Royal Flash

doorway I could recognise her quite easily. She was dressed as for travelling, with a fur beaver perched on her head, and her hands in a muff before her. She stood looking out, and the jeers and abuse swelled up to a continuous tumult; the line of guardsmen gave back ever so slightly as the folk in front shook their fists and menaced her through the railings.

There was a moment's pause, and some consultation among the group round her on the steps; then there were cries of surprise from the street as the coach whipped up and wheeled down towards the gates, for Lola was still standing in the doorway.

'She's not going!' someone sang out, and there was consternation as the gates opened and the coach rolled slowly forward. The crowd gave back before it, and it was able to move through the lane they made; the coachee was looking pretty scared, and keeping his whip to himself, but the mob weren't interested in him. He drove a little way, and then stopped not twenty yards from where I was; the crowd, murmuring in bewilderment, couldn't make out what it was all about. There was a man in the coach, but no one seemed to know who he was.

Lola was still standing on the steps of the house, but now she came down them and began to walk towards the gate, and in that moment the roar of the mob died away. There was a mutter of astonishment, and then that died, too, and in an almost eery silence she was walking steadily past the line of cuirassiers, towards the crowd waiting in the street.

For a minute I wondered if she was mad; she was making straight for the crowd who had been roaring threats and curses at her only a moment before. They'll kill her, I thought, and felt the hairs prickling on the nape of my neck; there was something awful in the sight of that small, graceful figure, the hat perched jauntily on her black hair, the muff swinging in one hand, walking quite alone down to the open gates.

There she stopped, and looked slowly along the ranks of the mob, from side to side. They were still silent; there was a cough, a stifled laugh, an isolated voice here and there, but the mass of them made never a sound, watching her and wondering. She stood there a full half-minute, and then walked straight into the front rank.

They opened up before her, people jostling and treading on each other and cursing to move out of her way. She never faltered, but made straight ahead, and the lane to her coach opened up again, the people falling back on both sides to let her through. As she drew closer I could see her lovely face under the fur hat; she was smiling a little, but not looking to either side, as unconcerned as though she had been the hostess at a vicarage garden party moving among her guests. And for all their hostile eyes and grim faces, not one man-jack made a move against her, or breathed a word, as she went by.

Years later I heard a man who had been in that crowd—an embassy chap, I think he was—describing the scene to some others in a London club.

'It was the bravest thing, by gad, I ever saw in my life. There she was, this slip of a girl, walking like a queen—my stars, what a beauty she was, too! Straight into that mob she went, that had been howling for her life and would have torn her limb from limb if one of them had given the lead. She hardly noticed them, dammit; just smiled serenely, with her head high. She was quite unguarded, too, but on she walked, quite the thing, while those cabbage-eating swabs growled and glared—and did nothing. Oh, she had the measure of those fellows, all right. But to see her, so small and defenceless and brave! I tell you, I never was so proud to be an Englishman as in that moment; I wanted to rush forward to her side, to show her there was a countryman to walk with her through that damned, muttering pack of foreigners. Yes, by gad, I would have been happy—proud and happy—to come to her assistance, to be at her side.'

'Why didn't you, then?' I asked him.

'Why not, sir? Because the crowd was too thick, damme. How could I have done?'

No doubt he was damned glad of the excuse, too; I wouldn't have been at her side, for twice the contents of my valise. The risk she ran was appalling, for it would probably have taken only one spark to set them rushing in on her—the way they had been baying for her only a few minutes before would have frozen any ordinary person's blood. But not Lola; there was no cowing her; she was showing them, deliberately putting herself at their mercy, daring them to attack her—and she knew them better than they knew themselves, and they let her pass without a murmur.

It was pure idiot pride on her part, of course; typically Montez—and of a piece with what she had done, I heard, in the previous night's disturbance, when they were throwing brickbats at her windows, and the crazy bitch came out on her balcony, dressed in her finest ball gown and littered with gems, and toasted them in champagne. The plain truth about her was that she didn't care a damn—and they went in awe of her for it.[42]

She reached the coach and the chap inside hopped out and handed her in, but the coachee couldn't whip up until the crowd began to disperse. They went quietly, almost hang-dog; it was the queerest thing you ever saw. And then the coach began to go forward, at a walk, and the coachee still didn't whip up, even when the way was quite clear.

I tagged along a little way in the rear, marvelling at all this and not a little piqued to see her get off scot-free. Why, the brutes hadn't even given her a rotten egg to remember them by, but that is like the Germans. Let anyone stand up to 'em and they shuffle and look at each other and touch their forelocks to him. An English crowd, now— they'd either have murdered her or carried her shoulder-high, cheering, but these square-heads didn't have the bottom to do either.

The coach went slowly across the Karolinen Platz, where there was hardly any crowd at all, and into the street at the far side. I was still following on, to see if something was going to happen, but nothing did; no one seemed to be paying any attention to it now, as it rolled slowly up the street—and in that moment I was suddenly struck by a wonderful idea.

I had to get out of Munich—suppose I caught up with the coach and begged her to take me with her? She couldn't still be holding a grudge against me, surely—not after what I'd suffered through her contrivance? She'd paid off any score she owed me over Lord Ranelagh, a dozen times over—if she didn't know that, I could damned soon tell her. And she was no longer in any position to have me arrested, or locked up; dammit, anyway, we had been lovers, once; surely she wouldn't cast me adrift?

If I'd had a moment to think, I dare say I wouldn't have done it, but it was decision taken on the edge of an instant. Here was a chance to get out of Munich, and Germany too, probably, before the traps got after me-and in a moment I was running after the coach, gripping my valise, and calling out to it to stop. Possibly it was just my natural instinct: when in danger, get behind a woman's skirts.

The coachee heard me, and of course at once whipped up, thinking, I suppose, that some particularly bloodthirsty hooligan in the mob had changed his mind, and was bent on mischief. The coach rumbled forward, and I ran roaring in its wake, cursing at the driver to rein in, and trying to make him understand.

'Halt, dammit!' I shouted. 'Lola! It's me—Harry Flashman! Hold on, can't you?'

But he just went faster than ever, and I had to run like billy-o, splashing through the puddles and bellowing. Luckily he couldn't go too fast over the cobbles, and I hove alongside, just about blown, and swung myself onto the side step.

'Lola!' I roared, 'Look—it's me!' and she called out to the coachee to pull up. I opened the door and tumbled in.

The chap with her, her little servant, was ready to leap at me, but I pushed him off. She was staring at me as though I were a ghost.

'In heaven's name!' she exclaimed. 'You!—what are you doing here? And what the devil have you done to your head?'

'Oh, my God, Lola!' says I, 'I've had the very deuce of a time! Lola, you must help me! I've no money, d'you see, and that damned Otto Bismarck is after me! Look—you ask about my head? He and his ruffians tried to murder me! They did—several times! Look here.' And I showed her the bandage sticking out of my left cuff.

'Where have you been?' she demanded, and I looked in vain for that womanly concern in her splendid eyes. 'Where have you come from?'

'Up in the north,' says I. 'Strackenz—my God, I've had a terrible time. I'm desperate, Lola—no money, not a damned farthing, and I must get out of Germany, you see? It's life or death for me. I've been at my wit's end, and I was coming to you because I knew you'd help—'

'You were, were you?' says she.

'—and I saw you back there, with those villains menacing you—my God! you were magnificent, my darling! I've never seen such splendid spirit, and I've been in some tight spots, as you know. Lola—please, dear Lola, I've been through hell—and it was partly because of you. You won't fail me now, will you? Oh, my darling, say you