The Speedicut Papers Book 4 (1865–1871): Where Eagles Dare

By Christopher Joll

Two main storylines run through Book 4
of The Speedicut Papers: Speedicuts quest to identify the traitor
within the British establishment, who has already occasioned
him considerable personal problems, and his involuntary and often
disastrous involvement in the geopolitical affairs of the Emperors
of Austria, Mexico and the French and the future Emperor of Germany. Speedicuts behind-the-scenes revelations in Book 4 shed a new
light on the fall of the Mexican Empire, the Franco-Prussian War,
the Paris Commune and a great deal
more besides.


There are such things as vampires ... and the records of the past,
such as The Speedicut Papers, give proof enough for sane people.
Bram Stoker

If this book was a horse it would be by Rider Haggard
out of Dorian Gray and I say that advisedly.
Archibald Primrose, 5th Earl of Rosebery

The Speedicut Papers prove that when you want to fool the world
all that you have to do is tell the truth.
Otto von Bismarck

Bodice rippers dont come much more ripping.
Georgette Heyer

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546288008

Christopher Joll

After serving time at Oxford University and the RMA Sandhurst, Christopher Joll spent his formative years as an officer in The Life Guards. On leaving the Army, Joll worked first in investment banking, then as an arms salesman before moving into public relations. From his earliest days Joll has written articles, features, short stories and reportage. In addition to the Speedicut books, in 2014, Joll wrote the text for Uniquely British: A Year in the Life of the Household Cavalry, in late 2018 he published The Drum Horse in the Fountain & Other Tales of the Heroes & Rogue in the Guards and in early 2020 he will publish Spoils of War: The Treasures, Trophies & Trivia of the British Empire. Since leaving the Army in 1975, Joll has also been involved in devising and managing major charity fund-raising events including the Household Cavalry Pageant, the Royal Hospital Chelsea Pageant, the acclaimed British Military Tournament, a military tattoo in Hyde Park for the Diamond Jubilee, the Gurkha 200 Pageant, the Waterloo 200 Commemoration at St Paul’s Cathedral, the Shakespeare 400 Gala Concert and The Great War Symphony at the Royal Albert Hall for which he wrote, researched and directed the 60-minute film that accompanied the symphony. In 2019, this led to a commission to write, present and direct five short films for the Museum Prize Trust. When not writing, directing or lifting the lid on the cess pits of British history, Joll publishes a weekly Speedicut podcast and gives lectures at literary festivals, museums, clubs and on cruise ships on topics related to his books and the British Empire. www.christopherjoll.com

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© 2018 Christopher Joll. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   01/29/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8801-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8802-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8800-8 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

For

OvO

Manic Muse and Masterful Mentor

CONTENTS

Notes On The Editor

Introduction

Principal Characters In Order Of Appearance

Synopsis Of Book 3 (Uncivil Wars)

Chapter One: Diamonds Are For Keeps

Chapter Two: Standing On Ceremony

Chapter Three: Phantoms And Other Spectres

Chapter Four: Old Fiends And Other Acquaintances

Chapter Five: The City Of Dreams

Chapter Six: What The Butler Saw

Chapter Seven: In Bad Company

Chapter Eight: Diplomatic Drag

Chapter Nine: Camp Followers

Chapter Ten: Indigestion & Other Disorders

Chapter Eleven: What Goes Up…

Chapter Twelve: …Must Come Down

Chapter Thirteen: Appearances Can Be Deceptive

Chapter Fourteen: Goat Stew

Chapter Fifteen: Cork Stoppers

Chapter Sixteen: Khazi In Love

Chapter Seventeen: Hard As Diamonds

Chapter Eighteen: Boers & Breechclouts

Chapter Nineteen: Top Hats & Treatments

Chapter Twenty: In Disgrace

Chapter Twenty-One: Sour Krauts

Chapter Twenty-Two: War

Chapter Twenty-Three: Bonapartes Apart

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Prince & The Prostitute

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Foamin’ Deep

Chapter Twenty-Six: Eagles In Suburbia

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Bloody Marianne

Chapter Twenty Eight: Firing Squads

Appendix A: Dictionary Of British Biographies

NOTES ON THE EDITOR

After serving time at Oxford University and the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, Christopher Joll spent his formative years as an officer in The Life Guards, an experience from which he has never really recovered.

On leaving the Army, Joll worked first in investment banking, but the boredom of City life led him to switch careers and become an arms salesman. After ten years of dealing with tin pot dictators in faraway countries, he moved - perhaps appropriately - into public relations where, in this new incarnation, he had to deal with dictators of an altogether different type.

