Flashman in the Great Game

‘You’re sure?’ croaked Ellenborough. ‘No, no, Flashman – it can’t be! Count Ignatieff – whom we were discussing two nights since – here? Impossible!’

‘My lord,’ says I, ‘I’ve good cause to know him better than most, and I tell you he’s in the castle now, gotch-eye and all. Cool as damn-your-eyes, in a tweed cape and deer-stalker hat, so help me! He was there, at the door, not ten minutes ago!’

He plumped down on a chair, mopping at the shaving-soap on his cheeks – I’d practically had to manhandle his valet to be admitted, and I’d left a trail of startled minions on the back-stairs in my haste to get to his room. I was still panting from exertion, to say nothing of shock.

‘I want an explanation of this, my lord,’ says I, ‘for I’ll not believe it’s chance.’

‘What d’ye mean?’ says he, goggling.

‘Two nights ago we talked of precious little else but this Russian monster – how he’d been spying the length and breadth of India, in the very place to which I’m being sent. And now he turns up – the very man? Is that coincidence?’ I was in such a taking I didn’t stand on ceremony. ‘How comes he in the country, even? Will you tell me Lord Palmerston didn’t know?’

‘My God, Flashman!’ His big mottled face looked shocked. ‘What d’you mean by that?’

‘I mean, my lord,’ says I, trying to hold myself in, ‘that there’s precious little that happens anywhere, let alone in England, that Lord Palmerston doesn’t know about – is it possible that he’s unaware that the most dangerous agent in Russia – and one of their leading nobles, to boot – is promenading about as large as life? And never a word the other night, when—’

‘Wait! Wait!’ cries he, wattling. ‘That’s a monstrous suggestion! Contain yourself, sir! Are you positive it’s Ignatieff?’

I was ready to burst, but I didn’t. ‘I’m positive.’

‘Stay here,’ says he, and bustled out, and for ten minutes I chewed my nails until he came back, shutting the door behind him carefully. He had got his normal beetroot colour back, but he looked damned rattled.

‘It’s true,’ says he. ‘Count Ignatieff is here with Lord Aberdeen’s party – as a guest of the Queen. It seems – you know we have Granville in Petersburg just now, for the new Tsar’s coronation? Well, a party of Russian noblemen – the first since the war – have just arrived in Leith yesterday, bringing messages of good will, or God knows what, from the new monarch to the Queen. Someone had written to Aberdeen – I don’t know it all yet – and he brought them with him on his way north – with this fellow among ’em. It’s extraordinary! The damnedest chance!’

‘Chance, my lord?’ says I. ‘I’ll need some convincing of that!’

‘Good God, what else? I’ll allow it’s long odds, but I’m certain if Lord Palmerston had had the least inkling …’ He trailed off, and you could see the sudden doubt of his own precious Prime Minister written on his jowly face. ‘Oh, but the notion’s preposterous … what purpose could it serve not to tell us? No – he would certainly have told me – and you, I’m sure.’

Well, I wasn’t sure – from what I’d heard of Pam’s sense of humour I’d have put nothing past him. And yet it would have been folly, surely, with me on the point of setting off for India, ostensibly to undo Ignatieff’s work, to have let him come face to face with me. And then, the wildest thought – was it possible Ignatieff knew about my mission?

‘Never!’ trumpets Ellenborough. ‘No, that couldn’t be! The decision to send you out was taken a bare two weeks since – it would be to credit the Russian intelligence system with super-human powers – and if he did, what could he accomplish here? – dammit, in the Queen’s own home! This isn’t Middle Asia – it’s a civilised country—’

‘My lord, that’s not a civilised man,’ says I. ‘But what’s to be done? I can’t meet him!’

‘Let me think,’ says he, and strode about, heaving his stomach around. Then he stopped, heavy with decision.

‘I think you must,’ says he. ‘If he has seen you – or finds out that you were here and left before your time … wait, though, it might be put down to tact on your part … still, no!’ He snapped his fingers at me. ‘No, you must stay. Better to behave as though there was nothing untoward – leave no room to excite suspicion – after all, former enemies meet in time of peace, don’t they? And we’ll watch him – by George, we will! Perhaps we’ll learn something ourselves! Hah-ha!’

And this was the port-sodden clown who had once governed India. I’d never heard such an idiot suggestion – but could I shift him? I pleaded, in the name of common sense, that I should leave at once, but he wouldn’t have it – I do believe that at the back of his mind was the suspicion that Pam had known Ignatieff was coming, and Ellenborough was scared to tinker with the Chief’s machinations, whatever they were.

‘You’ll stay,’ he commanded, ‘and that’s flat. What the devil – it’s just a freak of fate – and if it’s not, there’s nothing this Russian rascal can do. I tell you what, though – I’m not going to miss his first sight of you, what? The man he threatened with torture and worse – disgusting brute! Aye, and the man who bested him in the end. Ha-ha!’ And he clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Aye – hope nothing happens to embarrass the Queen, though. You’ll mind out for that, Flashman, won’t you – it wouldn’t do – any unpleasantness, hey?’

I minded out, all right. Strangely enough, by the time I came back to the castle with Elspeth that afternoon, my qualms about coming face to face again with that Russian wolf had somewhat subsided; I’d reminded myself that we weren’t meeting on his ground any more, but on mine, and that the kind of power he’d once had over me was a thing quite past. Still, I won’t pretend I was feeling at ease, and I’d drummed it into Elspeth’s head that not a hint must be let slip about my ensuing departure for India, or Pam’s visit. She took it in wide-eyed and assured me she would not dream of saying a word, but I realised with exasperation that you couldn’t trust any warning to take root in that beautiful empty head: as we approached the drawing-room doors she was prattling away about what wedding present she should suggest to the Queen for Mary Seymour, and I, preoccupied, said offhand, why not a lusty young coachman, and immediately regretted it – you couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t pass it on – and then the doors opened, we were announced, and the heads in the room were all turning towards us.

