Mr. American Read online

  Mr Franklin admitted it, and introduced himself.

  'American, eh? Well, well, now.' The old gentleman drew himself up and looked Mr Franklin over with interest. 'Where from? Nebraska, eh? My stars, how long is it since I was in Omaha? Thirty-odd years, anyway. Changed, I expect. Know Kansas, do you? No?' The old man chuckled and shook his head, fingering his flowing whiskers. 'I was a deputy marshal there, in Abilene, years ago. Before you were born. What d'ye think of that? And it was a dam' sight quieter,' he went on, transferring his attention to the two talkers, than some drawingrooms I could mention. Can't even conduct a private conversation without some jack-in-office stopping your ears with drivel.' He peered malevolently. 'Fisher and young Churchill, eh? Oh, God help the nation. Come in here, sir - Franklin, did you say? Come on!' And the old gentleman gestured impatiently and stood aside to admit the American to the space behind the screen. 'Company at this end of the house is a dam' sight more entertaining than those two bores - dam' sight better-looking, too. My dear, may I present Mr Franklin, of Nebraska, U.S.A. - my great-niece, Lady Helen Cessford.'

  To Mr Franklin's surprise, there was a lady sitting on a chaise-longue beside the window; she glanced up with a cool smile, and then stared; Mr Franklin, in the act of bowing, stopped and stared also. The old gentleman, his glittering, blood-shot eye darting from one to other of them, cocked his head.

  'Met before, have you?'

  Mr Franklin hesitated. He would have recognised that face anywhere, with its broad white brow and proud lines; the rather long nose and generous mouth, the imperious hazel eyes appraising him coldly. The last time - indeed, the only time - he had met their owner, she had been selling a suffragette magazine outside the Waldorf Hotel, and doing her best to get arrested. And now, here she was, in the King's drawing-room. He was wondering what to say when the lady solved the problem for him.

  'We have met, but not formally,' she said. 'How do you do, Mr Franklin?' She did not extend a hand.

  'Lady Helen.' Mr Franklin completed his bow. 'Yes - we met ... at the Waldorf Hotel, I think it was.'

  'Aha,' said the old gentleman, and Mr Franklin became conscious that he was watching them with some amusement. 'Didn't know you behaved informally in hotels so far from the West End, Button.'

  His grand-niece looked calmly at Mr. Franklin. 'It was a very brief, chance meeting. On the pavement. I was selling our newspaper.'

  'Oh, that rag!' The old gentleman lowered himself ponderously into his chair and waved Mr Franklin to a seat. 'Hope you didn't buy one, my boy.'

  'I was willing to,' said Mr Franklin, 'but Lady Helen insisted on giving them away.'

  The tiniest flush appeared on Lady Helen's cheek, but she said nothing. The old gentleman, who was obviously mentally alert beyond his years, and had a fine nose for mischief, stroked his whiskers and said: 'Well, come on, then - don't keep a fellah in suspense. What happened?'

  Lady Helen gave him a look, and sighed impatiently. 'Must you, uncle? Very well - if we don't tell you, and satisfy your horrid curiosity, you'll only imagine something worse - and probably spread it all over the place. Since you must know, Mr Franklin was impertinent, and I slapped his face. There now, will that do?'

  'First-rate!' exclaimed the old gentleman. 'And then?'

  'Then a policeman tried to arrest me, and Mr Franklin stopped him.'

  'Did he, by gad? That was handsome of him! Good for you, Franklin! Then what happened?'

  'Nothing. I left, and - '

  'Nothing?' The old gentleman gazed at Mr Franklin. 'You mean you didn't take her to dinner? Good God;'

  'I'm afraid I didn't get the chance.'

  'She was there, wasn't she? Heavens, man, one makes the chance! I don't know what's wrong with you young folk! And you, Button - , the old gentleman grinned wickedly at his great-niece ' - why didn't you get yourself arrested, eh? That's what you were after, wasn't it? Didn't you have your handcuffs with you, then? If you'd had your wits about you, you could have shackled yourself to his ankle, and both been carted off to Holloway together!' He leaned back, chuckling to himself, glinting beneath his great brows.

  'Great-uncle Harry has such a lively sense of humour,' said Lady Helen. 'And of course he finds our movement ever so funny. But then, most men do.'

