Flashman And The Tiger

The deuce of it is, when Elspeth turns a conversation topsy-turvy, all wide-eyed innocence, you can never be sure whether it’s witlessness or guile. She’s always been ivory from her delightful neck upwards, but that don’t mean she can’t wheedle a duck from a pond when so minded. Knowing her vanity ("Supposing I still could", my eye!) I didn’t doubt that she believed my inquiries had been prompted by pure jealousy, to her immense gratification, lovingly expressed … still, there was something to do with Cumming that she wasn’t telling. Well, perhaps it was something I’d be better for not knowing; one thing seemed clear, for what it was worth: whoever had seen him cheating, she had not.

I left her prattling over the cups to Lady Coventry and on the spur of the moment decided not to visit the Prince to see how his fine frenzy was coming along, but to call on the principal in the case, as promising more information—and entertainment. Faced with ruin and dishonour, Cumming should be an interesting spectacle by now, and a little manly condolence from old comrade Flashy might well lead him to do something amusing. The more mischief the better sport, as the great man said.

He was taking it well, I’ll say that, standing before his mantel, every inch the Guardee, rock steady and looking down his aristocratic nose. I guessed he was a volcano ready to erupt, though, and when he’d dismissed his valet I took him flat aback by holding out my hand, avoiding his grip—and seeking his pulse. I do love to startle ’em.

"What the deuce?" cries he, pulling free.

"A touch fast, not much. You’ll do." In fact, I hadn’t found his pulse. "Seen the Prince, have you?"

"So you’ve heard! Yes, I have seen his highness." He eyed me with profound dislike. "I suppose you too believe this filthy slander?"

"Why should you think that?" says I, taking a chair.

"Those other idiots do—Williams and Coventry! And the Prince! And when did you ever believe good of anyone?"

"Not often, perhaps. But then, they don’t often deserve it. In your case, as it happens, I’m probably the only man in this house who is not convinced that you played foul."

His sneer vanished in astonishment, and he took a pace forward, only to stop in sudden doubt. "You’re not? Why?" Leery of me, you see; many people are.

"Because it makes no sense." I told him my reasons, which you know, and with every word his expression lightened until he was looking almost hopeful, in a frantic way.

"Have you said this to the Prince? What did he say, in heaven’s name?"

I shook my head. "Didn’t persuade him—or Coventry and Williams. Can’t blame ’em altogether, you know; the evidence is pretty strong, on the face of it. Five witnesses—"

"Witnesses?" cries he. "Damned imbeciles! Two idiot women, a parcel of boys who know nothing—what’s their word worth?" Almost in an instant the cool Guardee was gone, and he was standing before me, fists clenched and eyes wild, voice shaking with fury. Strange how a man can show a calm front and a stiff lip when all the world’s agin him, but drop a sympathetic word and all the rage and indignation will come bubbling out, because he thinks he’s found a friend to confide in.

"How can they believe it?" he stormed. "My God, Flashman, how can they? Men who’ve known me twenty years and more—trusted friends! As though I would … stoop to this … this damned infamy! And for what?" There were tears in his eyes, and if he’d stamped and torn his hair I’d not have been surprised. "For a few paltry pounds? By heaven, I’ll throw it back in their faces—"

"Not if you’ve any sense, you won’t," says I, and he stared. "Might be taken for an admission of guilt. You won it fair and square, did you? Then you keep it." Sound advice, by the way.

"That’s the whole point, though," I added, sitting forward and giving him my eye. "Now, Cumming, don’t start tearing the curtains, but tell me, straight out … did you cheat?"

He was breathing hard, but at that he stiffened, and answered straight. "I did not! On my word of honour."

He was telling the truth, no question. Not because he said so, but because of what I’d seen and heard from the moment I’d entered the room. I don’t claim to be an infallible judge of my fellow man (and woman); I can be deceived, and put no faith in oaths and promises, however solemn. But I’ve been about, and if I knew anything at all, Gordon-Cumming’s demeanour, in and out of anger, rang true.

"Very good. Now, these witnesses—are they lying?"

That set him away again. "How the blazes should I know? The whole thing is abominable! What’s it to me whether they’re lying or not? Pack of idiots and prying women! Who cares what they say! Let me tell you, Flashman, their foul charges don’t matter a straw to me—they’re worthless! But that men like Williams and … and the Prince, whom I counted a friend—that they should turn against me … that they can bring themselves to believe this vile thing—my God, and that you, of all people, should be alone in having … having faith in me …"