Mr. American

by George MacDonald Fraser

  Two attendants were already shrouding the mutilated picture in a white sheet; there was a sudden storm of hissing, and Mr Franklin saw that the other policeman was shepherding Lady Helen and the little woman, who was being helped by an attendant, out of the gallery. 'Oh, Gawd!' said Pip. 'The silly old faggot! What she have to do it for? What good's she think she's done?'

  'Excuse me.' A small, sharp-eyed man was at Pip's elbow, a notebook in his hand. `Miss Delys? I'm from the Star. Would you be Miss Delys of Keep Smiling? And do I understand that you also posed for two of the paintings on show in the Academy? Oh, that's great, Miss Delys....'

  Others swarmed round, and Mr Franklin discarded the notion of trying to get Pip quietly out of the gallery. For one thing, she seemed ready enough to answer the reporter's questions; no doubt she had weighed up quickly that the publicity could do nothing but good, and she had a living to make. Certainly one of the Royal Academy's models risking life and limb to defend a painting would make splendid copy, and he guessed it would lose nothing in the telling. He stood aside, waiting, while the babble of questions went on; the attendants were erecting a little roped fence round the shrouded picture; several frock-coated gentlemen who were presumably Academicians were lifting the sheet to survey the damage.

  'What would you have felt, Miss Delys, if one of your own pictures had been defaced? Is it true that she ran at you with the hatchet and that you disarmed her? What are your plans now that you've left Keep Smiling, Miss Delys? Have you any ambition to appear in films, Miss Delys? What are your views on votes for women? ...'

  At last they were finished, with profuse thanks and much lifting of hats, and Pip was free to be escorted from the gallery. `Sorry,' she said to Mr Franklin, `but you can't say "no" to the press. I hate to admit it, but this afternoon could be worth more than top billing in a hit show. They ask the daftest questions, though.' She sighed wearily. `God, but I'm tired. Could we go and sit down somewhere?'

  He hailed a taxi, and in a few minutes they were installed in a hotel lounge, and the heroine of the Royal Academy was restoring herself with gin and Italian. `You think we'll have to give evidence?' she asked, and Mr Franklin shook his head.

  `Probably not. They usually plead guilty - after all, they're not trying to get away with anything; they want the world to know what they've done.'

  'I suppose so.' Pip sipped her drink and shivered. `Wasn't it awful? I mean, you read about things like that, but you don't know what it's like till you see it. Did you see that old girl's face? - she was like a mad thing, hacking and tearing at that picture like she wanted to kill someone! It might have been my pictures - ' her eyes dilated at Mr Franklin. `God's truth! - you remember me saying, suppose they tried to damage one of mine?' She shook her head helplessly. 'What's wrong with women like that? And then afterwards, she was crying like a baby! Honest, I know it's crazy, but I felt downright sorry for her.' Her pretty face hardened. 'Not for your society madam, though. Flinty-faced sow! Notice another thing - she did all the spouting, but it was the poor old bag that carried the hatchet! I'd give evidence against your snooty piece, twice over!' She glanced curiously at Mr Franklin. `You know her well?'

  'Not very. We've met, socially.' He sighed. `But I have a feeling she won't be attending many functions for quite some time now.'

  'I wouldn't be too sure,' said Pip cynically. 'Somehow I can't picture her scrubbing floors in Holloway. Mark my words, she put the old girl up to it - got her to do the dirty work, and - '

  `Now, we don't know that, Pip.'

  `You may not, but I wasn't born yesterday. The poor old biddy'll draw a stretch, but you wait and see if Lady Mayfair doesn't get off with a fine. Daddy'll have a word with Lord Muck at the club, and somehow word'll trickle down to the beak, and he'll give your girl a hell of a lecture and take a hundred quid off her- but it won't be bread and skilly for her, no fears. They know how to look after themselves, that lot do.'

  `You're wrong, Pip - they want to get arrested and jailed. I've seen Lady Helen Cessford in action, I tell you. She won't be looking for any special privileges, and I'm quite sure she'll get none.'

  He spoke a little more brusquely than usual, and Pip gave him a knowing look over the top of her glass.

  'Oh, Lady Helen, eh? Worried about her, are you? Well, I suppose she's not bad-looking; put a saddle and bridle on her and stick her in the 2.30 at Newmarket - '

  'I'm not specially worried about her, except. ..' He shrugged; he would have found it difficult to describe his thoughts about Lady Helen. 'While I hate what she does, I guess I have a respect for her - because she believes in what she's doing, and won't shirk the consequences. And I admit I don't like to think of her. ..'