From his earliest days, Joll has written articles, features, short stories and reportage. One such piece of writing led to an early brush with notoriety when an article he had penned anonymously in 1974 for a political journal ended up as front page national news and resulted in a Ministerial inquiry. In 2012 Joll wrote the text for Uniquely British: A Year in the Life of the Household Cavalry, an illustrated account of the Household Cavalry from the Royal Wedding to the Diamond Jubilee, and in 2017 he published The Spoils of War. His yet to be published memoires, Anecdotal Evidence, promises to cause considerable consternation in certain quarters should it ever appear in print.

Since leaving the Army in 1975, Joll has been involved in devising and managing charity fund-raising events. This interest started in 1977 with The Silver Jubilee Royal Gifts Exhibition at St James’s Palace and The Royal Cartoons Exhibition at the Press Club. In subsequent years, he co-produced ‘José Carreras & Friends’, a one-night Royal Gala Concert at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane; ‘Serenade for a Princess’, a Royal Gala Concert at the Banqueting House, Whitehall; and ‘Concert for a Prince’, a Royal Gala Concert staged at Windsor Castle (the first such event to be held there following the post-fire restoration).

More recently, Joll has focused on devising, writing, directing and sometimes producing events primarily for military charities. These include in various different roles the Household Cavalry Pageant (2007); the Chelsea Pageant (2008); the Diamond Jubilee Parade in the Park (2012); the British Military Tournament (2010-2013); the Gurkha Bicentenary Pageant (2015); the Waterloo Bicentenary National Service of Commemoration & Parade at St Paul’s Cathedral (2015); the Shakespeare 400 Memorial Concert (2016); The Patron’s Luncheon (2016), the official London event to mark The Queen’s 90th Birthday and The Great War Symphony to be premiered in 2018 at the Royal Albert Hall.

INTRODUCTION

With the first publication of The Speedicut Papers in 2013, the reading public was shocked to learn that Brigadier General Sir Harry Flashman VC, one of the greatest heroes of the Victorian age, was nothing more than a Paris-based remittance man and a plagiarising fraud. Almost as shocking was the revelation that, for more than 250 years, there has been a secret organisation at the heart of the British Establishment, called The Brotherhood of the Sons of Thunder, which was ruthlessly interfering in the nation’s affairs.

These facts were revealed in a cache of letters written over a lifetime by Colonel Sir Jasper Speedicut to his friend Harry Flashman, which I discovered in 2010 in the basement of the New Walk Museum in Leicester. Taken together, the letters are a comprehensive record of the life and times of Speedicut: soldier, courtier, bi-sexual and reluctant hero.

In this, the fourth volume of The Speedicut Papers, the public will once again learn of further previously hidden truths that cast a new light on real historical incidents, set against the major events of the 19th and early 20th centuries.

Although the first seven volumes of The Speedicut Papers were originally published in letter format, in response to popular demand I have re-edited the books into a narrative text. As with the previously published work, in the interests of clarity I have annotated the text with dates and historical or explanatory background material.

CHRISTOPHER JOLL

www.jasperspeedicut.com

PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE

Any similarity to persons now dead is entirely intentional

Jasper Speedicut – an officer and a gentleman, usually known as ‘Speed’

Harry Flashman – a remittance man based in Paris, who is a friend of Speedicut and his controller in ‘The Brotherhood of the Sons of Thunder’, usually known as ‘Flashy’

Muhamad Khazi – Speedicut’s coachman, formerly a Kizilbashi irregular cavalryman

Lizzie, Lady Eustace – the unscrupulous wife of the wealthy Sir Florian Eustace Bt

Miss Letitia Prism – a paid companion

Dagmar FitzCharles, Duchess of Whitehall – the imperious mother of Lady Charlotte-Georgina Speedicut

Lady Charlotte-Georgina Speedicut – Speedicut’s wife and the younger daughter of Charles-James FitzCharles, 7th Duke of Whitehall

Frederick Searcy – Speedicut’s butler

Miss Prudence James – Lady Charlotte-Georgina Speedicut’s lady’s maid and Searcy’s fiancée

Henry Crichton – one of Speedicut’s footmen

Charles-James FitzCharles, 7th Duke of Whitehall – Great Boanerges of the Brotherhood of the Sons of Thunder

