Flashman And The Tiger

Cumming was finished socially and professionally, of course, and had the sense to resign, marry his American girl, and retire to Scotland; if I knew him at all, any shame he felt would be nothing to his rage against the society that had branded him, and the prince who’d betrayed him, and I dare say he’s brooding in his Highland fastness this minute, armoured in righteous wrath, despising the world that cast him out. Small wonder, for I can tell you now, at the end of my little tale … Gordon-Cumming was railroaded. He didn’t cheat at baccarat.

I learned this within twenty-four hours of the verdict, but there was nothing to be done, even if I’d wanted to. No one would have credited the truth for a moment; I didn’t myself, at first, for it beggared belief. But there can be no doubt about it, for it fits exactly with the evidence of both sides, and the source is unimpeachable—I’ve lived with her seventy years, after all, and know that while she may suppress a little veri and suggest a touch of falsi on occasion, Elspeth ain’t a liar.

We were at breakfast, which for me in my indulgent age was Russian style (sausage, brandy, and coffee) and for her the fodder of her native heath: porridge, ham, eggs, black pudding, some piscine abomination called Arbroath smokies, oatcakes, rolls, and marmalade (God knows how she’s kept her figure), while we read the morning journals. Usually she reads and prattles together, but that morning she was silent, absorbing the Cumming debacle. When she’d laid her eye-glasses aside she sat for a while, stirring her tea in a thoughtful, contented manner.

"Rum business, that," says I. "D’ye know, old girl, it’s beyond me. Granted he’s a poisonous tick … I still can’t believe he cheated."

"Neither he did," says she.

"What’s that? Oh, I see … you don’t think it likely, either. Well, I don’t suppose we’ll ever know for certain, but—"

"Oh, but I do know," says she, laying down her spoon. "He did not cheat at all. Well, I think not, on the first night, and I know he did not, on the second." She sipped her tea, while I choked on my brandy.

"What d’you mean—you know? You don’t know a thing about it! Why, when I asked you, that night at Tranby … remember, whether he’d been jockeying his stakes, you didn’t know what I meant, even!"

"I knew perfectly well what you meant, but it would not have been prudent to say anything just then. It would not have suited," says she calmly, "at all."

"You mean … you’re saying you knew then he hadn’t cheated?" In my agitation I overset my cup, coffee all over the shop. "But … how could you possibly … what the blazes are you talking about?"

"There is no need to fly at me, or take that crabbit tone," says she, rising swiftly. "Quick, put a plate under the cloth before it stains the table! Drat, such a mess! Here, let me ’tend to it, and you ring for Jane … oh, the best walnut!"

"Damn Jane and the walnut! Will you tell me what you mean!" She had the cloth back, clucking and mopping the table with a napkin. "Elspeth! What’s this rot about Cumming not cheating? How do you know, dammit?"

"It’s a mercy your cup had gone cold … oh, how vexing! It’ll have to be French polished." She peered at the wood. "Oh, dear, why did I not wait till you were settled—guid kens I should know by now what you’re like in the morning." She discarded the napkin with dainty distaste and resumed her seat. "Sir William Gordon-Cumming did not cheat. That is what I mean." She sighed, in a Patient Griselda sort of way. "The fact is, you see … I did."

Lord knows what I looked like in that moment, a cod on a slab likely. She lifted a swift warning finger.

"Now, please, my love, do not raise your voice, or rage at me. It’s done, and there is no undoing it, and the servants would hear. If you are angry, I’m sorry, but if you’ll just bide quiet and hear me out, you may not be too angry, I hope." She smiled at me as though I were an infant drooling in my crib, and took a sip of tea.

"Now, then. It was I who added counters to his stakes, just once or twice, and not nearly as often as they said—why, I was quite shocked when I read in the papers last week, the kind of evidence they were giving, even Mrs Wilson—dear me, if there had been that much hankey-pankey with the counters the whole world must have seen, the Prince and everyone! The way folk deceive themselves! But I suppose," she shrugged, "that the General Solicitor or whatever they call him was right, and they saw what they wanted to see … only they didn’t, if you know what I mean, for it wasn’t Billy Cumming cheating, it was me … or should it be I? Anyway, I only did it now and then … well, three or four times, perhaps, I’m not sure, but often enough to make them think he was cheating, I’m glad to say," she added complacently. "And you should not be angry, I think, because he deserved it, and I was right."