  `Going through the mill, with wardresses shouting "Left-rightpick-'em-up!' after her? All right for the old girl, but not fitting that a nice-looking lady should be treated common, and her an aristocrat, too!' Pip sniffed scornfully. 'Don't you fret! Anyway, you wouldn't respect her half as much if she was fat-legged and flat-chested. Men!' She shook her head. 'No - it's the old 'un I'm sorry for, 'cos even if she did get the vote it wouldn't do her a ha'porth of good -she'd still be fetching and carrying, doing what she was told, whether it was smashing pictures or washing dishes, while your Lady Snoot sat upstairs and rang the bell. Going to buy us another gin, then?'

  'Sheer naked female jealousy,' said Mr Franklin, but after he had taken Pip back to Bloomsbury he gave serious thought to what lay ahead for the two suffragettes. Criminal charges, obviously; possibly a trial in which he might have the distasteful task of giving evidence. Would the police be able to say yet whether that was likely? Probably not - but he could always ask. On the spur of the moment he redirected his taxi, and they turned east, threading their way through the narrow streets towards Covent Garden.

  The great central police station was quiet at that hour of the evening; only one customer was being dealt with by the desk sergeant, but as Mr Franklin approached the counter he became aware that several uniformed constables were listening to the exchange with covert amusement.

  'I'm sorry, sir,' the sergeant was saying with that heavy emphasis which is the verbal expression of the majesty of the British law, `but there's absolutely nothing I can do. No communication with prisoners, except for authorised legal representatives. I'm very sorry, sit.'

  `Authorised fiddlesticks!' said the customer, and Mr Franklin examined him sharply. There was no doubt about it: the massive, ancient frame, the lined and mottled countenance, the splendid white moustaches, the rakishly-tilted top hat and the beautifully-cut, if well-outmoded evening cloak, signified only one person, and that was Lady Helen Cessford's great-uncle, the garrulous pursuer of between- floors maids - he was announcing himself this very moment.

  'I'm General Sir Harry Flashman, and it's my great-niece I want to see! I don't know you, sergeant - you're since my time. Where's Sergeant O'Rourke? Or what's his name - Billingham? Bellingham? Chap who used to raid the knocking-shops out West. Oh, God, that would be forty years ago. Wait, though! Fields? Saw his name in print t'other day - Inspector Fields! I'll see him - wheel him out, there's a good fellow!'

  'You know the Inspector, sir - er, General?' The sergeant looked respectful. `Well,. he's about, I think - '

  `Course I don't know him. But I suspect he's the son of old Paddy Fields, used to be a super in A Division - before your time. Pinched me for breach of the peace, public nuisance, and causing an obstruction. Year of the Great Exhibition. Paddy was a constable then - splendid chap, great friend. So drum up this new fellow, and I'll have a word with him.'

  Faced by this commanding and eccentric antiquity, the sergeant despatched a constable for the Inspector, and the General turned to stare about and observe that the old place had changed considerably. His eye fell on Mr Franklin, and narrowed.

  `Know you,' he said accusingly. 'But you're not a bobby - too well-dressed. Army? No-o, too clever for that. Haven't got the sneaky look of a politician, either, and I doubt if I owe you money,
or I'd recognise you. Well, dammit, who are you?'

  Mr Franklin reintroduced himself. `We met at Sandringham, you may remember, General.'

  `To be sure we did.' The General thumped his cane on the floor with satisfaction. `Hellish place - and probably no better now that Bertie's gone. New chap looks like a muff-haven't met him. Royalty's going down, of course - not that they were ever up to much. Know who was on the throne when I made my entry to this vale of tears? George the Fourth - Prinny! What d'ye think of that, hey? You youngsters - 'he waved his cane at the constables ' - never heard of Prinny, I don't suppose. But then, you're not ninety-two,' he added with satisfaction, `and probably never will be, because you won't look after yourselves as I have done. Mens san in corpore sano as they used to tell us at Rugby, and if you believe that you'll believe anything.' He grinned wickedly, and Mr Franklin reflected that whatever the General's recipe for sprightly longevity, it seemed to work. His face might be an artist's nightmare, but his dark eyes were bright, and he carried himself with the vigour of an active sixty.

