Flashman at the Charge fp-4 Read online

  "Yaas," says he. "I may call," with a look at me that said he would never dream of setting foot in any hovel of mine. "In the meantime, my dear, I shall wook to see you widing hereabouts. Haw-haw. I dewight to see a female who wides so gwacefully. Decidedwy you must come to Deene. Haw-haw." He took off his hat to her, bowing from the waist—and a Polish hussar couldn't have done it better, damn him. "Good day to you, Mrs Fwashman." He gave me the merest nod, and cantered off up the Ride, cool as you please.

  "Is he not wonderfully condescending, Harry? Such elegant manners—but of course, it is natural in one of such noble breeding. I am sure if you spoke to him, my dear, he would be ready to give the most earnest consideration to finding a place for you—he is so kind, despite his high station. Why, he has promised me almost any favour I care to ask—Harry, whatever is the matter? Why are you swearing—oh, my love, no, people will hear! Oh!"

  Of course, swearing and prosing were both lost on Elspeth; when I had vented my bile against Cardigan I tried to point out to her the folly of accepting, but she took this as mere jealousy on my part—not jealousy of a sexual kind, mark you, but supposedly rooted in the fact that here she was climbing in the social world, spooned over by peers, while I was labouring humbly in an office like any Cratchit, and could not abide to see her ascending so far above me. She even reminded me that she was a baron's daughter, at which I ground my teeth and hurled a boot through our bedroom window, she burst into tears, and ran from the room to take refuge in a broom cupboard, whence she refused to budge while I hammered on the panels. She was terrified of my brutal ways, she said, and feared for her life, so I had to go through the charade of forcing open the door and rogering her in the cupboard before peace was restored. (This was what she had wanted since the quarrel began, you see; very curious and wearing our domestic situation was, but strangely enjoyable, too, as I look back on it. I remember how I carried her to the bedroom afterwards, she nibbling at my ear with her arms round my neck, and at the sight of the broken window we collapsed giggling and kissing on the floor. Aye, married bliss. And like the fool I was I clean forgot to forbid her to talk to Cardigan again.)

  But in the next few days I had other things to distract me from Elspeth's nonsense; my jape in the pool-room with the little greenhorn came home to roost, and in the most unexpected way. I received a summons from my Lord Raglan, of all people.

  You will know all about him, no doubt. He was the ass who presided over the mess we made in the Crimea, and won deathless fame as the man who murdered the Light Brigade. He should have been a parson, or an Oxford don, or a waiter, for he was the kindliest, softest-voiced old stick who ever spared a fellow-creature's feelings—that was what was wrong with him, that he couldn't for the life of him say an unkind word, or set anyone down. And this was the man who was the heir to Wellington—as I sat in his office, looking across at his kindly old face, with its rumpled white hair and long nose, and found my eyes straying to the empty right sleeve tucked into his breast, he looked so pathetic and frail, I shuddered inwardly. Thank God, thinks I, that I won't be in this chap's campaign.

  They had just made him Commander-in-Chief, after years spent bumbling about on the Board of Ordnance, and he was supposed to be taking matters in hand for the coming conflict. So you may guess that the matter on which he had sent for me was one of the gravest national import—Prince Albert, our saintly Bertie the Beauty, wanted a new aide-de-camp, or equerry, or toadeater-extraordinary, and nothing would do but our new Commander must set all else aside to see the thing was done properly.

  Mark you, I'd no time to waste marvelling over the fatuousness of this kind of mismanagement; it was nothing new in our army, anyway, and still isn't, from all I can see. Ask any commander to choose between toiling over the ammunition returns for a division fighting for its life, and taking the King's dog for a walk, and he'll be out there in a trice, bawling "Heel, Fido!" No, I was too much knocked aback to learn that I, Captain Harry Flashman, former Cherrypicker and erstwhile hero of the country, of no great social consequence and no enormous means or influence, should even be considered to breathe the lordly air of the court. Oh, I had my fighting reputation, but what's that, when London is bursting with pink-cheeked viscounts with cleft palates and long pedigrees? My great-great-great-grandpapa wasn't even a duke's bastard, so far as I know.

  Raglan approached the thing in his usual roundabout way, by going through a personal history which his minions must have put together for him.

