"Flashman, Harry - Flashman and the Angel of the Lord" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flashman Harry)
"What! D'you mean -
"Oah, not from Grahamstown, sillee! Papa was here, in town, but not expected. It was two years ago, when I was onlee fifteen, and quite stupid, you knoaw - and there was a French gentleman from Mauritius, much older, but whom I liked ever so ... And Papa flew into a great rage, and forbade him to see me - but then Papa was absent, and Michel came to the house . . . to my room, quite late .. . and Papa came home from the club, quite early . . .
"Jesus! What then?"
"Nothing, then . . . Papa looked at him, in that way he has, and said `You're receipted and filed, mister', and Michel laughed at him, and went away." You're a better man than I am, Michel, thinks I. "And a little time after, they found poor Michel on Robben Island. He had been flogged to death with a sjambok."
Just what a fellow needs to hear when he's coming to the boil, you'll agree - but I'm the lad who bulled a Malay charmer in the midst of a battle on the Batang Lupar, regard-less of shot and steel - and now the wicked bitch was halfway down my throat, and rummaging below-stairs with an expert hand. And while I didn't doubt her story, knowing her fiend of a father, I knew she'd told it only to plague me. And Spring was in Grahamstown - I'd inquired.
"I'll give you sjambok, my lady!" growls I, and lifted her bodily out of the swing, but even as I cast about for galloping room, she left off gnawing at me and panted: "Wait . . . let me show you!" I set her down, and she seized my hand, hurrying me down to the garden and through a screen of shrubs to a small stone jetty beyond, and there was the smartest little steam yacht moored, all brass and varnish shining in the sun, and not a soul aboard that I could see.
"For our picnic," says she, and her voice was shrill with excitement. She led the way up the swaying plank, and I followed, slavering at the plump stern bobbing under the muslin, and down into the cool shadows of a spacious cabin. I seized her, fore and aft, but she slipped from my lustful grasp, whispering "A moment!" and slammed a door in my face.
While I tore off my clobber, I had time to look about me, and note that J. C. Spring, M.A., did himself as well afloat as he did ashore. There was polished walnut and brocade, velvet curtains on the ports, fine carpet and leather furniture, and even a fireplace with a painting of some Greek idiots in beards - it was a bigger craft than I'd realised, and rivalled Cohe one in which Suleiman Usman had carried us to Singapore; through an open door I could see a lavatory in marble and glass, with a patent showerbath, which for some reason made me randier than ever, and I pounded on her door, roaring endearments; it swung open under my fist, and there she was, on t'other side of the bed, posed with her back to the bulkhead. For a moment I stood staring, and Spring and old Arnold would have been proud of me, for my first thought was "Andromeda on her rock, awaiting the monster, ha-ha!" which proves the benefit of a grounding in the classics.
She was stark naked - and yet entirely clad, for she had cinched in her long hair with a white ribbon round her neck, so that it framed her face like a cowl, while beneath the ribbon it hung in a shimmering black curtain that covered her almost to her ankles. Her arms were spread out, desperate-like, on the panelling, and as I goggled she pushed one knee through the silky tresses and pouted at me.
We never went near the bed, for it would have been a shame to disturb her tableau vivant, much; I just heaved her up and piled in against the panels, grunting for joy, and I'll swear the boat rocked at its moorings, for she teased no longer when it came to serious work, and I wasn't for lingering myself. It was splendid fun while it lasted, which was until she began to shudder and scream and tried to throttle me with her hair, so I romped her up and down all the way to the lavatory, where we finished the business under the patent showerbath, once I'd got the knack of the dam' thing, which ain't easy with a mad nymph clinging to your manly chest. Most refreshing it was, though, and brought back memories of Sonsee-Array, my Apache princess, who was partial to coupling under waterfalls - which is deuced cold, by the way, and the pebbles don't help.
Miranda Spring knew a trick worth two of that, for when we'd come to our senses and towelled each other dry, with much coy snickering on her part, she showed me to a little alcove off the main cabin where an excellent collation was laid out under covers, with bubbly in a bucket. We recruited our energies with lobster and chicken, but when I proposed that we finish off the wine on deck, she came all over languid and said we would be "ever so comfee" on the bed - and if you'd seen that exquisite young body artfully swathed in her hair, with those fine ivory poonts thrusting impudently through it, you'd have agreed.
But she must finish her dessert, too - like all chi-chis she had a passion for sugary confections - so she brought it to bed, if you please, and gorged herself on eclairs and cream slices while I fondled her, well content to play restfully for a change. Not so madam; being a greedy little animal, she must satisfy both her appetites at once, and call me conservative if you will, I hold that a woman who gallops you while consuming a bowl of blancmange is wanting in respect. I left off nibbling her tits to rebuke her bad form, but the saucy little gannet stuck out her tongue and went on eating and cantering in a most leisurely fashion. Right, my lass, thinks I, and waited until she'd downed the last cherry and licked the spoon, settled herself for a rousing finish, and was beginning to moan and squeal in ecstatic frenzy - at which point I gave an elaborate yawn, hoisted her gently from the saddle, and announced that I was going on deck for a swim.
