same lay as myself, for she stood in talk for quite five minutes, while I consumed a jealous souffle. But then she turned away and swayed to my corner, smiling graciously and asking if everything was to my satisfaction.
'It will be directly,' says I, rising gallantly, 'if you'll condescend to join me in a bottle of fizz.' I was setting a chair when I heard her gasp; she was staring as though I were Marley's ghost. Hold on, thinks I, my new whiskers are grown enough to be presentable, surely—and then I almost dropped the chair, for it was Phoebe Carpenter, pillar of the Church and wholesaler of firearms to the Taiping rebels.
'Colonel Flashman!' cries she. 'Oh, dear!'
'Mrs Carpenter!' cries I. 'Good God!'
She swayed, eyes closed, and sat down abruptly, gulping and staring at me wide-eyed as I resumed my seat. 'Oh, what a start you gave me!'
'That's what I said, up the Pearl River,' says I. 'Well, well, I never! Here, take a glass … and do tell me how the Reverend Josiah is keeping. Missionary society doing well, is it?'
'Oh, dear!' she whispers, trembling violently, which improved an already delightful appearance. I hadn't known her because the Phoebe I remembered had borne her beauty in matronly modesty, innocent of rouge and fairly swathed in muslin; this was a most artistic translation, red-lipped and polished, with her gold ringlets piled behind her head and her udders threatening to leap with agitation from a low-cut gown of black satin which I doubted had come from the last sale of work. She drank, her teeth chattering.
'What must you think?' says she, speaking low, and taking a quick slant to see that no one was listening.
'Well,' says I cheerily, 'I think you're wanted in Hong Kong, for gun-running, which should get you about five years if anyone were inconsiderate enough to mention it to the Singapore traps. I also think that would be' a crying shame —'
'You wouldn't betray me?' she whimpers faintly.
'You betrayed me, dear Phoebe,' says I gently, and laid my hand on hers. 'But of course I wouldn't —'
'You might!' says she, starting to weep.
'Nonsense, child! Why ever on earth should I?'
'For … for … re-revenge!' She stared piteously, like a blue-eyed fawn, her bosom heaving. 'I … we … deceived you most shamefully! Oh, dear, what am Ito do?'
'Have some bubbly,' says I soothingly, 'and rest assured I have no thoughts of revenge. Compensation, perhaps …'
'Comp-compensation?' She blinked miserably. 'But I have no substance … I couldn't afford …'
'My dear Mrs Carpenter,' says I, squeezing her hand, 'you have absolutely capital substance, and you know perfectly well I don't mean money. Now … I'm sure Josiah has told you all about Susannah and the Elders. Well, I'm not feeling exactly elderly, but … oh, Susannah!' I beamed at her, and she blinked again, dabbed her nose and looked at me thoughtfully, still heaving a bit but settling down and accepting another ration of fizz.
'I'm by no means sure that they would send me to prison!' says she, unexpectedly, pouting. 'After all, it was a very good cause!'
'It was a dam' bad cause,' says I, 'and if you think they won't shove you in clink, just ask dear Josiah.'
'I can't! He has abandoned me!'
'You don't mean it!' I was astonished. 'He must be mad. You mean he just up and left you? Here?'
'Can you suppose I would accept employment in a restaurant if I were still a clergyman's wife? Well, I am still his wife,' she admitted, taking another sip, 'but he has deserted me and gone to Sumatra.'
'Has he, though? Missionary work or piracy? Well, that's bad luck to be sure. But you'll soon get another chap, you know, with your looks,' I reassured her. 'Well, take tonight, for example. Why, before I even recognised you, I was most entirely fetched —'
'Oh, say you will not inform on me!' She leaned forward, all entreaty. 'You see, I have a most fortunate situation here, and am in hope to save sufficient to go back to … to England … to Middle Wallop and my dear parents … at the rectory …'
'I knew it must be a rectory. Middle Wallop, eh?'
'When I think of it,' says she, biting her lip, 'compared to …' She gestured at the room pathetically.
'… compared to beating copra in the women's compound with all those smelly Chinese sluts? Absolutely. Well, now, Phoebe, tempus is fugiting—when does your shop shut, and where shall we … ah …?'
'We close in an hour. I live in the house,' says she, looking at the table, and shot me a reproachful pout—my, she was a little stunner. 'You do very wrong to compel me. If you were a gentleman …'
'I'd shop you like a worthy citizen. If you were a lady, you wouldn't hocus fellows into running guns. So we're well suited—and I ain't compelling you one bit; you're all for it.' I gave her a wink and a squeeze. 'Now, then, where can I spend the next hour? Got a billiard table, have you? Capital. Just pass me the word when you've got the dishes washed—oh, and see we have a couple of bottles, iced, upstairs, will you? Come on, goose—we'll have the jolliest time, you know!'
She gave her head a little toss, going pink, and glanced at me slantendicular. 'And you promise faithfully not to tell … anything? Oh, if only I could be sure!'
'Well, you can't. Oh, come … why should I peach on a little darling like you, eh?' As we stood up, close together, I squeezed the satin unseen, and her mouth opened on a little gasp. 'See? Two hours from now, you won't care.'
I ambled down to the empty billiard room, in prime fettle, calling 'Kya-hai!' and ordering up another bottle of bubbly. I tickled the pills until it arrived, and then wandered, glass in hand, to the verandah to look out into the tropic dark; it had started to rain with great force, as it does in Singapore, straight down in stair-rods, battering the leaves and gurgling in the monsoon ditch, bringing that heavy, earthy smell that is the East. I stood reflecting in great content: homeward bound, champagne, good Burma cheroot, and lissom little Phoebe under starter's orders. What more could a happy warrior ask? After the second glass I tried a few combination shots, but my eye wasn't in any longer, and after a while I left off, yawning and wishing impatiently that Phoebe would hurry the mateys along, beginning to feel sleepy as well as monstrous randy.
The door opened abruptly and a chap stuck his head in, rain glistening on his hat and cape. He gave me a cheery nod.
'Evenin', sport. Seen Joss about, have you?'
'Joss?'
'The guv'nor. You know, Carpenter. Or maybe you don't know. Ne'er mind, I daresay he's upstairs.' He was withdrawing.
'Hold on! D'you mean … the Rev. Josiah Carpenter?'
'The one and only,' says he, grinning. 'Our esteemed proprietor.'
I gaped at him. 'Proprietor? You mean he owns this place? He's not … in Sumatra?'
'Well, he wasn't this afternoon. I say, are you all right?' 'But Mrs Carpenter distinctly … told me …'
'Oh, she's about, is she? Good, I'll see her. Chin-chin.'
The door slammed, leaving me standing bewildered—and angry. What was the little bitch playing at? She'd said … hold on … she had said … I turned sharply at a step on the verandah, lurching heavily against the table and catching hold to steady myself.
The big blond-bearded chap who'd been in the restaurant was standing in the open screen; he was wearing a pilot-cap now, and there seemed to be another fellow in a sou'wester, just behind him in the shadows … why was I so dizzy all of a sudden?
'Hollo,' says the blond chap, and his glance went to the bottle and glass on the side-table. He grinned at me. 'Enjoying your drink?'
[With words apparently failing their author for once, the eighth packet of the Flashman Papers ends here.]
APPENDIX I: The Taiping Rebellion
The Taiping Rebellion was the worst civil war in history, and the second bloodiest war of any kind, being exceeded in casual-ties only by the Second World War, with its estimated 60 million dead. How many died during the fourteen years of the Taiping Rising can only be guessed; the lowest estimate is 20 million, but 30 million is
