The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection. George Fraser MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ wait.”

      I could only stare at him, not understanding.

      “We’re in Queer Street, Harry. I hardly know how, myself, but there it is. I suppose I’ve been running pretty fast, all my life, and not taking much account of how the money went – what are lawyers for, eh? I took some bad tumbles on the turf, never heeded the expenses of this place, or Leicestershire, didn’t stint any way at all – but it was the damned railway shares that really did the trick. Oh, there are fortunes being made out of ’em – the right ones. I picked the wrong ones. A year ago I was a ruined man, up to my neck with the Jews, ready to be sold up. I didn’t write to you about it – what was the point? This house ain’t mine, nor our place in Leicestershire; it’s hers – or it will be, when old Morrison goes. God rot and damn him, it can’t be too soon.”

      He jumped up and walked about, finally stopping before the fireplace.

      “He met the bill, for his daughter’s sake. Oh, you should have seen it! More canting, head-wagging hypocrisy than I’ve seen in years in Parliament, even! He had the effrontery to stand in my own hall, by God, and tell me it was a judgement on him for letting his daughter marry beneath herself! Beneath herself, d’ye hear? And I had to listen to him, and keep myself from flooring the old swine! What could I do? I was the poor relation; I still am. He’s still paying the bills – through the simpering nitwit you married. He lets her have what she wants, and there you are!”

      “But if he’s settled an allowance on her …”

      “He’s settled nothing! She asks him, and he provides. Damned if I would if I was him – but, there, perhaps he thinks it worth while. He seems to dote on her, and I’ll say this for the chit, she’s not stingy. But she’s the pay-mistress, Harry, my son, and you’d best not forget it. You’re a kept man, d’you see, so it don’t become you, or me, to say who’ll come and who’ll go. And since your Elspeth is astonishingly liberal-minded – why, Miss Judy can stay, and be damned to you!”

      I heard him out, flabbergasted at first, but perhaps because I was a more practical man than the guv’nor, or had fewer notions of gentility, through having an aristocratic mother, I took a different view of the matter. While he splashed more brandy into his glass, I asked:

      “How much does he let her have?”

      “Eh? I told you, whatever she wants. The old bastard seems to be warm enough for ten. But you can’t get your hands on it, I tell you.”

      “Well, I don’t mind,” says I. “As long as the money’s there, it don’t signify who draws the orders.”

      He gaped at me. “Jesus,” he said, in a choked voice, “have you no pride?”

      “Probably as much as you have,” says I, very cool. “You’re still here, ain’t you?”

      He took on the old familiar apoplectic look, so I slid out before he threw a bottle at me, and went upstairs to think. It wasn’t good news, of course, but I didn’t doubt I could come to a good understanding with Elspeth, which was all that mattered. The truth was, I didn’t have his pride; it wasn’t as if I should have to sponge off old Morrison, after all. No doubt I should have been upset at the thought of not inheriting my father’s fortune – or what had been his fortune – but when old Morrison ceased to trouble the world I’d have Elspeth’s share of the will, which would quite probably make up for all that.

      In the meantime, I tackled her on the subject at the first opportunity, and found her all brainless agreement, which was highly satisfactory.

      “What I have is yours, my love,” says she, with that melting look. “You know you have only to ask me for anything – anything at all.”

      “Much obliged,” says I. “But it might be a little inconvenient, sometimes. I was thinking, if there was a regular payment, say, it would save all the tiresome business for you.”

      “My father would not allow that, I’m afraid. He has been quite clear, you see.”

      I saw, all right, and worked away at her, but it was no use. A fool she might be, but she did what Papa told her, and the old miser knew better than to leave a loophole for the Flashman family to crawl in and lighten him. It’s a wise man that knows his own son-in-law. So it was going to have to be cash on demand – which was better than no cash at all. And she was ready enough with fifty guineas when I made my first application – it was all cut and dried, with a lawyer in Johnson’s Court, who advanced her whatever she asked for, in reason.

However, apart from these sordid matters there was quite enough to engage me in those first days at home. No one at the Horse Guards knew quite what to do with me, so I was round the clubs a good deal, and it was surprising how many people knew me all of a sudden. They would hail me in the Park, or shake hands in the street, and there was a steady stream of callers at home; friends of my father’s whom he hadn’t seen for years popped up to meet me and greet him; invitations were showered on us; letters of congratulation piled up on the hall table and spilled on to the floor; there were paragraphs in the press about “the first of the returned heroes from Cabool and Jellulabad”, and the new comic paper Punch had a cartoon in its series of “Pencillings”²⁵ which showed a heroic figure, something like me, wielding an enormous scimitar like a pantomime bandit, with hordes of blackamoors (they looked no more like Afghans than Eskimos) trying to wrest the Union Jack from me in vain. Underneath there was the caption: “A Flash(ing) Blade”, which give you some idea of the standard of humour in that journal.

      However, Elspeth was enchanted with it, and bought a dozen copies; she was in whirl of delight at being the centre of so much attention – for the hero’s wife gets as, many of the garlands as he does, especially if she’s a beauty. There was one night at the theatre when the manager insisted on taking us out of our seats to a box, and the whole audience cheered and stamped and clapped. Elspeth was radiant and stood there squeaking and clasping her hands with not the least trace of embarrassment, while I waved, very good-natured, to the mob.

      “Oh, Harry!” says she, sparkling. “I’m so happy I could die! Why, you are famous, Harry, and I …”

      She didn’t finish, but I know she was thinking that she was famous too. At that moment I loved her all the more for thinking it.

The parties in that first week were too many to count, and always we were the centre of attraction. They had a military flavour, for thanks to the news from Afghanistan, and China – where we had also been doing well²⁶ – the army was in fashion more than usual. The more senior officers and the mamas claimed me, which left Elspeth to the young blades. This delighted her, of course, and pleased me – I wasn’t jealous, and indeed took satisfaction in seeing them clustering like flies round a jampot which they could watch but couldn’t taste. She knew a good many of them, and I learned that during my absence in India quite a few of the young sparks had squired her in the Park or ridden in the Row with her – which was natural enough, she being an army wife. But I just kept an eye open, all the same, and cold-shouldered one or two when they came too close – there was one in particular, a young Life Guards captain called Watney, who was often at the house, and was her riding partner twice in the week; he was a tall, curly-lipped exquisite with a lazy eye, who made himself very easy at home until I gave him the about-turn.

      “I can attend Mrs Flashman very well, thank’ee,” says I.

      “None better,” says he, “I’m sure. I had only hoped that you might relinquish her for a half-hour or so.”

      “Not for a minute,” says I.

      “Oh, СКАЧАТЬ