  "I see you are thirty-one years old, Flashman," says he. "Well, well, I had thought you older—why, you must have been only—yes, nineteen, when you won your spurs at Kabul. Dear me! So young. And since then you have served in India, against the Sikhs, but have been on half-pay these six years, more or less. In that time, I believe, you have travelled widely?"

  Usually at high speed, thinks I, and not in circumstances I'd care to tell your lordship about. Aloud I confessed to acquaintance with France, Germany, the United States, Madagascar, West Africa, and the East Indies.

  "And I see you have languages—excellent French, German. Hindoostanee, Persian—bless my soul!—and Pushtu. Thanks of Parliament in '42, Queen's Medal—well, well, these are quite singular accomplishments, you know." And he laughed in his easy way. "And apart from Company service, you were formerly, as I apprehend, of the 11th Hussars. Under Lord Cardigan. A-ha. Well, now, Flashman, tell me, what took you to the Board of Ordnance?"

  I was ready for that one, and spun him a tale about improving my military education, because no field officer could know too much, and so on, and so on …

  "Yes, that is very true, and I commend it in you. But you know, Flashman, while I never dissuade a young man from studying all aspects of his profession—which indeed, my own mentor, the Great Duke, impressed on us, his young men, as most necessary—still, I wonder if the Ordnance Board is really for you." And he looked knowing and quizzical, like someone smiling with a mouthful of salts. His voice took on a deprecatory whisper. "Oh, it is very well, but come, my boy, it cannot but seem—well, beneath, a little beneath, I think, a man whose career has been as, yes, brilliant as your own. I say nothing against the Ordnance—why, I was Master-General for many years—but for a young blade, well-connected, highly regarded …?" He wrinkled his nose at me. "Is it not like a charger pulling a cart? Of course it is. Manufacturers and clerks may be admirably suited to deal with barrels and locks and rivets and, oh, dimensions, and what not, but it is all so mechanical, don't you agree?"

  Why couldn't the old fool mind his own business? I could see where this was leading—back to active service and being blown to bits in Turkey, devil a doubt. But who contradicts a Commander-in-Chief?

  "I think it a most happy chance," he went on, "that only yesterday his Royal Highness Prince Albert"—he said it with reverence—"confided to me the task of finding a young officer for a post of considerable delicacy and importance. He must, of course, be well-born—your mother was Lady Alicia Paget, was she not? I remember the great pleasure I had in dancing with her, oh, how many years ago? Well, well, it is no matter. A quadrille, I fancy. however, station alone is not sufficient in this case, or I confess I should have looked to the Guards." Well, that was candid, damn him. "The officer selected must also have shown himself resourceful, valiant, and experienced in camp and battle. That is essential. He must be young, of equable disposition and good education, unblemished, I need not say, in personal reputation"—God knows how he'd come to pick on me, thinks I, but he went on: "- and yet a man who knows his world. But above all—what our good old Duke would call 'a man of his hands'." He beamed at me. "I believe your name must have occurred to me at once, had His Highness not mentioned it first. It seems our gracious Queen had recollected you to him." Well, well, thinks I, little Vicky remembers my whiskers after all these years. I recalled how she had mooned tearfully at me when she pinned my medal on, back in '42—they're all alike you know, can't resist a dashing boy with big shoulders and a trot-along look in his e
ye.

  "So I may now confide in you," he went on, "what this most important duty consists in. You have not heard, I dare say, of Prince William of Celle? He is one of Her Majesty's European cousins, who has been visiting here some time, incognito, studying our English ways preparatory to pursuing a military career in the British Army. It is his family's wish that when our forces go overseas—as soon they must, I believe—he shall accompany us, as a member of my staff. But while he will be under my personal eye, as it were, it is most necessary that he should be in the immediate care of the kind of officer I have mentioned—one who will guide his youthful footsteps, guard his person, shield him from temptation, further his military education, and supervise his physical and spiritual welfare in every way." Raglan smiled. "He is very young, and a most amiable prince in every way; he will require a firm and friendly hand from one who can win the trust and respect of an ardent and developing nature. Well, Flashman, I have no doubt that between us we can make something of him. Do you not agree?"

