Flashman And The Tiger

"You and he both hold the Queen’s commission, sir. I’m retired, of course. But as serving officers, aware of dishonourable conduct by a brother officer, you’re obliged to bring it to the attention of your superiors. Since your highness is a field marshal, I’m not sure who your superiors are, exactly … Her Majesty, of course. Or I dare say the colonel of Cumming’s regiment would do …"

I was drowned out by a prolonged fit of princely coughing, the result of outraged smoke going down the wrong way, which gave him time to digest my warning, and emerge mopping and wheezing to announce hoarsely that he didn’t give a tinker’s dam for courts martial, or words to that effect, and not a whisper was to be breathed to military superiors or anyone else, was that clear?

"It must not come out!" he croaks. "At all costs it must be confined to … to ourselves. The scandal …" He couldn’t bring himself even to contemplate it. "A way must be found!" He sat down again, thumping his knees. "It must!"

Which left us back at the starting-gate, three of us racking our brains and Flashy looking perplexed but inwardly serene, for all I was waiting for was a lead. At last Coventry gave it.

"If some accommodation could be found," says he, "which would signify … ah, disapprobation of Sir William’s conduct, while satisfying the … ah, resentment of his accusers, and of course ensuring that no word of this deplorable affair ever—"

"Oh, talk sense, Coventry!" barks Bertie. "They want his head on a charger! Green made that plain enough—and how you’re to contrive that in secrecy I cannot imagine!"

"How d’you punish him without exposing him?" wonders Williams, and I saw it was time for the Flashman Compromise which had been taking shape in my mind over the past minute or two. I made a judicial noise to attract their attention.

"I wonder if Lord Coventry hasn’t pointed the way, sir," says I. "Suppose … yes, how would it do? … if Cumming were to sign a paper … you know, an undertaking sort of thing … pledging himself never to touch a card again. Eh?" They stood mute as ducks in thunder. "Stiff penalty for a man in his position, what? I’d be surprised if that didn’t satisfy Green and his pals. And in return," I tapped the table impressively, "they would pledge themselves to silence—as would we, absolutely. That would settle things—without a breath of scandal."

There was a hole in it a mile wide, but I knew Bertie wouldn’t spot it: my last five words were all that mattered to him. He was pointing like a setter, Coventry was in his customary fog, but Williams burst out:

"Cumming would never do such a thing! Why, it would be tantamount to a confession of guilt."

"Not a bit of it, Owen!" says I. "He ain’t admitting a thing—and if he were, ’twould only be to us, and his accusers, who think he’s guilty anyway. No one else would ever know." I turned to Bertie, his cigar now in tatters. "I’m sure he’ll agree, sir—what other choice has he? Public disgrace … and worse than that," I went on, fixing Coventry and Williams with my sternest look, "would be the shameful burden of knowing that greater names than his had been tarnished by the publication of his dishonour."

That did the trick: Bertie started as though I’d put a bayonet into his leg, and from Williams' expression I knew that if I’d said: `Tell Cumming that if he don’t do as he’s told, and preserve our precious Prince from scandal, God help him,' I could not have been plainer. Coventry, naturally, was appalled.

"But … such a document, supposing Sir William should consent to sign it, in return for a pledge of silence … would it not bear a … an odour of … of conspiracy?"

"Certainly not," says I. "It would be a simple promise never to play cards again, signed by him, duly witnessed by His Royal Highness—and by the accusers. Nothing smoky about it. They would give their word of honour to His Highness never to speak or write of the matter hereafter. And that would be that, tight as a drum."

Bertie hadn’t said a word for several minutes, and when he did it was clear what was preoccupying him. "Could we be sure those people would keep silence?"

"Once they’d given their word to the Prince of Wales?" says I, and that seemed to satisfy him, for he sat in silence a moment, and then asked the other two what they thought of the scheme. They puffed doubtfully, of course, Williams because he feared that Cumming would refuse to sign, and Coventry out of general anxiety. Would Lycett Green and Co agree, he wondered, and Bertie let out a muffled snarl.

"They’ll agree!" says he grimly, which settled that, and they passed on to the wording of the document, which was simple enough, and then to considering how it might best be put to the guilty party. Bertie wondered if I should take part with Coventry and Williams, but modesty forbade.