Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 2: Flashman and the Mountain of Light, Flash For Freedom!, Flashman and the Redskins. George Fraser MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ to win a maiden heart, and very fine, but when a man-eater who’s sampled the best from Peshawar to Poona cries “Eureka!” over you, well, it’s no wonder if you glance at the mirror. At the same time, it’s quite a facer, and my first words, possibly instinctive, were:

      “Christ, she ain’t pregnant, is she?”

      “How the devil should I know?” cries Gardner, astonished. “On my word! Now, sir, I’ve told you! So there you are!”

      “Well, she can’t! I’m married, dammit!”

      “I know that – but she does not, and it’s best she should not … for the moment.” He glared at me, and took a turn round the room, while I sank on to one of the infants’ stools, which gave way beneath me. Gardner swore, yanked me to my feet, and thrust me into the teacher’s chair.

      “See here, Mr Flashman,” says he, “this is how it is. Mai Jeendan is a woman of strange character and damned irregular habits, as you’re well aware – but she’s no fool. For years now she’s had it in mind to marry a British officer, as security for herself and her son’s throne. Well, that’s sound policy, especially now when Britain’s hand is on the Punjab. For months past – this is sober truth – her agents in India have been sending her portraits of eligible men. She’s even had young Hardinge’s likeness in her boudoir, God help me! As you know, she has your own – well, ’twas the only one she took to Amritsar, and the rest (a score of ’em) have been with the lumber ever since.”

      Nothing to say to that, of course. I kept a straight face, and he took station in front of me, mighty stern.

      “Very well, it’s impossible. You have a wife, and even if you hadn’t, I dare say you’d not care to pass your days as consort to an Eastern queen. Myself, while I admire her many good qualities,” says he with feeling, “I’d not hitch with Jeendan for all the cotton in Dixie, so help me Hannah! But she has a deep fondness for you – and this is no time to blight that affection! Northern India’s in the balance, and she’s the pivot – steady enough, but not to be disturbed … in any way.” He stooped suddenly and seized my wrist, staring into my eyes, grim as a frost giant. “So when you see her presently … you will not disappoint her hopes. Oh, she’ll make no direct proposal – that’s not Punjabi royal style. But she’ll sound you out – probably offer you employment in Sikh service, for after the war – with a clear hint of her intentions … to all of which you’d best give eager assent – for all our sakes, especially your own. Hell hath no fury, you remember.” He let go, straightening up. “I guess you know how to …”

      “Jolly her along? Oh, aye … by God, it’s a rum go, though! What’ll happen later, when she finds I ain’t a starter?”

      “The war’ll be over then, and it won’t signify,” says he bleakly. “I dare say she’ll get over it. Dirty game, politics … she’s a great woman, you know, drunk and all as she is. You ought to be flattered. By the by, have you any aristocratic kinfolk?”

      “My mother was a Paget.”

      “Is that high style? Better make her a duchess, then. Mai Jeendan likes to think that you’re a lord – after all, she was once married to a Maharaja.”⁴⁴

      As it happened, my lineage, aristocratic and otherwise, was not discussed in the rose boudoir, mainly because there wasn’t time. When Gardner had spoken of not disappointing her, I’d supposed (and have no doubt that he meant) that I must not dash her hopes of becoming Mrs Flashman; accordingly, I bowled in prepared for an exchange of nods and becks and coy blushes on her part, and ardent protestations on mine. Only when I stood blinking in the dark, and two plump arms encircled me from behind, that familiar drunken chuckle sounded in my ear, and she turned up the lamp to reveal herself clad only in oil and bangles, did I suspect that further proof of my devotion was required. “I liked you better shaven,” whispers she (which settled that), and Dalip or no Dalip, there was nothing for it but to give eager consent, as Gardner had put it. Luckily she was no protractor of the capital act, as I knew, and I didn’t even need to take my boots off; a quick plunge round the room, horse artillery style, and she was squealing her soul out, and then it was back to the wine-cup and exhausted ecstatic sighs, mingled with tipsy murmurs about the loneliness of widowhood and what bliss it would be to have a man about the house again … fairly incoherent, you understand, but not to be misunderstood, so I responded with rapturous endearments.

      “You will abide with me always?” whispers she, nuzzling in, and I said I’d like to see anyone stop me, just. Did I love her truly? Well, to be sure I did. She muttered something about writing to Hardinge, and I thought, by George, that’ll spoil his toast and coffee for him, no error, but mostly it was fond drunken babble and clinging kisses, before she turned over and began to snore.

      Well, that’s that, and you’ve done your duty, thinks I, as I repaired the sweet disorder in my dress and slid out – with a last backward glance at that jolly rump glistening in the lamplight. I imagined, you see, that I was looking my last on her, and I do like to carry away happy memories – but twenty minutes later, when Jassa and I were fretting impatiently in the schoolroom, and Gardner was damning Mangla’s tardiness in bringing young Dalip, in comes a waiting woman to say that the kunwari and the Maharaja were awaiting us in her drawing-room. This was a fine apartment close by the boudoir, and there was the Mother of All Sikhs, enthroned in her armchair, as respectable a young matron as ever you saw, and not more than half-soused; how the deuce she’d got into parade order in the time was beyond me.

      She was soothing young Dalip, who was standing by in a black fury and a child’s sari, with veil and bangles and a silk shawl round his small shoulders.

      “Don’t look at me!” cries he, turning his face away, and she petted him and kissed away his tears, whispering that he must be a Maharaja, for he was going among the White Queen’s soldiers, and must do credit to his house and people.

      “And this goes with you, the symbol of your kingship,” says she, and held out a silver locket, with the great Koh-i-Noor glittering in a bed of velvet. She closed the case and hung its chain about his neck. “Guard it well, dearest, for it was your father’s treasure, and remains your people’s honour.”

      “With my life, mama,” sobs he, and hung upon her neck. She wept a little, holding him close, and then stood up and led him to me.

      “Flashman sahib will take care of you,” says she, “so mind you obey him in all things. Farewell, my little prince, my own darling.” She kissed him and put his hand in mine. “God speed you, sahib – until we meet again.” She extended a hand, and I kissed it; one warm, glassy look she gave me, with that little curl of her thick lips; she was swaying slightly, and her waiting woman had to step lively to steady her.

      Then Gardner was bustling us away, with Jassa carrying Dalip for greater speed, and it was bundle-and-go down to the palki in the little court, with Mangla at my elbow insisting that his majesty must eat no oranges, for they gave him the trots, and here was a lotion for the rash on his arm, and a letter for the governess who must be engaged for him in India – “a Kashmiri lady, gentle and well-read, if one can be found, but not some stern English mem-sahib, for he is but a little fellow; I have written of his diet and his lessons.” Kidnapping ain’t just a matter of lifting the infant, you see, and on my other side Gardner was snarling that the gates would be closing in half an hour. We bundled Dalip into the palki, and now he was blubbering that he didn’t want to go, and clinging to Mangla, and Gardner was fuming while two of his black robes scouted ahead to see that all was clear, and Jassa and I got between the shafts, and Mangla kissed me quickly on the cheek, leaving a drift of perfume as she hurried away, and Gardner turned to me in the fading light of the little court.

      “Due СКАЧАТЬ