Read Online Black Ajax by George MacDonald Fraser - Free Book Online Page A

drop, more than one noble lord, I'm told, heaving a sigh of relief when he died with his mouth shut.
    Not that politics was altogether neglected in the clubs and drawing-rooms. Why, the day I landed there was a disagreement in Cabinet. Foreign secretary, Canning, an intriguing toad, if you ask me, with an eye on Downing Street, blamed the war minister, Castlereagh, for the Walcheren fiasco, and Castlereagh demanded pistols for two on Putney Heath. The pair of cakes missed each other altogether with their first shots, tried again, Castlereagh put a slug in Canning's leg, and Canning shot a button off his lordship's coat. I heard the news from Kangaroo Cooke, York's old aide.
    “Bet you're glad they weren't alongside at Talavera,” says he. “Still, they scored one hit, which is more than Tierney and Pitt could manage – and say this for 'em, it's a dam' stylish way to bring down a government.”
    Wasn't he right, though? Can't see Melbourne or Peel having the game to shoot each other, worse luck.
    So, sir, there you have me, back in Town … and I can see the leery look in your eye as you hear me refer so familiarly to Society, with idle mention of nobility and royalty, and ask yourself, do I speak of what I know, or am I a rasher o' wind retailing second-hand goods? Yes, you do, damn your impudence, I know. You've cast about, I don't doubt, and are aware that the Flashmans are a smoky lot, not halfway up the tree nowadays. My son has the fame of his Afghan laurels, as I had mine in the Peninsula, but they don't last, and once the shine has gone, you're an unregarded relic of a disreputable age.
    We ain't Quality, never were. Know what my father was? A slave-trader, making enough from black ivory to be a nabob, bought himself a house in South Audley Street and a place in the shires, sent me to Rugby, stumped up for my colours – but he was still trade, and if I was to cut my way into the charmed circle I must do it with my sabre. God knows I tried, at Rolica and Vimeiro, and scouting along the Douro, hunting glory, and in that charge at Talavera. I was “Mad Buck” when I came home, hero of the hour – aye, and
for
the hour – pointed out at Horse Guards, worth a hail-fellow from Clarence and a shake of the hand from Prinny, who swore he couldn't ha' done better himself, by George, sir, he couldn't … and wondered if I dare turn my eyes on the beauteous 'Lishy Paget – now she
was
Quality, and above my touch, but I had the style and the shoulders, and I reckoned the Flashman blunt wouldn't hurt.
    Aye, but if you're a hero – and one who has cut his pigtail , mind – you must ride the rocket while it's ascending, for the stick'll come down at last. I pray God it never does for young Harry; with luck it won't, for he has a way with him, and the kind of fame that'll last a lifetime, even if he don't add to it, which he likely will. He don't know it, but by God I'm proud of him. He won his spurs clean, and he don't have that rum shadow that clung to me over my duelling – can't think why I was such a fire-eater in the Peninsula, but I was, and the hellish fact is that when you've been out a couple o' times you find a taste for it. Harry's a cooler hand altogether – why, the only time he stood up the young madman gave his man a free shot, and then deloped ! I was never reckoned a funk, but damned if I'd ever have the pluck for that! Aye, I'm proud – as I shall tell him when … well, if he visits me. When you see him, you might … no, better not. Guv'nor in the blue-devil factory's best at a distance, eh?
    I'll take some more of the red tape , if you please … thank'ee. And you may pour out that bottle of belch , too … To come to the point, when I came home in '09 I was a hero – and nobody. I'd been on the edge of the sporting set as a younker, before I went to Spain – sparred with Cribb, as I told you, took my wet at Stephen's and Limmer's, was reckoned a useful pradster at the Corner (no seat at the