Glencora, Duchess of Omnium – a fabulously rich society lady and a friend and rival of the Duchess of Whitehall

HIM Emperor Napoleon III – Louis Napoleon, Emperor of the French

HIM Empress Eugénie – the Spanish wife of Louis Napoleon, formerly the Countess of Montijo

Erik de Agyrém – an Hungarian architect

Colonel Count Karl von Bombelles – Captain of the Palatine Guard, Mexico

HIM Emperor Franz Josef I – Emperor of Austria

HIM Empress Elizabeth of Austria – wife of Emperor Franz Josef, usually known as ‘Sisi’

Baron Fritz von Einem – a Prussian intelligence officer

Prince Philipp zu Eulenberg – a Prussian cadet

HIM Emperor Maximilian I – Emperor of Mexico and brother of Emperor Franz Josef

HIM Empress Carlota – wife of Emperor Maximilian and daughter of King Leopold I of the Belgians

Prince Felix Salm-Salm – a Prussian soldier of fortune

Princess Agnes Salm-Salm – a lady of Native American descent married to Prince Felix

Phileas Fogg - a bachelor of independent means

Jan Adendorff - guide, occasional big game hunter and part time militiaman

King Moshoeshoe – Paramount Chief of the Basotho

Count Benedetti – a French diplomat

HIH The Prince Imperial – only son of the Emperor of the French

Elizabeth Rousset – a patriotic prostitute

William Howard Russell – a journalist

SYNOPSIS OF BOOK 3 (UNCIVIL WARS)

Book 3 of The Speedicut Papers opens in May 1857 in Meerut, India, where Speedicut – accompanied by his loyal servant Muhamad Khazi - is recovering from a leg wound which he suffered at the Battle of Kushab, the largest engagement of the First Anglo-Persian War. Shortly after his release from hospital in Meerut, and immediately prior to his return to England, the Indian Mutiny breaks out in that city and Speedicut is caught up in the conflict. During the Mutiny he is involved in the Battle of Badli-ki-Serai and witnesses, whilst disguised as a Muslim woman, the massacres at the Satichaura Ghat and the Bibi-Ghar. These horrors are followed by a mission to the Indian Princely State of Jhansi, where he is tasked with establishing the bona fides of the Dowager Rani, Lakshmi-Bai. He is accompanied on this task by Khazi and ‘Scud’ East. Whilst there he has a near fatal encounter with his old enemy, Count Ignatiev who, it emerges, has been instrumental in fanning the flames of the Mutiny. Thanks to Khazi, Speedicut escapes from Ignatiev along with a valuable carved emerald belt belonging to Lakshmi-Bai and returns to England. East, meanwhile, is held captive by the Dowager Rani.

There follows a two year gap in the correspondence, during which time Speedicut returns to the Tenth Hussars at Aldershot; Lord Steyne dies leaving his fortune to Speedicut’s friend, Algy St Albion; the Brotherhood of the Sons of Thunder is taken over by the Duke of Whitehall, who invests the Brotherhood’s funds in the American cotton trade and the China opium trade; and Tom Brown’s Schooldays, in which Speedicut is unfavourably featured, is published.

To protect the Brotherhood’s investment in the opium trade, Speedicut is sent by the Great Boanerges to China along with Captain Charles Gordon, who has recently been inducted into the Brotherhood. Speedicut is accompanied by his footman, Henry. In a desperate attempt to avoid this posting, Speedicut proposes to Lady Charlotte-Georgina FitzCharles, the GB’s daughter who has been laying siege to him for several years. He is accepted but, nonetheless, is dispatched to join Lord Elgin’s Anglo-French embassy to the Manchu Emperor.

Initially all goes well but, thanks to Chinese treachery, Speedicut is captured along with Harry Parkes and sent to the Board of Punishments in Peking, where his old enemy Ignatiev is trying to manipulate Chinese foreign policy to Russia’s advantage. With Ignatiev’s encouragement, Speedicut is subjected to ‘death by a thousand cuts’, but is rescued by the Emperor’s Yi Concubine before too much damage is inflicted upon him. After a brief dalliance with the Yi Concubine, who gives him a valuable string of pink pearls ‘for services rendered’, Speedicut is returned by her to the Anglo-French force, where he informs Lord Elgin of the brutal treatment that has been meted out to the British and French prisoners. In reprisal, Lord Elgin orders the destruction of the Emperor’s Summer Palace and sends Speedicut, ahead of a French force tasked with the job, to make an inventory of the contents. This proves to be impossible but, before reporting back to Elgin, Speedicut acquires some loot including an extremely rare jade chess set.

