Flash for Freedom!. George Fraser MacDonald

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      As it turned out, Bentinck was wrong, thank God; the little louse didn’t die, but it was a near-run thing. Apart from a broken nose, his skull was fractured in the fall, and for a couple of days he hung on the edge, with a Bristol horse-leech working like fury to save him from going over. Once he regained consciousness, and had the impertinence to say, ‘Tell Flashman I forgive him with all my heart,’ which cheered me up, because it indicated he was going to live, and wanted to appear a forgiving Christian; if he’d thought he was dying he’d have d----d me to hell and beyond.

      But after that he lost consciousness again, and I went through the tortures of the pit. They had confined me to my room – Locke was a justice of the peace – and kept me there with the muff Duberly sitting outside the door like a blasted water-bailiff. I was in a fearful sweat, for if Bryant kicked the bucket it would be a hanging matter, no error, and at the thought of it I could only lie on my bed and quake. I’d seen men swing, and thought it excellent fun, but the thought of the rope rasping on my neck, and the blind being pulled over my brows, and the fearful plunge and sickening snap and blackness – my God, it had me vomiting in the corner. Well, I’ve had the noose under my chin since then, and waited blubbering for them to launch me off, and even the real thing seems no worse, looking back, than those few days of waiting in that bedroom, with the yellow primroses on the wallpaper, and the blue and red carpet on the floor with little green tigers woven into it, and the print of Harlaxton Manor, near Grantham, Lincolnshire, the seat of one John Longden, Esq., which hung above the bed – I can still recite the whole caption.

      With the thought of the gallows driving everything else from my mind, it was small consolation to learn from Duberly – who seemed to be in a mortal funk himself over the whole business – that there was by no means complete agreement that I had been caught cheating. D’Israeli – he was clever, I’ll say that for him – had sensibly pointed out that a detected cheat wouldn’t have hauled the evidence out of his pocket publicly as soon as he was challenged. He maintained I would have protested, and refused to be searched – he was quite right, of course, but most of the other pious hypocrites disagreed with him, and the general feeling was that I was a fraud and a dangerous maniac who would be well served if I finished up in the prison lime-pit. Whatever happened, it was a hideous scandal; the house had emptied as if by magic next day, Mrs Locke was in a decline, and her husband was apparently only waiting to see how Bryant fared before turning me over to the police.

      I don’t know, even now, what was determined, or who determined it, in those few days, except that old Morrison was obviously up to the neck in it. Whatever happened to Bryant, my political career was obviously over before it had begun; at best I was probably disgraced as a cheat, and liable to sentence for assault – that was if Bryant lived. In any event, I was a liability to Morrison henceforth, and whether he decided to try to get rid of me permanently, or planned simply to get me out of harm’s way for a time, is something on which I’ve never made up my mind. In fact, I don’t suppose he cared above half whether I lived or died, so long as his own interests weren’t harmed.

      He came to see me on the fifth day, and told me that Bryant was out of danger, and I was so relieved that I was almost happy as I listened to him denouncing me for a wastrel, a fornicator, a cheat, a liar, a brute, and all the rest of it – I couldn’t fault a word of it, anyway. When he was done, he plumped down, breathing like a bellows, and says:

      ‘My certie, but ye’re easier oot o’ this than ye deserve. It’s no’ your fault the mark o’ Cain isnae on yer broo this day – a beast, that’s whit ye are, Flashman, a ragin’, evil beast!’ And he mopped his face. ‘Weel, Locke isnae goin’ tae press charges – ye have me tae thank for that – and this fellow Bryant’ll keep mum. Huh! A few hundred’ll tak’ care of him – he’s anither “officer and gentleman” like yersel’. I could buy the lot o’ ye! Jist trash.’ He snarled away under his breath, and shot me a look. ‘But we’ll no’ hush up the scandal, for a’ that. Ye cannae come home – ye’re aware o’ that, I suppose?’

      I didn’t argue; I couldn’t, but I was ill-advised enough to mutter something about Elspeth, and for a moment I thought he would strike me. His face went purple, and his teeth chattered.

      ‘Mention her name tae me again – jist once again, and as Goad’s my witness I’ll see ye transported for this week’s work! Ye’ll rue the day ye ever set eyes on her – aye, as I have done, most bitterly. Goad alone knows what I and mine have done tae be punished by … you!’

      Well, at least he didn’t pray over me, like Arnold; he was a different kind of hypocrite, was Morrison, and as a man of business he didn’t waste overmuch holy vituperation before getting down to cases.

      ‘Ye’ll be best oot o’ England for a spell, until this d---able business has blown by – if it ever does. Your fine relatives can mak’ your peace wi’ the Horse Guards – this kind o’ scandal’ll be naethin’ new there, I daresay. For the rest, I’ve been at work tae arrange matters – and whether ye like it or not, my buckie, ye’ll jump as I whistle. D’ye see?’

      ‘I suppose I’ve no choice,’ says I, and then, deciding it would be politic to grovel to the old b-----d, I added: ‘Believe me, sir, I feel nothing but gratitude for what you are doing, and –’

      ‘Hold your tongue,’ says he. ‘Ye’re a liar. There’s no more tae be said. Now, ye’ll pack yer valise, and go at once tae Poole, and there take a room at the “Admiral” and wait until ye hear from me. Not a word to a soul, and never stir out – or ye’ll find my protection and Locke’s is withdrawn, and that’ll be a felon’s cell for ye, and beggary tae follow. There’s money,’ says he, and dropping a purse on the table he turned on his heel and stamped out.

      I made no protest; he had me by the neck, and I didn’t waste time reflecting on the eagerness with which my relatives and friends have always striven to banish me from England whenever opportunity offered – my own father, Lord Cardigan, and now old Morrison. They could never get shot of me fast enough. And, as on previous occasions, there was no room for argument; I would just have to go, and see what the Lord and John Morrison provided.

      I slipped away from the house at noon, and was in Poole by nightfall. And there I waited a whole week, fretting at first, but gradually getting my spirits back. At least I was free, when I might have been going to the condemned hold; whatever lay in front of me, I’d come back to England eventually – СКАЧАТЬ