Читать книгу The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection - George Fraser MacDonald - Страница 26

It took four months to sail home, just as it had taken four months to sail out, but I’m bound to say I didn’t mind this time. Then I had been going into exile; now I was coming home a hero. If I’d had any doubts of that the voyage dispelled them. The captain and his officers and the passengers were as civil as butter, and treated me as if I were the Duke himself; when they found I was a cheery sort who liked his bottle and talk we got along famously, for they never seemed to tire of hearing me tell of my engagements with Afghans – male and female – and we got drunk most nights together. One or two of the older chaps were a bit leery of me, and one even hinted that I talked a deal too much, but I didn’t care for this, and said so. They were just sour old package-rats, anyway, or jealous civilians.

I wonder, now, looking back, that the defence of Jallalabad made such a stir, for it was a very ordinary business, really. But it did, and since I was the first out of India who had been there, and borne a distinguished part, I got the lion’s share of admiration. It was so on the ship, and was to prove so in England.

During the voyage my broken leg recovered almost entirely, but there was not much activity on shipboard anyway, and no women, and, boozing with the boys apart, I had a good deal of time to myself. This, and the absence of females, naturally turned me to thoughts of Elspeth; it was strange and delightful to think of going home to a wife, and I got that queasy feeling deep in my bowels whenever I found myself dreaming about her. It wasn’t all lust, either, not more than about nine-tenths – after all, she wasn’t going to be the only woman in England – but when I conjured up a picture of that lovely, placid face and blonde hair I got a tightness in my throat and a trembling in my hands that was quite apart from what the clergy call carnal appetites. It was the feeling I had experienced that first night I rattled her beside the Clyde – a kind of hunger for her presence and the sound of her voice and the dreamy stupidity of her blue eyes, I wondered if I was falling in love with her, and decided that I was, and that I didn’t care, anyway – which is a sure sign.

So in this moonstruck state I whiled away the long voyage, and by the time we docked among the forest of shipping in London pool I was in a fine sweat, romantic and horny all at once. I made great haste for my father’s house, full of excitement at the thought of surprising her – for of course she had no idea that I was coming – and banged the knocker so hard that passers-by turned to stare at the big, brown-faced fellow who was in such a devilish hurry.

Old Oswald opened, just as he always did, and gaped like a sheep as I strode past him, shouting. The hall was empty, and both strange and familiar at once, as things are after a long absence.

“Elspeth!” I roared. “Halloo! Elspeth! I’m home!”

Oswald was gabbling at my elbow that my father was out, and I clapped him on the back and pulled his whiskers.

“Good for him,” says I, “I hope they have to carry him home tonight. Where’s your mistress? Elspeth! Hallo!”

He just went on clucking at me, between delight and amazement, and then I heard a door open behind me, and looked round, and who should be standing there but Judy. That took me aback a bit; I hadn’t thought she would still be here.

“Hallo,” says I, not too well pleased, although she was looking as handsome as ever. “Hasn’t the guv’nor got a new whore yet?”

She was about to say something, but at that moment there was a step on the staircase, and Elspeth was standing there, staring down at me. God, what a picture she was: corn-gold hair, red lips parted, blue eyes wide, breast heaving – no doubt she was wearing something, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was. She looked like a startled nymph, and then the old satyr Flashy was bounding up the stairs, grabbing her, and crying:

“I’m home! I’m home! Elspeth! I’m home!”

“Oh, Harry!” says she, and then her arms were round my neck and her lips were on mine.

If the Brigade of Guards had marched into the hall just then to command me to the Tower I’d not have heard them. I picked her up bodily, tingling at the feel of her, and without a word spoken carried her into the bedroom, and tumbled her there and then. It was superb, for I was half-drunk with excitement and longing, and when it was over I simply lay there, listening to her prattle a thousand questions, clasping her to me, kissing every inch of her, and answering God knows what. How long we spent there I can’t imagine, but it was a long, golden afternoon, and ended only when the maid tapped on the door to say that my father was home again, and demanding to see me.

So we must get dressed, and straighten ourselves, giggling like naughty children, and when Elspeth had herself in order the maid came tapping again to say that my father was growing impatient. Just to show that heroes weren’t to be hurried, I caught my darling up again, and in spite of her muffled squeals of protest, mounted her once more, without the formality of undressing. Then we went down.

It should have been a splendid evening, with the family welcoming the prodigal Achilles, but it wasn’t. My father had aged in two years; his face was redder and his belly bigger, and his hair was quite white at the temples. He was civil enough, damned me for a young rascal, and said he was proud of me: the whole town had been talking over the reports from India, and Ellenborough’s eulogies for myself and Sale and Havelock were all over the place. But his jollity soon wore off, and he drank a good deal too much at dinner, and fell into a silence at last. I could see then there was something wrong, although I didn’t pay him much heed.

Judy dined with us, and I gathered she was now entirely one of the household, which was bad news. I didn’t care for her any better now than I had two years before, after our quarrel, and I made it pretty plain. It seemed rather steep of my father to keep his dolly at home with my wife there, and treat them as equals, and I decided to speak to him about it. But Judy was cool and civil, too, and I gathered she was ready to keep the peace if I did.

Not that I minded her or my father much. I was all over Elspeth, revelling in the dreamy way she listened to my talk – I had forgotten what a ninny she was, but it had its compensations. She sat wide-eyed at my adventures, and I don’t suppose anyone else got a word in edgeways all through the meal. I just bathed myself in that simple, dazzling smile of hers and persuaded her of what a wonderful husband she had. And later, when we went to bed, I persuaded her more so.