Following this incident, Speedicut returns to England where, in January 1861 in the presence of The Prince of Wales, he duly marries Lady Charlotte-Georgina to whom he presents the Yi Concubine’s pearls as a wedding present. With his servants Searcy, Khazi and his wife’s lady’s maid, Miss James, the newly married couple depart for New York on honeymoon. Just as they are about to leave, the Great Boanerges tasks Speedicut with liaising with the Brotherhood’s new head of its American Lodge, Captain Rhett Butler. Working with Butler, Speedicut is required by the GB to make an assessment of the likely impact on the Brotherhood’s investment in the cotton trade arising from the deteriorating political situation in the United States.

Whilst in New York, the Speedicuts meet the newly elected President Lincoln and two prominent Georgia plantation owners, Mr Gerald O’Hara and Mr John Wilkes. The latter invites the Speedicuts to spend some time at his plantation, Twelve Oaks. Whilst they are staying there, the American Civil War breaks out and Speedicut has a close encounter with Ashley Wilkes. Captain Butler arranges for the Speedicuts to return to England but they become separated. Lady Charlotte-Georgina returns to England with Butler, Khazi and Miss James and during the voyage home she has a miscarriage. Meanwhile, Speedicut and Searcy are stuck in Georgia, without money or clothes, and are forced by these circumstances to join the Confederate Army. During the First Battle of Bull Run, Speedicut is incapacitated and, with Searcy, is evacuated to Atlanta where he recuperates with the help of the widowed Mrs Hamilton, the former Scarlett O’Hara.

Rhett Butler returns from Europe along with Khazi and a bag of Speedicut’s gold. He arranges passage for Speedicut and his servants to London in the company of two Confederate politicians. Their boat, RMS Trent, is intercepted by a Union warship and Speedicut is separated from his servants and incarcerated in a prisoner-of-war camp on the outskirts of Boston, where he is later joined by Ashley Wilkes. Searcy and Khazi manage to affect the escape of Speedicut and Wilkes but, through ill luck, they are all quickly taken back into custody by a Union cavalry Lieutenant called Custer. Fortunately, Rhett Butler is on hand and, whilst Wilkes is returned to prison, Speedicut, Khazi and Searcy are obliged to join the Union Army. During this interlude, they are involved in a skirmish with Indians during which Khazi loses an eye. Butler eventually arranges for Speedicut and his servants to return to London bearing a private letter from President Lincoln to Lord Palmerston, the British Prime Minister.

Before Speedicut can resume his London life, he and his wife are commanded to attend upon Queen Victoria at Balmoral, where they travel accompanied by Miss James and Henry whilst Searcy takes Khazi to Torquay to recuperate from his wound. On arrival at Balmoral, Speedicut finds to his dismay that there is a Russian delegation, led by Count Ignatiev, also staying at the castle. Queen Victoria’s purpose in summoning Speedicut to Scotland is to task him with keeping the Prince of Wales out of trouble prior to his marriage to Princess Alexandra of Denmark and, unexpectedly, she promotes him to Lieutenant Colonel. Whilst out stalking, Ignatiev makes another unsuccessful attempt on Speedicut’s life.

There is then a further gap in the correspondence of a year, during which Speedicut spends time on the Staff of the Cavalry Division at Aldershot. Just as he is pondering his next move, in early 1864 he is commanded by Queen Victoria to represent her at the funeral of King Maximilian II of Bavaria and the Oath Swearing of the new King, Ludwig II. Lady Charlotte-Georgina is once again pregnant and so does not accompany him, but Khazi does which is just as well. Whilst in Munich, Speedicut stays with Mitzi, the Dowager Countess von Schwanstein and resumes his affair with her; he also has several meetings with King Ludwig and an encounter with Sisi, Ludwig’s cousin the Empress of Austria. At a ball at the Russian Legation, Speedicut is captured by Count Ignatiev who, as he prepares to murder him, tells him that there is a Russian plot to assassinate President Lincoln and plant the blame on the British. Speedicut narrowly escapes death thanks to the intervention of Mitzi and Khazi.

