LITMIR.BIZ

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often, and in spite of my respect for Bernier, I was careless. It was within a week, certainly, that we were engaged heavily one evening when there were footsteps on the stair, the door flew open, and there was the man himself. He stood glaring for a moment, while Josette squeaked and dived beneath the covers, and I scrambled to get under the bed in my shirt-tail – the sight of him filled me with panic. But he said nothing; a moment passed, the door slammed, and I came out scrabbling for my breeches. At that moment I wanted only to put as much distance between myself and him as I could, and I dressed in some haste.

      Josette began to laugh, and I asked her what the devil amused her.

      ‘It is so fonnee,’ she giggled. ‘You … you half beneath de bed, and Charles glaring so fierce at your derrière.’ And she shrieked with laughter.

      I told her to hold her tongue, and she stopped laughing and tried to coax me back to bed again, saying that Bernier had undoubtedly gone, and sitting up and shaking her tits at me. I hesitated, between lust and fright, until she hopped out and bolted the door, and then I decided I might as well have my sport while I could, and pulled off my clothes again. But I confess it was not the most joyous pleasuring I have taken part in, although Josette was at her most spirited; I suspect she was thrilled by the situation.

      I was in two minds whether to go back to the mess afterwards, for I was sure Bernier must call me out. But, to my surprise, when I pulled my courage together and went in to dinner, he paid me not the slightest notice. I couldn’t make it out, and when next day and the next he was still silent, I took heart again, and even paid Josette another visit. She had not seen him, so it seemed to me that he intended to do nothing at all. I decided that he was a poor-spirited thing after all, and had resigned his mistress to me – not, I was sure, out of fear of me, but because he could not bear to have a trollop who cheated him. Of course the truth was that he couldn’t call me out without exposing the cause, and making himself look ridiculous; and knowing more of regimental custom than I did, he hesitated to provoke an affair of honour over a mistress. But he was holding himself in with difficulty.

      Not knowing this, I took to throwing my chest out again, and let Bryant into the secret. The toady was delighted, and soon all the plungers knew. It was then only a matter of time before the explosion came, as I should have known it would.

      It was after dinner one night, and we were playing cards, while Bernier and one or two of the Indian men were talking near by. The game was vingt-et-un, and it happened that at that game I had a small joke concerning the Queen of Diamonds, which I maintained was my lucky card. Forrest had the bank, and when he set down my five-card hand with an ace and the Queen of Diamonds, Bryant, the spiteful ass, sang out:

      ‘Hullo! He’s got your queen, Flashy! That’s the biter bit, bigod!’

      ‘How d’ye mean?’ said Forrest, taking up the cards and stakes.

      ‘With Flashy it’s t’other way, you know,’ says Bryant. ‘He makes off with other chaps’ queens.’

      ‘Aha,’ says Forrest, grinning. ‘But the Queen of Diamonds is a good Englishwoman, ain’t she, Flash? Mounting French fillies is your style, I hear.’

      There was a good deal of laughter, and glances in Bernier’s direction. I should have kept them quiet, but I was fool enough to join in.

      ‘Nothing wrong in a French filly,’ I said, ‘so long as the jockey’s an English one. A French trainer is well enough, of course, but they don’t last in a serious race.’

      It was feeble enough stuff, no doubt, even allowing for the port we had drunk, but it snapped the straw. The next I knew my chair had been dragged away, and Bernier was standing over me as I sprawled on the floor, his face livid and his mouth working.

      ‘What the devil—’ began Forrest, as I scrambled up, and the others jumped up also. I was half on my feet when Bernier struck me, and I lost my balance and went down again.

      ‘For God’s sake, Bernier!’ shouts Forrest, ‘are you mad?’ and they had to hold him back, or he would have savaged me on the ground, I think. Seeing him held, I came up with an oath, and made to go for him, but Bryant grabbed me, crying ‘No, no, Flash! Hold off, Flashy!’ and they clustered round me as well.

      Truth is, I was nearly sick with fear, for the murder was out now. The best shot in the regiment had hit me, but with provocation – fearful or not, I have always been quick and clear enough in my thinking in a crisis – and there couldn’t be any way out except a meeting. Unless I took the blow, which meant an end to my career in the army and in society. But to fight him was a quick road to the grave.

      It was a horrible dilemma, and in that moment, as they held us apart, I saw I must have time to think, to plan, to find a way out. I shook them off, and without a word stalked out of the mess, like a man who must remove himself before he does someone a mischief.

      It took me five minutes of hard thinking, and then I was striding back into the mess again. My heart was hammering, and no doubt I looked pretty furious, and if I shook they thought it was anger.

      The chatter died away as I came in; I can feel that silence now, sixty years after, and see the elegant blue figures, and the silver gleaming on the table, and Bernier, alone and very pale, by the fireplace. I went straight up to him. I had my speech ready.

      ‘Captain Bernier,’ I said, ‘you have struck me with your hand. That was rash, for I could take you to pieces with mine if I chose.’ This was blunt, English Flashman, of course. ‘But I prefer to fight like a gentleman, even if you do not.’ I swung round on my heel. ‘Lieutenant Forrest, will you act for me?’

      Forrest said yes, like a shot, and Bryant looked piqued. He expected I would have named him, but I had another part for him to play.

      ‘And who acts for you?’ I asked Bernier, very cool. He named Tracy, one of the Indian men, and I gave Tracy a bow and then went over to the card table as though nothing had happened.

      ‘Mr Forrest will have the details to attend to,’ I said to the others. ‘Shall we cut for the bank?’

      They stared at me. ‘By gad, Flash, you’re a cool one!’ cries Bryant.

      I shrugged, and took up the cards, and we started playing again, the others all very excited – too excited to notice that my thoughts were not on my cards. Luckily, vingt-et-un calls for little concentration.

      After a moment Forrest, who had been conferring with Tracy, came over to tell me that, with Lord Cardigan’s permission, which he was sure must be forthcoming, we should meet behind the riding school at six in the morning. It was assumed I would choose pistols – as the injured party I had the choice.⁶ I nodded, very offhand, and told Bryant to hurry with the deal. We played a few more hands, and then I said I was for bed, lit my cheroot and strolled out with an airy good night to the others, as though the thought of pistols at dawn troubled me no more than what I should have for breakfast. Whatever happened, I had grown in popular esteem for this night at least.

      I stopped under the trees on the way to my quarters, and after a moment, as I had expected, Bryant came hurrying after me, full of excitement and concern. He began to babble about what a devil of a fellow I was, and what a fighting Turk Bernier was, but I cut him off short.

      ‘Tommy,’ says I. ‘You’re not a rich man.’

      ‘Eh?’ says he. ‘What the—’

      ‘Tommy,’ says I. ‘Would you like ten thousand pounds?’

      ‘In God’s name,’ says he. ‘What for?’

      ‘For seeing that Bernier stands up at our meeting tomorrow with an unloaded pistol,’ says I, straight out. I knew my man.

      He goggled at me, and then began to babble again. ‘Christ, Flash, are you crazy? Unloaded … why …’

      ‘Yes or no,’ says I. ‘Ten thousand pounds.’

      ‘But it’s murder!’ he squealed. ‘We’d swing for it!’ No thought of honour you see, or any of that rot.

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