowadays. Because it was the most comfortable room in the house. Because he could be alone with his thoughts, and his desires. There was the fact of it. He had been appalled by the effect England, and more especially, Englishwomen, had had on him. He realised that for a week or so here he had been not quite himself. But it was idle to suppose that he no longer desired. It had been an act of will to confine himself entirely to Emma for these past two months. An act of will not to go to town. Time enough when he was elected. If he was elected, as she feared.

But was this the sum of all those ambitions with which he had left Barbados? Instead of a minister’ of the Crown, a pair of white thighs? Instead of the social lion of an entire county, a pair of white breasts? Instead of a nationally known name, a pair of red lips? Well, no doubt he had a nationally known name, all right, but it was as slave driver and lecher. As for the others, they both were beyond his reach while Emma lay like a deadening weight across his mind.

Emma. He got up, walked to the window. He had needed nothing more in Barbados. But in Barbados he had worked from dawn until dusk, had been eager to do no more than find her arms when he returned to the house. Now he saw her all day, unless he went out, but there was so little to go out for. MacGuinness kept insisting he should inspect the mine, but the thought of those naked dust-stained white bodies at once repelled him and beckoned him in the most obscene of ways. The village was a no-man's-land at the moment. He would not go amongst them until they either accepted him or rejected him. And he hated to look at the ugly scars already marking the ground where the new Hall would arise. It would be the finest building in the land when it was completed, but he did not wish to see it until then.

So Emma, a soothing, loving spirit, ever at his side. Perhaps there was an equal cause of his trouble. Sometimes he wished to love savagely without feel for the object, only for the satisfaction of his own desires. As he had, indeed once loved Emma. But in Emma's case, his conscience had reacted so violently against the harm he had done her that he had been too gentle ever since. And Emma liked gentleness. He could not suddenly begin to savage her now, after eleven years.

How would Alison Brand wish to be loved?-

'Mr. Haggard. Mr. Haggard.' The door was open and Emma stood there, MacGuinness and Roger at her shoulder. The result.'

Haggard stood up. 'MacGuinness?'

'Eleven votes for you, Mr. Haggard. Four for the schoolmaster. My congratulations, sir.' Haggard shook hands.

'You're an MP, Papa,' Roger shouted. 'An MP.'

'Aye.' Haggard sat down again. 'Four votes for the schoolmaster. You must discover who the other three were.'

‘I have already done so,' MacGuinness said.

'You'll not punish them for voting against you, Mr. Haggard,' Emma begged.

'I merely wish to identify those who would oppose me, sweetheart.' He frowned at her. 'You have not congratulated me.'

‘I am not certain there is cause for congratulation.'

in the name of God,' he said. 'An hour ago you were bewailing the possibility that I might not be elected.'

'But now that you are,' she pointed out, 'you will be away in London, nine months of the year.'

Away in London. To Westminster itself, to take his place upon the national stage. Whenever he was permitted to do so.

'I must apologise for not submitting your name to the Speaker.' Pitt said when they met in the lobby after the first session of the new house. 'But I am reserving you for whenever next Wilberforce launches one of his tirades against the Slave Trade, which I imagine will be at the conclusion of your lawsuit with Sharp. You have no real knowledge of India, have you?'

This having been the subject of the first debate.

‘I have not, sir,' Haggard said.

'And Philip Francis dreams of it day and night. He was there once, you know. Indeed, it was he brought the indictment against poor Warren Hastings. Now tell me, what do you think of our institution?'

I am overwhelmed. Haggard thought. To sit opposite men like Charles Fox and Dick Sheridan, of whom I have only ever read, to be standing here conversing with the Prime Minister, while other members pass us by and cast me envious glances . . . 'Interesting,' he said. 'A trifle cramped.'

'Ah.' Pitt laid his finger alongside his nose, it is cramped, of course. But designedly so, my dear Haggard. When we have a full attendance, when some issue of national importance is in debate, it electrifies the atmosphere to have insufficient room. Men are standing everywhere, pushing and heaving against the others, desperate to be heard and to hear. Were there comfortable seats for all, why, the Commons would be like a university debating society, with half its members permanently asleep.' He gave one of his delightful smiles, which entirely relieved the sombre cast of his features. 'Even more than there are now. What did you think of His Majesty?'

it will give you some idea of my ignorance, Mr. Pitt, when I tell you he is somewhat smaller than I had supposed.'

'Ah. Monarchs ever appear as larger than life in the imagination. But he has been ill, you know. Indeed. Most gravely. I will arrange an introduction for you, when you are settled in. There is something else we must arrange for you. You have no objection to joining one of our clubs?'