  By God, you've come to the right shop, thinks I. Flashy and Co., wholesale moralists, ardent and developing natures supervised, spiritual instruction guaranteed, prayers and laundry two bob extra. How the deuce had they picked on me? The Queen, of course, but did Raglan know what kind of a fellow they had alighted on? Granted I was a hero, but I'd thought my randying about and boozing and general loose living were well known—by George, he must know! Maybe, secretly, he thought that was a qualification—I'm not sure he wasn't right. But the main point was, all my splendid schemes for avoiding shot and shell were out of court again; it was me for the staff, playing nursemaid to some little German pimp in the wilds of Turkey. Of all the hellish bad luck.

  But of course I sat there jerking like a puppet, grinning foolishly—what else was there to do?

  "I think we may congratulate ourselves," the old idiot went on, "and tomorrow I shall take you to the Palace to meet your new charge. I congratulate you, Captain, and"—he shook my hand with a noble smile—"I know you will be worthy of the trust imposed on you now, as you have been in the past. Good day to you, my dear sir. And now," I heard him say to his secretary as I bowed myself out, "there is this wretched war business. I suppose there is no word yet whether it has begun? Well, I do wish they would make up their minds."

  You have already guessed, no doubt, the shock that was in store for me at the Palace next day. Raglan took me along, we went through the rigmarole of flunkeys with brushes that I remembered from my previous visit with Wellington, and we were ushered into a study where Prince Albert was waiting for us. There was a reverend creature and a couple of the usual court clowns in morning dress looking austere in the background—and there, at Albert's right hand, stood my little greenhorn of the billiard hall. The sight hit me like a ball in the leg—for a moment I stood stock still while I gaped at the lad and he gaped at me, but then he recovered, and so did I, and as I made my deep bow at Raglan's side I found myself wondering: have they got that blacking off his arse yet?

  I was aware that Albert was speaking, in that heavy, German voice; he was still the cold, well-washed exquisite I had first met twelve years ago, with those frightful whiskers that looked as though someone had tried to pluck them and left off half-way through. He was addressing me, and indicating a side-table on which a shapeless black object was lying.

  "'hat do you 'hink of the new hett for the Guards, Captain Flash-mann?" says he.

  I knew it, of course; the funny papers had been full of it, and mocking H.R.H., who had invented it. He was always inflicting monstrosities of his own creation on the troops, which Horse Guards had to tell him tactfully were not quite what was needed. I looked at this latest device, a hideous forage cap with long flaps,7 and said I was sure it must prove admirably serviceable, and have a very smart appearance, too. Capital, first-rate, couldn't be better, God knows how someone hadn't thought of it before.

  He nodded smugly, and then says: "I un-erstend you were at Rugby School, Captain? Ah, but wait—a captain? That will hardly do, I think. A colonel, no?" And he looked at Raglan, who said the same notion had occurred to him. Well, thinks I, if that's how promotion goes, I'm all for it.

  "At Rugby School," repeated Albert. "That is a great English school, Willy," says he to the greenhorn, "of the kind which turns younk boys like yourself into menn like Colonel Flash-mann here." Well, true enough, I'd found it a fair mixture of jail and knocking-shop; I stood there trying to look like a chap who says his prayers in a cold bath every day.

  "Colonel Flash-mann is a famous soldier in England, Willy; although he is quite younk, he has vun—won—laurelss for brafery in India. You see? Well, he will be your friend and teacher, Willy; you are to mind all that he says, and obey him punctually and willingly, ass a soldier should. O-bedience is the first rule of an army, Willy, you understand?"

  The lad spoke for the first time, darting a nervous look at me. "Yes, uncle Albert."

  "Ver-ry good, then. You may shake hands with Colonel Flash-mann."

  The lad came forward hesitantly, and held out his hand. "How do you do?" says he, and you could tell he had only lately learned the phrase.

  "You address Colonel Flash-mann, as 'sir', Willy," says Albert. "He is your superior officer."

  The kid blushed, and for the life of me I can't think how I had the nerve to say it, with a stiff-neck like Albert, but the favour I won with this boy was going to be important, after all—you can't have too many princely friends—and I thought a Flashy touch was in order. So I said:

  "With your highness's permission, I think 'Harry' will do when we're off parade. Hullo, youngster."