Back once again in England, he finds that the child that his wife was carrying was still-born. In early 1865, Speedicut is informed by Searcy that he is going to marry Miss James and, by the GB, that he must return to the United States to help foil the Russian plot to assassinate President Lincoln and to track-down Rhett Butler, who has disappeared. Whilst in pursuit of these linked tasks he revisits Georgia where, thanks to Scarlett Hamilton, he learns that Butler is on death row in an Atlanta prison. He visits Butler in his cell and discovers that Butler is party to a plot to kill Lincoln, but it is not the Russian plot. Butler deduces that there is almost certainly a Russian agent imbedded in either the British Government or the Brotherhood and that he, Speedicut, has been set up to take the blame for the President’s impending assassination. Book 3 ends as Speedicut is obliged to join President Lincoln in his box at Ford’s Theatre…

CHAPTER ONE: DIAMONDS ARE FOR KEEPS

Editor’s Note: The start of the first letter in the fourth packet of The Speedicut Papers is missing and with it, presumably, Speedicut’s account of the assassination of President Lincoln by the Confederate extremist, John Wilkes Booth. The assassination took place at Ford’s Theatre on the evening of 14th April 1865. Booth entered the President’s box during Scene II, Act III of ‘Our American Cousin’ and shot the President in the back of the head at point blank range.

and so, in my best bedside manner, I asked: Other than that, how did you enjoy the play, Mrs Lincoln?¹

This was, with the benefit of hindsight, a somewhat insensitive thing to say but my readers have to understand the circumstances. You see, once I and the other occupants of the box, followed a minute or so later by the audience, realised that Lincoln had been shot there was uproar. Suddenly, police and soldiers were everywhere and first one, then a total of three, doctors materialised in the box. After what seemed like an age, the sawbones collectively decided that Lincoln had to be moved. Someone suggested the bar next door but, as he was carried out of the theatre, a man appeared from a house opposite and told them to bring him in. I trailed along behind them. Palmerston’s forged letter,² which Khazi had discovered in the lining of my portmanteau just as I was leaving for the theatre, had convinced me that, should anything happen (as it had), I must do nothing to arouse suspicion - such as giving in to my immediate instinct to leg it out of town as fast as my feet would carry me.

Mrs Lincoln, who my readers may recall I had met with Brother Butler in New York in ’61,³ tried to stay with her husband. But she behaved so hysterically that Stanton ordered her to be removed bodily from the bedroom on the first floor in which the wounded man had been laid out.⁴ She was hauled screaming down to what the Yanks call the ‘front parlour’ (ghastly term), where Stanton – who knew that I knew the First Lady - asked me to stay with her. In order to calm down the old biddy - she had by now stopped screaming but was still sobbing fit to burst – and thinking to take her mind off the recent event, I attempted to make conversation with her. Unfortunately, but perhaps understandably, the first thing that came to my mind was the play… Now, I’ve never claimed to be the ideal person to dole out tea and sympathy, have I? Anyway, it took me a good half-hour to control her renewed fit of hysterics which followed this somewhat thoughtless enquiry. God, I said to myself, much more of this and we’ll both be in the bin being tended to by Sisi!⁵

At about four in the morning the old girl finally started to calm down, stopped howling and dropped off into a fitful sleep. I crept out of the parlour, up the stairs and into the death chamber. Lincoln was actually still alive, but only just. I whispered to Stanton that Mrs L was in the Land of Nod and that I needed to get back to my lodging. He told me I could go and, a short time later, I was back at the hotel where Khazi had waited up for me.

Greetings, huzoor. Thou art late and there has been much shouting in the street. Has anything happened?

That was the understatement of the evening: I told him what had occurred and asked him if he had found anything else.

Indeed, huzoor. This… And he passed me a large, sausage-shaped, leather purse. It was concealed in one of the hollow trees of thy riding boots. As thou hast not ridden since we arrived in this land I had not found it before.

The bag was heavy. I opened the draw-string neck and tipped the contents out onto the desk. A dozen or so gold dollars rolled across the blotter. Clearly, this was intended to be further evidence of some sort, although when and by whom it had been planted was a mystery. Sleep was, of course, impossible and, not for the first time, I wished that Searcy had been around to interpret the signs and give me advice. Khazi was the best man to have in a tight spot, but under these circumstances his brawn and cunning were no substitute for Searcy’s brain. Some things were clear to me; but many were not. So I decided to put the matters to Khazi, in the hope that one-and-a-half brains would be better than one.

Let’s try and think this through, I said.

Huzoor? It was not a promising start.

Butler sahib correctly predicted that evidence had been planted on me to make it appear that I was the mastermind of a plot to assassinate the President.

That is so, huzoor.

So far so good. The contents of the forged letter from Palmerston alone proves that.