It was then, though, that the first little hint of something odd in her behaviour crossed my mind. She had dropped off to sleep, and I was lying there exhausted, listening to her breathing, and feeling somehow dissatisfied – which was strange, considering. Then it came to me, this little doubt, and I dismissed it, and then it came back.

I had had plenty of experience with women, as you know, and can judge them in bed as well as anyone, I reckon. And it seemed to me, however hard I pushed the thought away, that Elspeth was not as she had been before I went away. I’ve often said that she only came to life when she was at grips with a man – well, she had been willing enough in the few hours of my homecoming, I couldn’t deny, but there hadn’t been any of the rapturous passion on her part that I remembered. These are fine things, and difficult to explain – oh, she was active enough at the time, and content enough afterwards, but she was easier about it all, somehow. If it had been Fetnab or Josette, I wouldn’t have noticed, I dare say; it was their work as well as their play. But I had a different emotion about Elspeth, and it told me there was something missing. It was just a shadow, and when I woke next morning I had forgotten it.

If I hadn’t, the morning’s events would have driven it from my mind. I came down late, and cornered my father in his study before he could slip out to his club. He was sitting with his feet along the couch, preparing for the rigours of the day with a glass of brandy, and looking liverish, but I plunged right in, and told him my thoughts about Judy.

“Things have changed,” says I, “and we can’t have her seen about the place nowadays.” You’ll gather that two years among the Afghans had changed my attitude to parental discipline; I wasn’t so easy to cow as I had been.

“Oh, aye,” says he, “and how have things changed?”

“You’ll find,” I told him, “that I’m known about the town henceforth. What with India and so on. We’ll be more in the public eye now, and folk will talk. It won’t do for Elspeth, for one thing.”

“Elspeth likes her,” says he.

“Does she, though? Well, that’s no matter. It ain’t what Elspeth likes that counts, but what the town likes. And they won’t like us if we keep this … this pet pussy in the house.”

“My, we’re grown very nice.” He sneered and took a good pull at his brandy. I could see the flush of temper on his face, and wondered why he hadn’t lost it yet. “I didn’t know India bred such fine sensibilities,” he went on. “Quite the reverse, I’d have thought.”

“Oh, look, father, it won’t do and you know it. Send her up to Leicestershire if you want, or give her a maison of her own – but she can’t stay here.”

He looked at me a long while. “By God, maybe I’ve been wrong about you all along. I know you’re a wastrel, but I never thought you had the stuff to be brave – in spite of all the tales from India. Perhaps you have, or perhaps it’s just insolence. Anyway, you’re on the wrong scent, boy. As I said, Elspeth likes her – and if she don’t want her away, then she stays.”

“In God’s name, what does it matter what Elspeth likes? She’ll do as I tell her.”

“I doubt it,” says he.

“What’s that?”

He put down his glass, wiped his lips, and said:

“You won’t like it, Harry, but here it is. Who pays the piper calls the tune. And your Elspeth and her damned family have been calling the tune this year past. Hold on, now. Let me finish. You’ll have plenty to say, no doubt, but it’ll wait.”

I could only stare at him, not understanding.

“We’re in Queer Street, Harry. I hardly know how, myself, but there it is. I suppose I’ve been running pretty fast, all my life, and not taking much account of how the money went – what are lawyers for, eh? I took some bad tumbles on the turf, never heeded the expenses of this place, or Leicestershire, didn’t stint any way at all – but it was the damned railway shares that really did the trick. Oh, there are fortunes being made out of ’em – the right ones. I picked the wrong ones. A year ago I was a ruined man, up to my neck with the Jews, ready to be sold up. I didn’t write to you about it – what was the point? This house ain’t mine, nor our place in Leicestershire; it’s hers – or it will be, when old Morrison goes. God rot and damn him, it can’t be too soon.”

He jumped up and walked about, finally stopping before the fireplace.

“He met the bill, for his daughter’s sake. Oh, you should have seen it! More canting, head-wagging hypocrisy than I’ve seen in years in Parliament, even! He had the effrontery to stand in my own hall, by God, and tell me it was a judgement on him for letting his daughter marry beneath herself! Beneath herself, d’ye hear? And I had to listen to him, and keep myself from flooring the old swine! What could I do? I was the poor relation; I still am. He’s still paying the bills – through the simpering nitwit you married. He lets her have what she wants, and there you are!”

“But if he’s settled an allowance on her …”

“He’s settled nothing! She asks him, and he provides. Damned if I would if I was him – but, there, perhaps he thinks it worth while. He seems to dote on her, and I’ll say this for the chit, she’s not stingy. But she’s the pay-mistress, Harry, my son, and you’d best not forget it. You’re a kept man, d’you see, so it don’t become you, or me, to say who’ll come and who’ll go. And since your Elspeth is astonishingly liberal-minded – why, Miss Judy can stay, and be damned to you!”

I heard him out, flabbergasted at first, but perhaps because I was a more practical man than the guv’nor, or had fewer notions of gentility, through having an aristocratic mother, I took a different view of the matter. While he splashed more brandy into his glass, I asked:

“How much does he let her have?”

“Eh? I told you, whatever she wants. The old bastard seems to be warm enough for ten. But you can’t get your hands on it, I tell you.”

“Well, I don’t mind,” says I. “As long as the money’s there, it don’t signify who draws the orders.”