There was the Queen, in the middle of the sofa, with a lady and gentleman behind; Albert, propping up the mantelpiece, and lecturing to old Aberdeen, who appeared to be asleep on his feet, half a dozen assorted courtiers – and Ellenborough staring across the room. As we made our bows, and the Queen says: ‘Ah Mrs Flashman, you are come just in time to help with the service of tea,’ I was following Ellenborough’s glance, and there was Ignatieff, with another Russian-looking grandee and a couple of our own gentry. He was staring at me, and by God, he never so much as blinked or twitched a muscle; I made my little bow towards Albert, and as I turned to face Ignatieff again I felt, God knows why, a sudden rush of to-hell-with-it take hold of me.

‘My – dear – Count!’ says I, astonished, and everyone stopped talking; the Queen looked pop-eyed, and even Albert left off prosing to the noble corpse beside him.

‘Surely it’s Count Ignatieff?’ cries I, and then broke off in apology. ‘Your pardon, ma’am,’ says I to Vicky. ‘I was quite startled – I had no notion Count Ignatieff was here! Forgive me,’ but of course by this time she was all curiosity, and I had to explain that Count Ignatieff was an old comrade-in-arms, so to speak, what? And beam in his direction, while she smiled uncertainly, but not displeased, and Ellenborough played up well, and told Albert that he’d heard me speak of being Ignatieff’s prisoner during the late war, but had had no idea this was the same gentleman, and Albert looked disconcerted, and said that was most remarkable.

‘Indeed, highness, I had that honour,’ says Ignatieff, clicking his heels, and the sound of that chilly voice made my spine tingle. But there was nothing he could do but take the hand I stretched out to him.

‘This is splendid, old fellow!’ says I, gripping him as though he were my long-lost brother. ‘Wherever have you been keeping yourself?’ One or two of them smiled, to see bluff Flash Harry so delighted at meeting an old enemy – just what they’d have expected, of course. And when the Queen had been made quite au fait with the situation, she said it was exactly like Fitzjames and Roderick Dhu.

So after that it was quite jolly, and Albert made a group with Ignatieff and Ellenborough and me, and questioned me about our acquaintance, and I made light of my captivity and escape, and said what a charming jailer Ignatieff had been, and the brute just stood impassive, with his tawny head bowed over his cup, and looking me over with that amazing half-blue, half-brown eye. He was still the same handsome, broken-nosed young iceberg I remembered – if I’d closed my eyes I could have heard the lash whistling and cracking in Arabat courtyard, with the Cossacks’ grip on my arms.

Albert, of course, was much struck by the coincidence of our meeting again, and preached a short sermon about the brotherhood of men-at-arms, to which Ignatieff smiled politely and I cried ‘Hear, hear!’ It was difficult to guess, but I judged my Muscovite monster wasn’t enjoying this too much; he must have been wondering why I pretended to be so glad to see him. But I was all affability; I even presented him to Elspeth, and he bowed and kissed her hand; she was very demure and cool, so I knew she fancied him, the little trollop.

The truth is, my natural insolence was just asserting itself, as it always does when I feel it’s safe; when a moment came when Ignatieff and I were left alone together, I thought I’d stick a pin in him, just for sport, so I asked, quietly:

‘Brought your knout with you, Count?’

He looked at me a moment before replying. ‘It is in Russia,’ says he. ‘Waiting. So, I have no doubt, is Count Pencherjevsky’s daughter.’

‘Oh, yes,’ says I. ‘Little Valla. Is she well, d’you know?’

‘I have no idea. But if she is, it is no fault of yours.’ He glanced away, towards Elspeth and the others. ‘Is it?’

‘She never complained to me,’ says I, grinning at him. ‘On that tack – if I’m well, it’s no fault of yours, either.’

‘That is true,’ says he, and the eye was like a sword-point. ‘However, may I suggest that the less we say about our previous acquaintance, the better? I gather from your … charade, a little while ago – designed, no doubt, to impress your Queen – that you are understandably reluctant that the truth of your behaviour there should be made public.’

‘Oh, come now,’ says I. ‘’Twasn’t a patch on yours, old boy. What would the Court of Balmoral think if they knew that the charming Russian nobleman with the funny eye was a murderous animal who flogs innocent men to death and tortures prisoners of war? Thought about that?’

‘If you think you were tortured, Colonel Flashman,’ says he, poker-faced, ‘then I congratulate you on your ignorance.’ He put down his cup. ‘I find this conversation tedious. If you will excuse me,’ and he turned away.

‘Oh, sorry if you’re bored,’ says I. ‘I was forgetting – you probably haven’t cut a throat or burned a peasant in a week.’

It was downright stupid of me, no doubt – two hours earlier I’d been quaking at the thought of meeting him again, and here I was sassing him to my heart’s content. But I can never resist a jibe and a gloat when the enemy’s hands are tied, as Thomas Hughes would tell you. Ignatieff didn’t seem nearly as fearsome here, among the teacups, with chaps toadying the royals, and cress sandwiches being handed round, and Ellenborough flirting ponderously with Elspeth while the Queen complained to old Aberdeen that it was the press which had killed Lord Hardinge, in her Uncle Leopold’s opinion. No, not fearsome at all – without his chains and gallows and dungeons and power of life and death, and never so much as a Cossack thug to bless himself with. I should have remembered that men like Nicholas Ignatieff are dangerous anywhere – usually when you least expect it.