That is also true, huzoor.

The evidence also ‘proves’ that I am the instrument of the British Government’s revenge for the destruction of our cotton trade.

Very true, huzoor.

That this would create uproar in the community of nations, resulting in Britain’s total isolation or worse, is self-evident.

Huzoor?

Clearly, Khazi either didn’t understand me or had difficulty getting his head around the international political ramifications of my position.

It would be ill for us in the bazaar, I said, trying to simplify the issue for him.

Indeed, huzoor, said Khazi, as he brightened somewhat.

That such a scheme, I went on, was probably dreamt up by, and implemented under the direction of, our old friend Count Ignatiev is – to me at least – a given.

He is certainly not thy friend, huzoor, and must pay for his evil deeds to thee with his life… said Khazi, as he fingered the knife in his waist belt.

Well, my dear chap, that’s a splendid idea. But Count Ignatiev is in Constantinople and we are here. He looked massively disappointed. It is equally clear, I continued, that there is a traitor either in our Government or the Brotherhood – or more likely, and this narrows the field somewhat - that the traitor is a member of both.

Then he shall certainly die, huzoor!

That’s all very well, I said, and can be achieved in the fullness of time. Khazi brightened further at this. But what is not clear is whether the actual assassination was carried out by Butler sahib’s friends or by the Russians. The more I think about it, however, the more I realise that Butler sahib was right: it didn’t and it doesn’t matter.

Huzoor? Clearly, I had lost Khazi again.

"You see, Khazi, if the burra sahib Lincoln’s actual assassination was not carried out on the orders of Count Ignatiev, the finger will be pointed by them at me anyway. Had we not found it, the evidence would have been discovered and your master would swing on the end of a rope."

"That shall not happen, huzoor! My brother Searcy would never permit it."

No, indeed not. But the big question is how to manage matters so that even now this cannot happen.

Khazi closed his remaining eye either in concentration or boredom, I couldn’t be sure which, as I wrestled with the problem. Meanwhile, my first instinct was to burn the incriminating letter. I was half-way to the fire with it, when I realised that, if I could prove it was a forgery, it was vital evidence that I might need in the future to clear my name. But I couldn’t keep it anywhere where it might be found. Then, in a flash, I realised that the safest thing was to post it to Flashy.⁶

As to the gold, I gave it to Khazi and told him to throw it in the Potomac as soon as he has lodged the letter to Flashy at the Post Office. Such waste went against the grain, but to be found with a large quantity of Yankee gold – either as payment for the assassins or as a reward for myself – was clearly too dangerous to be contemplated. Finally, I realised that I had to sit tight and await developments rather than follow my instincts to flee: with no evidence it would be hard, indeed virtually impossible, for the authorities to implicate me. So that is exactly what I did.

…

After a couple of weeks of kicking my heels in Washington, with the Yankee Peelers hard on the heels of the actual assassins and with no sign of the law sniffing around me, I decided it was time to make tracks back across the herring pond.⁷ Before I left I made no attempt to contact Brother Butler, who – unless he could blackmail the new President Johnson – was headed for the gallows.⁸ Nor, given my suspicions, did I discuss any of this with our Minister, Bruce.⁹ Well, under the circumstances who could I trust, other than Flashy and the GB?

It did also occur to me, however, that, if I was still to be incriminated, it would be during a trial of the conspirators, so I needed to show the US of A a clean pair of heels before then. Accordingly, one morning I sent a note to Bruce telling him (with some justification) that ‘family matters obliged me to return to London’, then Khazi and I shipped out by train to New York and arrived there just in time to board the Cunarder, RMS Scotia, bound for Liverpool. It was, as you will shortly read, a crossing that was not without incident or consequences.

Amongst the First Class passengers was a delightful filly by the name of Lizzie Eustace, who was accompanied by her sickly husband, Sir Florian. After dinner on the first night, Sir Florian confined himself to his stateroom with a tin bucket and a beefy-looking nurse, leaving the field reasonably clear for me to make a run at Lady E. I had spotted her at the Captain’s table on that first night and contrived to ‘meet’ her whilst she was promenading the next morning.

It was a cold and squally day and there were few people out taking the chilly air, but I had noticed that Lady E had emerged in the saloon after breakfast swathed in furs. So I assumed, rightly as it turned out, that she would take a turn on deck. Although it was extremely wintry, there was only a mild swell so promenading was quite easy. I watched as Lady E set off via the port door and headed for the sharp end of the tub whilst I slipped out of the opposite door on the starboard side and headed for the same destination. I had calculated that, if I ambled slowly enough, we should meet at the mid-point. What I had not banked on was a sudden lurch of the boat which practically pitched the bint into my arms as, in opposite directions, we both rounded a large capstan.

