All very innocent – as who knows better than I, who’ve taken advantage of many such situations for an ardent squeeze and fondle?
“Why, Harry,” cries she, “where have you been all this while? See, Don Solomon is teaching me archery – and I have been making the sorriest show!” Which she demonstrated by fumbling the shaft, swinging her bow arm wildly, and letting fly into the hedge, squeaking with delighted alarm. “Oh, I am quite hopeless, Don Solomon, unless you hold my hands!”
“The fault is mine, dear Mrs Flashman,” says he, easily. He managed to keep an arm round her, while bowing in my direction. “But here is Mars, who I’m sure is a much better instructor for Diana than I could ever be.” He smiled and raised his hat. “Servant, Mr Flashman.”
I nodded, pretty cool, and looked down my nose at him, which wasn’t easy, since he was all of my height, and twice as big around – portly, you might say, if not fat, with a fleshy, smiling face, and fine teeth which flashed white against his swarthy skin. Dago, for certain, perhaps even Oriental, for his hair and whiskers were blue-black and curly, and as he came towards me he was moving with that mincing Latin grace, for all his flesh. A swell, too, by the elegant cut of his togs; diamond pin in his neckercher, a couple of rings on his big brown hands – and, by Jove, even a tiny gold ring in one ear. Part-nigger, not a doubt of it, and with all a rich nigger’s side, too.
“Oh, Harry, we have had such fun!” cries Elspeth, and my heart gave a little jump as I looked at her. The gold ringlets under her ridiculous bonnet, the perfect pink and white complexion, the sheer innocent beauty of her as she sparkled with laughter and reached out a hand to me. “Don Solomon has shown me bowling, and how to shoot – ever so badly! – and entertained me – for the cricket came so dull when you were not playing, with those tedious Kentish people popping away, and—”
“Hey?” says I, astonished. “You mean you didn’t see me bowl?”
“Why, no, Harry, but we had the jolliest time among the side-shows, with ices and hoop-la …” She prattled on, while the greaser raised his brows, smiling from one to the other of us.
“Dear me,” says he, “I fear I have lured you from your duty, dear Mrs Flashman. Forgive me,” he went on to me, “for I have the advantage of you still. Don Solomon Haslam, to command,” and he nodded and flicked his handkerchief. “Mr Speedicut, who I believe is your friend, presented me to your so charming lady, and I took the liberty of suggesting that we … take a stroll. If I had known you were to be put on – but tell me … any luck, eh?”
“Oh, not too bad,” says I, inwardly furious that while I’d been performing prodigies Elspeth had been fluttering at this oily flammer. “Felix, Pilch and Mynn, in three balls – if you call it luck. Now, my dear, if Mr Solomon will excuse—”
To my amazement he burst into laughter. “I would call it luck!” cries he. “That would be a daydream, to be sure! I’d settle for just one of ’em!”
“Well, I didn’t,” says I, glaring at him. “I bowled Felix, caught out Pilch, and had Mynn leg before – which probably don’t mean much to a foreigner—”
“Good G-d!” cries he. “You don’t mean it! You’re bamming us, surely?”
“Now, look’ee, whoever you are—”
“But – but – oh, my G-d!” He was fairly spluttering, and suddenly he seized my hand, and began pumping it, his face alight. “My dear chap – I can’t believe it! All three? And to think I missed it!” He shook his head, and burst out laughing again. “Oh, what a dilemma! How can I regret an hour spent with the loveliest girl in London – but, oh, Mrs Flashman, what you’ve cost me! Why, there’s never been anything like it! And to think that we were missing it all! Well, well, I’ve paid for my susceptibility to beauty, to be sure! Well done, my dear chap, well done! But this calls for celebration!”
I was fairly taken aback at this, while Elspeth looked charmingly bewildered, but nothing must do but he bore us off to where the liquor was, and demanded of me, action by action, a description of how I’d bowled out the mighty three. I’ve never seen a man so excited, and I’ll own I found myself warming to him; he clapped me on the shoulder, and slapped his knee with delight when I’d done.
“Well, I’m blessed! Why, Mrs Flashman, your husband ain’t just a hero – he’s a prodigy!” At which Elspeth glowed and squeezed my hand, which banished the last of my temper. “Felix, Pilch, and Mynn! Extraordinary. Well – I thought I was something of a cricketer, in my humble way – I played at Eton, you know – we never had a match with Rugby, alas! but I fancy I’d be a year or two before your time, anyway, old fellow. But this quite beats everything!”