  The boy looked startled, and then smiled, the court clowns started to look outraged, Albert looked puzzled, but then he smiled, too, and Raglan hum-hummed approvingly. Albert said:

  "There, now, Willy, you have an English comrade. You see? Very goot. You will find there are none better. And now, you will go with—with 'Harry"'—he gave a puffy smile, and the court clowns purred toadily,—"and he will instruct you in your duties."

  I've been about courts a good deal in my misspent career, and by and large I bar royalty pretty strong. They may be harmless enough folk in themselves, but they attract a desperate gang of placemen and hangers-on, and in my experience, the closer you get to the throne, the nearer you may finish up to the firing-line. Why, I've been a Prince Consort myself, and had half the cutthroats of Europe trying to assassinate me,*(* See Royal Flash) and in my humbler capacities—as chief of staff to a White Rajah, military adviser and chief stud to that black she-devil Ranavalona, and irregular emissary to the court of King Gezo of Dahomey, long may he rot—I've usually been lucky to come away with a well-scarred skin. And my occasional attachments to the Court of St James's have been no exception; nurse-maiding little Willy was really the most harrowing job of the lot.

  Mind you, the lad was amiable enough in himself, and he took to me from the first.

  "You are a brick," he told me as soon as we were alone. "Is that not the word? When I saw you today, I was sure you would tell them of the billiard place, and I would be disgraced. But you said nothing—that was to be a true friend."

  "Least said, soonest mended," says I. "But whatever did you run away for that night?—why, I'd have seen you home right enough. We couldn't think what had become of you."

  "I do not know myself," says he. "I know that some ruffians set upon me in a dark place, and … stole some of my clothes." He blushed crimson, and burst out: "I resisted them fiercely, but they were too many for me! And then the police came, and Dr Winter had to be sent for, and—oh! there was such a fuss! But you were right—he was too fearful of his own situation to inform on me to their highnesses. However, I think it is by his insistence that a special guardian has been appointed for me." He gave me his shy, happy smile. "What luck that it should be you!"

  Lucky, is it, thinks I, we'll see about that. We'd be off to the war, if ever the damned thing got started—but when I thought about it, it stood to reas
on they wouldn't risk Little Willy's precious royal skin very far, and his bear-leader should be safe enough, too. All I said was:

  "Well, I think Dr Winter's right; you need somebody and a half to look after you, for you ain't safe on your own hook. So look'ee here—I'm an easy chap, as anyone'll tell you, but I'll stand no shines, d'ye see? Do as I tell you, and we'll do famously, and have good fun, too. But no sliding off on your own again—or you'll find I'm no Dr Winter. Well?"

  "Very well, sir—Harry," says he, prompt enough, but for all his nursery look, I'll swear he had a glitter in his eye.

  We started off on the right foot, with a very pleasant round of tailors and gunsmiths and bootmakers and the rest, for the child hadn't a stick or stitch for a soldier, and I aimed to see him—and myself—bang up to the nines. The luxury of being toadied through all the best shops, and referring the bills to Her Majesty, was one I wasn't accustomed to, and you may believe I made the most of it. At my tactful suggestion to Raglan, we were both gazetted in the 17th, who were lancers—no great style as a regiment, perhaps, but I knew it would make Cardigan gnash his elderly teeth when he heard of it, and I'd been a lancer myself in my Indian days. Also, to my eye it was the flashiest rigout in the whole light cavalry, all blue and gold—the darker the better, when you've got the figure for it, which of course I had.

  Anyway, young Willy clapped his hands when he saw himself in full fig, and ordered another four like it—no one spends like visiting royalty, you know. Then he had to be horsed, and armed, and given lashings of civilian rig, and found servants, and camp gear—and I spent a whole day on that alone. If we were going campaigning, I meant to make certain we did it with every conceivable luxury—wine at a sovereign the dozen, cigars at ten guineas the pound, preserved foods of the best, tip-top linen, quality spirits by the gallon, and all the rest of the stuff that you need if you're going to fight a war properly. Last of all I insisted on a lead box of biscuits—and Willy cried out with laughter.