He gaped at me. “Jesus,” he said, in a choked voice, “have you no pride?”

“Probably as much as you have,” says I, very cool. “You’re still here, ain’t you?”

He took on the old familiar apoplectic look, so I slid out before he threw a bottle at me, and went upstairs to think. It wasn’t good news, of course, but I didn’t doubt I could come to a good understanding with Elspeth, which was all that mattered. The truth was, I didn’t have his pride; it wasn’t as if I should have to sponge off old Morrison, after all. No doubt I should have been upset at the thought of not inheriting my father’s fortune – or what had been his fortune – but when old Morrison ceased to trouble the world I’d have Elspeth’s share of the will, which would quite probably make up for all that.

In the meantime, I tackled her on the subject at the first opportunity, and found her all brainless agreement, which was highly satisfactory.

“What I have is yours, my love,” says she, with that melting look. “You know you have only to ask me for anything – anything at all.”

“Much obliged,” says I. “But it might be a little inconvenient, sometimes. I was thinking, if there was a regular payment, say, it would save all the tiresome business for you.”

“My father would not allow that, I’m afraid. He has been quite clear, you see.”

I saw, all right, and worked away at her, but it was no use. A fool she might be, but she did what Papa told her, and the old miser knew better than to leave a loophole for the Flashman family to crawl in and lighten him. It’s a wise man that knows his own son-in-law. So it was going to have to be cash on demand – which was better than no cash at all. And she was ready enough with fifty guineas when I made my first application – it was all cut and dried, with a lawyer in Johnson’s Court, who advanced her whatever she asked for, in reason.

However, apart from these sordid matters there was quite enough to engage me in those first days at home. No one at the Horse Guards knew quite what to do with me, so I was round the clubs a good deal, and it was surprising how many people knew me all of a sudden. They would hail me in the Park, or shake hands in the street, and there was a steady stream of callers at home; friends of my father’s whom he hadn’t seen for years popped up to meet me and greet him; invitations were showered on us; letters of congratulation piled up on the hall table and spilled on to the floor; there were paragraphs in the press about “the first of the returned heroes from Cabool and Jellulabad”, and the new comic paper Punch had a cartoon in its series of “Pencillings”²⁵ which showed a heroic figure, something like me, wielding an enormous scimitar like a pantomime bandit, with hordes of blackamoors (they looked no more like Afghans than Eskimos) trying to wrest the Union Jack from me in vain. Underneath there was the caption: “A Flash(ing) Blade”, which give you some idea of the standard of humour in that journal.

However, Elspeth was enchanted with it, and bought a dozen copies; she was in whirl of delight at being the centre of so much attention – for the hero’s wife gets as, many of the garlands as he does, especially if she’s a beauty. There was one night at the theatre when the manager insisted on taking us out of our seats to a box, and the whole audience cheered and stamped and clapped. Elspeth was radiant and stood there squeaking and clasping her hands with not the least trace of embarrassment, while I waved, very good-natured, to the mob.

“Oh, Harry!” says she, sparkling. “I’m so happy I could die! Why, you are famous, Harry, and I …”

She didn’t finish, but I know she was thinking that she was famous too. At that moment I loved her all the more for thinking it.

The parties in that first week were too many to count, and always we were the centre of attraction. They had a military flavour, for thanks to the news from Afghanistan, and China – where we had also been doing well²⁶ – the army was in fashion more than usual. The more senior officers and the mamas claimed me, which left Elspeth to the young blades. This delighted her, of course, and pleased me – I wasn’t jealous, and indeed took satisfaction in seeing them clustering like flies round a jampot which they could watch but couldn’t taste. She knew a good many of them, and I learned that during my absence in India quite a few of the young sparks had squired her in the Park or ridden in the Row with her – which was natural enough, she being an army wife. But I just kept an eye open, all the same, and cold-shouldered one or two when they came too close – there was one in particular, a young Life Guards captain called Watney, who was often at the house, and was her riding partner twice in the week; he was a tall, curly-lipped exquisite with a lazy eye, who made himself very easy at home until I gave him the about-turn.

“I can attend Mrs Flashman very well, thank’ee,” says I.

“None better,” says he, “I’m sure. I had only hoped that you might relinquish her for a half-hour or so.”

“Not for a minute,” says I.

“Oh, come now,” says he, patronising me, “this is very selfish. I am sure Mrs Flashman wouldn’t agree.”

“I’m sure she would.”

“Would you care to test it?” says he, with an infuriating smile. I could have boxed his ears, but I kept my temper very well.

“Go to the devil, you mincing pimp,” I told him, and left him standing in the hall. I went straight to Elspeth’s room, told her what had happened, and cautioned her against seeing Watney again.

“Which one is he?” she asked, admiring her hair in the mirror.

“Fellow with a face like a horse and a haw-haw voice.”

“There are so many like that,” says she. “I can’t tell one from the other. Harry, darling, would I look well with ringlets, do you think?”

This pleased me, as you can guess, and I forgot the incident at once. I remember it now, for it was that same day that everything happened all at once. There are days like that; a chapter in your life ends and another one begins, and nothing is the same afterwards.

I was to call at the Horse Guards to see my Uncle Bindley, and I told Elspeth I would not be home until the afternoon, when we were to go out to tea at someone-or-others. But when I got to Horse Guards my uncle bundled me straight into a carriage and bore me off to meet – of all people – the Duke of Wellington. I’d never seen him closer than a distance, and it made me fairly nervous to stand in his ante-room after Bindley had been ushered in to him, and hear their voices murmuring behind the closed door. Then it opened, and the Duke came out; he was white-haired and pretty wrinkled at this time, but that damned hooked nose would have marked him anywhere, and his eyes were like gimlets.

