George Fraser - Flash for Freedom!

In the meantime, the first evening at Cleeve was quite as much fun as a Methodist service. Of course, all Tory gatherings are the same, and Locke had assembled as choice a collection of know-all prigs as you could look for. Bentinck I didn’t mind, because he had some game in him and knew more about the turf than anyone I ever met, but he had in tow the cocky little sheeny D’Israeli, whom I never could stomach. He was pathetic, really, trying to behave like the Young Idea when he was well into greasy middle age, with his lovelock and fancy vest, like a Punjabi whoremaster. They were saying then that he had spent longer ‘arriving’ at Westminster than a one-legged Irish peer with the gout; well, he ‘arrived’ in the end, as we know, and if I’d been able to read the future I might have toadied him a good deal more, I daresay. 7

Locke, our host, introduced us as we were going in to dinner, and I made political small talk, as old Morrison had told me I should.

‘Bad work for your lot in the Lords, hey?’ says I, and he lowered his lids at me in that smart-affected way he had. ‘You know,’ says I, ‘the Jewish Bill getting thrown out. Bellows to mend in Whitechapel, what? Bad luck all round,’ I went on, ‘what with Shylock running second at Epsom, too. I had twenty quid on him myself.’ 8

I heard Locke mutter ‘Good God’, but friend Codlingsby just put back his head and looked at me thoughtfully. ‘Indeed,’ says he. ‘How remarkable. And you aspire to politics, Mr Flashman?’

‘That’s my ticket,’ says I.

‘Truly remarkable,’ says he. ‘Do you know, I shall watch your career with bated breath.’ And then Locke mumbled him away, and I pounced on Miss Fanny and took her in to dinner.

Of course, it was all politics at table, but I was too engaged with Fanny to pay much heed. When the ladies had gone and we’d all moved up, I heard more, but it didn’t stick. I remember they were berating Russell’s idleness, and the government’s extravagance, on which D’Israeli made one of those sallies which you could see had been well polished beforehand.

‘Lord John must not be underestimated,’ says he. ‘He understands the first principle, that the great strength of the British Constitution lies in the money it costs us. Make government cheap and you make it contemptible.’

Everyone laughed except old Morrison, who glared over his glass. ‘That’ll look well in one o’ your nov-elles, sir, I don’t doubt. But let me tell you, running a country is like running a mill, and waste’ll ruin the baith o’ them.’

D’Israeli, being smart, affected to misunderstand. ‘I know nothing of running mills ,’ says he. ‘Pugilism is not among my interests,’ which of course turned the laugh against old Morrison.

You may judge from this the kind of rare wit to be found at political gatherings; I was out of all patience after an hour of it, and by the time we joined the ladies Miss Fanny, to my disgust, had gone to bed.

Next day, however, she and I were off on our expedition soon after breakfast, with sandwiches and a bottle in my saddlebag, for we intended to ride as far as Roundway Down, a place which she was sure must interest me, since there had been a battle fought there long ago. On the way she showed me the house where she had once lived, and then we cantered on across the excellent riding country that lies north of Salisbury Plain. It was the jolliest day, with a blue sky, fleecy clouds, and a gentle breeze, and Fanny was in excellent trim. She looked mighty fetching in a plum-coloured habit with a tricorne hat and feather, and little black boots, and I never saw a female better in the saddle. She could keep up with me at a gallop, her fair hair flying and her pretty little lips parted as she scudded along, so to impress her I had to show her some of the riding tricks I’d picked up in Afghanistan, like running alongside my beast full tilt, with a hand on the mane, and swinging over the rump to land and run on t’other side. D----d showy stuff, and she clapped her hands and cried bravo, while the bumpkins we passed along the way hallooed and waved their hats.

All this put me in capital form, of course, and by the time we got to Roundway I was nicely primed to lure Miss Fanny into a thicket and get down to business. She was such a jolly little thing, with such easy chatter and a saucy glint in her blue eye, that I anticipated no difficulty. We dismounted near the hill, and we led our beasts while she told me about the battle, in which it seemed the Cavaliers had thoroughly chased the Roundheads.

‘The people hereabouts call it Runaway Down,’ says she, laughing, ‘because the Roundheads fled so fast.’

It was the best thing I’d ever heard about Cromwell’s fellows; gave me a fellow-feeling for ’em, and I made some light remark to this effect.

‘Oh, you may say so,’ says she. ‘You who have never run away.’ She gave me an odd little look. ‘Sometimes I wish I were a man, with the strength to be brave, like you.’

Flashy knows a cue when he hears it. ‘I’m not always brave, Fanny,’ says I, pretty solemn, and stepping close. ‘Sometimes – I’m the veriest coward.’ By G-d, I never spoke a truer word.

‘I can’t believe –’ says she, and got no further, for I kissed her hard on the lips; for a moment she bore it, and then to my delight she began teasing me with her tongue, but before I could press home my advantage she suddenly slipped away, laughing.

‘No, no,’ cries she, very merry, ‘this is Runaway Down, remember,’ and like a fool I didn’t pursue on the instant. If I had done, I don’t doubt she’d have yielded, but I was content to play her game for the moment, and so we walked on, chatting and laughing.

You may think this trivial; the point is that if I’d mounted Miss Fanny that day I daresay I’d have lost interest in her – at all events I’d have been less concerned to please her later, and would have avoided a great deal of sorrow, and being chased and bullyragged half way round the world.

As it was, it was the most d---ably bothersome day I remember. Half a dozen times I got to grips with her – over the luncheon sandwiches, during our walk down from the hill, even in the saddle on the way home – and each time she kissed like a novice French whore and then broke off, teasing. And either because we met people on the way, or because she was as nimble as a flyweight, I never had a chance to go to work properly. Of course, I’d known chits like this before, and experience told me it would come all right on the night, as the theatricals say, but by the time we were cantering up to Cleeve again I was as horny as the town bull, and not liking it overmuch.

And there was a nasty shock waiting, in the shape of two chaps who came out of the front door, both in Hussar rig, the first one hallo-ing and waving to Fanny and helping her down from her mare. She made him known to me, with a mischievous twinkle, as her fiancé, one Duberly, which would have been bad news at any other time, but all my attention was taken by his companion, who stood back eyeing me with a cool smile, very knowing: my heart checked for a second at the sight of him. It was Bryant.

If you know my memoirs, you know him. He and I had been subalterns in Cardigan’s regiment, nine years before; on the occasion when I fought a memorable duel, he had agreed, for a consideration, to ensure that my opponent’s pistol was loaded only with blank, so that I had survived the meeting with credit. I had cheated him out of his payment, to be sure, and there had been nothing he could do except make empty threats of vengeance. After that our ways had parted, and I’d forgotten him; and now here he was, like corpse at a christening. Of course, he still couldn’t harm me, but it was a nasty turn to see him, just the same.