only in duck trowsers and with arms like hawsers, was at the foot of the companion, making way for John Charity Spring in full war-paint – reefer jacket, pilot cap, and a face like an Old Testament prophet. He took in the scene, hands thrust into pockets, and growled to the Malay.
‘On deck, Jumbo, and if he sticks his neck out, break it!’ He turned his glare on Miranda, who was still seated, the pack in her hands, and barked at her: ‘Did this thing molest you?’
She riffled the cards, cool as you like, while my bowels dissolved. ‘No, Papa. He did nott.’
‘He tried though, I’ll lay! I know the villain!’ His voice rose to its accustomed roar. ‘Did he lay his vile hands on you? Answer me!’
Oh, Christ, I thought, it’s the finish – but she simply glanced at me with infinite scorn, shrugged her slim shoulders, and made an inelegant spitting noise. Spring stood breathing like a bellows, his wild eyes moving from one to other of us; I knew better than to utter a denial – and I didn’t laugh, either, like rash Michel.
‘Aye, I’ll swear he did, though! Didn’t you, you lousy lecher!’ He strode to confront me, jerking his fists from his pockets, his jaw working in fury. ‘Didn’t you? By God –’
‘Oh, Papa! Of course he tried to kiss mee! Do you think he is the first? I am nearly eighteen, you knoaw!’ If ever a voice stamped its foot, hers did; she sounded like an impatient governess. ‘I am nott a child! What were you expecting, after oll?’ She tossed her head. ‘But he is just a great bullee … and a great coward, as you said.’
His breath was rasping on my face, and his eyes were like a mad dog’s, but suddenly he wheeled about, stared at her, and then strode to a cupboard on the bulkhead and dragged out a large volume which I recognised in amazement as a Bible. He slammed it down on the table beside her.
‘Miranda,’ says he, and his voice was hoarse, either with rage or fatherly concern. ‘My child, it grieves me to do this, but I must! Swear to me on this Book that no … no unworthiness, no impropriety, passed between you and this creature –’
‘Oh, Papa, what a fuss! Oll about notheeng! This is so sillee –’
‘Silly be damned!’ bawls paterfamilias. ‘Put your hand on the blasted Book, girl!’ He seized her wrist and slapped her palm on the Bible. ‘Now, make your oath – and take care … aye, quid de quoque viro, et cui dicas, saepe caveto,fn1 mind – even with a rat like him! Swear!’
I braced myself to leap for the ladder, resolved to kick the appalling Jumbo in the crotch, God willing, for while the dear child had lied splendidly thus far, I knew she was convent-reared on all that hellfire and mortal sin bilge, and wouldn’t dare perjure – and I stopped in the nick of time, for she was giving an angry little shrug, looking Papa sulkily in the eye, and swearing by Almightee Godd that she had repelled my clumsy advances with ease and it would take a better man than Flashy to drag her into the long grass, or words to that effect. Spring ground his teeth in relief, and then spoke two words I’ll wager he’d never uttered in his life before.
‘Forgive me, my child. I never doubted you – but I know this scoundrel, d’ye see …?’ He turned his dreadful face to me, and if hair and claws had sprouted from his hands, I’d not have wondered. ‘It would break my heart,’ snarls he, ‘if I thought … but there! God bless you, child.’ He bussed her resoundingly on the forehead, and the little trollop gave him a smile of radiant purity. ‘You are the bravest of girls and the dearest of daughters, quem te Deus esse jussit.fn2 Now, go along to bed, and give thanks to Him who has guarded you this day.’
‘Good night, dear Papa,’ says she, and kissed the brute. She walked to the companion – and God help us, as she passed me she pursed her lips in a silent kiss, and winked. Then she was gone, and Spring hurled the Bible into its cupboard and glared at me.
‘And you, if you ever pray, which I’m damned sure you don’t, can give thanks for the innocence of a good woman! A novelty in your filthy experience, is she not?’ Well, novelty was the word for Miranda, no error, if not innocence. ‘Aye, she’s as pure as you are vile, as straight as you are warped, as brave as you are … bah! And she don’t lie, either!’ He gave his barking laugh. ‘So you needn’t stand quaking, my hero! Sit down!’
Now, I’d stood mum and paralysed through the astonishing scene I’ve just described, because that’s what you do when J. C. Spring is on the rampage. Why the devil he wasn’t in Grahamstown hadn’t crossed my mind – I’d been too busy thanking God that his daughter was a complete hand, and that the old monster had swallowed her tale whole – but since he had, why, all was well, surely, and I could depart without a stain on my character. I recalled my wits and met his eye, two damned difficult things to do, I can tell you.
‘Thank’ee, but I think I’ll take my leave, if –’
‘You’ll do no such thing!’ bawls he. ‘Now that you’re here, you’ll stay awhile, and give me the pleasure of your blasted company! Sit, damn you!’
I sat, believe me, and he gave a great white-whiskered grin, chuckling, and poured two stiff tots from the decanter on the buffet. ‘No orange this time, I think,’ sneers he. ‘Ye’ll want it straight, if I’m a judge. Cigar? Or cheroot? You Far Easters like ’em black, I believe … go on, man – utrum horum mavis accipe,fn3 and take your ease! Your health – while you’ve got it!’
I downed the brandy as if it was water, for I’d seen Spring jovial before, and knew what could come of it. He seated himself opposite me at the table, sipped and wiped his whiskers, and eyed me with genial malevolence. I’d as soon be smiled at by a cobra.
‘So ye didn’t heed me,’ says he. ‘Well, ye’ve more bottom than ever I gave you credit for. And if you were half the man you look, instead of the toad I know you to be … I’d not blame you. Miranda is a maid to bewitch any man. I’m proud o’ that girl, Flashman, with good cause … and if I thought ye’d laid a finger on her …’ suddenly the hellish glare was back in his eyes, and his scar was pulsing ‘– I’d serve you as I served another reptile that tried to defile her, by God, I would!’ He smashed his fist on the table. ‘I found her fighting for her chastity – aye, in her own chamber, by heaven – with a foul seducing frog-eating son-of-a-bitch who sought to have his vile way with her when my back was turned! My daughter, the bastard!’ There was spittle on his beard. ‘What d’ye say to that, hey?’
When a maniac inquires – answer. ‘Damnable! French, was he? Well, there you are –’
‘D’ye know what I did to him?’ His voice was soft now, but the empty eyes weren’t. ‘I stripped him stark, and cut the life out of him – sixty-one strokes, and you wouldn’t have known he was human. Murder, you’ll say –’
‘No, no, not at all – quite the –’
‘– but the fact is, Flashman, I was beside myself!’ cries this raving ogre. ‘Aye, homo extra est corpus suum cum irascitur,fn4 you remember …’
‘Absolutely! May I trouble you for the brandy, captain –’
‘There were those suspected me – d’ye think I gave a damn? It was just, I tell you! Condign punishment, as the articles say … and that lass of mine, that young heroine – I’ll never forget it, never! Fighting like a tigress against that beast’s base passion … but not a tear or a tremor … thank God I came in time!’
You should have seen her base passion a few hours ago, thinks I, and quailed at the memory … God, if ever he found out! He sipped brandy, growling, came out of his reverie of Miranda-worship, and realised he’d been confiding in the scum of the earth.
‘But you were no threat to her!’ He curled his lip. ‘No, not you – ye see, Flashman, I could trust her virtue to be stronger even than your depravity, else I’d never ha’ let you within a mile of her, let alone permit her to beguile you here! Aye, that jars you! Oh, you’ve been had, my son!’ For