  'Well, of course I find it funny! Dam' ridiculous. Votes for women!' The old gentleman snorted. 'If you'd any sense you'd campaign to have the vote taken away from men - I'd smash a few windows myself if I thought it would keep clowns like Asquith out of Parliament. Anyway, young Button - who bailed you out last time, eh? Wasn't Daddy, was it? No, nor Mr Keir Hardie nor Mr Bernard Shaw! It was odious old Uncle Harry, and don't you forget it.'

  'You know very well I shan't,' said Lady Helen, and to Mr Franklin's surprise she gave her ancient relative a look that was almost affectionate. Strangely, it did not add to her charm, he thought; that handsome, haughty profile was at its best unsmiling. Uncle Harry leaned forward to pat her on the knee. 'I'd bail the whole blasted lot out if they were as pretty as you,' he said. 'But they ain't. Set of ugly old trots. What'd d'you say, Franklin? You approve of votes for our fair sex - give 'em an equal say with men in the running of the country?'

  Mr Franklin smiled and shook his head. 'I'd rather not be drawn into any arguments, sir, if you don't mind. The last one didn't end too happily, and if I may I'd like to take this opportunity of apologising to - '

  Lady Helen rose abruptly to her feet. 'If you will excuse me. I think tea is about to be served.' There were sounds of other voices from beyond the screen, and a tinkle of cutlery. With two graceful steps Lady Helen disappeared round the screen, and Uncle Harry shook his great head reproachfully at Mr Franklin.

  'You don't know much, do you? Never apologise to 'em in public. Especially when they're like Helen - proud as Lucifer and dam' contrary. She'll make some poor devil the deuce of a wife one of these days. Fine gal, mind you, dam' fine. Reminds me of a female I knew in Russia - oh, years ago, in the Crimea. Sara, her name was. Partial to steam-baths. Got me into no end of bother. Button - Helen - is like that, too. Born to trouble as the sparks fly upward. Got her head full of this suffragette nonsense - well, I don't care, women are as fit to vote as men, any day, for my money. That's why I bailed her out - because she's got ten times the spirit of these other mealy little nursery tarts. Cost me my membership of the United Service Club, bailing her out did.' He glared resentfully. 'Not that I cared a dam about that - place had gone ,down scandalously of late ... well, dammit, the King's a member, and you can't say much worse than that, can you? They'll be letting in nigger clergymen next.' Uncle Harry tugged his whiskers and mused on the enormity of life. 'But it won't do Button any good, you see, all this votes-for-women stuff. Get her a bad name; not acceptable. Well, it's bad enough for the chit that she's related to me, but if she chains herself to many more railings, or chucks acid in pillar-boxes, she'll find herself out in the cold. Bloody nonsense!'

  Mr Franklin prepared to rise, but Uncle Harry forestalled him with an admonitory finger.

  'Mind you, I don't think any the less of her for it, and if I haven't boozed all my fortune away by the time I kick the bucket, she'll get her share. Any woman with a figure like that deserves well, although I'm her own grand-uncle that says it. Mind you, they're hell, these good-looking gals with strong characters; you must watch out for them. Take your own country,' he went on, settling himself comfortably. 'American women are the frozen limit. I remember one - black gal, she was ... escaped slave, can't think of her name offhand ... deuce of a dance she led me. Beautiful, but with a will of iron. I got shot in the backside over her, which goes to show you. And there was another I knew, out West - your neck of the woods, perhaps - Powder River country, in '76 - half-Sioux, half-Frog - damme, looked like a woodland nymph, but she saved my life at Greasy Grass .. .

  Mr Franklin was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable. From the sounds now coming from beyond the screen, he guessed that afternoon tea was being served; there was a hum
of polite voices, and he thought he could make out the King's deep rumble among them. It would be politic to join the party; on the other hand, he hesitated. to

  emerge in the company of this astonishing old eccentric, whose views about his host, for one thing, made it seem amazing that he had been invited to Sandringham at all. But it might be equally embarrassing to stay where he was; Uncle Harry's voice was no dulcet instrument, and sooner or later it seemed likely that his presence, and Mr Franklin's, behind the screen, would become known. Should he just get up and go in alone ... ?