'I should be flattered.'

'Good. I shall find you a proposer.' He snapped his fingers.

'Brand, of course. It will work very well. And a man must belong to a club, Haggard, if he is to prosper in London society. White's, I think. Then it will matter naught what the mob thinks of you.' He gave a nod and walked away.

Now what the devil did he mean by that, Haggard wondered? What have the mob got to do with me? As for being proposed by Brand ... he saw the colonel starting towards him.

'John Haggard. I had not the chance to congratulate you on your election. We had heard there was some opposition.'

‘Inspired by Sharp.' Haggard shook hands. 'But it was easily disposed of.'

‘I am glad of that. There was a rumour the fellow saved his deposit.'

'Well, what would you? I've an independent-minded community at Derleth. I'd not have it any other way.'

'Of course not, my dear fellow. You'll sup with me?' 'Well . . . where?'

'At home of course. The girls are waiting to renew their acquaintance. After your abrupt departure.'

'Ah, well, I must apologise about that, Brand. There was urgent news from Derleth.' How easily the lie slipped from his tongue. By gad, he thought, this country is making me a degenerate.

'Of course, Haggard. I never doubted it for a moment. But the least you can do is eat with us, and make your peace with Alison.'

'And have you a comfortable place to stay, Mr. Haggard?' Alison Brand smiled at him, but he was not sure her pleasure quite reached her eyes. He was not sure of anything very much. His memory of her beauty had been quite inadequate, the more so as this night she had adopted the growing feminine leaning towards simplicity. No powder in her hair, which was arranged in a chignon on the back of her head, allowing only a few curls to descend on to her forehead. And no corset, either; her crimson gown, high waisted but with a low, and open bodice, which left only the bottom halves of her breasts concealed at all, lay against her thighs and outlined her legs as she moved. She wore a gold locket suspended on a chain round her neck and no other jewellery. It was impossible to stop looking at her, just as it was impossible not to discover the most extravagant thoughts as he did so.

Emily, as ever, was a copy of her sister, in dark blue instead of red; but Haggard had eyes only for the original.

'My agent has secured me rooms at the Albany,' he said.

The Albany. Why, you could not do better.' She raised one eyebrow, a disconcerting gesture at the best of times, but one indicative in addition of surprise that he should have done so well.

'Aye, well . . .' Brand drank the last of his port. 'You'll excuse me for half an hour, Haggard. There are some letters to be seen to.'

Haggard also rose. 'Then perhaps I should leave. It has been a tiring day.'

'Stuff and nonsense, my dear fellow. I'll not be longer than half an hour. Emily, you'll not forget that task you set yourself.'

He was so heavy handed it was nearly laughable. Yet Haggard found himself at Alison's elbow as they left the table and made their way into a deserted and somewhat darkened gallery which ran beyond the withdrawing room, it is cool here,' she said. 'And quiet. Will you require anything else to drink, Mr. Haggard?'

‘I have had sufficient, thank you, Miss Brand.'

She nodded to the footman, who silently withdrew. 'The last time we met, you did me the honour of addressing me by name.'

'And with your permission I shall do so again.' He held a chair for her, sat himself, opposite her.

'May I ask if you received my letter?'

‘I did.'

'And were offended, of course. You did not reply.' 'I am no correspondent, Alison.' 'What are you, Mr. Haggard?'

The question, asked in that soft, gentle voice, took him by surprise. He leaned back. 'A man-'

'An ambitious man,' she said, ‘I am sure of that. As well as a wealthy one. Which means that most of your ambitions should be within reach. Will you share them with me?'

To hold you in my arms,' Haggard said. His heart seemed to leap from his chest into his throat and then sink all the way back to his belly. He had not meant to be as forthright as that.

Alison Brand gazed at him for some moments. She did not blush, nor was she smiling in embarrassment. 'So you indicated at our last meeting, Mr. Haggard. Before fleeing into the night.'

My God, he thought; she lectures me like my mother. But how pleasant, how delightful, it was to be lectured by those lips.

'Aye, well, I doubted I would be doing you a service.' Of course, he realised. This was the line to follow.

indeed?'

'As everyone points out to me, continually, I am a wild colonial boy. That they accept me in even the smallest degree is due to my money. I do not dress as they. I refuse to wear a wig, or a corset . .

in which direction you but anticipate the future, Mr. Haggard, as both wigs and corsets are going out of fashion, for men as well as women.'

'Indeed? But those are only exterior points.'

At last her face relaxed. 'And are you also wild and uncouth in your personal habits?'

