The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection. George Fraser MacDonald
at the brute, and his pack of rascals – drunken bookies and touts on the spree, and too far gone to appreciate their own impudence.
“My thanks for the thought, Mr Tighe,” says I, for it don’t harm to be civil to a bookie, and I was feeling easy, “you may drink my health with it.” And I pushed firmly past him, at which he staggered and sat down heavily in a froth of cheap champagne, while his pals hooted and weaved in to help him. Not that I couldn’t have used the fifty quid, but you can’t be seen associating with cads of that kidney, much less accepting their gelt. I strode on, with cries of “Good luck, sir!” and “Here’s to the Flash cove!” following me. I was still grinning as I resumed my search for Elspeth, but as I turned into the archery range for a look there, the smile was wiped off my lips – for there were only two people in the long alley between the hedges: the tall figure of a man, and Elspeth in his arms.
I came to a dead halt, silent – for three reasons. First, I was astonished. Secondly, he was a big, vigorous brute, by what I could see of him – which was a massive pair of shoulders in a handsomely-cut broadcloth (no expense spared there), and thirdly, it passed quickly through my mind that Elspeth, apart from being my wife, was also my source of supply. Food for thought, you see, but before I had even an instant to taste it, they both turned their heads and I saw that Elspeth was in the act of stringing a shaft to a ladies’ bow – giggling and making a most appealing hash of it – while her escort, standing close in behind her, was guiding her hands, which of course necessitated putting his arms about her, with her head against his shoulder.
All very innocent – as who knows better than I, who’ve taken advantage of many such situations for an ardent squeeze and fondle?
“Why, Harry,” cries she, “where have you been all this while? See, Don Solomon is teaching me archery – and I have been making the sorriest show!” Which she demonstrated by fumbling the shaft, swinging her bow arm wildly, and letting fly into the hedge, squeaking with delighted alarm. “Oh, I am quite hopeless, Don Solomon, unless you hold my hands!”
“The fault is mine, dear Mrs Flashman,” says he, easily. He managed to keep an arm round her, while bowing in my direction. “But here is Mars, who I’m sure is a much better instructor for Diana than I could ever be.” He smiled and raised his hat. “Servant, Mr Flashman.”
I nodded, pretty cool, and looked down my nose at him, which wasn’t easy, since he was all of my height, and twice as big around – portly, you might say, if not fat, with a fleshy, smiling face, and fine teeth which flashed white against his swarthy skin. Dago, for certain, perhaps even Oriental, for his hair and whiskers were blue-black and curly, and as he came towards me he was moving with that mincing Latin grace, for all his flesh. A swell, too, by the elegant cut of his togs; diamond pin in his neckercher, a couple of rings on his big brown hands – and, by Jove, even a tiny gold ring in one ear. Part-nigger, not a doubt of it, and with all a rich nigger’s side, too.
“Oh, Harry, we have had such fun!” cries Elspeth, and my heart gave a little jump as I looked at her. The gold ringlets under her ridiculous bonnet, the perfect pink and white complexion, the sheer innocent beauty of her as she sparkled with laughter and reached out a hand to me. “Don Solomon has shown me bowling, and how to shoot – ever so badly! – and entertained me – for the cricket came so dull when you were not playing, with those tedious Kentish people popping away, and—”
“Hey?” says I, astonished. “You mean you didn’t see me bowl?”
“Why, no, Harry, but we had the jolliest time among the side-shows, with ices and hoop-la …” She prattled on, while the greaser raised his brows, smiling from one to the other of us.
“Dear me,” says he, “I fear I have lured you from your duty, dear Mrs Flashman. Forgive me,” he went on to me, “for I have the advantage of you still. Don Solomon Haslam, to command,” and he nodded and flicked his handkerchief. “Mr Speedicut, who I believe is your friend, presented me to your so charming lady, and I took the liberty of suggesting that we … take a stroll. If I had known you were to be put on – but tell me … any luck, eh?”
“Oh, not too bad,” says I, inwardly furious that while I’d been performing prodigies Elspeth had been fluttering at this oily flammer. “Felix, Pilch and Mynn, in three balls – if you call it luck. Now, my dear, if Mr Solomon will excuse—”
To my amazement he burst into laughter. “I would call it luck!” cries he. “That would be a daydream, to be sure! I’d settle for just one of ’em!”
“Well, I didn’t,” says I, glaring at him. “I bowled Felix, caught out Pilch, and had Mynn leg before – which probably don’t mean much to a foreigner—”
“Good G-d!” cries he. “You don’t mean it! You’re bamming us, surely?”
“Now, look’ee, whoever you are—”
“But – but – oh, my G-d!” He was fairly spluttering, and suddenly he seized my hand, and began pumping it, his face alight. “My dear chap – I can’t believe it! All three? And to think I missed it!” He shook his head, and burst out laughing again. “Oh, what a dilemma! How can I regret an hour spent with the loveliest girl in London – but, oh, Mrs Flashman, what you’ve cost me! Why, there’s never been anything like it! And to think that we were missing it all! Well, well, I’ve paid for my susceptibility to beauty, to be sure! Well done, my dear chap, well done! But this calls for celebration!”
I was fairly taken aback at this, while Elspeth looked charmingly bewildered, but nothing must do but he bore us off to where the liquor was, and demanded of me, action by action, a description of how I’d bowled out the mighty three. I’ve never seen a man so excited, and I’ll own I found myself warming to him; he clapped me on the shoulder, and slapped his knee with delight when I’d done.
“Well, I’m blessed! Why, Mrs Flashman, your husband ain’t just a hero – he’s a prodigy!” At which Elspeth glowed and squeezed my hand, which banished the last of my temper. “Felix, Pilch, and Mynn! Extraordinary. Well – I thought I was something of a cricketer, in my humble way – I played at Eton, you know – we never had a match with Rugby, alas! but I fancy I’d be a year or two before your time, anyway, old fellow. But this quite beats everything!”
It was fairly amusing, not least for the effect it was having on Elspeth. Here was this gaudy foreign buck, who’d come spooning round her, d----d little flirt that she was, and now all his attention was for my cricket. She was between exulting on my behalf and pouting at being overlooked, but when we parted from the fellow, with fulsome compliments and assurances that we must meet again soon, on his side, and fair affability on mine, he won her heart by kissing her hand as though he’d like to eat it. I didn’t mind, by now; he seemed not a bad sort, for a ’breed, and if he’d been to Eton he was presumably half-respectable, and obviously rolling in rhino. All men slobbered over Elspeth, anyway.
So the great day ended, which I’ll never forget for its own splendid sake: Felix, Pilch, and Mynn, and those three ear-splitting yells from the mob as each one fell. It was a day that held the seed of great events, too, as you’ll see, and the first tiny fruit was waiting for us when we got back to Mayfair. It was a packet handed in at the door, and addressed to me, enclosing bills for fifty pounds, and a badly-printed note saying “With the compliments of D. Tighe, Esq.” Of all the infernal impudence; that b----y bookie, or whatever he was, having the starch to send cash to me, as though I were some pro. to be tipped.
I’d have kicked his backside to Whitechapel and back, or taken a cane to him for his presumption, if he’d been on hand. Since he wasn’t, I pocketed the bills and burned his letter; it’s the only way to put these upstarts in their place.
[Extract from the diary of Mrs H. Flashman, undated, 1842]
… to be sure, it was very natural of H. to pay some attention to the other ladies at Lord’s, for they were so forward in their admiration of him – and am I to blame you, less fortunate sisters? He looked so tall and proud and handsome, like the splendid English Lion that he is, that I felt quite faint