Royal Flash

won't.'

I must say it was pretty good, on the spur of the moment; the distraught, pleading line seemed the best to follow, and I must have looked pretty wild—and yet harmless. She looked at me, stony-faced, and my spirits sank.

'Get out of my coach,' says she, very cold. 'Why should I help you?'

'Why—after what I've suffered? Look, they slashed me with sabres, those damned friends of yours—Bismarck and that swine Rudi! I've escaped by a miracle, and they're still after me—they'll kill me if they find me, don't you understand?'

'You're raving,' says she, sitting there cold and beautiful. 'I don't know what you're talking about; it has nothing to do with me.'

'You can't be so heartless,' says I. 'Please, Lola, all I ask is to be allowed to leave Munich with you—or if you'll lend me some money, I'll go alone. But you can't refuse me now—I'm punished for whatever you had against me, aren't I? Good God, I wouldn't cast you adrift—you know that! We're both English, my darling, after all… .'

I have an idea that I went down on my knees—it's all the harder to tip a grovelling creature out of a coach, after all, and she bit her lip and swore and looked both ways in distraction. Her little servant settled it for the time being.

'Let him stay, madame; it is not wise to linger here. We should hurry on to Herr Laibinger's house without delay.'

She still hesitated, but he was insistent, and I raised the roof with my entreaties, so eventually she snapped to the coachee to drive on. I was loud in my gratitude, and would have described the events leading up to my present situation at some length, but she shut me up pretty sharp.

'I have some concerns of my own to occupy me,' says she. 'Where you have been or what devilment you've been doing you may keep to yourself.'

'But Lola—if I could only explain—'

'The devil take your explanation!' snaps she, and her Irish was as thick as Paddy's head. 'I've no wish to hear it.'

So I sat back meekly, with my valise between my feet, and she sat there opposite me, thoughtful and angry. I recognised the mood—it was one step short of her piss-pot flinging tantrum— perhaps that mad walk through the crowd had shaken her, after all, or she was simply fretting about tomorrow. I tried one placatory remark:

'I'm most awfully sorry, Lola—about what has happened, I mean. They seem to have treated you shamefully—'

But she paid no attention, though, so I shut up. It came back to me, all of a sudden, how it was in a coach I had first met her, years ago—and I had been a fugitive then, and she had rescued me. If necessary I might remind her of it, but not now. But thinking of it, I made comparisons; yes, even in my present desperation, I could appreciate that she was as lovely now as she had been then—if I made up to her, carefully, who knew but she might relent her present coldness (that Ranelagh business must have bitten deep). She might even let me accompany her all the way out of Germany—the prospect of another tumble or two presented themselves to my ever-ready imagination, and very delightful thoughts they were.

'Stop leering like that!' she shot at me suddenly.

'I beg your pardon, Lola, I—'

'If I help you—and I say 'if'—you'll behave yourself with suitable humility.' She considered me. 'Where do you want to go?'

'Anywhere, darling, out of Munich—out of Germany, if possible. Oh, Lola, darling—'

'I'll take you out of Munich, then, tomorrow. After that you can fend for yourself—and it's more than you deserve.'

Well, that was something. I'm still, even now, at a loss to know why she was so hard on me that night—I do believe it was not so much dislike of me as that she was distraught at falling from power and having to leave Bavaria in disgrace. And yet, it may have been that she had still not forgiven me for having her hooted off the London stage. At any rate, it seemed that her kindness to me when I first came to Munich had been all a sham to lull me into easy prey for Rudi. Oh, well, let her dislike me as long as she gave me a lift. It was better here than tramping round Munich, starting at every shadow.

We stayed that night at a house in the suburbs, and I was graciously permitted to share a garret with her servant, Papon, who snored like a horse and had fleas. At least, I got fleas, so they must have been his. In the morning word came that the station was closed, as a result of the recent disorders, and we had to wait a day, while Lola fretted and I sat in my attic and nursed my valise. Next day the trains were still uncertain, and Lola vowed she wouldn't stay another night in Munich, which pleased me considerably. The sooner we were off, the better. So she decided that we should drive out of town a day's journey and catch a train at some village station or other—I've forgotten the name now. All these arrangements, of course, were made without any reference to me; Lola determined everything with the people of the house, while poor old Flashy lurked humbly in the background, out of sight, and expecting to be asked to clean the master's boots at any minute.

However, in the wasted day that we spent waiting, Lola did speak to me, and was even civil. She didn't inquire about what had happened to me in the time since she had helped to have me shanghaied out of Munich by Rudi, and when I took advantage of the thaw in her manner to try to tell her, she wouldn't have it.

'There is no profit in harking back,' says she. 'Whatever has happened, we shall let bygones by bygones.' I was quite bucked up at this, and tried to tell her how grateful I was, and how deeply I realised how unworthy I was of her kindness, etc., and she did give me a rather quizzical smile, and said we would not talk about it, but we got no warmer than that. However, when it came to set out on the day after, I found she had gone to the trouble of getting me a clean shirt from the master of the house, and she was quite charming as we got into the coach, and even called me Harry.

Come, thinks I, this is better and better; at this rate I'll be mounting her again in no time. So I set myself to be as pleasant as I know, and we talked away quite the thing (but not about the past few months). It got better still during the morning; she began to laugh again, and even to rally me in her old Irish style—and when Lola did that, turning on you the full glory of those brilliant eyes—well, unless you were blind or made of wood you were curling round her little finger in no time at all.

I must say I was a little puzzled by this change of mood towards me at first—but, after all, I said to myself, she was always an unpredictable piece—melting one minute, raging the next, cold and proud, or gay and captivating, a queen and a little girl all in one. I must also say again that she had uncanny powers of charming men, far beyond the simple spell of her beauty, and by afternoon we were back on our old best terms again, and her big eyes were taking on that wanton, languorous look that had used to set me twitching and thinking lewdly of beds and sofas.

Altogether, by afternoon it was understood that she would not part company with me as she had intended; we would catch the train together, with Papon, of course, and travel on south. She had still not decided where to go, but she talked gaily of plans for what she might do in Italy, or France, or whatever place might take her fancy. Wherever it was, she would rebuild her fortune, and perhaps even find another kingdom to play with.

'Who cares a snap for Germany?' says she. 'Why, we have the whole world before us—the courts, the cities, the theatres, the fun!' She was infectious in her gaiety, and Papon and I grinned like idiots. 'I want to live before I die!' She said that more than once; another of her mottoes, I suppose.

So we talked and joked as the coach rattled along, and she sang little Spanish songs—gay, catchy ditties— and coaxed me to sing, too. I gave them 'Garryowen', which she liked, being Irish, and 'The British Grenadiers', at which she and Papon laughed immoderately. I was in good spirits; it was gradually dawning on me at last that I was going to get away high, wide, and handsome, jewels and all, and I was warm at the thought that all the time the brilliant, lovely Lola never suspected what she was helping me to escape with.

At our village we discovered there was a train south next day, so we put up at the local inn, a decent little place called Der Senfbusch—the Mustard-Pot—I remember Lola laughing over the name. We had a capital dinner, and I must have drunk a fair quantity, for I have only vague memories of the evening, and of going to bed with Lola in a great creaking four-poster which swayed and squealed when we got down to business—she giggled so much at the row we made that I was almost put off my stroke. Then we had a night-cap, and my last memory of her before she blew out the candle is of those great eyes and smiling red lips and the black hair tumbling down over my face