'Indeed I am,' he said.

She regarded him for some moments, in a most speculative fashion. Her tongue came out and just touched her upper lip, before disappearing again. He had a sudden thought that the gesture reminded him of a snake, and as hastily rejected it. It was blasphemy to suggest there could be any reptilean quality about so much beauty.

'I do not suppose,' she said, 'that such a man would be beyond the capability of a woman of sense and understanding.'

'Alison,' he said, reaching for her hand, which was immediately withdrawn.

'Providing,' she said, 'that she could be sure of his love for her. That it was shared with no other.'

He leaned back in his chair. 'No doubt my domestic arrangements are the talk of London.'

'You flatter yourself, Mr. Haggard,' she said. 'But they are common knowledge, to be sure.'

'And you would change them?' He was beginning to be angry.

‘I, sir? I have no interest in the matter.'

'No interest?' He got up. 'You have contrived this interview with me, Miss Brand, merely to tease me into using words I am already regretting. I shall bid you good-night.'

'Mr. Haggard,' she said. 'Why do we always quarrel? I have heard it said that people who appear so violently to dislike each other are really attempting to conceal a much more sublime emotion.'

He stood above her. How confident she was. But no doubt with reason; for how he longed to hold her in his arms, ‘I apologise.'

Then you'll stay and talk with me. At least until Papa returns.'

Haggard hesitated, and sat down. There are aspects of the situation which are not common knowledge.'

'I do not seek to pry, Mr. Haggard.'

'But you'd make certain conditions.'

A trace of pink darkened her cheeks. 'I am but a girl, Mr. Haggard, and know little of the world. But I do understand my own nature, which is as unruly and passionate as your own. And in addition I am a woman. As a sex we lack a man's aptitude for sharing, save with one other.' She bit her lip to indicate she may have been too bold, but like everything else she did it was clearly a studied gesture.

'Aye,' he said, and got up again. 'I will take my leave, Alison. Not in anger, I do promise you. I wish to think.'

Her frown cleared. 'And I would interrupt no man's thoughts, Mr. Haggard.' She stood up as well. 'I shall look forward to seeing you again.' She held out her hand.

He took it, began to lift it to his lips, and then stopped. 'When last we met, you allowed me the use of your lips.'

Once again the tongue, just peeping through the barrier of her teeth. 'I apologise for my wantonness, sir. I was somewhat disturbed by my father's illness.'

'Yet, having established such an understanding . . .'

She hesitated, then smiled, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him on the mouth. His hands attempted to close on her shoulders, but with an expert wriggle she slid from between them. Her cheeks were pink. 'May Heaven aid your thoughts, dear Mr. Haggard.'

He doubted Heaven was involved. And how to think, coherently, when his mind was clouded with the scent of her perfume, the feel of her velvet flesh, the promise of all that lay beneath that crimson gown. Thus night. But morning, with its searching clarity, reminded him of what a plot it was. As if it mattered. He was John Haggard. Alison Brand, or more likely her father, might dream only of his fortune, but to attain that she must grant him the use of her body. And that was all he wished.

As he was a fool. He wanted more than that. But he did not doubt for a moment that once he had possessed her body, he would in the course of time possess her mind and her soul, and her entire love, as well. Had he not achieved as much with Emma, after a far less likely beginning?

But Emma. There was the point. He loved her, and she loved him. If only he could still love her with the passion of that first day when she had been tied to his bed. Oh, Emma. Perhaps, if she could join him in London, he would feel less disloyal to her. But that would be madness, and social and political suicide. There it was; he was risking those fates all the while. They had not mattered in Barbados, but in England, where acceptance was the entire key to a civilised existence, they suddenly clouded his horizon.

At the least it was not a problem to be faced, seriously, until after he had regained Middlesex and settled with Sharp, once and for all; the case was scheduled for immediately after Easter. Cummings had located an attorney named Roeham, who in turn had briefed a barrister by name of Broughton. it is an open and shut case, Mr. Haggard,' Broughton said, ‘I am amazed it has been referred to a superior court at all. The man Middlesex is your property, and there is an end to it. Property is inviolable.'

'Which is what I told the magistrate,' Haggard pointed out.

'Oh, indeed, you did, sir. But, if I may be so bold, it is nearly always a mistake to represent yourself at affaire of this kind. Magistrates, like judges, indeed, are accustomed to hear legal arguments put forward in proper legal jargon, and they become hostile, very easily, to laymen seeking to present their own cases. In this case, sir, you have nothing to apprehend, save that the man Middlesex may already have been secreted from the country.'