  'Mind you, it's our own fault entirely. Take you and Button - I don't suppose your impertinence to her amounted to anything beyond a very proper refusal to buy her awful magazine - oh, and no doubt you forgot to lick her boots, too - she thinks she's God Almighty's aunt, does Button, bless her. But from the sound of it she could have got you hauled off by the bogies ... well, there you are. What's the matter?' He broke off to glare at Mr Franklin.

  'I believe they're having tea,' said Mr Franklin. 'Perhaps we should - '

  'Let 'em! To hell with 'em!' was the rejoinder. 'You don't want to go out there, surely? You'll have to talk to that bounder Bertie - ' Mr Franklin winced at this indiscreetly loud reference to his majesty ' -and eat their vile sandwiches, and stand around like Lord Fauntleroy. Ghastly!' Uncle Harry shuddered at the thought. 'Is the Keppel wench there? Fine buttocks she's got. But - tea! I'm eighty-eight next May, and I attribute my longevity to an almost total abstinence from tea. Except the jasmine variety - used to drink that out East . . . there were two little Chink lassies in Singapore, I remember. ..' he shook his head, leering reminiscently, '. . . and they used to serve jasmine tea afterwards - what, you're going? Well, if anyone asks for me, tell 'em I'm asleep, will you? When you're my age, it's reckoned excusable. Take a pinch at Keppel for me.' And with a wink of pure evil, Uncle Harry laid his ravaged head back and closed his eyes.

  Mr Franklin made his escape as unostentatiously as possible; fortunately all the guests had assembled, and there were enough people in the room for him to mingle without being noticed. The King and Admiral Fisher were by the fireplace, talking; the Queen, on a sofa nearby, was laughing animatedly with Mrs Keppel, among others; there was Soveral, with Churchill, and there were about a dozen others, ladies and gentlemen, whom Mr Franklin did not know. The King noticed him and called, 'Ah, Franklin, glad to see you. Come here.' So Mr Franklin found himself being introduced to Fisher, who grinned sympathetically and said: 'I see you had the bad luck to catch the eye of our Ancient Mariner - or our Ancient Pistol, I ought to call him. What did you make of him?'

  'He's a remarkable man,' said Mr Franklin cautiously. 'Remarkable bore,' laughed Fisher. 'What did he tell you?' 'Well,' said Mr Franklin, searching for something that would bear

  repetition, 'he did mention that he had been a peace officer in an American cattle-town, but I wasn't entirely sure whether I should believe him.'

  'Oh, that's true enough,' said Fisher. 'Anything he tells you is liable to be true - and the unlikelier it sounds the more true it probably is. He's been everywhere, done everything - amazing old bird.'

  'Who's that, Jackie?' asked the King.

  'General Flashman, sir. Mr Franklin has been having the privilege of his conversation.'

  'Oh, God, is he here? Can't stand the fellow.' The King pulled a face of irritation. 'How did he - oh, of course, he would come with the Ivegills.' His majesty glanced round apprehensively. 'Where is he?'

  'Behind that screen, sir,' explained Mr Franklin. 'I'm afraid he ... dropped off.'

  'Well, for heaven's sake don't wake him,' said his majesty. 'The longer he sleeps the better I'll like it.'

  Fisher smiled. 'He's a bit of a penance, but . well, when you've charged with the Light Brigade I suppose you're entitled to bore a bit.' To Mr Franklin he went on: 'He was aide to your President Grant, you know, in the Civil War; fought the Indians, too, with that chap Custer. And served in the Indian Mutiny, Crimea, Zulu War, China, practically everywhere...'

  'Yes, and don't we all know it,' exclaimed the King testily. 'Talk about something more congenial, Jackie.'

  The course of tea-time conversation moved Mr Franklin from group to group; he chatted with the Queen and Soveral, joked about bridge with Mrs Keppel, and finally worked his way to where Lady Helen was presiding at one of the twin silver tea services. She filled his cup, asked how many sugars he took, poured milk, and handed cup and saucer back to him with polite indifference. He stirred his tea and said:

  'I like your great-uncle.'

  She gave him her level look. 'Do you really? You must be extremely patient - but then of course you are, aren't you, Mr Franklin?'

  He shook his head. 'Listening to him doesn't call for any patience. You must be very proud of him, I should think.'

  'Extremely,' said Lady Helen, and at that moment another guest arrived for tea, and Mr Franklin waited until he had gone.

