Leila: Further in the Life and Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

26

All one could remember were snatches of oblivion. And wondering how one would the. Ireland to sink. Covered in a tidal wave. Last night instead of to bed, I went down and out of the house. By the back servants’ stairs. Through the stable yard. The tunnel. And up out across the fields in the bright cold night to where Pete and Willie were being waked, each in their tiny adjoining cottages.

‘Welcome, come in, Master Darcy. Sure there’s room for one more sardine.’

In Pete’s a hooley in progress. Tearing corks out of the bottles of stout. A fiddler playing. Songs singing. Say hello to your uncle Finn me boy. Feet thumping round the cottage’s hard earthen floor, a dance called the whicheverway jump. The ancient turf fire aglow in the grate. Poteen poured. Fresh from a still hidden right in the confines of Andromeda Park. The voices appearing at the door.

‘Friend of the corpse, I am.’

‘Come in then, and welcome, friend of the corpse.’

Johnny Gearoid, his red face blazing out of his greasy coat. Asking, where was the whisky and where was the deceased, in that order. Kitty and Norah arriving with Dingbats. The latter entirely drunk. Hiking up her skirts. Unbuttoning her blouse. Whirling her reasty amplitude about. Making mock curtsies to Kitty and Norah taking turns to be the Marchioness of Farranistic. Until stopped by my angry glare.

‘Ah give us a tune there and I’ll show you a nifty pair of heels to cut ruts in the dust.’

Sexton, the patch fallen off his missing eye, doing a jig. And Pete, the deceased yet to be put in his waiting coffin, was propped up sitting in bed. Kitty and Norah playing noughts and crosses on his bald head with bits of charcoal. Until others of the inebriate, pulled Pete in his white chemise out of the bed and bedroom entirely, struggling in the middle of the cottage floor to hold up the corpse by the armpits to dance.

A white stiff frost on the ground. Passing under one’s eyes. Somewhere in the course of events Midnight Shadow put chauffeurs, nags and guests to rout. Galloping around and nearly up into the house, through the orchard and over the fallen wall. As I was carried halfway back to the front steps over Sexton’s shoulder. To finally rest in one’s bed. Top hat on one’s head. The guests departed. But the not at all unpretty debutante, accosted getting her coat in the darkened hall, tarried to listen to my drunken implorements that she could keep warm in my arms from the freezing cold.

‘Darling, you’re taking the first prelude deplorably slow.’

Of course I didn’t know what on earth she was talking about. And in the morning in the first sunshine. The debutante departed. In a huff, that I would not immediately agree to marry her. Which of course one would have done should she have suggested she had a staggeringly enormous dowry. Head clearing as I sat in the rising silvery vapours of steam up from my bath. Recount the nightmare dreams. An unreachable queen upon her throne. As I knelt begging to some god, I beseech thee, in the bowels of Christ to consider it possible that you may be mistaken that I deserve the fate to which you sentence me. Whither now Leila goes. From my life. Like an autumn swallow. To fly away out into the highest circles far beyond this land. Taking with her, her loyalty. She said was her love. Kept my hope alive. The only future left now is that I still live. Kneeling on this silk bright carpet of my mother’s. Pumping the bellows on the embers of the smoky fire in my room. A knock. Crooks entering. As I step the other side of the screen to dress. In my black thomproof Manx tweed, silk shirt and black silk tie.

‘Master Reginald, I have been asked to convey to you the confidential information that a surprise awaits you sir below in a state room. And may I make a most humble request of you. So many of us now on the place are dying. And I don’t mind saying I take it hard, very hard. And worse is it that former lowly staff, so far below myself, should think themselves better than me now and come back here to spite me, to cut me dead in my tracks. You know of whom I speak. I wept myself to sleep last night. And I’ve had it up to here sir, right up to here.’

‘Where Crooks, I can’t see from behind the screen.’