'Sharp gave a bond,' Roeham said.

'Indeed, Mr. Roeham, indeed. But then, Mr. Sharp is a wealthy man, and like all philanthropists, a trifle mad, in my opinion. It would matter not in the least to him to forfeit the bond, or even to be sent to gaol for contempt, if he could make his mark with the public. This is your other problem, Mr. Haggard. The case has attracted some attention in the popular press, and it is possible that you may be subjected to the rigours of a hostile crowd. But then, after all, such an experience is nothing more than our noble Prince suffers every time he rides abroad.'

'I do not regard hostile crowds as being serious obstacles, sir,' Haggard said.

‘I did not think you would, sir. Well, then, see you in court, eh?'

But he was not really looking forward to such an ordeal, especially one which had attracted so much attention, and to decide such an open and shut case. But as Pitt himself had made clear, his political future depended upon it.

At least he was the first witness. He supposed indeed he would be the only witness, unless the defence called Middlesex himself. Nor was he in any way cross examined by the defence counsel, who merely nodded as Broughton extracted each of the relevant facts in turn. But then how could he be cross examined? Middlesex was his property, inherited by him from his father, and there was an end to the matter. He found the proceedings somewhat boring, for Broughton's arguments did not appear to be any advance upon his own at the earlier hearing, nor were the defence submissions in any way different. He preferred to study the face, and hopefully the attitude, of Chief Justice Mansfield, who made notes as each barrister presented his client's case, all with a quite expressionless countenance, only occasionally glancing at Middlesex, who sat with Granville Sharp immediately behind Barham the attorney. He never looked at Haggard at all.

Nor did he adjourn when the defence counsel was finished, but merely considered his notes for a few minutes. Then he cleared his throat, and the courtroom, crowded to the very door—all three of the Brands were here, as well as several other gentlemen of Haggard's acquaintance—fell absolutely still.

The case before me,' the Chief Justice said, in quiet tones, 'is a simple one, in that we are not here today to consider any question of fact. My learned counsel for the defence has not denied the essential claim made by my learned counsel for the plaintiff, that the man Middlesex is, by West Indian law, the property of the plaintiff. This is indisputable. The question which I am asked to decide here today is whether such West Indian law applies here in England.

'Now, of course, when the West Indian colonies were founded, some hundred and more years ago, the gentlemen adventurers who so boldly created for themselves new homes in a new world carried with them the civilisation they left behind, and the laws of that civilisation. Thus the basic law of any British colony in the West Indies, is English Common Law. But certain modifications were necessary to deal with local situations, and in addition, we must remember that these settlements were made more than a hundred years ago, and not all of the changes which have taken place in English law since that time, and in particular the Bill of Rights established by the Glorious Revolution of 1689, were translated into the laws of the different colonies.

There was no slavery in the England of 1650. That situation, happily, has been left far behind in antiquity in this happy land of ours. Slavery, however, has been regarded as necessary in the West Indies since the establishment of the first colony, whether slavery of the indigenous population, the Indians, who did not survive such servitude, whether slavery of the indenture variety, to which convicted criminals from this country were attached, or whether it was imported slavery, that is, Negro slaves. The necessity was caused by the basic economy of the islands, which depended first of all on tobacco, and more latterly, and more successfully, on the growth of cane sugar, both industries which require a very high manpower. This situation has always been recognised by successive British governments, and although in recent years we have witnessed a growth of public opinion which is opposed to slavery on moral grounds, the question has not yet been decided by Parliament, and legal slavery remains in force in these colonies. It is not my place to go into the arguments for or against the system. That is the law as it stands today. In other words, no censure or obloquy can possibly be levelled against the plaintiff because he owns slaves. He is behaving in a perfectly legal fashion.'

Haggard leaned back with a sigh. His apprehension had been groundless.

'On the other hand, there is no legal slavery in Great Britain. This state of affairs, as I have said, was ended many years ago, both because of public opinion, the ultimate arbiter of our laws, but also because the economic necessity for it has disappeared. For any man to attempt to enslave another human being, man, woman, or child, white or black or brown, inside this country, is against the law. It is an illegal act. The question before me today is whether the laws of this land in respect of slavery are broken when a legal slave outside this country is imported into it. It has been put to me by learned cousel for the plaintiff, firstly, that the importation might be of a most temporary nature, and secondly, that a slave is a slave; slavery is a class of society, and a man cannot cease to belong to that class merely by crossing a boundary, any more than a prince ceases to be a prince merely by travelling to France.

