"Well, you certainly know how to make a fellow at home. Ain't you going to offer me a chair, even?"
He jumped up at that, colouring and apologizing—still the same raw Scud, I could see. He was taller and thinner than I remembered; his brown hair was receding, too, but he still had that quick, awkward nervousness I remembered.
"I'm so taken aback," he stuttered, pulling up a chair for me. "Why—why, I am glad to see you, Flashman! Here, give me your hand, old fellow! There! Well—well—my, what a mountainous size you've grown, to be sure! You always were a big … er, a tall chap, of course, but … I say, isn't this a queer fix, us meeting again like this … after so long! Let's see, it must be fourteen, no fifteen, years since … since … ah …"
"Since Arnold kicked me out for being pissy drunk?" He coloured again. "I was going to say, since we said goodbye."
"Aye. Well, ne'er mind. What's your rank, Scud? Major, eh? I'm a colonel."
"Yes," says he. "I see that." He gave me an odd, almost shy grin. "You've done well—everyone knows about you all the fellows from Rugby talk about you, when one meets 'em, you know … "
"Do they, though? Not with any great love, I'll be bound, eh, young Scud?"
"Oh, come!" cries he. "What d'you mean? Oh, stuff! We were all boys then, and boys never get on too well, 'specially when some are bigger and older and … why, that's all done with years ago! Why—everyone's proud of you, Flashman! Brooke and Green—and young Brooke—he's in the Navy, you know." He paused. "The Doctor would have been proudest of all, I'm sure."
Aye, he probably would, thinks I, the damned old hypocrite.
… everyone knows about Afghanistan, and India, and all that," he ran on. "I was out there myself, you know, in the Sikh campaign, when you were winning another set of laurels. All I got was a shot wound, a hole in my ribs, and a broken arm. "23 He laughed ruefully. "Not much to show, I'm afraid—and then I bought out of the 101st, and—but heavens, how I'm rattling on! Oh, it is good to see you, old fellow! This is the best, most famous thing! Let me have a good look at you! By George, those are some whiskers, though!"
I couldn't be sure if he meant it, or not. God knows, Scud East had no cause to love me, and the sight of him had so taken me back to that last black day at Rugby that I'd momentarily forgotten we were men now, and things had changed—perhaps even his memories of me. For he did seem pleased to see me, now that he'd got over his surprise—of course, that could just be acting on his part, or making the best of a bad job, or just Christian decency. I found myself weighing him up; I'd knocked him about a good deal, in happier days, and it came as a satisfaction to realize that I could probably still do it now, if it came to the pinch; he was still smaller and thinner than I. At that, I'd never detested him as much as his manly-mealy little pal, Brown; he'd had more game in him than the others, had East, and now—well, if he was disposed to be civil, and let bygones be bygones … We were bound to be stuck together for some months at least.
All this in a second's consideration—and you may think, what a mean and calculating nature, or what a guilty conscience. Never you mind; I know my own nature hasn't changed in eighty years, so why should anyone else's? And I never forget an injury—I've done too many of 'em.
So I didn't quite enter into his joyous spirit of reunion, but was civil enough, and after he had got over his sham-ecstasies at meeting his dear old school-fellow again, I said:
"What about this place, then—and this fellow Pencherjevsky?"
He hesitated a moment, glanced towards the wall, got up, and as he walked over to it, said loudly: "Oh, it is as you see it—a splendid place. They've treated me well—very well indeed." And then he beckoned me to go over beside him, at the same time laying a finger on his lips. I went, wondering, and followed his pointing finger to a curious protuberance in the ornate carving of the panelling beside the stove. It looked as though a small funnel had been sunk into the carving, and covered with a fine metal grille, painted to match the surrounding wood.
"I say, old fellow," says East, "what d'you say to a walk? The Count has splendid gardens, and we are free of them, you know."
I took the hint, and we descended the stairs to the hall, and out on to the lawns. The lounging Cossack looked at us, but made no move to follow. As soon as we were at a safe distance, I asked:
"What on earth was it?"
"Speaking-tube, carefully concealed," says he. "I looked out for it as soon as I arrived—there's one in the next room, too, where you'll be. I fancy our Russian hosts like to be certain we're not up to mischief."
"Well, I'm damned! The deceitful brutes! Is that any way to treat gentlemen? And how the deuce did you know to look for it?"
"Oh, just caution," says he, offhand, but then he thought for a moment, and went on: "I know a little about such things, you see. When I was taken at Silistria, although I was officially with the Bashi-Bazouk people, I was more on the political side, really. I think the Russians know it, too. When they brought me up this way I was most carefully examined at first by some very shrewd gentlemen from their staff—I speak some Russian, you see. Oh, yes, my mother's family married in this direction, a few generations ago, and we had a sort of great-aunt who taught me enough to whet my interest. Anyway, on top of their suspicions of me, that accomplishment is enough to make 'em pay very close heed to H. East, Esq."
"It's an accomplishment you can pass on to me as fast as you like," says I. "But d'you mean they think you're a spy?"
"Oh, no, just worth watching—and listening to. They're the most suspicious folk in the world, you know; trust no one, not even each other. And for all they're supposed to be thick-headed barbarians, they have some clever jokers among em."
Something made me ask: "D'you know a chap called Ignatieff- Count Ignatieff?"
"Do I not!" says he. "He was one of the fellows who ran the rule over me when I came up here. That's Captain Swing with blue blood, that one—why, d'you know him?"
I told him what had happened earlier in the day, and he whistled. "He was there to have a look and a word with you, you may depend on it. We must watch what we say, Flashman—not that our consciences aren't clear, but we may have some information that would be useful to them." He glanced about. "And we won't feed their suspicions by talking too much where they can't hear us. Another five minutes, and we'd better get back to the room. If we want to be private there, at any time, we'll hang a coat over their confounded tube—you may believe me, that works. But before we go in, I'll tell you, as quickly as I may, those things that are better said in the open air."
It struck me, he was a cool, assured hand, this East—of course, he had been all that as a boy, too.
"Count Pencherjevsky—an ogre, loud-mouthed, brutal, and a tyrant. He's a Cossack, who rose to command a hussar regiment in the army, won the Tsar's special favour, and retired here, away from his own tribal land. He rules his estate like a despot, treats his serfs abominably, and will surely have his throat cut one day. I can't abide him, and keep out of his way, although I sometimes dine with the family, for appearance's sake. But he's been decent enough, I'll admit; gives me the run of the place, a horse to ride, that sort of thing."
"Ain't they worried you might ride for it?" says I.
"Where to? We're two hundred miles north of the Crimea here, with nothing but naked country in between. Besides, the Count has a dozen or so of his old Cossacks in his service—they're all the guard anyone needs. Kubans, who could ride down anything on four legs. I saw them bring back four serfs who ran away, soon after I got here—they'd succeeded in travelling twenty miles before the Cossacks caught them. Those devils brought them back tied by the ankles and dragged behind their ponies—the whole way!" He shuddered. "They were flayed to death in the first few miles!"