Flashman and the Redskins. George Fraser MacDonald
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so there! You’re not workin’ till we get to California, none of you – an’ you’re not flirtin’ private, neither. Well?’
‘Yes, Miz Susie, ma’am,’ very subdued this time.
‘Now, you’re all good gels, I know that. It’s why you’re ’ere.’ Susie smiled as she looked along the line, for all the world like a head mistress at prize-giving. ‘An’ I’m pleased an’ proud of all of you. But none of you’ve been outside Awlins in your lives – yes, Medea, I know you an’ Eugenie bin to ’Avana, but you didn’t get outdoors much, did you? But where you’re goin’ now is very different, an’ I daresay there’ll be trials an’ temptations along the way. Well, you must just bear with ’em an’ resist ’em, an’ I promise you this – when we get to California you’ll ’ave nothin’ but the best gentlemen to accommodate, an’ if you’re good an’ do well, I’ll see each one of you settled comfortable for life, an’ you know I mean it.’ She paused and drew herself up. ‘But any saucy miss that’s wilful or disobedient or won’t be told … I’ll sell ’er down the river quicker than look – an’ you know I mean that, too. Some of you remember Poppaea, do you? – well, that contrary piece is bein’ whipped to hoe cotton on the Tombigbee this very minute, an’ ruin’ the day. So take heed.’
‘Yes, Miz Susie, ma’am,’ in a whisper, with one little sob.
‘Well, we’ll say no more about that … now, don’t cry, Marie – I know you’re a good gel, dear.’ Susie clapped her hands sharply. ‘Into the carriages with you – don’t run, an’ don’t chatter, an’ Brutus’ll see your bags on to the wagon.’
No doubt it was the vision of all that enchanting tail lined up in the hall below that had drawn me through the salon door during Susie’s address; one of the sluts, Aphrodite, I think, a jet-black houri with sinful eyes, had caught sight of me and nudged her neighbour, and they had both looked away and tried not to giggle; it wouldn’t do to draw back, so I sauntered down the stairs and Susie saw me just as she was dismissing them.
‘Wait, gels!’ she beamed and held out a hand to me. ‘You should know – this is your new master … or will be very soon. Make your curtsies to Mister Beauchamp Comber, gels – there, that’s elegant!’ As she passed her arm through mine I nodded offhand and said, ‘Ladies’ as twenty bonneted heads ducked in my direction, and twenty graceful figures bobbed – by George, I daren’t stare or I’d have started to drool. Every colour from ebony and coffee brown to cream and all but pure white – and every size and shape: tall and petite, statuesque and slender, lissom and plump, and all of ’em fit to illustrate the Arabian Nights. They fluttered out, whispering, and Susie squeezed my hand.
‘Ain’t they sweet, though? That’s our fortune, my love.’
One of them lingered a moment, telling Brutus to mind how he carried her parrot’s cage ‘—for he does not like to be shaken, do you, my little pet-pigeon?’ She had a soft Creole accent, well-spoken, and just the way she posed, tapping the cage, and the little limp gesture she made to Brutus, told me that she was showing off for the new boss: she was a creamy high-yaller, all in snowy crinoline, with her bonnet far enough back to show an unusual coiffure, sleek black and parted in the centre; a face like a wayward saint, but with a slow, soft-footed walk to the door that spoke a rare conceit.
‘M’m,’ says Susie. ‘That’s Cleonie – if she ’adn’t turned back I’d ha’ thought she was sickenin’ for somethin’. I may ’ave to think about takin’ the cane to ’er – yet you can’t blame ’er for doin’ wot makes ’er valuable, can you? Know wot she can make for us in a year? – fifteen thousand dollars an’ more – an’ that’s workin’ ’er easy. Now then …’ She pecked me and winked. ‘Let’s be off – we don’t want to keep a very important gentleman waitin’, do we?’