  'What I wanted to say, before,' he began, 'was to apologise for what happened that night outside the hotel. The last thing I wanted to do was to cause you any embarrassment -'

  'You didn't. I'm not easily embarrassed.'

  'I see. But if I caused any offence - '

  'Why should you think that?'

  'Well, it isn't every night I get hit over the ear by a young lady.'

  Just for a moment the hazel eyes avoided his, and then she said: 'You heard what my great-uncle said - he was right, as usual; he understands people very well. I wanted to be arrested, Mr Franklin. As you probably know, it is one of the ploys we use, in our campaign. I'm afraid you were just. ..'she shrugged'. a convenient target. So, you see, it is I who owe you an apology.'

  'I assure you, Lady Helen, that's quite unnecessary. I'm just sorry the slap was wasted - if that's what you wanted. To get arrested, I mean.'

  She took her time about replying, and when she did her voice was cold. 'I can't see that that need concern you, do you know? If you think it's a joke - as most of your sex do, those who don't oppose us with a cruelty that I should have thought was the very negation of what you call manhood - then I have no more to say to you. If you don't - then I have accepted your apology, and given you mine. Either way that would seem to end the matter.'

  'Her hostility puzzled him. Was it, too, part of the 'campaign', he wondered? 'Well,' he said, 'I'm sorry if that's so. But I wasn't treating you as a joke, you know. I merely wanted to apologise, so that ...' He shrugged, silently.

  'So that - what, Mr Franklin?'

  'So that at least we wouldn't be at daggers drawn, I guess. We got off to a pretty poor start, didn't we - policemen, and slaps, and all.' He smiled down at her. 'I'd much rather be friends, wouldn't you?'

  'So that you could flirt over the teacups, perhaps? No, thank you.'

  'Not necessarily. But - would that be such an awful thing?'

  'It would be a waste of time.' Lady Helen turned, smiling brightly, to take a teacup from Soveral, and Mr Franklin moved away reflecting ruefully that General Flashman was undoubtedly right: he didn't know much about women.

  He had enough male vanity, of course, to tell himself that that was not the end of the matter. Some men retire permanently chilled before personalities like Lady Helen Cessford's; others, and Mr Franklin was discovering that he was one of them, merely have their interest piqued; he found himself hoping that she might be placed beside him at dinner, and was disappointed when his partners turned out to be a perfectly charming lady-in-waiting and a most affable Jewish knight whose most striking characteristics were a remarkably hooked nose, a massive black moustache, and a gleaming bald head; his name was Ernest Cassel. Lady Helen was placed near the foot of the table, plainly to keep an eye on her eccentric great-uncle, who had been removed as far from the King as was possible. He sat glittering-eyed, like an elderly and debauched eagle, imbibing heroic quantities of champagne without visible effect, and occasionally making unnerving pronouncements. Over the consomme, he was heard describing, in graphic d
etail, how a Cheyenne Indian squaw who evidently doted on him had taught him the preparation of soup from buffalo blood, which was highly recommended for its rejuvenative powers; again, the arrival of a dish of fried whitebait stirred a reminiscence of a royal banquet in Madagascar at which the behaviour of the female guests had been unconventional to a degree, and might, he hinted, have been copied with advantage by present company, Mrs Keppel in particular.

  Fortunately the talk was so loud and general that his observations did not carry beyond his immediate neighbours; they included the Queen, but she was notoriously deaf.

  To Mr Franklin the most interesting thing about the meal was the contrast with the last dinner he had had with royalty, at Oxton Hall. The constraint and apprehension of that occasion were entirely absent, and he quickly realised why. Here the King was on his home ground; there was no question of hosts and hostesses falling over themselves to please, or communicating their nervousness to him when things went wrong. No wonder the man was irritable when he found himself in a strange house, Mr Franklin mused, knowing that he was being watched anxiously to see if his chair was comfortable, or the soup was too hot, or the table talk too dull. At Sandringham he was completely at ease, content in the company of people he knew and (General Flashman excepted) liked; if he didn't care for the fish he could say so, without having to feel that he was voicing a complaint that would be recalled with shame for a lifetime; everyone knew him and all his foibles, and there would be no gaffes to throw a pall of embarrassment over the company. It was cosy, and happy, and he could enjoy himself in the certainty that his guests were enjoying themselves, too.