‘I will take the second argument first. It is specious. Slavery is not a class. It is an induced situation. The fact that, as in this case, the defendant's father and grandfather were slaves before him, is not, to my mind, sufficient to condemn his every descendant for the rest of the life of the world to perpetual bondage. This were a negation of every concept of ambition or advancement or common justice we hold dear, and the argument is further weakened by the fact that a slave owner may manumit any or all of his slaves, as he chooses, thus ending their state of servitude at one stroke.'

Haggard began to frown as a rustle of whispers broke out behind him. Lord Mansfield tapped his desk with his gavel, and the courtroom fell silent.

'Nor does the first argument appeal to me. Apart from a question as to the exact meaning of the word temporary, it is again specious. Shall we suppose that a gentleman of this city, well known and respected, who puts to sea and commits piracy, is beyond the law because his was a temporary voyage, enabling him to return to his home and the safety of a respectable citizen? No, no, for the purposes of the law, the word temporary does not exist. A crime, may it take only a fraction of a second to commit, and be it committed while in the grips of however temporary an aberration, remains a crime. Therefore the importation of any person or any goods into this country, for however short a period, remains an importation and is subject to the laws of this country.

There remains, finally, the question of whether our laws, here in Great Britain, can be made to apply to citizens of another country, in civil matters such as this. Setting apart an obvious fact, that the plaintiff is actually a citizen of Great Britain, for Barbados is a colony and therefore a part of Great Britain, the answer to this must be in the affirmative. Should a Frenchman come here and commit libel, he is required to suffer for it under our laws. But there is an even more important aspect of the situation to be considered. The moral aspect. We in Great Britain worship freedom. It has been said we carry its worship too far, in that we permit unquestioned scoundrels to walk abroad merely for lack of evidence to convict them. Be that as it may, it is the cornerstone of our society, that a man is innocent until he is proven guilty, that a man is free to go wheresoever he should choose and work at whatsoever he should choose so long as he has not been proved guilty of any crime. Learned counsel for the plaintiff has reminded us that the defendant borrowed a horse when he left Derleth Hall, but the animal has since been returned and a suitable sum paid for its use. This can be no issue here. Learned counsel further contends that the defendant broke a law when he decided to run away in any event. But that is Barbadian law, not British law. To British law, as to British opinion, the concept that any man should own another is abhorrent, and I cannot but believe that to uphold so pernicious a doctrine, however legal it may be elsewhere, however necessary it may be to prosperity, elsewhere, would be to undermine the very foundations upon which our society is so happily based.'

Lord Mansfield paused, to take a sip of water. The courtroom was absolutely quiet, but Haggard could feel the anger swelling in his belly. The Chief Justice put down his glass, glanced at his notes for a long time, and then raised his head again, ‘I therefore find for the defendant, James Middlesex, and pronounce him free of any taint of slavery or bondage.'

Pandemonium broke out. People cascaded down from the spectators' gallery to shake both Sharp and Middlesex by the hand. Haggard remained seated. He was too angry to see or speak with anyone, apart from the humiliation, and the continued humiliation, because this case would make headlines in all the news sheets, be the subject of gossip for enough years, and more than that, as Broughton observed.

'A profound judgement, Mr. Haggard,' he said, in effect it sets a new law upon the statute books, all without the consent of that Parliament Mansfield kept prating about. You'll appeal?'

Haggard looked up. 'What for?'

'Well . . .' Broughton stroked his chin. There are one or two of his interpretations of law I'd take issue with.' 'You have already done so, and lost.'

'Before Mansfield. A court of appeal now, might take a different view.'

Haggard got up, crammed his hat on his head, ‘I doubt that, sir. They would merely expose me to increased contumely. In defence of my own property,' he said bitterly. Truly, sir, I see England following the course set by the French, and coming to regard the ownership of property as a crime rather than a privilege. When that day arrives, sir, you may be sure I will renounce my citizenship.' He walked away from them, paused as the Brands hurried down from the gallery. 'Have you come to gloat?'

'Mr. Haggard,' Alison said. She was a perfect picture in a deep blue pelisse with a matching hood trimmed with fur.

'Damnably done by, Haggard,' Brand said. 'Damnably. Be sure, sir, that every right-thinking person will be on your side.'

Haggard opened the door on to the steps of the court, and faced the mob.

'Slave owner,' they howled.

'Murderer.'

'Beast.'

'We must wait for them to disperse,' Brand said. 'Perhaps there is another entrance,' Emily suggested.

