And then, quite suddenly, it was all over. Elgin had his piece of paper, with red seals and yellow ribbon; China and Britain were sworn to eternal friendship; our traders were free to deluge the market with pulse, grain, sulphur, saltpetre, cash, opium (ha-ha!), brimstone, and even spelter; there were a few hundred new graves along the Peiho (Moyes at Tang-ku and Nolan at Pah-li-chao among them); the Summer Palace was a smoking ruin; in Jehol a dainty silver finger-nail was poised to pin the Chinese Empire; and I was going down-river on Coromandel, with Elgin's kindly note of appreciation in my pocket, a black jade chess set in my valise, and a few memories in mind.
So often it's like that, when the most vivid chapters end; the storm of war and action hurtles you along in blood and thunder, seeking vainly for a hold to cling to, and then the wind drops, and in a moment you're at peace and dog-tired, with your back to a gun-wheel at Gwalior, or closing your eyes in a corner seat of the Deadwood Stage, or drinking tea contentedly with an old Kirghiz bandit in a serai on the Golden Road, or sitting alone with the President of the United States at the end of a great war, listening to him softly whistling "Dixie".
So it was now—for that's my China story done, save for one curious little postscript—and I could loaf at the rail, looking forward to a tranquil voyage home to Elspeth and a gentleman's life, far away from mist and mud and rice-paddy and dry-dung smells and Tiger soldiers and silk banners and nightmare Banner-men and belching ornamental cannon and crazy Taipings and even crazier Yankees and fire-crackers and yellow faces … no, I wouldn't even miss the gigantic bandit women and jolly Hong Kong boaters and beauteous dragon queens … not too much, anyway.
Possibly those three were in my mind, though, a few weeks later, as I sat in Dutranquoy's bar in Singapore, where the mail had dropped me, idly wondering how I'd kill the fortnight before the P. & O. Cape ship sailed for Home—for I was shot if I was going by that infernal Suez route. At any rate, something awoke a memory of the voluptuous Madam Sabba, with whom I'd wrestled so enjoyably on my last visit there, until she'd spoiled sport by whistling up the hatchet-men—heavens, that had been more than fifteen years ago. Still, I doubted if Singapore had gone Baptist in the meantime, so I took a palki across the river and up through Chinatown to the pleasant residential area which I remembered, where the big houses stood back in their gardens, with paper lanterns glimmering on the dark drives and burly Sikh porters bowing at the front door. Very genteel resorts they were; no trollops on view or anything of that sort; you had a capital dinner and caught the waiter's eye, and he drummed up the flashtail discreetly.
I demanded to be taken to the best place, and it looked Al, with a big dimly-lit club dining-room where silent bearers waited on the tables, and two smart hostesses went the rounds to see that all was in order. One of them was a stately ivory who might have been Sabba's daughter; I considered her carefully as I ate my duck curry with a bottle of bubbly, but then I noticed the other one, at the far end of the room, and changed my mind. She was white and fair and excellently set up, and I felt an almighty urge to try some civilised goods for a change; I heard her soft laughter as she paused by a table where half-a-dozen planters were eating; then she passed on to a solitary diner, a blond-bearded young stalwart in good linen with a clipper-captain look to him, and I wondered if he was on the same lay as myself, for she stood in talk for quite five minutes, while I consumed a jealous soufflé. But then she turned away and swayed to my corner, smiling graciously and asking if everything was to my satisfaction.
"It will be directly," says I, rising gallantly, "if you'll condescend to join me in a bottle of fizz." I was setting a chair when I heard her gasp; she was staring as though I were Marley's ghost. Hold on, thinks I, my new whiskers are grown enough to be presentable, surely—and then I almost dropped the chair, for it was Phoebe Carpenter, pillar of the Church and wholesaler of firearms to the Taiping rebels.
"Colonel Flashman!" cries she. "Oh, dear!"
"Mrs Carpenter!" cries I. "Good God!"
She swayed, eyes closed, and sat down abruptly, gulping and staring at me wide-eyed as I resumed my seat. "Oh, what a start you gave me!"
"That's what I said, up the Pearl River," says I. "Well, well, I never! Here, take a glass … and do tell me how the Reverend Josiah is keeping. Missionary society doing well, is it?"
"Oh, dear!" she whispers, trembling violently, which improved an already delightful appearance. I hadn't known her because the Phoebe I remembered had borne her beauty in matronly modesty, innocent of rouge and fairly swathed in muslin; this was a most artistic translation, red-lipped and polished, with her gold ringlets piled behind her head and her udders threatening to leap with agitation from a low-cut gown of black satin which I doubted had come from the last sale of work. She drank, her teeth chattering.
"What must you think?" says she, speaking low, and taking a quick slant to see that no one was listening.
"Well," says I cheerily, "I think you're wanted in Hong Kong, for gun-running, which should get you about five years if anyone were inconsiderate enough to mention it to the Singapore traps. I also think that would be' a crying shame —"
"You wouldn't betray me?" she whimpers faintly.
"You betrayed me, dear Phoebe," says I gently, and laid my hand on hers. "But of course I wouldn't —"
"You might!" says she, starting to weep.
"Nonsense, child! Why ever on earth should I?"
"For … for … re-revenge!" She stared piteously, like a blue-eyed fawn, her bosom heaving. "I … we … deceived you most shamefully! Oh, dear, what am Ito do?"
"Have some bubbly," says I soothingly, "and rest assured I have no thoughts of revenge. Compensation, perhaps …"
"Comp-compensation?" She blinked miserably. "But I have no substance … I couldn't afford …"
"My dear Mrs Carpenter," says I, squeezing her hand, "you have absolutely capital substance, and you know perfectly well I don't mean money. Now … I'm sure Josiah has told you all about Susannah and the Elders. Well, I'm not feeling exactly elderly, but … oh, Susannah!" I beamed at her, and she blinked again, dabbed her nose and looked at me thoughtfully, still heaving a bit but settling down and accepting another ration of fizz.
"I'm by no means sure that they would send me to prison!" says she, unexpectedly, pouting. "After all, it was a very good cause!"
"It was a dam' bad cause," says I, "and if you think they won't shove you in clink, just ask dear Josiah."
"I can't! He has abandoned me!"
"You don't mean it!" I was astonished. "He must be mad. You mean he just up and left you? Here?"
"Can you suppose I would accept employment in a restaurant if I were still a clergyman's wife? Well, I am still his wife," she admitted, taking another sip, "but he has deserted me and gone to Sumatra."
"Has he, though? Missionary work or piracy? Well, that's bad luck to be sure. But you'll soon get another chap, you know, with your looks," I reassured her. "Well, take tonight, for example. Why, before I even recognised you, I was most entirely fetched —"
"Oh, say you will not inform on me!" She leaned forward, all entreaty. "You see, I have a most fortunate situation here, and am in hope to save sufficient to go back to … to England … to Middle Wallop and my dear parents … at the rectory …"
"I knew it must be a rectory. Middle Wallop, eh?"
"When I think of it," says she, biting her lip, "compared to …" She gestured at the room pathetically.
"… compared to beating copra in the women's compound with all those smelly Chinese sluts? Absolutely. Well, now, Phoebe, tempus is fugiting—when does your shop shut, and where shall we … ah …?"