My apologies, ma’am, I burbled, as I was engulfed in her fur stole.

No, it is I who should apologise, sir, came the muffled reply from somewhere around my breastbone, as she started to disentangle herself from my ulster. Seconds later we stood looking appraisingly at each other.

Permit me to introduce m’self, I said as I raised my tile. Lieutenant Colonel Jasper Speedicut of Her Majesty’s Tenth Hussars.

Lady Eustace, came her pert reply, but do please call me Lizzie, Colonel. A ship is, after all, too small a place for undue formality, don’t you think?

I do so agree, m’dear. In the same spirit, please call me Jasper – or, if you prefer, Speed: it’s what everyone except my wife and my mother-in-law call me.

That broke the ice and the thinly disguised exchange of information about our respective marital status had ensured a level playing field.

Would you care to join me on my constitutional - Lizzie?

That would be delightful – Speed.

We set off together in the direction of the blunt end. A few paces on and there was another pitch of the boat. Without a word, she gripped my arm firmly with a gloved hand and didn’t let go as we exchanged the sort of information about our backgrounds that was the commonplace of society drawing rooms.

It quickly emerged that her marriage was one of convenience: for her, the convenience of a substantial fortune and, for her dissipated husband, a pretty face to set off the fabled Eustace diamonds and the prospect of an heir to inherit them and the Baronetcy. As both parties had by now achieved their objectives, it was clear that Miss Lizzie welcomed the advent of widowhood, an imminent prospect given the Baronet’s frail health, which (so she hinted) was occasioned by a lifetime spent in the bordellos of Europe. As we chatted, I remembered a conversation between Charlotte-Georgina and my mother-in-law the Duchess over dinner one evening shortly before I had left for my recent trip to the New World.

Do you really think you that in your condition you should be eating quite so much cream, Charlotte-Georgina? demanded the Duchess.

I could have told her that C-G had been eating almost nothing else since her waist line had started to expand.

I can’t see what harm it can do, Mama, replied my wife, with some asperity, I am, after all, eating for two.

Don’t be disgusting, Charlotte-Georgina, you are starting to sound like Lady Eustace.

Lady Eustace, Mama?

"You know who I mean. That common little fortune-hunter who married Omnium’s cousin, Sir Florian. She was with child within the year and developed a craving for sugar crystals. Actually, as dear Glencora Omnium told me, her real craving is for rather more permanent crystals…

"That’s why the wretched gold digger, whose father barely has a coat of arms let alone any quarterings, agreed to marry Eustace in the first place. All the respectable gals had turned him down and, in his condition, who can blame them… And dear Glencora says that she’s a frightful liar to boot… Of course, she’ll end up a pauper as the Eustace fortune is entailed."

This was the same prime piece who was gripping my arm as we sauntered around Mr Cunard’s Blue Riband holder.¹⁰ We completed a circuit and then repaired to the saloon for a warming cup of tea, fortified on my part with a shot of brandy and the ever warmer looks Lady E gave me over the steaming brew. But that was the full extent of our initial encounter, for she dutifully took her luncheon in their stateroom with her ailing husband. When the gong sounded for dinner I found myself sitting next to her on the Captain’s table, thanks to a sovereign I’d slipped to the Head Steward.

For that second evening out, as was the custom on the trans-Atlantic run, we all wore evening dress. Most of the passengers were already gathered in the saloon when Miss Lizzie made her entrance in a décolleté dress of blue watered-silk, lavishly embroidered with sparklers. It must have cost her husband a month’s rent roll. Around her neck she wore the Eustace diamonds, a rivière necklace of graduated stones of quite eye-watering size that would have fired the envy of the late Queen Marie-Antoinette. This blazing collar was complemented by chandelier earrings, that were in danger of dragging her earlobes down to her pretty shoulders, and a brace of magnificent bracelets. The whole glittering ensemble was topped off by a large diamond-encrusted tiara. Even the band paused in astonishment as she entered.

Good evening, Speed, she purred, as she joined me by the fire. I hope you approve…

Approve, m’dear? Like the rest of our fellow passengers, I said, as I glanced at the mouths that hung open around me, I am overwhelmed!