‘I’ve not turned my back on a mob before,' Haggard said. 'You'll excuse me, ladies. Brand.' He walked down the steps, while the yells and the whistles grew louder. There was a crunch on his shoulder, and he glanced at the egg which had just landed there; the evil-smelling yellow yoke was dripping down his sleeve. He turned to face his assailant, and had his arm seized by Cummings.

'Your carriage is over here, sir.'

'I'll have that fellow.'

Another egg whistled through the air. Cummings ducked, and it hit the pavement with a splat. 'All of them, sir?'

Haggard hesitated. But to go into their midst would be to risk being beaten up with little hope of harming any of them. He allowed himself to be drawn away to the comparative safety of the carriage, although for several hundred yards their passage was obstructed by crowds who rocked the vehicle, frightened the horses, and peered at him through the windows to shake their fists and utter their curses and threats.

The London mob,' Cummings said, attempting a smile. 'One has to get used to them, Mr. Haggard. Even the King has to do that. But once we get you back to your rooms and a hot bath and a change of clothing, and a full glass, why, sir . . .'

'Where can I drop you?' Haggard asked.

'Sir?'

‘I am not going back to my rooms.' Haggard said. 'I am taking horse for Derleth, today.'

Cummings frowned. 'Why, sir, do you suppose there may be repercussions there?'

'Aye,' Haggard said. 'There will be repercussions there, and I am going to cause them.'

His anger was at a white heat. The entire venture of returning to England had proved a disaster. Instead of a welcome there had been suspicion, save where people had wished to use him for their own ends. The climate was abominable. His election to Parliament, which he had been assured was a formality, had turned out as a slap in the face. He was master of a valley and yet truly master of no one in it. And now he had been told that his own domestic slaves, people he had cared for and thought of since his boyhood, owed him no obligations at all.

No doubt his best course would be to abandon the whole venture and crawl back to Barbados with his tail between his legs. But he was John Haggard. No court of law was going to chase him away.

If they wanted to make him into some kind of an outlaw, then by God, they would see what kind of an outlaw he could be.

He rode north in a mood of black anger, leaving even his London valet, a Cockney by name of Simpson, behind, scarce stopped for more than a meal on the way, trotted through the high street of Derleth Village and up towards the Manor House, sat his horse and gazed at the scar which was to be his house. Yard boys took his bridle, and he dismounted, stamped into the front door of the hall.

'Mr. John?' John Essex took his hat and coat. 'But we ain' expecting you this time.'

'Summon the servants,' Haggard said. The black ones. All of them.' He went into the parlour, slapped his hands together in front of the fire; it was very cold out, and there was still snow on the ground.

'Mr. Haggard?' Emma stood in the doorway, her face a mixture of delight and concern. 'Parliament has not been adjourned?'

'I doubt I have much place in that Parliament. Well come in,' he shouted at the black people who were assembling at the door.

They filed in and lined up, John Essex, Henry Suffolk, Annie Kent, wearing her new apron as she was straight from the kitchen, Elizabeth Lancashire, and Amelia. Emma frowned at them, looked questioningly at Haggard.

'You people are to leave this place.' Haggard said. There is the door. Get out.'

The slaves exchanged glances.

'Where you want us for go, Mr. John?' Annie Kent asked.

‘I do not care where you go,' Haggard said, speaking very slowly and evenly. 'You no longer belong to me. The court has made that clear. You are free people. Therefore I am free of you. I have no responsibilities towards you. You are to leave now.'

'Oh, my God,' Emma muttered.

'But Mr. John, sir,' Essex said. 'We can't just go so. We ain't got no money.'

'Man, Mr. John, but it cold out there,' Elizabeth Lancashire said. 'You ain't see that snow and thing?'

'But Mr. John, how we going eat?' Annie Kent asked.

'This is your concern,' Haggard said. 'Not mine. Get out. Go to James Middlesex and ask him. He may obtain you shelter from his friend Granville Sharp.' He pointed at the door. 'Get out, I'll give you ten minutes to be gone, and one hour to be off my property, or I'll set Mr. MacGuinness on you.'

They gazed at him for a moment, and Amelia started to weep. Annie Kent took her arm and escorted her from the room. Essex and Suffolk stood their ground, chewing their lips.

'Nine minutes,' Haggard said.

'Man, Mr. John, sir,' Essex said. 'But this is wickedness you doing. Be sure the Lord going see to you.' He left the room, Suffolk at his heels.

'Mr. Haggard.' Emma grasped his arm. 'John. Please. You cannot do this.'

'Cannot?' He freed himself.

‘I did not know the law decided for Middlesex. But he wanted to go. These people want to stay. They love you, John Haggard.'

