Flashman And The Tiger

It’s hard, when your life has contained as many hellish surprises as mine, to put ’em in order of disturbance—Gul Shah appearing in that Afghan dungeon, Cleonie whipping off her eye-patch, meeting Bismarck in his nightmare castle, waking to find myself trussed over a gun muzzle at Gwalior, and any number of equally beastly shocks, but I’ve never been more thoroughly winded than by those incredible words across the breakfast dishes on Wednesday, June 10th, 1891 … from Elspeth of all people! For a moment I wondered if she was making a ghastly joke, or if that pea-brain had given way at last … but no, I knew her artless prattle too well, and that she meant every damned word and there was no point in bellowing disbelief. I forced myself to be calm and sit mum while I downed my brandy and poured another stiff ’un before demanding, no doubt in an incredulous croak:

"You’re telling me that he didn’t cheat … but you did—and that you were laying a plant on him?" Seeing her bewildered, I translated: "Making him look guilty, dammit! For the love of God, woman—why?"

Her eyes widened. "Why, to punish him! To pay him out for his bad conduct! His … his black wickedness!" All of a sudden she was breathing fiery indignation, Boadicea in a lace dressing-gown. "And so I did, and now he is disgraced, and a pariah and a hissing, and serve him right! He should be torn by wild horses, so he should! He is a base, horrid man, and I hope he suffers as he deserves!" She began to butter toast ferociously, while I sat stricken, wondering what the devil he’d done, horrid suspicions leaping to mind, but before I could voice them she gave one of her wordless Caledonian exclamations of impatience, left off buttering, tossed her head, and regained her composure.

"Oh, feegh! Harry, I beg your pardon, getting het-up in that unseemly way … oh, but when I think of him …" She took a deep breath, and spooned marmalade on to her plate. "But it’s by with now, thank goodness, and he’s paid for a villain, de’il mend him, and I’m the happy woman that’s done it, for I never thought to have the chance, and long I bided, waiting the day." As always when deeply moved she was getting Scotcher by the minute, but now she paused for a mouthful of toast. "And then, at Tranby, when I heard that Wilson loon whispering to his friend, and under-stood what was what, I soon saw in a blink how I might settle his hash for him, once for all. And I did that!" says she, taking a grim nibble. "Oh, if only I could make marmalade like Granny Morrison’s .. there’s no right flavour to this bought stuff. Would you oblige me with the honey, dearest?"

I shoved it across in a daze. The enormity, the impossibility of what she said she’d done, her fury against Cumming for heaven knew what unimaginable reason—I still couldn’t take it in, but I knew that if you’re to get sense out of Elspeth you must let her babble to a finish in her own weird way, giving what assistance you may. I clutched at the nearest straw.

"What did Wilson whisper? To whom? When?"

"Why, on the first night, when the Prince said `Who’s for baccarat, everyone?' and they went to play in the smoking-room, and Count Lutzow and I and Miss Naylor and Lady Brougham went to watch." She frowned at the honey. "Is it very fattening, do you suppose? Oh, well … So the Prince said `Shall you and I make a jolly bank together, Lady Flashman?' but I said I did not know the rules and must watch till I got the hang of it, and then I should be honoured to help him, and he said, quite jocose, `Ah, well, one of these days, then', and Count Lutzow found me a chair next to that young fellow with the poker up his back, like all the Guardees, what’s his name -? "

"Berkeley Levett, you mean? Elspeth, for mercy’s sake—"

"Like enough … he might have been Berkeley Square for all the sense I could get from him … so then they played, and after a wee while, the Wilson boy—the one they call Jack, though his name is Arthur, I think, or is it Stanley?—anyway, I heard him whisper to Levett, `I say, this is a bit hot!' which I thought odd, when it wasn’t at all, I was quite chilly away from the fire, and without my shawl … but a moment later I saw he meant something quite otherwise, for he whispered again, that the man next to him was cheating—and I saw he meant Billy Cumming … Harry, dear, would you ring for hot water? The pot has gone quite cold—I’m sure they don’t make delft as they used to, or perhaps the cosy is getting thin—they stuff them with anything at all these days, we always had a good thick woollen one at home that Grizel knitted, but they do tend to smell rather, after a while …"