‘To the very top of my throat sir and I am giving my notice. I simply can’t stomach the ladies Lavinia and Christabel one further moment. Fetch this fetch that. Hiring interlopers. Run me off my feet, countermand my authority. Without your courtesy Master Reginald.’

‘I see Crooks.’

‘I hope you do sir, because it just so happens I caught the pair of them in the blue east parlour firing olive pips from the recently ordered jars from Smyth’s of the Green and hitting your photographic portraiture with remarks such as, ah I got brother precisely between the eyes that time. And Master Reginald I have but one most humble request to make of you. You who have treated me nobly. Would you spare an evening to dine with me, sir prior to my leaving.’

‘Of course I should be most happy to Crooks. Just as I should be entirely sad if you left. Do please say when.’

‘In my quarters sir, at eight tomorrow night if convenient. The new lad I’m putting through his paces will be in attendance upon us.’

The silence. Tiptoe along the hall. Like the awfully well bred person one hoped to remain, in spite of all threatening doom. That one would tread lightly as one does in a house where somewhere there might be a baby sleeping. A pause on the landing. Look out there. From such an empty house as this is now. Suppose, as well as the enormous bill, some tiny good came out of the ball. My sisters setting their caps for the Marquis. And a former servant putting them in their place, with their noses permanently out of joint. And the preening pair of them departed for today’s hunting. Pursuing their own damn selfish pleasures with no respect for the dead. This morning thought I heard Rashers’ voice. Singing, It’s a Long Way to Tipperary. The first signs of going mad. To be hearing things. If there is any encouraging comfort left, at least the beauty of the beech grove still stands. Silvery and shining. Jackdaws screaming up in the heights of the branches. Could not find my proper cuff links. Or indeed the needy appurtenance of my crimson braces. However there are certain manners in dress preparing for the extremes of outdoors, when it is acceptable to appear slightly incorrect. Especially when previous to such an excursion one is only momentarily repairing to the confines of one’s library.

‘Ah Sexton. Sorry to keep you waiting.’

‘Ah Master Darcy isn’t there such a weight of erudition stacked around these walls. And wasn’t it a great night rejoicing had by all to put old Willie and Pete to rest in peace.’

‘I wish I could include myself Sexton. But I am rather hungover. And I haven’t brought a witness.’

‘Ah I have a witness. Just excused himself a moment to visit the gentlemen’s water closet.’

‘Well what is our mystery Sexton. Do I suppose as I suspect, that we get out our treasure maps, our picks and shovels.’

‘Well you’ve nearly put your finger on it now. And the time has come that has been entrusted to me. But no need now for even a toothpick. For your mother’s jewels, Master Darcy, sit as dry as any bone. Down in the stone bowels, safe as houses, under the Bank of Ireland, there in College Green.’

‘Good god, Sexton, is this really true.’

‘As true as an intertwinement of necklaces, bracelets, earrings, brooches can be. And never mind the topazes and rubies. There are pearls, diamonds, emeralds. Fit for the crown jewels of France, from which more than one of them gems came. Needing only two little slips of paper to put them into your possession. And here’s one of them. And you take this to the manager. And he has the other.’

A floorboard squeaking, a rap of a knuckle on the corner of the library book shelf just inside the door. This head stretching forward, grinning at me in my joy. A voice one recognizes clearing its throat. And a body one recognizes in its morning suit.

‘Is it time I am required, by any chance.’

‘Rashers.’

‘Ah Darcy my dear boy, how good it is to see you. I do apologize popping in upon you in this way. But I took the liberty as I knew you would want me to, to come by the first taxi I could flag down in Dublin, as one hobbled down the gangway of the mail boat to dear old Erin’s isle. And as I am a trifle short of change, would you mind awfully awfully paying him off. He’s down I believe presently late breakfasting or perhaps early lunching in your kitchen.’

