Flashman’s Lady. George Fraser MacDonald
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giving the journal her sly smile. ‘He has not directed his inquiries to you as yet? Well, well, all in good time, no doubt.’ And she went on reading cool as be-d----d, while my heart went like a hammer.
‘What the h--l are you driving at?’ says I, and when she didn’t answer I lost my temper and knocked the paper from her hand.
‘Ah, that’s my little man!’ says she, and now she was looking at me, sneering in scornful pleasure. ‘Are you going to strike me, as well? You’d best not – there are people within call, and it would never do for them to see the hero of Kabul assaulting a lady, would it?’
‘Not “lady”!’ says I. ‘Slut’s the word.’
‘It’s what the Duke called Mrs Lade, they tell me,’ says she, and rose gracefully to her feet, picking up her parasol and spreading it. ‘You mean you haven’t heard? You will, though, soon enough.’
‘I’ll hear it now!’ says I, and gripped her arm. ‘By G-d, if you or anyone else is spreading slanders about me, you’ll answer for it! I’ve nothing to do with Mrs Lade or the Duke, d’you hear?’
‘No?’ She looked me up and down with her crooked smile and suddenly jerked her arm free. ‘Then Mrs Lade must be a liar – which I daresay she is.’
‘What d’you mean? You’ll tell me, this instant, or—’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t deny myself the pleasure,’ says she. ‘I like to see you wriggle and mouth first, though. Well, then – a little bird from the Duke’s hotel tells me that he and Mrs Lade quarrelled violently last night, as I believe they frequently do – his gout, you know. There were raised voices – his, at first, and then hers, and all manner of names called – you know how these things develop, I’m sure. Just a little domestic scene, but I’m afraid Mrs Lade is a stupid woman, because when the talk touched on his grace’s … capabilities – how it did, I can’t imagine – she was ill-advised enough to mention your name, and make unflattering comparisons.’ Miss Judy smiled sweetly, and patted her auburn curls affectedly. ‘She must be singularly easy to please, I think. Not to say foolish, to taunt her admirer so. In any event, his grace was so tender as to be jealous—’
‘It’s a d----d lie! I’ve never been near the b---h!’
‘Ah, well, no doubt she is confusing you with someone else. It is probably difficult for her to keep tally. However, I daresay his grace believed her; jealous lovers usually think the worst. Of course, we must hope he will forgive her, but his forgiveness won’t include you, I’ll be bound, and—’
‘Shut your lying mouth!’ cries I. ‘It’s all false – if that slattern has been lying about me, or if you are making up this malicious gossip to discredit me, by G-d I’ll make you both wish you’d never been born—’
‘Again, you’re quoting the Duke. A hot-tempered old gentleman, it seems. He spoke – at the top of his voice, according to a guest at the hotel – of setting a prizefighter on to you. It seems he is the backer of some persons called Caunt and the Great Gun – but I don’t know about such things …’
‘Has Elspeth heard this foul slander?’ I shouted.
‘If I thought she would believe it, I would tell her myself,’ says the malicious tart. ‘The sooner she knows what a hound she has married, the better. But she’s stupid enough to worship you – most of the time. Whether she’ll still find you so attractive when the Duke’s pugilists have done with you is another matter.’ She sighed contentedly and turned away up the path. ‘Dear me, you’re shaking, Harry – and you will need a steady hand, you know, for your match with Don Solomon. Everyone is so looking forward to it …’
She left me in a fine state of rage and apprehension, as you can imagine. It almost passed belief that the idiot heifer Lade had boasted to her protector of her bout with me, but some women are stupid enough for anything, especially when tempers are flying – and now that doddering, vindictive old pander of a Duke would sick his bullies onto me11 – on top of Tighe’s threats of the previous evening it was the wrong side of enough. Couldn’t the selfish old lecher realise that his flashtail needed a young mount from time to time, to keep her in running condition? But here I was, under clouds from all directions, still undecided what I should do in my match with Solomon – and at that moment Mynn hove up to bear me away to the pitch for the great encounter. I wasn’t feeling like cricket one little bit.
Our party, and a fair number of local quality riff-raff, were already arranging themselves on chairs and couches set on the gravel before the house – the Duke and Mrs Lade weren’t there, thank G-d: probably still flinging furniture at each other in the hotel – but Elspeth was the centre of attraction, with Judy at her side looking as though she’d just swallowed the last of the cream. Tattling trollop – I gritted my teeth and vowed I’d be even with her yet.
On the other sides of the lawn was the popular mob, for Solomon had thrown open his grounds for the occasion, and had set up a marquee where free beer and refreshments were being doled out to the thirsty; well, if the d----d show-off wanted to let ’em see him being thoroughly beat, that was his business. Oh, Ch---t, though – was I going to beat him? And to compound my confusion, what should I see among a group of flash coves under the trees but the scarlet weskit and face of Daedalus Tighe, Heskwire, come to oversee his great coup, no doubt; he had some likely-looking hard-cases with him, too, all punishing the ale and chortling.
‘Breakfast disagree with you, Flashy?’ says Mynn. ‘You look a mite peaky – hollo, though, there’s your opponent all ready. Come along.’
Solomon was already on the lawn, very business-like in corduroys and pumps, with a straw hat on his black head, smiling at me and shaking hands while the swells clapped politely and the popular crowd shouted and rattled their pots. I stripped off my coat and donned my pumps, and then little Felix spun the bat; I called ‘blade’, and so it was. ‘Very good,’ says I to Solomon, ‘you’ll bat first.’
‘Capital!’ cries he, with a flash of teeth. ‘Then may the better man win!’
‘He will,’ says I, and called for the ball, while Solomon, rot his impudence, went across to Elspeth and made great play of having her wish him luck; he even had the gall to ask her for her handkerchief to tie in his belt – ‘for I must carry the lady’s colours, you know,’ cries he, making a great joke of it.
Of course she obliged him, and then, catching my glare, fluttered that of course I must carry her colours, too, to show no favouritism. But she hadn’t another wipe, so the minx Judy said she must borrow hers to give me – and I finished up with that sly slut’s snot-rag in my belt, and she sitting with her acid tongue in her cheek.
We went out to the wicket together, and Felix gave Solomon guard; he took his time over it, too, patting his blockhole and feeling the pitch before him, very business-like, while I fretted and swung my arm. It was spongy turf, I realised, so I wasn’t going to get much play out of it – no doubt Solomon had taken that into account, too. Much good might it do him.
‘Play!’ calls Felix, and a hush fell round the lawn, everyone expectant for the first ball. I tightened my belt, while Solomon waited in his turn, and then let him have one of my hardest – I’ll swear he went pale as it shot past his shins and went first bounce into the bushes. The mob cheered, and I turned and bowled again.
He wasn’t a bad batter. He blocked my next ball with his hanging guard, played the third straight back to me, and then got a great cheer when he ran two off the fourth. Hollo, thinks I, what have we here? I gave him a slower ball, and he pulled it into the trees, so that I had to plough through the chattering mob to reach it, while he ran five; I was panting and furious when I got back to the crease, but I held myself in and gave him a snorter, dead straight; he went back, and pushed it to his off-side for a single. The crowd yelled with delight, and I ground my teeth.
I was beginning to realise what a desperate business single-wicket can be when you haven’t got fieldsmen, and have to chase every run yourself. You’re tuckered in no time,