The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection. George Fraser MacDonald
no, by G-d, I was shot if I would! Let him go fornicating round the world with Elspeth while I rotted in my tin belly at St James’s? Not likely. But if I beat him, Tighe would split, for certain, and his thugs would pulp me in some alley one fine night …
You can understand that I didn’t go to bed in any good temper, and I didn’t sleep much, either.
It never rains but it pours, though. I was still wrestling with my dilemma next morning when I received another blow, this time through the smirking agency of Miss Judy, the guv’nor’s trull. I had been out on the gravel watching Solomon’s gardeners roll the wicket on the main lawn for our match, smoking furiously and drumming my fingers, and then took a restless turn round the house; Judy was sitting in one of the arbours, reading a journal. She didn’t so much as glance up as I walked by, ignoring her, and then her voice sounded coolly behind me:
“Looking for Mrs Leo Lade?”
That was a nasty start, to begin with. I stopped, and turned to look at her. She leafed over a page and went on: “I shouldn’t, if I were you. She isn’t receiving this morning, I fancy.”
“What the d---l have I to do with her?” says I.
“That’s what the Duke is asking, I dare say,” says Miss Judy, giving the journal her sly smile. “He has not directed his inquiries to you as yet? Well, well, all in good time, no doubt.” And she went on reading cool as be-d----d, while my heart went like a hammer.
“What the h--l are you driving at?” says I, and when she didn’t answer I lost my temper and knocked the paper from her hand.
“Ah, that’s my little man!” says she, and now she was looking at me, sneering in scornful pleasure. “Are you going to strike me, as well? You’d best not – there are people within call, and it would never do for them to see the hero of Kabul assaulting a lady, would it?”
“Not ‘lady’!” says I. “Slut’s the word.”
“It’s what the Duke called Mrs Lade, they tell me,” says she, and rose gracefully to her feet, picking up her parasol and spreading it. “You mean you haven’t heard? You will, though, soon enough.”
“I’ll hear it now!” says I, and gripped her arm. “By G-d, if you or anyone else is spreading slanders about me, you’ll answer for it! I’ve nothing to do with Mrs Lade or the Duke, d’you hear?”
“No?” She looked me up and down with her crooked smile and suddenly jerked her arm free. “Then Mrs Lade must be a liar – which I dare say she is.”
“What d’you mean? You’ll tell me, this instant, or—”
“Oh, I wouldn’t deny myself the pleasure,” says she. “I like to see you wriggle and mouth first, though. Well, then – a little bird from the Duke’s hotel tells me that he and Mrs Lade quarrelled violently last night, as I believe they frequently do – his gout, you know. There were raised voices – his, at first, and then hers, and all manner of names called – you know how these things develop, I’m sure. Just a little domestic scene, but I’m afraid Mrs Lade is a stupid woman, because when the talk touched on his grace’s … capabilities – how it did, I can’t imagine – she was ill-advised enough to mention your name, and make unflattering comparisons.” Miss Judy smiled sweetly, and patted her auburn curls affectedly. “She must be singularly easy to please, I think. Not to say foolish, to taunt her admirer so. In any event, his grace was so tender as to be jealous—”
“It’s a d----d lie! I’ve never been near the b---h!”
“Ah, well, no doubt she is confusing you with someone else. It is probably difficult for her to keep tally. However, I dare say his grace believed her; jealous lovers usually think the worst. Of course, we must hope he will forgive her, but his forgiveness won’t include you, I’ll be bound, and—”
“Shut your lying mouth!” cries I. “It’s all false – if that slattern has been lying about me, or if you are making up this malicious gossip to discredit me, by G-d I’ll make you both wish you’d never been born—”
“Again, you’re quoting the Duke. A hot-tempered old gentleman, it seems. He spoke – at the top of his voice, according to a guest at the hotel – of setting a prizefighter on to you. It seems he is the backer of some persons called Caunt and the Great Gun – but I don’t know about such things …”
“Has Elspeth heard this foul slander?” I shouted.
“If I thought she would believe it, I would tell her myself,” says the malicious tart. “The sooner she knows what a hound she has married, the better. But she’s stupid enough to worship you – most of the time. Whether she’ll still find you so attractive when the duke’s pugilists have done with you is another matter.” She sighed contentedly and turned away up the path. “Dear me, you’re shaking, Harry – and you will need a steady hand, you know, for your match with Don Solomon. Everyone is so looking forward to it …”
She left me in a fine state of rage and apprehension, as you can imagine. It almost passed belief that the idiot heifer Lade had boasted to her protector of her bout with me, but some women are stupid enough for anything, especially when tempers are flying – and now that doddering, vindictive old pander of a Duke would sick his bullies onto me11 – on top of Tighe’s threats of the previous evening it was the wrong side of enough. Couldn’t the selfish old lecher realize that his flashtail needed a young mount from time to time, to keep her in running condition? But here I was, under clouds from all directions, still undecided what I should do in my match with Solomon – and at that moment Mynn hove up to bear me away to the pitch for the great encounter. I wasn’t feeling like cricket one little bit.
Our party, and a fair number of local quality riff-raff, were already arranging themselves on chairs and couches set on the gravel before the house – the Duke and Mrs Lade weren’t there, thank G-d: probably still flinging furniture at each other in the hotel – but Elspeth was the centre of attraction, with Judy at her side looking as though she’d just swallowed the last of the cream. Tattling trollop – I gritted my teeth and vowed I’d be even with her yet.
On the other sides of the lawn was the popular mob, for Solomon had thrown open his grounds for the occasion, and had set up a marquee where free beer and refreshments were being doled out to the thirsty; well, if the d----d show-off wanted to let ’em see him being thoroughly beat, that was his business. Oh, Ch---t, though – was I going to beat him? And to compound my confusion, what should I see among a group of flash coves under the trees but the scarlet weskit and face of Daedalus Tighe, Heskwire, come to oversee his great coup, no doubt; he had some likely-looking hard cases with him, too, all punishing the ale and chortling.
“Breakfast disagree with you, Flashy?” says Mynn. “You look a mite peaky – hollo, though, there’s your opponent all ready. Come along.”
Solomon was already on the lawn, very business-like in corduroys and pumps, with a straw hat on his black head, smiling at me and shaking hands while the swells clapped politely and the popular crowd shouted and rattled their pots. I stripped off my coat and donned my pumps, and then little Felix spun the bat; I called “blade”, and so it was. “Very good,” says I to Solomon, “you’ll bat first.”
“Capital!” cries he, with a flash of teeth. “Then may the better man win!”
“He will,” says I, and called for the ball, while Solomon, rot his impudence, went across to Elspeth and made great play of having her wish him luck; he even had the gall to ask her for her handkerchief to tie in his belt – “for I must carry the lady’s colours, you know,” cries he, making a great joke of it.
Of course she obliged him, and then, catching my glare, fluttered that of course I must carry her colours, too, to show no favouritism. But she hadn’t another wipe, so the minx Judy said she must borrow hers to give me – and I finished up with that sly slut’s snot-rag in my belt, and she sitting with her acid tongue in her cheek.
We went out to the wicket