She squawked like a staggered hen, eyes still rolling. "Sweem? Wha' ... now? But . . . but . . . oah, no, no, nott yett -"
"Why not? Better than all this boring frowsting in bed, what? Come along, a dip'Il do you no end of good." I gave them a playful flip. "Keep you in trim, you know." -
"Boreeng?" If you can imagine Andersen's Mermaid moved from dazed bewilderment to screaming passion in an instant, you have Miranda. "Boreeng? Me? Aieee, you .. . you -" But even as I prepared to parry a clawing attack, to my amazement her rage gave way to sudden consternation, and then her arms were round my neck and she was pleading frantically with me to stay, kissing and fondling and exerting her small strength to pull me down.
"Oah, no, no, please, Harree, please don't go - please, I am ever so sorree! Oah, I was wicked to tease - you mustn't go up, nott yett! Please, stay . . . love me, Harree, oah please, don't go!"
"Changeable chit, ain't you? No, no, miss, I'm going topsides for a swim, and some sunshine -"
"No, no!" It was a squeal of real alarm. "Please, please, you must stay here!" She fairly writhed on to me, gasping. Well, I've known 'em eager, but this was flattery of the most persuasive kind. "Please, please, Harree . . . love me now, oah do!"
"Wet-11 . . . no, later! If you're a good little girl, after my swim -"
"No, now! Oah, I shall be a badd big girl!" She gave a whimper of entreaty. "Stay with me, and I will be verree badd! Don' go, and I will . . ." She put her lips to my ear, giggling, and whispered. I was so taken aback I may well have blushed.
"Good God, I never heard the like! Why, you abandoned brat! Where on earth did you hear of such . . . ? At school! I don't believe it!" She nodded gleefully, eyes shining, and I was speechless. Depraved women I've known, thank heaven, but this one was barely out of dancing class, and here she was, proposing debauchery that would have scandalised a Cairo pimp. Heavens, it was new to me, even, and I told her so. She smiled and bared her teeth.
"Oah, then you will certainlee nott go on deck just yett!" whispers she. "You will stay with wicked Miranda, yess?"
Well, a gentleman should always indulge the whims of the frail sex, even if it does mean foregoing a refreshing swim, but I confess that if I hadn't been a degenerate swine myself, her behaviour thereafter would have shocked me. I'd have thought, at thirty-six and having enjoyed the attentions of Lola Montez, Susie Willinck, my darling Elspeth, and other inventive amorists too numerous to mention, that I'd nothing to learn about dalliance, but by the time young Miranda (seventeen, I mean to say!) had had her girlish will of me, and I was lying more dead than alive in the showerbath, I could barely gasp one of Spring's Latin tags: "Ex Africa semper aliquid novi,*(* Out of Africa there is always something new.) by gum!"
I must have managed to crawl back to the bed, for when I woke it was growing dusk, and Miranda was dressed and wearing an apron, humming merrily as she cooked omelettes in the galley for our supper, while I lay reflecting on the lack of supervision in colonial finishing schools, and wondering if I'd be fit for more jollity before the mail tender left in the morning. I ate my omelette with a trembling hand, but when she teased me into sharing asparagus with her, nibbling towards each other along the spear until our mouths met, I began to revive, and was all for it when she said we should spend the night aboard, and her butler would see my traps taken down to the wharf in good time.
"Then we're a pair. Tell you what - let's take a turn on deck, and then we'll play picquet - and if you cheat, I'll tie you up in that Raphunzel hair of yours, and show you what wickedness is."
"But I am thee greatest cheat!" laughs she, so we went on deck, and I had to tell her the story of Raphunzel, which she'd never heard, while she nestled against me by the rail in the warm darkness, with the water chuckling against the hull and the last amber glow dying above the western rim. It was the place to linger with a girl, but presently it grew chilly, so we went down to our hand of picquet. She was no cheat at all, though, so I had to teach her, but once or twice I wondered if her mind was on the game at all, for she kept glancing at the clock, and when it struck she started, and fumbled her cards, and apologised, laughing like a schoolgirl
"clumsee Clara!"
The nursery exclamation reminded me what a child she was - Lord love us, I'd been married before she was born. Aye, and a damned odd child, behind the vivacious chatter and mischievous smile, with her Babylonian bedroom manners. Peculiar lusts are supposed to be a male prerogative (well, look at me), but the truth is we ain't in it with the likes of the Empress Tzu-hsi or Lola of the Hairbrush or that Russian aunt I knew who went in for flogging in steambaths . . . or Miranda Spring, not yet of age, smiling brightly to cover a little yawn. Jaded from her mattress exertions, no doubt; we'll brisk you up presently, thinks I, with a few of those Hindu gymnastics that Mrs Leslie of Meerut was so partial to .. .
There was a vague sound from somewhere outside, and then a heavy footfall on the deck over our heads. The butler from the house, was my first thought - and Miranda dropped a eard in shuffling, retrieved it; and offered me the pack to cut.
"Who is it?" says I, and she glanced at the clock. Suddenly I realised she was trembling, but it was excitement, not fear, and the smile in the black eyes was one of pure triumph.
"That will be Papa at last," says she.
There is, as that sound chap Ecclesiastes says, a time to get, and if I've reached the age of ninety-one it's because I've always been able to recognise it. I was afoot on the word "Papa" and streaking for the bed-cabin, where I knew there was a window; I wrenched the door open and raced through - into the bloody lavatory, and by the time I was out again it was too late: the biggest Malay I've ever seen, a huge yellow villain clad 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! 011 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,* (* Take special care what you say of any man, and to whom it is said - Horace.) 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. *(* What God commanded you to be.) 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 -"
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