Of course, she said, as she sank into an armchair whilst her jugs bounced the fiery baubles in a most delightful way, it’s all very well – but these stones are cursed.

Cursed? Really? You don’t say.

Yes, they are cursed.

Tell me, I said, expecting to hear a far-fetched tale of a pillaged oriental temple and a sacred idol profaned.

Well, she said, it’s really quite simple. Whoever wears these diamonds has to live with their curse… I raised an enquiring eyebrow. The curse – is Sir Florian! she giggled, as she batted her eyelashes at me. I duly chortled in appreciation of her joke and signed to a steward to bring her a glass of fizz. No sooner had she downed it than dinner was announced and we all trooped in.

Two hours and a damned good meal later – the Persian caviar was particularly good - she arose from the table and announced to no-one in particular that she would take a turn on deck before retiring. Although she had said nothing about this, the look she gave me as she swept out spoke volumes. I watched her exit through the interconnecting doors then, in the saloon, I saw her maid envelop her in an ermine-lined hooded cloak of velvet that matched her dress. After what I hoped my fellow passengers would regard as a decent interval, I too made my excuses, got up and followed her with a glass of French firewater in one hand and a large Havana in the other. I’m sure that they all knew what was afoot and, anyway, were a sophisticated collection of le gratin, who doubtless regarded a trip on an ocean liner as little different to a Friday–to-Monday in the Shires. Nonetheless, Lord Fawn, a rather dull politico who sat opposite me, gave me a fishy-eyed look. Khazi was hovering in the saloon with my cloak and tile.

Good hunting, huzoor! I will ensure that thou art not disturbed.

Cheeky sod, I thought, as I headed out onto the deck. I found Lady E just aft of the port paddlewheel.

It’s a fine night, she said, as she looked up at the swags of twinkling stars that almost rivalled her diamonds. Such a pity that Sir Florian is too unwell to leave our stateroom…

Indeed, I said with feeling.

Then, without further ado, I decided to kick for the centre of the goal. So, I tossed the Havana and the empty glass over the rail, seized her firmly by the shoulders, turned her to me and buried my ’tash in her face. She responded with eagerness and some considerable expertise that she had probably learned at the hands of her poxed-up husband.

Oh, Speed, she managed to moan, as my tongue inspected the state of her tonsils. Take me…

In my experience, it don’t do to deny a lady, so I disengaged and, without another word, swept her down a companionway and along several corridors to my stateroom. Khazi was nowhere to be seen, which was a bit of a surprise, but the bed was already turned down and my nightshirt laid out. In one sweeping move I kicked the door shut, lifted her off her feet, placed her on the bed and made to raise the hem of her evening dress as I unbuttoned.

Not so fast, Mr Speedy! she said, as she levered herself back off the bed. This girl likes to inspect the goods before she opens her purse. Strip!

I had never been so shocked in my life. But I did as the brazen hussy demanded, finally standing before her in nothing but my stockings and garters which, for some perverse reason, she had insisted that I keep on.

Mmm, she said as she appraised my somewhat shop-soiled body. Not bad. But what happened to that? she asked, pointing at my sentry which was by now at the Present Arms.

It’s a souvenir of Bokhara. It’s a long story that I will tell you later.

And where did you get those? she said, as she pointed to the wounds on my thighs. As briefly as I could, for I was now desperate to get to grips with her, I told her. Turn! I did as she demanded although I was fast losing patience with this game, particularly as she was still fully dressed. As I faced the door, she let out a low whistle. What on earth has happened to your back?¹¹

Enough! I said as I spun on the spot. These are all tales for later. Meanwhile, it’s your tail that interests me.

Before she could protest, or ask any more damned fool questions, I put my hands on her shoulders and firmly pushed her to her knees. She engaged without another word and in fairly short order – for she was certainly skilled in that department - caused my sentry to discharge his weapon down her throat.

However, instead of dabbing her lips in the approved manner and heading for the door, she turned her back on me and told me to undo her dress. Ah, ha, I thought, so this is to be a multi-heat bout is it? I had no objections – quite the opposite in fact - although I had already decided that, given the obviously diseased state of Sir Florian, there was one dish that I would not be selecting from what I hoped would prove to be an extensive à la carte menu. And so it proved to be.

Over the next couple of hours we made serious in-roads into the carnal lexicon, although we avoided ‘p’ on the grounds, so I told her, that my marriage vows obliged me to draw the line at any act which could lead to procreation. This was a lie which she swallowed, along with everything else, without demur. We were