“Ah, this is the young man,” says he, shaking hands. For all his years he walked with the spring of a jockey, and was very spruce in his grey coat.

“The town is full of you just now,” says he, looking me in the eyes. “It is as it should be. It was a damned good bit of work – about the only good thing in the whole business, by God, whatever Ellenborough and Palmerston may say.”

Hudson, thinks I, you should see me now; short of the heavens opening, there was nothing to be added.

The Duke asked me a few sharp questions, about Akbar Khan, and the Afghans generally, and how the troops had behaved on the retreat, which I answered as well as I could. He listened with his head back, and said “Hmm,” and nodded, and then said briskly:

“It is a thorough shame that it has been so shockingly managed. But it is always the way with these damned politicals; there is no telling them. If I had had someone like McNaghten with me in Spain, Bindley, I’d still be at Lisbon, I dare say. And what is to happen to Mr Flashman? Have you spoken to Hardinge?”

Bindley said they would have to find a regiment for me, and the Duke nodded.

“Yes, he is a regimental man. You were in the 11th Hussars, as I remember? Well, you won’t want to go back there,” and he gave me a shrewd look. “His lordship is no better disposed to Indian offiers now than he ever was, the more fool he. I have thought of telling him, more than once, that I’m an Indian officer myself, but he would probably just have given me a setdown. Well, Mr Flashman, I am to take you to Her Majesty this afternoon, so you must be here at one o’clock.” And with that he turned back to his room, said a word to Bindley, and shut the door.

Well, you can guess how all this dazzled me; to have the great Duke chatting to me, to learn that I was to be presented to the Queen – all this had me walking on the clouds. I went home in a rosy dream, hugging myself at the way Elspeth would take the news; this would make her damned father sit up and take notice, all right, and it would be odd if I couldn’t squeeze something out of him in consequence, if I played my cards well.

I hurried upstairs, but she wasn’t in her room; I called, and eventually old Oswald appeared and said she had gone out.

“Where away?” says I.

“Well, sir,” says he, looking mighty sour, “I don’t rightly know.”

“With Miss Judy?”

“No, sir,” says he, “not with Miss Judy. Miss Judy is downstairs, sir.”

There was something damned queer about his manner, but there was nothing more to be got from him, so I went downstairs and found Judy playing with a kitten in the morning room.

“Where’s my wife?” says I.

“Out with Captain Watney,” says she, cool as you please. “Riding. Here, kitty-kitty. In the Park, I dare say.”

For a minute I didn’t understand.

“You’re wrong,” says I. “I sent him packing two hours ago.”

“Well, they went riding half an hour ago, so he must have unpacked.” She picked up the kitten and began to stroke it.

“What the devil d’you mean?”

“I mean they’ve gone out together. What else?”

“Dammit,” says I, furious. “I told her not to.”

She went on stroking, and looked at me with her crooked little smile.

“She can’t have understood you, then,” says she. “Or she would not have gone, would she?”

I stood staring at her, feeling a chill suddenly settle on my insides.

“What are you hinting, damn you?” I said.

“Nothing at all. It is you who are imagining. Do you know, I believe you’re jealous.”

“Jealous, by God! And what have I to be jealous about?”

“You should know best, surely.”

I stood looking thunder at her, torn between anger and fear of what she seemed to be implying.

“Now, look’ee here,” I said, “I want to know what the blazes you’re at. If you have anything to say about my wife, by God, you’d best be careful …”

My father came stumping into the hall at that minute, curse him, and calling for Judy. She got up and walked past me, the kitten in her arms. She stopped at the door, gave me a crooked, spiteful smile, and says:

“What were you doing in India? Reading? Singing hymns? Or did you occasionally go riding in the Park?”

And with that she slammed the door, leaving me shot to bits, with horrible thoughts growing in my mind. Suspicion doesn’t come gradually; it springs up suddenly, and grows with every breath it takes. If you have a foul mind, as I have, you think foul thoughts readier than clean ones, so that even as I told myself that Judy was a lying bitch trying to frighten me with implications, and that Elspeth was incapable of being false, at the same time I had a vision of her rolling naked in a bed with her arms round Watney’s neck. God, it wasn’t possible! Elspeth was an innocent, a completely honest fool, who hadn’t even known what “fornication” meant when I first met her … That hadn’t stopped her bounding into the bushes with me, though, at the first invitation. Oh, but it was still unthinkable! She was my wife, and as amiable and proper as a girl could be; she was utterly different from swine like me, she had to be. I couldn’t be as wrong in my judgement as that, could I?

I was standing torturing myself with these happy notions, and then common sense came to the rescue. Good God, all she had done was go riding with Watney – why, she hadn’t even known who he was when I warned her against him that morning. And she was the most scatterbrained thing in petticoats; besides, she wasn’t of the mettle that trollops are made of. Too meek and gentle and submissive by half – she wouldn’t have dared. The mere thought of what I’d do would have terrified … what would I do? Disown her? Divorce her? Throw her out? By God, I couldn’t! I didn’t have the means; my father was right!