It was fairly amusing, not least for the effect it was having on Elspeth. Here was this gaudy foreign buck, who’d come spooning round her, d----d little flirt that she was, and now all his attention was for my cricket. She was between exulting on my behalf and pouting at being overlooked, but when we parted from the fellow, with fulsome compliments and assurances that we must meet again soon, on his side, and fair affability on mine, he won her heart by kissing her hand as though he’d like to eat it. I didn’t mind, by now; he seemed not a bad sort, for a ’breed, and if he’d been to Eton he was presumably half-respectable, and obviously rolling in rhino. All men slobbered over Elspeth, anyway.
So the great day ended, which I’ll never forget for its own splendid sake: Felix, Pilch, and Mynn, and those three ear-splitting yells from the mob as each one fell. It was a day that held the seed of great events, too, as you’ll see, and the first tiny fruit was waiting for us when we got back to Mayfair. It was a packet handed in at the door, and addressed to me, enclosing bills for fifty pounds, and a badly-printed note saying “With the compliments of D. Tighe, Esq.” Of all the infernal impudence; that b----y bookie, or whatever he was, having the starch to send cash to me, as though I were some pro. to be tipped.
I’d have kicked his backside to Whitechapel and back, or taken a cane to him for his presumption, if he’d been on hand. Since he wasn’t, I pocketed the bills and burned his letter; it’s the only way to put these upstarts in their place.
[Extract from the diary of Mrs H. Flashman, undated, 1842]
… to be sure, it was very natural of H. to pay some attention to the other ladies at Lord’s, for they were so forward in their admiration of him – and am I to blame you, less fortunate sisters? He looked so tall and proud and handsome, like the splendid English Lion that he is, that I felt quite faint with love and pride … to think that this striking man, the envy and admiration of all, is – my husband!! He is perfection, and I love him more than I can tell.
Still, I could wish that he had been a little less attentive to those ladies near us, who smiled and waved to him when he was in the field, and some even so far forgot the obligations of modesty upon our tender sex, as to call out to him! Of course, it is difficult for him to appear indifferent, so Admired as he is – and he has such an unaffected, gallant nature, and feels, I know, that he must acknowledge their flatteries, for fear that he should be thought lacking in that easy courtesy which becomes a gentleman. He is so Generous and Considerate, even to such déclassé persons as that odious Mrs Leo Lade, the Duke’s companion, whose admiration of H. was so open and shameless that it caused some remark, and made me blush for her reputation – which to be sure, she hadn’t any!!! But H.’s simple, boyish goodness can see no fault in anyone – not even such an abandoned female as I’m sure she is, for they say … but I will not sully your fair page, dear diary, with such a Paltry Thing as Mrs Leo.
Yet mention of her reminds me yet again of my Duty to Protect my dear one – for he is still such a boy, with all a boy’s naiveté and high spirit. Why, today, he looked quite piqued and furious at the attention shown to me by Don S.H., who is quite sans reproche and the most distinguished of persons. He has over fifty thousand a year, it is said, from estates and revenues in the Far East Indies, and is on terms with the Best in Society, and has been received by H.M. He is entirely English, although his mo
ther was a Spanish Donna, I believe, and is of the most engaging manners and address, and the jolliest person besides. I confess I was not a little amused to find how I captivated him, which is quite harmless and natural, for I have noticed that Gentlemen of his Complexion are even more ardent in their addresses to the fair than those of Pure European Blood. Poor H. was not well pleased, I fear, but I could not help thinking it would do him no harm to be made aware that both sexes are wont to indulge in harmless gallantries, and if he is to be admired by such as Mrs L.L., he cannot object to the Don’s natural regard for me. And to be sure, they are not to be compared, for Don S.H.’s addresses are of the utmost discretion and niceness; he is amusing, with propriety, engaging without familiarity. No doubt we shall see much of him in Society this winter, but not so much, I promise, as will make my Dear Hero too jealous – he has such sensibility …
[End of extract – G. de R.]
* * *
a See Flashman.