‘I do not love them. Now send one of the grooms for MacGuinness, and tell him we need new servants here. Tell him to organise it.'

She stood before him. 'You cannot do it, Mr. Haggard. I'll not let you.'

Haggard raised his head. 'You’ll not let me?'

She bit her lip, flushed, and then the colour faded again. 'If ... if they go, I'll go with them.' Another bite of her lip. 'You've forgotten, but my term of indenture ended last year. I'm as free as you are, Mr. Haggard.'

'Your term of indenture ended on 17 March 1790,' Haggard said. 'I am well aware of that. I assumed you stayed because you were comfortable here. Perhaps because you loved me.'

‘I do love you,' she shouted. 'But so do these people.'

'Well, I do not love them, as I have said,'

Emma inhaled, slowly. 'But you do love me.'

'Whether or not I love you,' Haggard said, 'depends upon you. Now fetch me MacGuinness.'

Emma exhaled, equally slowly, ‘I meant what I said, Mr. Haggard. Those people are my friends. The only true friends I have. They are your friends as well. Apart from being cruel, it is stupid to let them go.'

Then go with them,' Haggard said. There is the door. Get out. You have ten minutes.'

CHAPTER 6

THE BRIDEGROOM

‘I've come to say goodbye, Mr. Haggard.' Emma stood in the doorway. She wore her fur-trimmed crimson pelisse with the hood, and carried a single box. Henry Suffolk waited in the hall with two more, ‘I've taken only a few things. I hope you will not send me away naked.'

Haggard smoked a cheroot and sipped a glass of port. He had adopted this role deliberately. Stupid girl. But was she now trying to appeal to his better nature? 'Take what you will.'

She hesitated, bit her lip. ' Tis the children's clothes as well. I'll fetch them from the school. Will you wish them well?'

Haggard frowned at her. 'You'll not see the children.'

They are my children, Mr. Haggard.'

They are mine, Emma. What would you? Take them off to starve?'

She stared at him, as if unsure what she was hearing.

'Be sure I shall bring them up,' Haggard said. 'Educate them and see to their inheritance. Can you equal that?'

Still she stared at him. A single tear rolled down her left cheek. 'What will you tell them of me?'

‘I will think up something,' he said. Give in, you silly girl. Throw yourself at my feet and beg my forgiveness. You shall have it. But give in. 'What will you do?'

'I'll manage, Mr. Haggard.' Her cheeks were pink.

'By whoring? Not in Derleth.'

'I'll not stay in Derleth, Mr. Haggard.'

But she had not denied what she might have to do to keep from starving. Haggard felt in his pocket, took out a handful of golden guineas, threw them on the desk. 'You'll need money.'

Emma's chin came up. 'Not your money, Mr. Haggard.'

'You've some of your own?'

But now she was as angry as he. ‘I will manage, Mr. Haggard. I'll bid you goodbye.'

'Close the door,' Haggard said. But she left it open, and he heard her heels on the stairs. He picked up the half empty bottlenof port, hurled it across the room, watched it shatter on the wall and scatter on the floor, leaving red liquid everywhere. The stupid little bitch. Why did he not run after her and seize her and carry her up to their bedroom, and love her into some sense?

Because he did not wish to. This crisis had loomed too long, and now it was of her making. She was gone, and he was free. Free, he thought. Free.

So then, are you a bad man, John Haggard? How could you be otherwise, as your name is Haggard, as you are a slave owner? Oh, do not condemn John Haggard. Chief Justice Mansfield's own words. He was but bom to a place in life and has lived that place to its hilt. By God, they'd not seen how he'd live that place. Not yet.

He got up, walked to the study window, watched them trailing down the drive. Emma walked at the back; John Essex carried her box; the children's had been left in the front hall. Would she really walk away without seeing them? And did it matter?

Their shoes left footprints in the snow. And he was free.

MacGuinness coughed in the doorway. 'I've a list here, Mr. Haggard.'

'I wish no list, MacGuinness. Just have the house stocked with staff.'

'Yes, sir.' MacGuinness twisted his hat between his hands. 'About a valet, sir, it'll take time.'

'Then take your time. I am returning to London tomorrow. Simpson is there.'

'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard. Then there's a suitable cook . . . well, sir, Mistress MacGuinness was wondering if you'd care to sup wi' us this night.'

'I'll not go out,' Haggard said. 'Surely you can find someone in the village, even if it's temporary.'

'Oh, aye, Mr. Haggard.' Once again the twist of the hat. 'About the girl, Margaret Lacey. Do you wish her back?'