For a moment I was appalled. If Elspeth was making a mistress for Watney, or anyone else, there was nothing I could do about it. I could cut her to ribbons, oh, aye, and what then? Take to the streets? I couldn’t stay in the army, or in town, even, without means …

Oh, but to the devil with this. It was pure moonshine, aye, and deliberately put into my mind to make me jealous by that brown-headed slut of my father’s. This was her making mischief to get her own back for the hammering I’d given her three years ago. That was it. Why, I didn’t have the least reason to think ill of Elspeth; everything about her denied Judy’s imputations – and, by God, I’d pay that cow out for her lies and sneers. I’d find a way, all right, and God help her when I did.

With my thoughts back in more genial channels, I remembered the news I’d been coming home to tell Elspeth – well, she would have to wait for it until after I’d been to the Palace. Serve her right for going out with Watney, damn him. In the meantime, I spent the next hour looking out my best clothes, arranging my hair, which was grown pretty long and romantic, and cursing Oswald as he helped me with my cravat – I’d have been happier in uniform, but I didn’t have a decent one to my name, having spent my time in mufti since I came home. I was so excited that I didn’t bother to lunch, but dandied myself up to the nines, and then hurried off to meet His Nose-ship.

There was a brougham at his door when I arrived, and I didn’t have to wait two minutes before he came down, all dressed and damning the secretary and valet who were stalking along behind him.

“There probably isn’t a damned warming-pan in the place,” he was barking. “And it is necessary that everything should be in the finest order. Find out if Her Majesty takes her own bed-linen when she travels. I imagine she does, but don’t for God’s sake go inquiring indiscreetly. Ask Arbuthnot; he’ll know. You may be sure that something will be amiss, in the end, but it can’t be helped. Ah, Flashman,” and he ran his eye over me like a drill sergeant. “Come along, then.”

There was a little knot of urchins and people to raise a cheer as he came out, and some shouted: “There’s the Flash cove! Hurrah!” by which they meant me. There was a little wait after we got in, because the coachman had some trouble with his reins, and a little crowd gathered while the Duke fretted and swore.

“Dammit, Johnson,” growls he, “hurry up or we shall have all London here.”

The crowd cheered and we rolled off in the pleasant autumn sunshine, with the guttersnipes running behind whooping and people turning on the pavements to lift their hats as the Great Duke passed by.

“If I knew how news travelled I’d be a wiser man,” says he. “Can you imagine it? I’ll lay odds they know in Dover by this time that I am taking you to Her Majesty. You’ve never had any dealings with royalty, I take it?”

“Only in Afghanistan, my lord,” says I, and he barked a little short laugh.

“They probably have less ceremonial than we do,” he says. “It is a most confounded bore. Let me tell you, sir, never become a field-marshal and commander-in-chief. It is very fine, but it means your sovereign will honour you by coming to stay, and not a bed in the place worth a damn. I have more anxiety over the furnishing of Walmer, Mr Flashman, than I did over the works at Torres Vedras.”²⁷

“If you are as successful this time as you were then, my lord,” says I, buttering him, “you have no cause for alarm.”

“Huh!” says he, and gave me a sharp look. But he was silent for a minute or two and then asked me if I felt nervous.

“There is no need why you should be,” says he. “Her Majesty is most gracious, although it is never as easy, of course, as it was with her predecessors. King William was very easy, very kind, and made people entirely at home. It is altogether more formal now, and pretty stiff, but if you stay by me and keep your mouth shut, you’ll do.”

I ventured to say that I’d felt happier at the prospect of charging into a band of Ghazis than I did at going to the palace, which was rubbish, of course, but I thought was probably the thing to say.

“Damned nonsense,” says he, sharply. “You wouldn’t rather anything of the sort. But I know that the feeling is much the same, for I’ve experienced both myself. The important thing is never to show it, as I am never tired of telling young men. Now tell me about these Ghazis, who I understand are the best soldiers the Afghans can show.”

He was on my home ground there, and I told him about the Ghazis and Gilzais and Pathans and Douranis, to which he listened very carefully until I realised that we were rolling through the palace gates, and there were the Guards presenting arms, and a flunkey running to hold the door and set the steps, and officers clicking to attention, and a swarm of people about us.

“Come on,” says the Duke, and led the way through a small doorway, and I have a hazy recollection of stairs and liveried footmen, and long carpeted corridors, and great chandeliers, and soft-footed officials escorting us – but my chief memory is of the slight, grey-coated figure in front of me, striding along and people getting out of his way.

We brought up outside two great double doors with a flunkey in a wig at either side, and a small fat man in a black tail coat bobbed in front of us, and darted forward muttering to twitch at my collar and smooth my lapel.

“Apologies,” he twittered. “A brush here.” And he snapped his fingers. A brush appeared and he flicked at my coat, very deftly, and shot a glance in the Duke’s direction.

“Take that damned thing away,” says the Duke, “and stop fussing. We know how to dress without your assistance.”

The little fat man looked reproachful and stood aside, motioning to the flunkeys. They opened the door, and with my heart thumping against my ribs I heard a rich, strong voice announce:

“His Grace the Duke of Wellington. Mr Flashman.”

It was a large, magnificently furnished drawing-room, with a carpet stretching away between mirrored walls and a huge chandelier overhead. There were a few people at the other end, two men standing near the fireplace, a girl sitting on a couch with an older woman standing behind, and I think another man and a couple of women near by. We walked forward towards them, the Duke a little in advance, and he stopped short of the couch and bowed.

“Your Majesty,” says he, “may I have the honour to present Mr Flashman.”