Rashers signed as a witness. Under both real and assumed names. Bowing, clicking his heels and chuckling as he nearly skipped out of the library. And later one actually waltzed after him along the hall. As if borne by the sweetest of balmy breezes. Light footed to a minuet. Reciting a prayer. Of utter thanksgiving singing from one’s lips. I actually embraced old Sexton. Dear man. Who could use his finger like a crowbar and his hand to comfort a tiny wren. And he let drop more than one tear or two out of his eye.

‘Ah and don’t think sir, I was unaware of your little Leila. And that I didn’t know you were sweet on her. As we all were in our own ways. Too good for him. But who are we to go charging to slay him who has stolen away our women. But she’ll make a great aristocrat for Ireland. And when the time comes she’ll be the most beautiful duchess in England. And leave her ghost here to haunt us, she will too.’

Darcy Dancer heading for the dining room. The damp cold chill. The loud click one’s heels make. Past this painting Leila admired, with her so soft black green eyes. A small figure flits across, way down at the end of the hall. A boy’s head peeks back out and now disappears. Having a look at me. Must be our cellar stowaway. To be soon trained up to be our new assistant butler. To trip over trays down the stairs as our top butler does. If our top butler doesn’t strangle himself or depart. Take with me this precious piece of paper deep in my barrister’s pocket. Before someone kindles it into fire. Cable Lois. Bring palette, paints and canvas. Paint my portrait to hang and haunt this house. And there beyond this door he enthrones, my confidential surprise, tinged red hair bent over a vast breakfast. All the mahoganies and silver sauceboats shimmering in the red blazing firelight. Crooks departing in the pantry door. The scent of Irish whisky. And that hand. Gripped around a glass of that distillate.

‘Dear Darcy may we avenge our slights. Kick up dust again in the face of our begrudgers.’

‘My god Rashers. I really did believe you popped into the Mediterranean.’

‘Well yes I did, in a manner of speaking. Pop. To the top of my shoelaces perhaps. And let us sincerely hope such rumour persists in making itself sufficiently felt for one’s creditors to believe before I make my triumphant reappearance in Dublin with the wherewithal to meet my unpleasantly accumulated commitments. Ah, but what a wonderful occasion today is for you my dear boy. You see. Ancient lineage and lands do, if one but ferrets about, produce their welcome surprises. But as for me, I really did fling myself off the cliffs of Monaco. Executed what I thought was quite a decent dive. But in the dark I did not realize I was already on the beach and the water I chose was only ankle deep. I was however really ready to drown like a man. At dawn I was stranded at the cliff bottom. Listening to myself release a series of those terrible farts one suffers on the Continent. And lo and behold a pair of insistent fishermen whose French I simply could not make head nor tail of, and who I simply could not convince to throw me back in, returned me with them into the harbour and safe to shore. As you can see my usually impeccable garments are in a poor state. My dear Darcy, you won’t mind if I stay a wee bit. I simply can’t face the catacombs again. Or trying to earn my keep from the idle likes of Sheena the whore. Catch my breath so to speak.’

‘But not I hope, to pawn my silver.’

‘Nae dear boy nae. I am forever chastened. I want you to know you can rely on me as your prudhomme. In this your moment of riches. I shall be at your elbow beck and call. You see, the fact of the matter is, like you, I too had a beautiful mother. Who did get up to pranks while my father was away at his wars. Who knows, who I really am. I may indeed be the true Earl of Ronald Ronald, and not an impostor. In this world taught to bow to privilege, my betrothed wants us to assume such a title. I mean it could be merely a matter of a few well placed fivers, and a little tampering flourish of the pen in the various source books of nobility. My dear lady is to give me her answer soon as to our wedding day, accompanied by her accountants’ final approval to the financing of my string of betting shops. Riches galore shall not I assure you change me as they dearly have not changed you. And I pray that I shall make my betrothed happy. Of course I want for you to be my best man. And I wonder dear boy, could you possibly see your way dear to tiding me over through what is merely a tiny patch of enforced prudentiality.’

Befallen

This present

Self respecting

Man of honour