The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection. George Fraser MacDonald
loved me, you know, and if I hadn’t been in such a damned hurry I’d have been quite sorry to leave her.
Next door Mistress Helga had restored herself to decency, but from the flush on her cheeks I suspected she’d been listening at the door. I instructed her sternly to look after her mistress and to see that she kept to her room; then I stepped out into the passage. The sentries were stiff as ramrods; I repeated my orders that no one was to pass, either way, and set off for the clock tower.
It wasn’t difficult to find, up another flight of the main stairs—there were two more sentries at the top, whom I sent to join Irma’s guard—and then up a spiral stairway and along a short passage to a wrought-iron gateway. Just before the gate there was a little guard-room, where I found an ensign and two sentries; the men were playing cards and the ensign was lounging in a chair, but at sight of me they were on their feet in an instant, goggling and fumbling with buttons. I lost no time.
“Fahnrich,” says I, “there has been an attempt at a coup d’état. The duchess’s life has been threatened.”
They stared at me aghast.
“No time to tell you more,” I went on briskly. “The situation is in hand, but I have to leave the palace at once in order to take charge at the scene of the outbreak. You understand? Now, then, what’s your name?”
“W-w-wessel, please your highness,” he stammered.
“Very good, Fahnrich Wessel. Now, attend to me. For the safety of the duchess, I have already mounted a guard on her apartments. You, with your men here, will proceed there at once, and you will take command. You will permit no one—no one, you understand—to pass into her highness’s apartment until I return. Is that clear?”
“Why—why, yes, your highness. But our post here—the crown jewels …”
“There is a jewel, infinitely more precious to us all, to be guarded,” says I portentously. “Now, take your men and go quickly.”
“Of course, highness … on the instant.” He hesitated. “But, pardon, highness—it is the first order of the palace guard that never shall the jewels be left unwatched. These are explicit instructions …”
“Fahnrich Wessel,” says I, “do you wish to be a lieutenant some day? Or would you prefer to be a private? I know the sacred value of the regalia as well as you, but there are times when even jewels are unimportant.” (I couldn’t think of one, offhand, but it sounded well.) “So, off with you. I take full responsibility. Indeed, I’ll do better. Give me the keys, and I shall carry them myself.”
That settled it. He clicked his heels, squeaked at his men, and sent them off at the double. He took the keys from his own belt, and passed them to me as though they were red-hot; then he gathered up his sabre and cap and was off, but I called him back.
“Wessel,” says I, in a softer voice. “You are not married?”
“No, highness.”
“But you are perhaps a lover?”
He went pink. “Highness, I …”
“You understand, I think.” I frowned and forced a smile together—one of those grimaces of the strong man moved—and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Take care of her for me, won’t you?”
He was one of those very young, intense creatures of the kind you see addressing heaven in the background of pictures showing Napoleon crossing the Alps in dancing pumps; he went red with emotion.40
“With my life, highness,” says he, gulping, and he snatched my hand, kissed it, and sped away.
Well, that was Ensign Wessel taken care of. He’d cut the whole bloody German army to bits before he let anyone near Irma. Likewise, and more important, he didn’t doubt his prince for a minute. Ah, the ideals of youth, I thought, as I sorted out the keys.
There were three of them; one to the ironwork gate, a second to the door beyond it, and a third to the little cage, shrouded in velvet, which stood on a table in the centre of the small jewel-room. It was so easy I could have cheered. There was a valise in the guard-room, and I laid it open beside the table and went to work.
God, what a haul it was! There were the rings, the staff of sovereignty, the diamond-and-emerald gold chain, the duchess’s collar, and the two crowns—they didn’t have to be bent, after all. The Sword of State I left behind, as too unwieldy, but there were a couple of necklaces I hadn’t seen before and a jewelled casket, so in they went.
I was sweating, not with exertion but excitement, as I shut the valise and strapped it up; it weighed about a ton, and suddenly I was asking myself: where was I going to fence this collection? Oh, well, time to worry about that when I was safe over the border, and back in England or France. Thank God the only name Sapten and Co. knew me by was Thomas Arnold—they were welcome to call at his tombstone if they felt like it, and ask for their money back. They had no way of tracing me, even if they dared—for if they ever did ferret me out, what could they do that wouldn’t cause an unholy international scandal? But they’d never even know where to look in England—I was safe as houses.
Aye—once I’d got away: time was flying. It was full dawn outside by now. I locked the cage, arranged its velvet cover, locked the door and the gate, and set off down the stairs, lugging my bag with me. I emerged cautiously at the head of the grand staircase—thanks to my sending the sentries away there wasn’t a soul in sight. I stole down, and was tip-toeing towards the head of the last flight when I heard footsteps along the passage. Quickly I thrust the valise behind the base of a statue; I was just in time. Old Schwerin, the Chief Minister, still with his nightcap on and a robe-de-chambre flapping round his ankles, was hobbling along towards me, with a little knot of attendants fussing in his wake.
He was in a tremendous taking, of course; I thought the old ass would have a seizure. Forcing myself not to panic at the delay, I stilled his questions with the same recital of tommy-rot that I’d served up to Irma and the ensign—well, I say I stilled them, but he babbled on, demanding details and explanations, and eventually I only shut him up by taking a strong line, insisting on the need for haste on my part—I had to get back to the scene of the action at once, I told him.
“Oh, God!” groans he, and sank down on a sofa. “Oh, the unhappy country! What shall we do?”
“Nonsense, sir,” says I, stifling a sudden desire to run for it, “I have told you the alarm is over—all but over, anyway. What remains to do is to see that no disorders follow—to quiet our contending factions, Danish and German, in the city itself. This shall be your first concern.” And for some reason I asked: “Which side are you on, by the way?”
He stopped moaning and gazed up at me like a dying retriever. “I am for Strackenz, highness,” says he. He was no fool, this one, for all he was an old woman.
“Excellent!” I cried. “Then summon the ministers at once—you’d better get dressed first—and send these people”—I indicated his followers—“to wait upon the duchess.”
It was going to be like a galloping field day at her apartments, but the more of them were out of the way the better.
“Above all,” says I, “try to communicate as little disquiet as possible. Now set about it, if you please.”
He gathered himself up, and shooed away the crowd.
“And yourself, highness?” he quavered. “You are going into danger? But you will take a strong escort with you?”
“No,” says I, “the fewer who see me go, the better.” That was God’s truth, too. “Not another word, sir. For the duchess’s sake, do as I have bidden you.”
“You will have a care, highness?” he pleaded. “I beg of you. For her sake—and for our country’s. Oh, but must you go?”
I was almost bursting with anxiety, but I had to humour the senile bastard.
“Sir,”