Chapter 2
It was eight months before I so much as gave a thought to cricket again, but I’m bound to say that even if it had been blazing summer from October to March I’d still have been too busy. You can’t conduct a passionate affair with Lola Montez, in which you fall foul of Otto Bismarck – which is what I was doing that autumn – and still have much time for recreation. Besides, this was the season when my fame was at its zenith, what with my visit to the Palace for the Kabul medal; in consequence I was in demand everywhere, and Elspeth, in her eagerness for the limelight, saw to it that I never had a moment’s peace – balls and parties and receptions, and d---l a minute for serious raking. It was splendid, of course, to be the lion of the hour, but confounded exhausting.
But little enough happened to the point of my story, except that the stout Don Solomon Haslam played an increasingly lively part in our doings that winter. That was an odd fish, decidedly. Nobody, not even his old Eton chums, seemed to know much about him except that he was some kind of nabob, with connections in Leadenhall Street, but he was well received in Society, where his money and manners paid for all. And he seemed to be right in the know wherever he went – at the embassies, the smart houses, the sporting set, even at the political dinners; he was friendly with Haddington and Stanley at one end of the scale, and with such rascals as Deaf Jim Burke and Brougham at t’other. One night he would be dining with Aberdeen,5 and the next at Rosherville Gardens or the Cider Cellars, and he had a quiet gift of being first with the word from all quarters: if you wanted to know what was behind the toll riots, or the tale of Peel’s velveteens, ask Solomon; he had the latest joke about Alice Lowe, or Nelson’s Column, could tell you beforehand about the new race cup for Ascot, and had songs from the “Bohemian Girl” played in his drawing-room months before the opera was seen in London.6 It wasn’t that he was a gossip or couch-whisperer, either; whatever way the talk turned, he just knew the answers.
He ought to have been detestable, but strangely enough he wasn’t, for he didn’t push or show off. His entertainment was lavish, in his house on Brook Street, where he gave a Chinese Party that was said to have cost twenty thou., and was the talk for weeks, and his appearance was what the ladies called Romantic – I’ve told you about the earring, enough said – but with it all he managed to appear modest and unaffected. He could charm, I’ll say that for him, for he had the true gift of flattery, which is to show the keenest possible interest – and, of course, he had money to burn.
I didn’t mind him much, myself; he went out of his way to be pleasant to me, and once I had satisfied myself that his enthusiasm for Elspeth wasn’t likely to go the length, I tolerated him. She was ready to flirt with anything in breeches – and more than flirt, I suspected, but there were horny captains I was far leerier of than the Don. That b-----d Watney, for one, and the lecherous snob Ranelagh, and I fancy young Conyngham was itching after her, too. But Solomon had no name as a rake; didn’t even keep a mistress, apparently, and did no damage round Windmill Street or any of my haunts, leastways. Another odd thing: he didn’t touch liquor, in any form.
Oddest of all, though, was the way that my father-in-law took to him. From time to time during that winter old Morrison came south from his lair in Paisley to inflict himself on us and carp about expense, and it was during one of these visits that we had Solomon to dine. Morrison took one look at the fashionable cut of his coat and Newgate knockers,a sniffed, and muttered about “anither scented gommeril wi’ mair money than sense”, but before that dinner was through Solomon had him eating out of his palm.
Old Morrison had started off on one of his usual happy harangues about the state of the nation, so that for the first course we had cockaleekie soup, halibut with oyster sauce, and the income tax, removed with minced chicken patties, lamb cutlets, and the Mines Act, followed by a second course of venison in burgundy, fricassee of beef, and the Chartists, with grape ices, bilberry tart, and Ireland for dessert. Then the ladies (Elspeth and my father’s mistress, Judy, whom Elspeth had a great fancy for, G-d knows why) withdrew, and over the port we had the miners’ strike and the General Ruin of the Country.
Fine stuff, all of it, and my guv’nor went to sleep in his chair while Morrison held forth on the iniquity of those scoundrelly colliers who objected to having their infants dragging tubs naked through the seams for a mere fifteen hours a day.
“It’s the infernal Royal Commission,” cries he. “Makin’ mischief – aye, an’ it’ll spread, mark me. If bairns below the age o’ ten year is no’ tae work underground, how long will it be afore they’re prohibitin’ their employment in factories, will ye tell me? D--n that whippersnapper Ashley! ‘Eddicate them,’ says he, the eejit! I’d eddicate them, would I no’! An’ then there’s the Factory Act – that’ll be the next thing.”