  'Franklin -yes. American, Nebraska, made a pile in silver.' The old eyes twinkled shrewdly. `And in other things, I don't doubt. Yes - you were slavering over that peacocky little great-niece of mine at Sandringham. Aha! Is that what brings you here? Same errand as mine? You know she's in the jug, don't you? Silly little baggage! Some rumpus at the Royal Academy - well, it's original, hand her that. When I heard about it, I thought "Well, bigod, that's one ken they never slung you out of. " Odd place to start a turn-up; don't even serve drink there, I believe.' He wagged his great white head. `Any odds, she's inside, the dear little half-wit, and - ah, you Inspector Fields, are you?'

  A steady-looking man of middle age, in plain clothes, had come through the barrier, running a quick eye over the General and Mr Franklin.

  'You Paddy Fields' boy? Used to be straw-boss in A Division?' `Er ... yes, sir. What can I do for you?'

  'Your father,' said the General loudly, shaking the Inspector's hand, 'was an excellent and honest man, and a credit to his calling. Firm, courteous, upright and intelligent. Diligent in inquiry, steadfast inn apprehension, tolerant in prosecution. I t was a pleasure to have dealings with him, and I should know,' added the General, 'since I've been collared by half the traps between Maidstone and Manila. You look like him. You shake hands like him - good, firm grip. British. Tell me,' went on the General in a quieter tone, but with great earnestness, 'you're an inspector. Why not a chief - or a superintendent? Hey?'

  'Well, sir ...' The Inspector hesitated, at a loss. 'I don't know that - '

  'Don't say it!' said the General grimly. 'It's always the way. Get a good man and authority'll do its damndest to keep him back. Jealousy and corruption rife - as they always have been. Your father had the same trouble. Damnable, absolutely damnable. Too many blasted Army castoffs at the top of the force, no doubt. Never mind, they can't live forever. And you're Paddy Fields' son! Well, well! It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. But I tell you what it is,' the General lowered his voice confidentially. 'There's this foolish great-niece of mine, Lady Helen Cessford, and I'm most anxious to see her - matters to arrange, like bail and so forth, legal representation, get this trumped-up nonsense settled. Fields is the man, says I; no point in dealing with underlings when a word with him will open the door - '

  'I'm sorry, sir.' The startled Inspector managed to get a word in. 'But the lady's in Holloway. She was charged here, but she was taken to the suffragette wing, as they call it, and - '

  'Holloway? But that's near the Tottenham Court Road, isn't it? Practically in Yorkshire, good God! Can't you get her back?'

  'I'm sorry, sir. She'll be there till committal proceedings, and then ... well, from what I've heard, sir, it's not unlikely she'll be sent for trial - '

  'Don't you believe it,' said the General. 'Whole thing's a fabrication. I can see I shall have to consult my solicitors.' He fixed the inspector with an eagle eye. 'And you're sure you can't get her down here - for any consideration?'

  Any emphasis laid on the last three words might have been purely imaginary. The inspector repeated, apologetically, that there was nothing he could do, and for a moment Mr Franklin thought the General would explode. But he merely breathed deeply, blew out his cheeks, shook hands again with Fields, and said he supposed that the committal would take place at the police station.

  'Because anything you can do for Lady Helen,' he said, 'will be regarded as a particular favour to me. I know I can rely on you - Paddy Fields' boy, eh? Very good, inspector, I'm delighted to have met you. A very good night to you.' And he made his exit with dignity. Mr Franklin, realising that he had nothing to stay for, followed, and was in time to see the General hurl his cane into the gutter.

  'Useless little squirt!' he exclaimed. 'Mind you, I needn't have expected better. His father was a toad, and would have shopped his own mother for a sovereign.' He glared at Mr Franklin. 'But it's always as well to butter the bogies, you know. Fields, eh? I'll send him a half-dozen of whisky presently - never know when he'll come in handy. Not that it'll be any help to young Button, if they make this charge stick. You heard she smashed some damned daub at the Academy?'

  'I was there,' said Mr Franklin. 'Indeed, I'm very much afraid I'll be a leading witness.'

  'You don't say?' The General regarded him with interest. 'Well, I'll be damned. Did she do it?'

  'She was what I think you'd call an accessory. Another woman actually cut the picture.'

