"You’re telling me that he didn’t cheat … but you did—and that you were laying a plant on him?" Seeing her bewildered, I translated: "Making him look guilty, dammit! For the love of God, woman—why?"
Her eyes widened. "Why, to punish him! To pay him out for his bad conduct! His … his black wickedness!" All of a sudden she was breathing fiery indignation, Boadicea in a lace dressing-gown. "And so I did, and now he is disgraced, and a pariah and a hissing, and serve him right! He should be torn by wild horses, so he should! He is a base, horrid man, and I hope he suffers as he deserves!" She began to butter toast ferociously, while I sat stricken, wondering what the devil he’d done, horrid suspicions leaping to mind, but before I could voice them she gave one of her wordless Caledonian exclamations of impatience, left off buttering, tossed her head, and regained her composure.
"Oh, feegh! Harry, I beg your pardon, getting het-up in that unseemly way … oh, but when I think of him …" She took a deep breath, and spooned marmalade on to her plate. "But it’s by with now, thank goodness, and he’s paid for a villain, de’il mend him, and I’m the happy woman that’s done it, for I never thought to have the chance, and long I bided, waiting the day." As always when deeply moved she was getting Scotcher by the minute, but now she paused for a mouthful of toast. "And then, at Tranby, when I heard that Wilson loon whispering to his friend, and under-stood what was what, I soon saw in a blink how I might settle his hash for him, once for all. And I did that!" says she, taking a grim nibble. "Oh, if only I could make marmalade like Granny Morrison’s .. there’s no right flavour to this bought stuff. Would you oblige me with the honey, dearest?"
I shoved it across in a daze. The enormity, the impossibility of what she said she’d done, her fury against Cumming for heaven knew what unimaginable reason—I still couldn’t take it in, but I knew that if you’re to get sense out of Elspeth you must let her babble to a finish in her own weird way, giving what assistance you may. I clutched at the nearest straw.
"What did Wilson whisper? To whom? When?"
"Why, on the first night, when the Prince said `Who’s for baccarat, everyone?' and they went to play in the smoking-room, and Count Lutzow and I and Miss Naylor and Lady Brougham went to watch." She frowned at the honey. "Is it very fattening, do you suppose? Oh, well … So the Prince said `Shall you and I make a jolly bank together, Lady Flashman?' but I said I did not know the rules and must watch till I got the hang of it, and then I should be honoured to help him, and he said, quite jocose, `Ah, well, one of these days, then', and Count Lutzow found me a chair next to that young fellow with the poker up his back, like all the Guardees, what’s his name -? "
"Berkeley Levett, you mean? Elspeth, for mercy’s sake—"
"Like enough … he might have been Berkeley Square for all the sense I could get from him … so then they played, and after a wee while, the Wilson boy—the one they call Jack, though his name is Arthur, I think, or is it Stanley?—anyway, I heard him whisper to Levett, `I say, this is a bit hot!' which I thought odd, when it wasn’t at all, I was quite chilly away from the fire, and without my shawl … but a moment later I saw he meant something quite otherwise, for he whispered again, that the man next to him was cheating—and I saw he meant Billy Cumming … Harry, dear, would you ring for hot water? The pot has gone quite cold—I’m sure they don’t make delft as they used to, or perhaps the cosy is getting thin—they stuff them with anything at all these days, we always had a good thick woollen one at home that Grizel knitted, but they do tend to smell rather, after a while …"
Husbands tend to lose their reason rather, after a while, too, so lest you should suffer likewise I’ll relieve her account with a précis: she had heard Levett say Wilson must be mistaken, and Wilson had told him to look for himself. Lady Flashman, scenting mischief breast-high, had also fixed her bonny blue gimlets on the suspect, seen him drop red counters on his paper after coups had been called, and heard Levett mutter, `By jove, it is too hot!'—but unlike the two young men she had concluded that Cumming was playing fair. Simple she may be, but she has her country’s instinct for anything to do with money and sharp practice, and her unerring eye had spotted what they had missed …
"For I was positive, Harry, that he did not drop his counters until after the Prince had paid the wagers, and what he was doing was laying his wager for the next coup. Well," says she earnestly, "that was not cheating, was it? But they thought it was, you see. They did not understand that he was playing that French system of his, the coup de thingamabob which was mentioned in court last week—I did not understand it myself till I read about it in the papers and realised he was telling the truth when he said he did not cheat. But at the time, of course, I did not know about the French coup thing … and while I did not think he was cheating, how could I be sure, when they thought he was, and I supposed they knew more about the game than I did? In any event," she concluded cheerfully, "it did not signify whether he had cheated or not, so long as they thought he did. Do you see, my love?"
Heaven forfend that I should ever fail to grasp something that was clear to her, but as I gazed into those forget-me-not eyes fixed so eagerly on mine I had to confess myself somewhat buffaloed, and begged her to continue, which she did at length, and gradually light began to dawn. Later that night, after the game, Count Lutzow (the cabbage-eating poont-fancier whom she fleeced at back-gammon two nights later) had come to her like Rumour painted full of tongues, with news that a scandalous crisis was at hand: Sir William Gordon-Cumming had been seen cheating, and watch was to be kept on him the following night. How Lutzow had heard this, God alone knows, for according to what was said in court young Wilson had confided his suspicions to no one on the Monday night except Levett and, later, his mother: but there you are, Lutzow had got wind of it somehow. Sly bastards, these squareheads. Of course, he swore dear Lady Flashman to silence …
I could hold in no longer. "But dammit all, girl, why didn’t you say something then? You believed he hadn’t cheated, and that Wilson and Levett were mistaken … and yet you let ’em lay a trap for him on the following night—for that’s what it was—"
"I should think I did!" cries she. "It was then I saw my chance to be revenged on him. Whether he’d cheated or no' the first night, I could make sure he was seen to cheat on the Tuesday, when every eye would be on him. It was ever so easy," she went on serenely. "I begged Lady Coventry to give me her place beside him, and—forgive me, dearest, and do not be too shocked—I put my knee against his, and smiled `couthie and slee', to fetch him, for he always had a fancy to me, you know, and men are so vain and silly, even an old dame like me can gowk them … well, it was no work at all to have him put his hand on mine to guide me in making my bets, and I saw to it that he kept it there, and made a flirt of it, our hands together whenever we wagered … and that is how counters came to be on his paper when they should not have been—"
This was too much. "Of all the nonsense! Don’t tell me you can palm a gaming-chip—as if you were Klondike Kate! Why, it would take a top sharp, a first-rate mechanic—"