"I say, you, feller," says one. "Can't go in there. Major ain't receivin' civilians today."
"Oh, please, sir," says I, uncovering, "it's most awfully important, you know."
"If you're sellin' spirits," says he, "go an' see the—what d'ye call him, Tommy? Oh, yaas, the khansamah—the butler to you, Snooks."
"Who shall I say sent me?" says I, humbly. "Major Lawrence's door-keepers?"
"Mind your manners, my man!" cries he. "Who the devil are you, anyway?"
"Flashman," says I, and enjoyed seeing them gape. "No, no, don't get up—you might land on your arse. And speaking of butlers, why don't you go and help Baxu polish the spoons?"
I felt better after that, and better still when Lawrence, at first sight of me, dismissed his office-wallahs and shook hands as though he meant it. He was leaner and more harassed than ever, in his shirt-sleeves at a table littered with papers and maps, but he listened intently to the recital of my adventures (in which I made no mention whatever of Jassa), and dismissed my failure to deliver Dalip as of no account. "Not your fault," snaps he, in his curt style. "Goolab writes that the boy is well -- that's all that matters. Anyway, that's past. My concern is the future—and what I have to tell you is under the rose. Clear?" He fixed me with that gimlet eye, pushed out his lantern jaw, and pitched in.
"Sir Henry Hardinge doesn't like you, Flashman. He thinks you're a whippersnapper, too independent, and careless of authority. Your conduct in the war—with which I'm well pleased, let me tell you—doesn't please him. `Broadfoot antics', you understand. I may tell you that when he learned that Goolab had got the boy, he spoke of court-martialling you. Even wondered if you had acted in collusion with Gardner. That's the curse of Indian politics, they make you suspect everyone. Anyway, I soon disabused him." For an instant I'll swear the dour horse face was triumphant, then he was glowering again. "At all events, he doesn't care for you, or regard you as reliable."
My own sentiments about Hardinge exactly, but I held my peace.
"Now, Goolab Singh comes here tomorrow, to learn the treaty terms—and I'm sending you to meet him and conduct him into camp. That's why I summoned you. You have the old fox's confidence, if anyone does, and I wish that to be seen and known. Especially by Sir Henry. He mayn't like it, but I want him to understand that you are necessary. Is that clear?"
I said it was, but why?
"Because when this treaty is settled—I can't tell you the terms; they're secret until Goolab hears them—it is likely that a British presence will be required at Lahore, with a Resident, to keep the durbar on a tight rein. I'll be that Resident—and I want you as my chief assistant."
Coming from the great Henry, I guess it was as high a compliment as Wellington's handshake, or one of Elspeth's ecstatic moans. But it was so unexpected, and ridiculous, that I almost laughed aloud.
"That's why I'm putting you forward now. Goolab will be the éminence grise, and if he is seen to respect and trust you, it will help me to win the G.G. over to your appointment." He gave a sour grin. "They don't call us politicals for nothing. I'll have to persuade Currie, too, and the rest of the Calcutta wallahs. But I'll manage it."
When I think of the number of eminent men—and women—who have taken me at face value, and formed a high opinion of my character and abilities, it makes me tremble for my country's future. I mean, if they can't spot me as a wrong 'un, who can they spot? Still, it's pleasant to be well thought of, and has made my fortune, at the expense of some hellish perils—and minor difficulties such as conveying tactfully to Henry Lawrence that I wouldn't have touched his disgusting proposal with a long pole. My prime reason being that I was sick to loathing of India, and the service, the Sikhs, and bloody carnage and deadly danger, and being terrified and bullied and harried and used, when all I wanted was the fleshpots of home, and bulling Elspeth and civilised women, and never to stir out of England again. I daren't tell him that, but fortunately there was a way out.
"That's most kind of you, sir," says I. "I'm honoured, 'deed I am. But I'm afraid I have to decline."
"What's that you say?" He was bristling in an. instant; ready to fight with his own shadow if it contradicted him, was H.M.L.
"I can't stay in the Punjab, sir. And now that the war's over, I intend to go home."
"Do you indeed? And may I ask why?" He was fairly boiling.
"It's not easy to explain, sir. I'd take it as a favour … if you'd just allow me to decline—with regret, I assure you—"
"I'll do no such thing! Can't stay in the Punjab, indeed!" He calmed abruptly, eyeing me. "Is this because of Hardinge?"
"No, sir, not at all. I'm simply applying to be sent home."
He sat back, tapping a finger. "You've never shirked—so there must be a good reason for this … this nonsense! Come, man—what is it? Out with it!"
"Very well, sir—since you press me." I figured it was time to explode my mine. "The fact is, you ain't the only one who wants me at Lahore. There is a lady there … who has intentions—honourable, of course—and … well, it won't do, you see. She's—"
"Good God!" I'm probably the only man who ever made Henry Lawrence take the name of the Lord in vain. "Not the Maharani?"
"Yes, sir. She's made it perfectly plain, I'm afraid. And I'm married, you know." For some reason, God knows what, I added: "Mrs Flashman wouldn't like it a bit."
He didn't say anything for about three minutes—d'you know, I'm sure the blighter was absolutely wondering what advantage there might be to having the Queen Mother of the Punjab panting for his assistant. They're all alike, these blasted politicals. Finally, he shook his head, and said he took my point, but while it ruled out Lahore, there was no reason why I should not be employed elsewhere -
"No, sir," says I, firmly. "I'm going home. If necessary, I'll sell out." Perhaps it was that I hadn't got over my illness, but I was sick and tired and ready for a stand-up tight if he wanted one. I think he sensed it, for he became quite reasonable, and said he would see to it. He wasn't a bad chap, you know, and quite half-human, as he showed towards the end of our conversation.
"I can see that you might furnish me with material for another romantic novel," says he, looking whimsical. "Tell me: is the lady as personable as they say?"
He wasn't the only one to ask me that kind of question. It has been my fate to make the acquaintance of several mysterious beauties who excited the randy interest of my superiors—I recall Elgin going quite pink with curiosity about the Empress of China, and the gleam in the eyes of Colin Campbell and Hugh Rose when they cross-examined me about the Rani of Jhansi. Lincoln and Palmerston, too. I told Lawrence she was a little stunner, but given to alcoholic excess, and on no account to be trusted—political information, you see, but no lascivious details. He said he'd be interested to meet her, and I advised him that Gardner was his man.52
"You'll conduct Goolab Singh, at least," says he, which I didn't mind, since it was sure to infuriate Hardinge, and the next afternoon found me trotting out along the Lahore road, in uniform again, to meet the elephant train bringing the Khalsa emissaries down from Loolianee. Lawrence had told me that they were to be shown no ceremony, and I should wait about half a mile out and let them come to me, for form's sake. But they halted a good mile from the town, and I could see the mahouts picketing the beasts and tents being raised for the sirdars, while a small body of gorracharra mounted guard about them; I continued to sit my pony, waiting, and presently I saw a solitary horseman cantering down towards me, and it was Goolab himself. He gave a wave and a great bellow of "Salaam, soldier!" as he drew rein alongside, grinning all over his rogue's red face, and taking my hand. To my surprise he was wearing no armour or finery, only a simple robe and turban.