LITMIR.BIZ

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was on a Monday, nine days after I had arrived, that a fracas broke out in one of the mills; a young worker had his arm crushed in one of the machines, and his mates made a great outcry, and a meeting of workmen was held in the streets beyond the mill gates. That was all, but some fool of a magistrate lost his head and demanded that the troops be called ‘to quell the seditious rioters’. I sent his messenger about his business, in the first place because there seemed no danger from the meeting – although there was plenty of fist-shaking and threat-shouting, by all accounts – and in the second because I do not make a practice of seeking sorrow.

      Sure enough, the meeting dispersed, but not before the magistrate had spread panic and alarm, ordering the shops to close and windows in the town to be shuttered and God knows what other folly. I told him to his face he was a fool, ordered my sergeant to let the militia go home (but to have them ready on recall), and trotted over to Renfrew.

      There Morrison was in a state of despair. He peeped at me round the front door, his face ashen, and demanded:

      ‘Are they comin’, in Goad’s name?’ and then ‘Why are ye not at the head of your troops, sir? Are we tae be murdered for your neglect?’

      I told him, pretty sharp, that there was no danger, but that if there had been, his place was surely at his mill, to keep his rascals in order. He whinnied at me – I’ve seldom seen a man in such fright, and being a true-bred poltroon myself, I speak with authority.

      ‘My place is here,’ he yelped, ‘defendin’ my hame and bairns!’

      ‘I thought they were in Glasgow today,’ I said, as I came into the hall.

      ‘My wee Elspeth’s here,’ said he, groaning. ‘If the mob was tae break in …’

      ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ says I, for I was well out of sorts, what with the idiot magistrate and now Morrison, ‘there isn’t a mob. They’ve gone home.’

      ‘Will they stay hame?’ he bawled. ‘Oh, they hate me, Mr Flashman, damn them a’! What if they were to come here? O, wae’s me – and my poor wee Elspeth!’

      Poor wee Elspeth was sitting on the window-seat, admiring her reflection in the panes and perfectly unconcerned. Catching sight of her, I had an excellent thought.

      ‘If you’re nervous for her, why not send her to Glasgow, too?’ I asked him, very unconcerned.

      ‘Are ye mad, sir? Alone on the road, a lassie?’

      I reassured him: I would escort her safely to her Mama.

      ‘And leave me here?’ he cried, so I suggested he come as well. But he wouldn’t have that; I realised later he probably had his strongbox in the house.

      He hummed and hawed a great deal, but eventually fear for his daughter – which was entirely groundless, as far as mobs were concerned – overcame him, and we were packed off together in the gig, I driving, she humming gaily at the thought of a jaunt, and her devoted parent crying instruction and consternation after us as we rattled off.

      ‘Tak’ care o’ my poor wee lamb, Mr Flashman,’ he wailed.

      ‘To be sure I will, sir,’ I replied. And I did.

      The banks of the Clyde in those days were very pretty; not like the grimy slums that cover them now. There was a gentle evening haze, I remember, and a warm sun setting on a glorious day, and after a mile or two I suggested we stop and ramble among the thickets by the waterside. Miss Elspeth was eager, so we left the pony grazing and went into a little copse. I suggested we sit down, and Miss Elspeth was eager again – that glorious vacant smile informed me. I believe I murmured a few pleasantries, played with her hair, and then kissed her. Miss Elspeth was more eager still. Then I got to work in earnest, and Miss Elspeth’s eagerness knew no bounds. I had great red claw-marks on my back for a fortnight after.

      When we had finished, she lay in the grass, drowsy, like a contented kitten, and after a few pleased sighs she said:

      ‘Was that what the minister means when he talks of fornication?’

      Astonished, I said, yes, it was.

      ‘Um-hm,’ said she. ‘Why has he such a down on it?’

      It seemed to me time to be pressing on towards Glasgow. Ignorant women I have met, and I knew that Miss Elspeth must rank high among them, but I had not supposed until now that she had no earthly idea of elementary human relations. (Yet there were even married women in my time who did not connect their husbands’ antics in bed with the conception of children.) She simply did not understand what had taken place between us. She liked it, certainly, but she had no thought of anything beyond the act – no notion of consequences, or guilt, or the need for secrecy. In her, ignorance and stupidity formed a perfect shield against the world: this, I suppose, is innocence.

      It startled me, I can tell you. I had a vision of her remarking happily: ‘Mama, you’ll never guess what Mr Flashman and I have been doing this evening …’ Not that I minded too much, for when all was said I didn’t care a button for the Morrisons’ opinion, and if they could not look after their daughter it was their own fault. But the less trouble the better: for her own sake I hoped she might keep her mouth shut.

      I took her back to the gig and helped her in, and I thought what a beautiful fool she was. Oddly enough, I felt a sudden affection for her in that moment, such as I hadn’t felt for any of my other women – even though some of them had been better tumbles than she. It had nothing to do with rolling her in the grass; looking at the gold hair that had fallen loose on her cheek, and seeing the happy smile in her eyes, I felt a great desire to keep her, not only for bed, but to have her near me. I wanted to watch her face, and the way she pushed her hair into place, and the steady, serene look that she turned on me. Hullo, Flashy, I remember thinking; careful, old son. But it stayed with me, that queer empty feeling in my inside, and of all the recollections of my life there isn’t one that is clearer than of that warm evening by the Clyde, with Elspeth smiling at me beneath the trees.

      Almost equally distinct, however, but less pleasant, is my memory of Morrison, a few days later, shaking his fist in my face and scarlet with rage as he shouted:

      ‘Ye damned blackguard! Ye thieving, licentious, raping devil! I’ll have ye hanged for this, as Goad’s my witness! My ain daughter, in my ain hoose! Jesus Lord! Ye come sneaking here, like the damned viper that ye are …’

      And much more of the same, until I thought he would have apoplexy. Miss Elspeth had almost lived up to my expectation – only it had not been Mama she had told, but Agnes. The result was the same, of course, and the house was in uproar. The only calm person was Elspeth herself, which was no help. For of course I denied old Morrison’s accusation, but when he dragged her in to confront me with my infamy, as he called it, she said quite matter-of-fact, yes, it had happened by the river on the way to Glasgow. I wondered, was she simple? It is a point on which I have never made up my mind.

      At that, I couldn’t deny it any longer. So I took the other course and damned Morrison’s eyes, asking him what did he expect if he left a handsome daughter within a man’s reach? I told him we were not monks in the army, and he fairly screamed with rage and threw an inkstand at me, which fortunately missed. By this time others were on the scene, and his daughters had the vapours – except Elspeth – and Mrs Morrison came at me with such murder in her face that I turned tail and ran for dear life.

      I decamped without even having time to collect my effects – which were not sent on to me, by the way – and decided that I had best set up my base in Glasgow. Paisley was likely to be fairly hot, and I resolved to have a word with the local commandant and explain, as between gentlemen, that it might be best if other duties were found for me that would not take me back there. It would be somewhat embarrassing, of course, for he was another of these damned Presbyterians, so I put off seeing him for a day or two. As a result I never called on him at all. Instead I had a caller myself.

      He was a stiff-shouldered, brisk-mannered fellow of about fifty; rather dapper in an almost military way, with a brown face and hard grey eyes. He looked as though

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