  'And you saw it all?' The General considered. 'That might be very fortunate. Ye-es. Will you dine with me, my boy? Of course, of course you will. Let's see, now ... where, that's the point? United Service, but they kicked me out ... White's? Full of damned Tories, and they keep sending me bills - don't know how I ever got into the place, anyway. Travellers isn't bad, but I'm not sure I'm a member. Was that the place they wouldn't let me take in that exotic dancer, what's-her-name - it may have been the Savage, though - '

  Mr Franklin mentioned that he was a member of the Athenaeum; perhaps the General would care to ...

  'That's a frightful pub,' said Sir Harry gloomily. 'Jumped-up schoolmasters and bloody bishops. Won't do your standing any good to take me there - still, if you're game, I am. Don't let me fall asleep, though, because if I wake up there in that long room of theirs I'll think I'm dead and waiting in some ante-room to the Day of Judgement.'

  Mr Franklin reassured him, and they took a cab to the famous club, where Sir Harry stared round the imposing hall and remarked that things weren't what they had once been. 'Saw Palmerston fall down that staircase - the whole damned way from top to bottom. Tight as a fiddler's bitch. Finished up wrapped round that pillar there. Can't see Asquith doing that, somehow. Rotten prime minister. D'you know, I presented him with a school prize once? Must be fifty years ago - ugly little swot he was then, and hasn't improved over the years. Mind you, Balfour wouldn't have been any better - "Pretty Fanny", they used to call him. Only good thing I knew about him was that he taught Asquith how to ride a bicycle. Argued some kind of capacity, I suppose - I'd as soon try to teach a whale to play the fiddle.'

  With the General keeping up a steady fire of comment and reminiscence, they reached the dining-room, where Sir Harry astonished his host by confining himself to three plates of different soups followed by a pudding and cheese and biscuits -'innards haven't been right since the Crimea - not painful, you understand, but I must take care or I'm seized shockingly with wind. Inconvenient.' However, he evidently observed no restrictions where liquor was concerned; he drank whatever was set before him with relish, but Mr Franklin noticed that it had no visible effect on his wits. He cross-examined keenly on the scene at the Royal Academy, and when he had wrung every particle of information from the American he sat back and stroked his great whiskers.

  'Bad - but might be worse,' he observed. 'Button didn't actually wield the hatchet; that's good. Yes, if she's well defended, she might just slide out of it. Can't escape a conviction, but at least s
he should avoid the worst possible consequences.'

  'Do you think she'll want to?' asked Mr Franklin, and the General considered him.

  'She's seen the inside of Holloway now,' he said. 'I know she's set on being a martyr - they all are, these idiot women - but it's surprising how the clang of those iron doors and the sight of those gruesome faces can change one's mind, even a mind as stiff as hers. I've had more cell doors shut on me than I care to remember, and there wasn't one I wouldn't have sold my soul to open again. A night or two in there may take some of the starch out of her - and, if it doesn't, well, we shall have to see what can be done.'

  'I don't see that anything can be done,' said Mr Franklin, 'if she's determined to take her medicine.'

  'Don't you? Well, let me tell you that it depends on whether they want to give her the medicine, d'you see? It's politics, Franklin. You mayn't remember, but when this suffragette nonsense started, there was a case not unlike this one - two women, one a commoner, one a Lady Something, were arrested. And the lady was far more leniently treated by the courts. There was a tremendous howl from the public, and from the suffragettes who wanted to show that rank meant nothing to them, and that the duchesses among 'em wanted to take their gruel just like the sluts. That's past history.' The General tapped the table. 'But it's worth remembering. What's the position now? I'll tell you. The government are sick to death of suffragettes, sick to death of martyrs, sick to death of the Cat and Mouse Act whereby women are let out of jail and can be brought back to finish their sentences as the government pleases. The last thing they want is an eminent martyr. The Pankhursts are bad enough, but Lady Helen Cessford? No, they don't want her. She's too damned well-connected, she'll attract attention, she'll give the suffragettes a splendid boost if she's put inside and forcibly fed and goes on hunger-strike. No, they don't want her. And, by God,' said the General ferociously, glaring at Mr Franklin and screwing up his napkin in a great claw-like hand, 'they're not going to get her! I haven't bled for this damned country so that it can send my great-niece to a felon's cell for helping to cut up some lousy daub by some penniless pimp in a Bloomsbury garret! I'll bet it was a rotten painting, wasn't it? You saw it - wasn't it something that should have been burned before it was exhibited? Hey?'