Who that gentleman was I discovered when we boarded the Choctaw Queen at the levee just as dusk was falling – for we’d agreed I must run no risk of being recognised, and that I’d keep out of public view in daylight until we reached Westport. Susie had bespoken the entire texas deck on the steamboat, which was one of the smaller stern-wheelers, and when we’d made our way through the bustling waterfront and its confusion of cargo and passengers milling under the flares (me with my collar well up and my hat pulled down), up the gangway past the saluting conductor, to the texas and its little private saloon – there in the sudden light of chandeliers was a table spread with crystal and silver, and nigger waiters in livery, and a band of fiddlers scraping away, and the big red-faced skipper himself, all consequence and whiskers, bowing over Susie’s hand and clasping mine heartily, while a little clergyman bustled up, solemnly asmirk, and a couple of sober coves behind looked wise and made play with pens and certificates.
‘Well, now, that’s just fine!’ cries the skipper. ‘Welcome ’board, Miz Willinck, ma’am, an’ you too, suh, kindly welcome! All ready, ma’am, as you see – Revn’d Hootkins, an’ heah Mistah Grace, the magistrate, an’ clerk an’ all!’ He waved a great hand, and I realised that the crafty bitch had brought me up to scratch all unawares – she was smiling at me, wide-eyed and eager, and the skipper was clapping my back, and the magistrate inquiring that I was Beauchamp Comber, bachelor of sound mind and good standing, wasn’t that so, while the clerk scribbled away and blotted the page in haste, and had to start again, and we both wrote our names, Susie’s hand shaking as she held the quill – and then we stood side by side while the little sky-pilot fumbled his book and cleared his throat and said shet the doah, there, an’ keep them fiddlers quiet, till we do this thing solemn an’ fittin’, now then … Susan Willinck, widder … an’ Bochump, how you say that? Bee-chum, that a fact? … we bein’ gathered in the sight o’ God an’ these heah witnesses … holy matrimony … procreation, yeah, well … long as ye both shall live … you got the ring, suh? … you hain’t? … lady has the ring, well, that’s a new one, but pass it over to him, anyhow, an’ you, suh, lay a-holt the bride’s hand, that’s it now …
I heard the bells boom over Strackenz Cathedral, and smelt the musk of incense, and felt the weight of the crown jewels and Irma’s hand cold in mine … and then it was Elspeth’s warm and holding firm, with little Abercrombie watching that I didn’t make a bolt for the abbey door, and Morrison’s irritable mutter that if there wisnae suffeeshent carriages for the aunts and cousins they could dam’ weel walk tae the weddin’ breakfast … and I was at the peephole looking down on Ranavalona’s massive black nakedness while her handmaidens administered the ceremonial bath – not that there’d been any wedding ceremonial there, but it had been a ritual preliminary, in its way, to my union with that ghastly nigger monster … Irma’s face turning, icy and proud, her lips barely brushing my cheek … Elspeth glowingly lovely, golden curls under her bridal veil, red lips open under mine … that mad black female gorilla grunting as she flung off her robe and grabbed my essentials … I don’t know what conjured up these visions of my previous nuptials, really; I suppose I’m just a sentimental chap at bottom. And now it was Susie’s plump face upturned to mine, and the fiddlers were striking up while the skipper and magistrate applauded and cried congratulations, the nigger waiters passed the plates with mirthful beams, with corks popping and Susie squealing with laughter as the skipper gallantly claimed the privilege of kissing the bride, and the little clergyman said, well, just a touch o’ the rye, thank’ee, no, nothin’ with it, an’ keep it comin’ …
But what I remember best is not that brief unexpected ceremony, or the obligatory ecstatic thrashings on the bed of our plushy-gilt state-room under the picture of Pan leering down appropriately while fleshy nymphs sported about him, or Susie’s imprisoning embrace as she murmured drowsily: ‘Mrs Comber … Mrs Beauchamp Millward Comber,’ over and over – none of these things. What I remember is slipping out when she was asleep, to stand by the breezy texas rail in the velvet dark and smoke a cheroot, looking out over the oily waters as we ploughed up past Baton Rouge. The great stern wheel was flickering like a magic lantern in the starshine; far over on the east shore were the town lights, and from the main saloon on the boiler deck beneath me came the sound of muffled music and laughter; I paced astern and looked