And only then did I realise who the girl was. We are accustomed to think of her as the old queen, but she was just a child then, rather plump, and pretty enough beneath the neck. Her eyes were large and popped a little, and her teeth stuck out too much, but she smiled and murmured in reply – by this time I was bowing my backside off, naturally.

When I straightened up she was looking at me, and Wellington was reciting briskly about Kabul and Jallalabad – “distinguished defence”, “Mr Flashman’s notable behaviour” are the only phrases that stay in my mind. When he stopped she inclined her head at him, and then said to me:

“You are the first we have seen of those who served so bravely in Afghanistan, Mr Flashman. It is really a great joy to see you returned safe and well. We have heard the most glowing reports of your gallantry, and it is most gratifying to be able to express our thanks and admiration for such brave and loyal service.”

Well, she couldn’t have said fairer than that I suppose, even if she did recite it like a parrot. I just made a rumbling sound in my throat and ducked my head again. She had a thick, oddly-accented voice, and came down heavy on her words every now and then, nodding as she did so.

“Are you entirely recovered from your wounds?” she asked.

“Very well, thank’ee, your majesty,” says I.

“You are exceedingly brown,” says one of the men, and the heavy German accent startled me. I’d noticed him out of the tail of my eye, leaning against the mantel, with one leg crossed over the other. So this is Prince Albert, I thought; what hellish-looking whiskers.

“You must be as brown as an Aff-ghan,” says he, and they laughed politely.

I told him I had passed for one, and he opened his eyes and said did I speak the language, and would I say something in it. So without thinking I said the first words that came into my head: “Hamare ghali ana, achha din,” which is what the harlots chant at passers-by, and means “Good day, come into our street”. He seemed very interested, but the man beside him stiffened and stared hard at me.

“What does it mean, Mr Flashman?” says the Queen.

“It is a Hindu greeting, marm,” says the Duke, and my guts turned over as I recalled that he had served in India.

“Why, of course,” says she, “we are quite an Indian gathering, with Mr Macaulay here.” The name meant nothing to me then; he was looking at me damned hard, though, with his pretty little mouth set hard. I later learned that he had spent several years in government out there, so my fat-headed remark had not been lost on him, either.

“Mr Macaulay has ben reading us his new poems,”²⁸ says the Queen, “They are quite stirring and fine. I think his Horatius must have been your model, Mr Flashman, for you know he defied great odds in defence of Rome. It is a splendid ballad, and very inspiring. Do you know the story, Duke?”

He said he did, which put him one up on me, and added that he didn’t believe it, at which she cried out and demanded to know why.

“Three men can’t stop an army, marm,” says he. “Livy was no soldier, or he would hardly have suggested they could.”

“Oh, come now,” says Macaulay. “They were on a narrow bridge, and could not be outnumbered.”

“You see, Duke?” says the Queen. “How could they be overcome?”

“Bows and arrows, marm,” says he. “Slings. Shoot ’em down. That’s what I’d have done.”

At this she said that the Tuscans were more chivalrous than he was, and he agreed that very likely they were.

“Which is perhaps why there are no Tuscan empires today, but an extensive British one,” says the Prince quietly. And then he leaned forward and murmured something to the Queen, and she nodded wisely, and stood up – she was very small – and signed to me to come forward in front of her. I went, wondering, and the Duke came to my elbow, and the Prince watched me with his head on one side. The lady who had been behind the couch came forward, and handed something to the Queen, and she looked up at me, from not a foot away.

“Our brave soldiers in Afghanistan are to have four medals from the Governor-General,” she said. “You will wear them in course of time, but there is also a medal from their Queen, and it is fitting that you should wear it first of all.”

She pinned it on my coat, and she had to reach up to do it, she was so small. Then she smiled at me, and I felt so overcome I didn’t know what to say. Seeing this, she went all soulful about the eyes.

“You are a very gallant gentleman,” says she. “God bless you.”

Oh, lor’, I thought, if only you knew, you romantic little woman, thinking I’m a modern Horatius. (I made a point of studying Macaulay’s “Lays” later, and she wasn’t too far off, really; only the chap I resembled was False Sextus, a man after my own heart.)

However, I had to say something, so I mumbled about her majesty’s service.

“England’s service,” said she, looking intense.

“The same thing, ma’am,” says I, flown with inspiration, and she cast her eyes down wistfully. The Duke gave what sounded like a little groan.

There was a pause, and then she asked if I was married. I told her I was, but that I and my wife had been parted for the past two years.

“What a cruel separation”, says she, as one might say “What delicious strawberry jam”. But she was sure, she said, that our reunion must be all the sweeter for that parting.

“I know what it means to be a devoted wife, with the dearest of husbands,” she went on, glancing at Albert, and he looked fond and noble. God, I thought, what a honeymoon that must have been.

Then the Duke chimed in, making his farewells, and I realised that this was my cue. We both bowed, and backed away, and she sat looking dumpy on the couch, and then we were in the corridor again, and the Duke was striding off through the hovering attendants.

“Well,” says he, “you’ve got a medal no one else will ever have. Only a few of ’em struck, you see, and then Ellenborough announced that he was giving four of his own, which did not please her majesty at all. So her medal is to be stopped.”²⁹

He was right as it turned out; no one else ever received the medal, with its pink and green ribbon (I suspect Albert chose the colours), and I wear it on ceremonial days along with my Victoria Cross, my American Medal of Honour (for which the republic graciously pays me ten dollars a month), my San Serafino Order of Purity and Truth (richly deserved), and all the other assorted tinware which serves to disguise a cowardly scoundrel as a heroic veteran.