Haggard frowned. He'd be sleeping alone this night. Margaret Lacey. But did he want her, having had her? She was the sort of woman who would soon wish to dominate. And did he want her at all? Emma was gone. The weight was gone. He was more free than he had ever been in his life, he realised. Free to marry whom he liked. How his heart pounded at the thought of it.

And free, this night, to do what he liked. If he dared. But who would say him nay? He was John Haggard. A mean, vicious man. A slave owner. A very devil, as the London mob had called him.

‘I’ll think about it,' he said.

'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard.' MacGuinness closed the door behind him. Haggard waited for five minutes, until he heard the gentle clop of the hooves on the drive, then he got up and opened the door, remembered that Suffolk would not be there. He pulled the bell rope, and after a few minutes one of the downstairs maids came scurrying up.

'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard.' She panted, and was clearly terrified.

'Fetch my hat and coat,' Haggard said. 'And tell Ned to saddle my horse. Not the one I rode from London.'

'Yes, sir, Mr. Haggard.' She scurried off again. A young girl, but plump and perspiring. As if it mattered, when compared with what he had in mind. If he dared.

He went downstairs, and his outdoor clothes were waiting; the girl had reinforced herself with two others. No doubt they all knew how he had laid Margaret Lacey within twenty-four hours of arriving here. Or perhaps they were afraid he would throw them into the snow as well.

He mounted, nodded to Ned, the head groom, who waited patiently if resentfully in the cold—he had been growing fond of Miss Dearborn. He walked his horse out of the drive and up the slope, slowly, nonchalantly, a squire going over to inspect his new hall.

The workmen touched their hats, gazed at him surreptitiously as he rode on. The rumour of what had happened was spreading. He found Nash seated at a trestle table poring over his plans, a clerk at his side; the architect had taken a room at the inn to be near his greatest project.

'Cold, Mr. Haggard,' he said. 'Damn near freezing.'

‘I’m here for a progress report,' Haggard said. 'Not a lecture.'

'Aye, Mr. Haggard. You're not a man for lectures,' Nash agreed. 'Well, sir, the foundations are going in, as you see. But 'tis a long and difficult task. You'd have done better to wait until the summer.'

'You'd do better to finish the job, Mr. Nash, and leave the worrying to me. When will you complete?'

'Ah, well, we're talking about next autumn at the earliest.'

'A year?' Haggard demanded. 'To build me a house?'

‘I wouldn't exactly call this a house, Mr. Haggard. And to get it right will take time.'

Six more months, Haggard thought, as he turned his horse and rode away. But probably that was all to the good. Six months, of courting Alison Brand. Time enough. She'd be eighteen. There was a better age to be married. And I'll be nearly forty, he realised. But still young. Still virile. Still crying out for womanhood, as he did now.

And perhaps, after six months, he'd have exorcised this demon in his belly. Perhaps he could do it now. If he dared.

He turned into the cut between the hills, rode on to the mine. It was nearly dark now and the air was biting at his ears and nose.

'Mr. Haggard, sir.' The foreman touched his forelock. 'Bitter weather.'

'Aye,' Haggard said. 'But I'm told there's a summer in this country.' He was amazed at the evenness of his voice, while his throat was clogged and his heart was pounding. If he dared. 'When do they knock off?'

'Aye, well, I was about to ring the bell, Mr. Haggard.'

Then do so.' Haggard dismounted, stretched his legs, listened to the clanging. 'How far down do they go?'

'A hundred foot and more, Mr. Haggard. But they hear the bell.'

Haggard stood above the ladder, watched the first heads beginning to appear in the cold dusk. As usual, the men came first. They glanced at Haggard in surprise, one or two touched their foreheads, the rest put on their coats and made their grimy way back down the road to the village. And they had accused him of being a slave owner, Haggard thought bitterly. Was he not just as much a slave owner now? Only this was legal. He paid these people, just enough to live on, so they would have to continue working. And as he was here at all, they were as much his to do what he wished with as any black in Barbados.

Saving only his own conscience. Well, he had had a conscience in Barbados too, and that had prevented him from ever giving way to any of his excessive moods. Until Emma. Then it had been Emma herself, keeping him in check. But now she too was gone, and he was a free man. So, the devil with his conscience. He was here for a purpose.

The children clambered out of the pithead, bobbed their heads anxiously at the squire. Ten and eleven, he estimated their ages. In the main. But as he remembered from that first day, there were others. It was difficult to decide looks, the possibility of beauty, in the dusk and the dirt. He waited for them all to get out, the older ones bringing up the rear. 'You,' he said.