George Fraser - Flashman and the Redskins

Do you know, she absolutely blushed, and cried no such thing, the very idea! But I could see she was pleased, so I gave her a slantendicular look, and said, not even one? at which she blushed even pinker, and wriggled, and said, well, it wasn’t her fault, was it, if some very valued and important clients insisted on the personal attention of Madame? Oh, says I, and who might they be?

‘Never you mind, sauce-box!’ giggles she, tossing her head, so I kept mum till she turned to look at me, and then I frowned and asked, quite hard:

‘Who, Susie?’

She blinked, and slowly all the playfulness went out of that plump, pretty face. ‘’Ere,’ says she, uncertain. ‘Why you lookin’ at me like that? You’re not … not cross, are you? I thought you was just funnin’ me …’

I said nothing, but gave an angry little shrug, looking quickly away, and she gasped in bewilderment and caught my arm.

‘’Ere! Beauchamp! You mean … you mind? But I … I … lovey, I never knew …’Ere, wot’s the matter—?’

‘No matter at all,’ says I, very cool, and set my jaw tight. ‘You’re right – it’s no concern of mine.’ But I bit my lip and looked stuffed and all Prince Albert, and when I made to get up she took fright in earnest, throwing her arms round my neck and crying that she’d never dreamed I would care, and then starting to blubber bucketsful, sobbing that she’d never thought to see me again, or she’d never have … but it was nothing, honest, ow, Gawd, please, Beauchamp – just one or two occasional, like this rich ole Creole planter who paid a hundred dollars to take a bath with her, but she’d have flung the ole goat’s money in his face if she’d known that I … and if I’d heard gossip about her and Count Vaudrian, it was bleedin’ lies, ’cos it wasn’t him, it was only his fourteen-year-old nephew that the Count had engaged her to give lessons to …

If I’d played her along I daresay I could have got enough bizarre material for a book, but I didn’t want to push my little charade of jealousy too far. I’d tickled the old trollop’s vanity, fed her infatuation for me, scared her horrid, and discovered what a stout leash I’d got her on – and had the capital fun of watching her grovel and squirm. It was time to be magnanimous and soulful, so I gave her bouncers a forgiving squeeze at last, and she near swooned with relief.

‘It was jus’ business, Beauchamp – not like with you – oh, never like with you! If I’d known you was comin’ back, an’ that you cared! ’ That was the great thing, apparently; she was full of it. ‘’Cos, you really care, don’t you? Oh, say you do, darlin’ – an’ please, you’re not angry with me no more?’

That was my cue to change from stern sorrow to fond devotion, as though I couldn’t help myself. ‘Oh, Susie, my sweet,’ says I, giving her bum a fervent clutch, ‘as if I could ever be angry with you!’ This, and a glass of gin, fully restored her, and she basked in the sunshine of her lover’s favour and said I was the dearest, kindest big ram, honest I was.

Her talk of business, though, had reminded me of something that had slipped my mind during all our frenzied exertions; as we climbed into her four-poster presently, I asked why the place was closed up and under dust-sheets.

‘Course – I never told you! You ’aven’t given me much chance, ’ave you, you great bully?’ She snuggled up contentedly. ‘Well – I’m leavin’ Orleans next week, for good, an’ what d’you think of that? Fact is, trade’s gone down that bad, what with my partikler market bein’ overcrowded, and half the menfolk off to the gold diggin’s to try their luck – why, we’re lucky to get any young customers nowadays. So I thinks, Susie my gel, you’d better try California yourself, an’ do a little diggin’ of your own, an’ if you can’t make a bigger fortune than any prospector, you’re not the woman—’

‘Hold on, though – what’ll you do in California?’

‘Why, what I’ve always done – manage an establishment for the recreation of affluent gentlemen! Don’t you see – there must be a million hearty young chaps out there already, workin’ like blacks, the lucky ones with pockets full of gold dust, an’ never a sporty female to bless themselves with, ’cept for common drabs. Well, where there’s muck, there’s money – an’ you can bet that in a year or two Sacramento an’ San Francisco are goin’ to make Orleans look like the parish pump. It may be rough livin’ just now, but before long they’re goin’ to want all the luxuries of London an’ Paris out there – an’ they’ll be able to pay for ’em, too! Wines, fashions, theatres, the best restaurants, the smartest salons, the richest shops – an’ the crackiest whores. Mark my words, whoever gets there first, with the quality merchandise, can make a million, easy.’

It sounded reasonable, I said, but a bit wild to establish a place like hers, and she chuckled confidently.

‘I’m goin’ ready-made, don’t you fret. I’ve got a place marked down in Sacramento, through an agent, an’ I’m movin’ the whole kit caboodle up the river to Westport next Monday – furnishin’s, crockery, my cellar an’ silver … an’ the livestock, which is the main thing. I’ve got twenty o’ the primest yellow gels under this roof right now, all experienced an’ broke in – so don’t you start walkin’ in your sleep, will you, you scoundrel? ’Ere, let’s ’ave a look at you—’

‘But hold on – how are you going to get there?’ says I, cuddling obediently.

‘Why, up to Westport an’ across by carriage to – where is it? – Santa Fe, an’ then to San Diego. It only takes a few weeks, an’ there’s thousands goin’ every day, in carts an’ wagons an’ on horseback – even on foot. You can go round by sea, but it’s no quicker or cheaper in the end, an’ I don’t want my delicate young ladies gettin’ seasick, do I?’

‘Isn’t it dangerous? I mean, Indians and ruffians and so on?’

‘Not if you’ve got guards, an’ proper guides. That’s all arranged, don’t you see, an’ I ’aven’t stinted, neither. I’m a business woman, in case you ’adn’t noticed, an’ I know it pays to pay for the best. That’s why I’ll ’ave the finest slap-up bagnio on the west coast goin’ full steam before the year’s out – an’ I’ll still have a tidy parcel over in the bank. If you got money, you can’t ’elp makin’ more, provided you use common sense.’

From what I knew of her she had plenty of that – except where active young men were concerned – and she was a deuced competent manager. But if she had her future planned, I hadn’t; I remarked that it didn’t leave much time to arrange my safe passage – and Spring’s, for what that was worth – out of New Orleans.

‘Don’t you worry about that,’ says she, comfortably. ‘I’ve been thinkin’ about it, an’ when we see what kind of a hue an’ cry there is in the town tomorrow, we can decide what’s best. You’re safe ’ere meantime – an’ snug an’ warm an’ cosy,’ she added, ‘so let’s ’ave another chorus o’ John Peel, shall we?’

You can guess that I was sufficiently pale and wan next morning to satisfy Spring that he could continue to rest easy chez Willinck. One look at me, and at Susie languid and yawning, and he gave me a sour grin and muttered: ‘Christ, non equidem invideo, miror magis ,’ fn3which if you ask me was just plain jealousy, and if I’d known enough Latin myself I’d have retorted, ‘ Ver non semper viret , fn4eh? Too bad,’ which would have had the virtue of being witty, although he’d probably not have appreciated it.

Pleasantries would have been out of season, anyway, for the news was bad. Susie had had inquiries made in town, and reported that Omohundro’s death was causing a fine stir, there was a great manhunt afoot, and our descriptions were posted at every corner. There was no quick way out of New Orleans, that was certain, and when I reminded Susie that something would have to be done in the next few days, she just patted my hand and said she would manage, never fear. Spring said nothing, but watched us with those pale eyes.