We passed through the covey of saluting Guardsmen, bowing officials, and rigid flunkeys to our coach, but there was no getting through the gates at first for the crowd which had collected and was cheering its head off.

“Good old Flashy! Hurrah for Flash Harry! Hip! hip! hooray!”

They clamoured at the railings, waving and throwing up their hats, jostling the sentries, surging in a great press round the gateway, until at last the gates were pushed open and the brougham moved slowly through the struggling mass, all the faces grinning and shouting and the handkerchiefs waving.

“Take off your hat, man,” snaps the Duke, so I did, and they roared again, pressing forward against the sides of the coach, reaching in to clasp my hand, beating on the panels, and making a tremendous racket.

“He’s got a medal!” roars someone. “God save the Queen!”

At that they woke the echoes, and I thought the coach must overturn. I was laughing and waving to them, but what do you suppose I was thinking? This was real glory! Here was I, the hero of the Afghan war, with the Queen’s medal on my coat, the world’s greatest soldier at my side, and the people of the world’s greatest city cheering me to the echo – me! while the Duke sat poker-faced snapping: “Johnson, can’t you get us out of this damned mess?”

What was I thinking? About the chance that had sent me to India? About Elphy Bey? About the horror of the passes on the retreat, or the escape at Mogala when Iqbal died? Of the nightmare of Piper’s Fort or that dreadful dwarf in the snake-pit? About Sekundar Burnes? Or Bernier? Or the women – Josette, Narreeman, Fetnab and the rest? About Elspeth? About the Queen?

None of these things. Strange, but as the coach won clear and we rattled off down the Mall with the cheers dying behind us, I could hear Arnold’s voice saying, “There is good in you, Flashman,” and I could imagine how he would have supposed himself vindicated at this moment, and preach on “Courage” in chapel, and pretend to rejoice in the redeemed prodigal – but all the time he would know in his hypocrite heart that I was a rotter still.³⁰ But neither he nor anyone else would have dared to say so. This myth called bravery, which is half-panic, half-lunacy (in my case, all panic), pays for all; in England you can’t be a hero and bad. There’s practically a law against it.

Wellington was muttering sharply about the growing insolence of the mob, but he left off to tell me he would set me down at the Horse Guards. When we arrived and I was getting out and thanking him for his kindness, he looks sharply at me, and says:

“I wish you every good fortune, Flashman. You should go far. I don’t imagine you’re a second Marlborough, mind, but you appear to be brave and you’re certainly damned lucky. With the first quality you may easily gain command of an army or two, and lead ’em both to ruin, but with your luck you’ll probably lead ’em back again. You have made a good beginning, at all events, and received today the highest honour you can hope for, which is your monarch’s mark of favour. Goodbye to you.”

We shook hands, and he drove off. I never spoke to him again. Years later, though, I told the American general, Robert Lee, of the incident, and he said Wellington was right – I had received the highest honour any soldier could hope for. But it wasn’t the medal; for Lee’s money it was Wellington’s hand.

Neither, I may point out, had any intrinsic value.

I was the object of general admiration at the Horse Guards, of course, and at the club, and finally I took myself home in excellent fettle. It had been raining cats and dogs, but had stopped, and the sun was shining as I ran up the steps. Oswald informed me that Elspeth was above stairs; oho! thinks I, wait till she hears where I’ve been and who I’ve seen. She’ll be rather more attentive to her lord and master now, perhaps, and less to sprigs of Guardees; I was smiling as I went upstairs, for the events of the afternoon had made my earlier jealousy seem silly, and simply the work of the little bitch Judy.

I walked into the bedroom keeping my left hand over the medal, to surprise her. She was sitting before her glass, as usual, with her maid dressing her hair.

“Harry!” she cries out, “where have you been? Have you forgot we are to take tea with Lady Chalmers at four-thirty?”

“The devil with Lady Chalmers, and all Chalmerses,” says L “Let ’em wait.”

“Oh, how can you say so?” she laughed at me in the mirror. “But where have you been, looking so splendid?”

“Oh, visiting friends, you know. Young couple, Bert and Vicky. You wouldn’t know ’em.”

“Bert and Vicky!” If Elspeth had developed a fault in my long absence, it was that she had become a complete snob – not uncommon among people of her class. “Whoever are they?”

I stood behind her, looking at her reflection, and exposed the medal. I saw her eyes light on it, and widen, and then she swung round.

“Harry! What … ?”

“I’ve been to the palace. With the Duke of Wellington. I had this from the Queen – after we had chatted a little, you know, about poetry and …”

“The Queen!” she squeals. “The Duke! The palace!”

And she leaped up, clapping her hands, throwing her arms round my neck, while her maid clucked and fussed and I, laughing, swung her round and kissed her. There was no shutting her up, of course; she rained questions on me, her eyes shining, demanding to know who was there, and what they said, and what the Queen wore, and how the Queen spoke to me, and what I replied, and every mortal thing. Finally I pushed her into a chair, sent the maid packing, and sat down on the bed, reciting the whole thing from start to finish.

Elspeth sat, round-eyed and lovely, listening breathlessly, and squealing with excitement every now and then. When I told her the Queen had asked about her she gasped and turned to look at herself in the mirror, I imagine to see if there was a smut on her nose. Then she demanded that I go through it all again, and I did, but not before I had stripped off her gown and pulled her on top of me on the bed, so that between gasps and sighs the breathtaking tale was re-told. I lost track of it several times, I admit.