“The amendment can’t pass for another two years,” says Solomon quietly, and Morrison glowered at him.
“How d’ye ken that?”
“It’s obvious, surely. We have the Mines Act, which is all the country can digest for the moment. But the shorter hours will come – probably within two years, certainly within three. Mr Horne’s report will see to that.”
His easy certainty impressed Morrison, who wasn’t used to being lectured on business; however, the mention of Horne’s name set him off again – I gathered this worthy was to publish a paper on child employment, which would inevitably lead to bankruptcies all round for deserving employers like my father-in-law, with free beer and holidays for the paupers, a workers’ rebellion, and invasion by the French.
“Not quite so much, perhaps,” smiles Solomon. “But his report will raise a storm, that’s certain. I’ve seen some of it.”
“Ye’ve seen it?” cries Morrison. “But it’s no’ oot till the New Year!” He glowered a moment. “Ye’re gey far ben,b sir.” He took an anxious gulp of port. “Does it – was there … that is, did ye chance tae see any mention o’ Paisley, maybe?”
Solomon couldn’t be certain, but said there was some shocking stuff in the report – infants tied up and lashed unmercifully by overseers, flogged naked through the streets when they were late; in one factory they’d even had their ears nailed down for bad work.
“It’s a lie!” bawls Morrison, knocking over his glass. “A d----d lie! Never a bairn in oor shop had hand laid on it! Ma Goad – prayers at seeven, an’ a cup o’ milk an’ a piece tae their dinner – oot o’ ma ain pocket! Even a yard o’ yarn, whiles, as a gift, an’ me near demented wi’ pilferin’—”
Solomon soothed him by saying he was sure Morrison’s factories were paradise on earth, but added gravely that between the Horne report7 and slack trade generally, he couldn’t see many good pickings for manufacturers for some years to come. Overseas investment, that was the thing; why, there were millions a year to be made out of the Orient, by men who knew their business (as he did), and while Morrison sniffed a bit, and called it prospectus talk, you could see he was interested despite himself. He began to ask questions, and argue, and Solomon had every answ
er pat; I found it a dead bore, and left them prosing away, with my guv’nor snoring and belching at the table head – the most sensible noises I’d heard all night. But later, old Morrison was heard to remark that yon young Solomon had a heid on his shoothers, richt enough, a kenspeckle lad – no’ like some that sauntered and drank awa’ their time, an’ sponged off their betters, etc.
One result of all this was that Don Solomon Haslam was a more frequent visitor than ever, dividing his time between Elspeth and her sire, which was perverse variety, if you like. He was forever talking Far East trade with Morrison, urging him to get into it – he even suggested that the old b-----d should take a trip to see for himself, which I’d have seconded, nem. con. I wondered if perhaps Solomon was some swell magsman trying to diddle the old rascal of a few thou.; some hopes, if he was. Anyway, they got along like a matched pair, and since Morrison was at this time expanding his enterprises, and Haslam was well-connected in the City, I dare say my dear relative found the acquaintance useful.
So winter and spring went by, and then in June I had two letters. One was from my Uncle Bindley at the Horse Guards, to say that negotiations were under way to procure me a lieutenancy in the Household Cavalry; this great honour, he was careful to point out, was due to my Afghan heroics, not to my social desirability, which in his opinion was negligible – he was from the Paget side of our family, you see, and affected to despise us common Flashmans, which showed he had more sense than manners. I was quite flown by this news, and almost equally elated by the other letter, which was from Alfred Mynn, reminding me of his invitation to play in his casual side at Canterbury. I’d been having a few games for the Montpeliers at the old Beehive field, and was in form, so I accepted straight off. It wasn’t just for the cricket, though: I had three good reasons for wanting to be out of Town just then. First, I had just encompassed Lola Montez’s ruin on the London stage,8 and had reason to believe that the mad b---h was looking for me with a pistol – she was game for anything, you know, including murder; secondly, a female acrobat whom I’d been tupping was pretending that she was in foal, and demanding compensation with tears and menaces; and thirdly, I recalled that Mrs Lade, the Duke’s little piece, was to be in Canterbury for the Cricket Week.
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