The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection. George Fraser MacDonald

to read those child-like eyes and butter-melting lips, so the d---l with it), and Mrs Lade disposed of, at least until we had finished the business in hand and were lying talking in the growing dusk of the cabin. Naturally, Elspeth’s story came flooding out in an excited stream, and I was listening with my mind in a great confusion, what with my weakened state, the crazy shock of our reunion, and the anxiety of our predicament – and suddenly, in the middle of describing the rations they’d fed her during her captivity, she suddenly said:

      “Harry – you are sure you have not been astride Mrs Lade?”

      I was so amazed she had to say it twice.

      “Eh? Good G-d, girl, what d’you mean?”

      “Have you mounted her?”

      I can’t think how I’ve kept my sanity, talking to that woman for sixty years. Of course, at this time we’d only been married for five, and I hadn’t plumbed the depths of her eccentricity. I could only gargle and exclaim:

      “D----t, I’ve told you I haven’t! And where on earth – it is shocking to use expressions of that kind!”

      “Why? You use them – I heard you, at Lady Chalmers’, when you were talking to Jack Speedicut, and you were both remarking on Lottie Cavendish, and whatever her husband could see in such a foolish creature, and you said you expected he found her a good mount. I dare say I was not meant to hear.”

      “I should think not! And I can have said no such thing – and anyway, ladies ain’t meant to understand such … such vulgar words.”

      “The ladies who get mounted must understand them.”

      “They ain’t ladies!”

      “Why not? Lottie Cavendish is. So am I, and you have mounted me – lots of times.” She sighed, and nestled close, G-d help us.

      “Well, I have not … done any such thing with Mrs Lade, so there.”

      “I’m so glad,” says she, and promptly fell asleep.

      Now, I’ve told you this, partly because it’s all of the conversation that I remember of that reunion, and also to let you understand what a truly impossible scatterhead Elspeth was – and still is. There’s something missing there; always has been, and it makes her senselessly unpredictable. (Heaven knows what idiocy she’ll come out with on her deathbed, but I’ll lay drunkard’s odds it’s nothing to do with dying. I only hope I ain’t still above ground to hear it, though.) She’d been through an ordeal that would have driven most women out of their wits – not that she had many to start with – but now she was back with me, safe as she supposed, she seemed to have no notion of the peril in which we both stood; why, when Solomon’s Malays took her away to her own quarters that first night, she was more concerned about the sunburn she’d taken, and if it would spoil her complexion, than about the fate Solomon might have in store for us. What can you do with a woman like that?

      Mind you, there was a dead weight off my heart at having seen her, and knowing she’d come to no bodily harm. At least her captivity hadn’t changed her – come to think of it, if she’d wept and raved about her sufferings, or sat numb and shocked, or been terrified of her situation, like a normal woman – she wouldn’t have been Elspeth, and that would have been worse than anything, somehow.

      For the next two days I was confined to my cabin, and didn’t see a living soul except the Chink steward who brought my food, and he was deaf to all my demands and questions. I’d no notion what was happening, or where we were going; I knew from what Solomon had said that we were in the South Indian Ocean, and the sun confirmed that we were westering steadily, but that was all. What did Solomon intend? – the one thing that grew on me was that he wasn’t likely to do me in, praise God, not now that Elspeth had seen me, for that would have scuppered any hopes he had of winning her. And that was the nub of it.

      You see, lunatic though his behaviour had been, the more I thought about it the more I believed him: the blighter was really mad about her, and not just to board and scuttle her, either, but with all the pure, romantic trimmings, like Shelley or one of those chaps. Astonishing – well, I love her myself, always have, but not to put me off my food.

      But Solomon had it to the point of obsession, where he’d been willing to kidnap and kill and give up civilization for her. And he’d believed that, in spite of his behaving like a b----y Barbary corsair, he could eventually woo and win her, given time. But then he’d seen her run to my arms, sobbing, and had realized it was no go; shocking blow it must have been. He’d probably been gnawing his futile passion ever since, realizing that he’d bought outlawry and the gallows for nothing. But what was he to do now? Unless he chopped us both (which seemed far-fetched, pirate and Old Etonian though he was) it seemed to me he had no choice but to set us free with apologies, and sail away, grief-stricken, to join the Foreign Legion, or become a monk, or an American citizen. Why, he’d as good as thrown up the sponge in letting Elspeth and me spend hours together alone; he’d never have done that if he hadn’t given up all hope of her, surely?

      He was in no hurry to repeat his generosity, however. On the third day a little Chink doctor visited me with the steward, but he didn’t have a word of English, and busied himself impassively examining the sumpitan-wound in my guts – which was fairly healed, and barely ached – while remaining deaf to my demands to see Solomon. In the end I lost patience, and made for the door, roaring for attention, but at this two of the Malay crew appeared, all bulging muscles and evil phizzes, and indicated that if I didn’t hold my tongue they’d hold it for me. So I did, until they’d gone, and then I set about the door with my boots, bawling for Elspeth, and calling Solomon every name I could think of – indulging my natural insolence, if you like, since I figured it was safe enough. By George, wasn’t I young and innocent, though?

      The response to that was nil, and an icy finger of fear traced down my back. For the past two days, with my belly still in a sling, it had seemed natural enough to be in the cabin – but now that the doctor had been, and seemed satisfied, why weren’t they letting me out – of why, at least, wasn’t Solomon coming to see me? Why weren’t they letting me see Elspeth? Why weren’t they letting me take exercise? It didn’t make sense, to keep me cooped here, if he was going to let us go, and – if he was going to let us go. It suddenly rushed in on me that that was pure assumption, probably brought on by my blissful reunion with Elspeth, which had been paradise after the weeks of peril and terror. Suppose I was wrong?

      I don’t know anyone who despairs faster than I do – mind you, I’ve had cause – and the hours that followed found me in the depths. I didn’t know what to think or believe, my fears mounted steadily, and by next morning I was my normal self, in a state of abject funk. I was even drawing sinister significance from the fact that this cabin I was in was obviously in the forward part of the vessel, with the engines between me and the civilized quarters where Elspeth – and Solomon – would be. G-d, was he ravishing her, now that he knew he could never seduce her? Was he bargaining with her for my life, threatening to feed me to the sharks unless she buckled to with him? That was it, for certain – it’s what I’d have done in his place – and I tore my hair at the thought that like as not she’d defy him; she was forever reading trashy novels in which proud heroines drew themselves upright and pointed to the door, crying: “Do your worst, sinister man; my husband would die rather than be the price of my dishonour!” Would he, by jingo? – surrender, you stupid b---h, if that’s all he wants, I found myself muttering; what’s another more or less? Charming husband, ain’t I? Well, why not? Honour’s all very well, but life matters. Besides, I’d do the same to save Elspeth, if any lustful woman threatened me. They never do, though.

      With such happy thoughts, in a torture of uncertainty, I passed the days that followed – how many I’m not sure, but I guess about a week. In all that time, no one came near me except the steward, with a Malay thug to back him up – I was alone, hour after hour, night after night, in that tiny box, alternating between shivering panic and black despair – not knowing. That was the worst of it; I didn’t even know what to be afraid of, and by the end of the week I was ready for anything, if it would only end my misery. It’s