Even then she was still marvelling at it all, until I pointed out that it was after four o’clock, and what would Lady Chalmers say? She giggled, and said we had better go, and chattered incessantly while she dressed and I lazily put myself in order.

“Oh, it is the most wonderful thing!” she kept saying. “The Queen! The Duke! Oh, Harry!”

“Aye,” says I, “and where were you, eh? Sparking in the Row all afternoon with one of your admirers.”

“Oh, he is the greatest bore,” says she laughing. “Nothing to talk of but his horses. We spent the entire afternoon riding in the Park, and he spoke of nothing else for two hours on end!”

“Did he, begad,” says I. “Why, you must have been soaked.”

She was in a cupboard by now, among her dresses, and didn’t hear, and idly I reached out, not thinking, and touched the bottle-green riding coat that lay across the end of the bed. I felt it, and my heart suddenly turned to stone. The coat was bone-dry. I twisted round to look at the boots standing by a chair; they shone glossy, with not a mark or a splash on them.

I sat, feeling sick, listening to my heart thumping, while she chattered away. It had rained steadily from the time I had left Wellington at the Horse Guards until I had left the club more than an hour later and come home. She could not have been riding in the Park in that downpour. Well, where the devil had she and Watney been, then, and what …?

I felt rage mounting inside me, rage and spite, but I held myself in, telling myself I might be wrong. She was patting her face with a rabbit’s foot before the glass, never minding me, so I said, very easy like:

“Whereabouts did you go for your ride?”

“Oh, in the Park, as I said. Nowhere at all in particular.”

Now that’s a lie for certain, thinks I, and yet I couldn’t believe it. She looked so damned innocent and open, so feather-headed and full of nonsense as she went on and on about my wonderful, wonderful hour at the palace; why, only ten minutes ago she had been coupling with me on the bed, letting me … aye, letting me. Suddenly the ugly thought of the first night home came rushing back to me – how I had fancied she was less ardent than I remembered her. Perhaps I had been right; perhaps she had been less passionate. Well she might be, if in my absence she had found some jockey who was more to her fancy over the jumps than I was. By God, if that were true I would …

I sat there shaking, my head turned away so that she would not see me in the mirror. Had that slut Judy been hinting at the truth, then? Was Watney cuckolding me – and heaven knew who else besides him? I was fairly boiling with shame and anger at the thought. But it couldn’t be true! No, not Elspeth. And yet there was Judy’s sneer, and those boots winking their wickedness at me – they hadn’t been near the Park this afternoon, by God!

While the maid came back and attended to Elspeth’s hair again, and I tried to close my ears to the shrill feminine trilling of her talk, I tried to take hold of myself. Maybe I was wrong – oh, God, I hoped so. It wasn’t just that strange yearning that I had about Elspeth, it was my … well, my honour, if you like. Oh, I didn’t give a damn about what the world calls honour, but the thought of another man, or men, frollicking in the hay with my wife, who should have been unable to imagine a more masterful or heroic lover than the great Flashman – the hero whose name was on everyone’s lips, God help us – the thought of that! …

Pride is a hellish thing; without it there isn’t any jealousy or ambition. And I was proud of the figure I cut – in bed and in barracks. And here was I, the lion of the hour, medal and all, the Duke’s handshake and the Queen’s regard still fresh – and I was gnawing my innards out about a gold-headed filly without a brain to her name. And I must bite my lip and not say a word, for fear of the row there would be if I let slip a breath of my suspicions – right or wrong, the fat would be in the fire, and I couldn’t afford that.

“Well, how do I look?” says she, coming to stand in front of me in her gown and bonnet. “Why, Harry, you have gone quite pale! I know, it is the excitement of this day! My poor dear!” And she tilted up my head and kissed me. No, I couldn’t believe it, looking into those baby-blue eyes. Aye, and what about those baby-black boots?

“We shall go out to Lady Chalmers’s,” said she, “and she will be quite over the moon when she hears about this. I expect there will be quite a company there, too. I shall be so proud, Harry – so proud! Now, let me straighten your cravat; bring a brush, Susan – what an excellent coat it is. You must always go to that tailor – which is he again? There now; oh, Harry, how handsome you look! See yourself in the glass!”

I looked, and seeing myself so damned dashing, and her radiant and fair beside me, I fought down the wretchedness and rage. No, it couldn’t be true …

“Susan, you have not put away my coat, silly girl. Take it at once, before it creases.”

By God, though, I knew it was. Or I thought I knew. To the devil with the consequences, no little ninny in petticoats was going to do this to me.

“Elspeth,” says I, turning.

“Hang it carefully, now, when you’ve brushed it. There. Yes, my love?”

“Elspeth …”

“Oh, Harry, you look so strong and fierce, on my word. I don’t think I shall feel easy in my mind when I see all these fancy London ladies making eyes at you.” And she pouted very pretty and touched her finger on my lips.

“Elspeth, I –”

“Oh, I had nearly forgot – you had better take some money with you. Susan, bring me my purse. In case of any need that may arise, you know. Twenty guineas, my love.”

“Much obliged,” says I.

What the devil, you have to make do as best you can; if the tide’s there, swim with it and catch on to whatever offers. You only go by once.

“Will twenty be sufficient, do you think?”

“Better make it forty.”

(At this point the first packet of The Flashman Papers ends abruptly).