The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

16

‘Shall I remove this setting Master Reginald.’

‘No Crooks.’

‘It’s a grand roast of beef, Master Reginald, fetched this evening by urgent bicycle from the butcher’s for your delectation.’

‘That’s most agreeable Crooks.’

‘And done to a rare turn.’

‘Most agreeable.’

Candelabra and sconces all lit. The fire roaring up the chimney. The wine crystal sparkling. Darcy Dancer seated end of the gleamingly polished mahogany. The chill blue colours of the onion pattern Meissen. Norah lugging in the covered dishes. Set by the hearth on the brass warming table. Crooks pouring my glass full of deep red softly fuming claret. A nice cool crack of breeze coming up between these two floor boards. Always means that less than arctic conditions are prevailing in the dining room.

Deliberately I delayed each course. Hoping Miss von B would reappear. Till Norah trying to catch her breath said that her Royal Highness was taking supper in her room. Somewhat mournfully I awaited Crooks to pour my lonely enjoyed Chateau d’Yquem. Knowing that madam especially would appreciate the noble rot of its rich textured pale goldenness softly sliding down the side of the glass rim and its musky heady scents wafting up the nostrils. And instead now she would I suppose, following her supper, be somewhere perusing another anti Catholic volume in the household. In her pale purple gown. By the library fire, or her legs wrapped in a rug in the chillier drawing room or parlour. Or perhaps even freezing her tits off waltzing by herself in the ballroom. As indeed I noticed before she slapped me that she was rather thinly covered there. And the welcome bosom swelling sight of her, did I thought, even make me feel a little dizzy, before as well as after her striking me. And I do indeed feel that way right now.

‘Master Reginald, is there something wrong.’

‘Well as a matter of fact Crooks I think I may be feeling rather heady.’

‘It’s that d’Yquem, the great accumulated golden overtones from sublime sauterne, would, with enough of it, put your brains pleasantly swirling. Sure it’s the very mummified death of the grape you’re drinking there.’

‘Well I do believe my brain is, as a matter of fact swirling, or else the table is swaying.’

‘Now would I fetch up a bit of our best brandy, it would bring you around in no time. There’s a bottle in the cellar lain there since the middle ages for just such a moment as this.’

‘I think, thank you Crooks, that I shall make do with d’Yquem. O god.’

‘Good lord save us, Master Reginald.’

Darcy Dancer pitching forward. Face banging the table. To slowly keel over sidewards and fall to the floor with a room shaking thud.

‘Master Reginald, can you hear me. Can you hear me. Are you all right. Norah, fetch Miss von B.’

Crooks walking stumbling upwards backwards, his hands caught under each arm of Darcy Dancer. Could feel his big fingernails digging into me. Hear all their voices. Out there beyond me in the dark. Even thought in my unconsciousness that a rake of an ancestor on the staircase wall winked at me. Miss von B in a big grey sweater over her gown. Had me by a leg. And Norah with her lace cap knocked askew, her hair loose was carrying the other. Could smell her rather strongly. Mixed with the clean sweet scent of Miss von B. But as the direction of the hall breeze changed, both ladies’ essences were promptly drowned by the close up smell of Crooks. As he grunted, huffed and puffed shifting me up the beech grove stairs. And along the hall to my room. Backing through the door and loading me all black attired and silk shirted, flat out on my bed.

‘Now ladies perhaps a gent should undress the poor young master. Leave it to a gent.’

‘Crooks I am perfectly capable of undressing Master Darcy.’

‘Ah well, would it be right and proper.’

‘I am in fact quite a very capable nurse.’

‘Very good then madam. Far be it for me to interfere.’

‘Norah fetch me a hot bowl of water. And a thermometer.’

‘What is a thermometer madam.’

‘O dear then get hot bottles for the bed. And towels to wrap them in. And build a fire.’

‘Very good madam. But is he dead.’

‘No. But he will be if you do not quickly attend to what you have been asked.’

‘O dear god, he was such a nice poor lad.’

Gales outside the bedroom window. Darcy Dancer’s black black hair aswirl on the pillow. Some strands still entwined. From his cross country adventure. Miss von B leaning over with a cool compress. Touching it upon the fevered brow and the hot burning cheeks. Feel the touches one feels. Outside one’s head. And inside like a big hand ahold of one’s whole brain. Lifting me away out of my body. I was up there on top of spy glass hill. And it was summer again and Crooks had put together a picnic to have by the lake. And as I watched his old bent figure pack it on the float I felt somehow that that dear old strange fellow had not betrayed me.

Three days Darcy Dancer lay abed. In feverish semi consciousness. The gales blowing. Baskets of turf fetched to burn to keep the sparks from flying. Miss von B the morning after the collapse in the dining room, brought the doctor. Driving my mother’s phaeton with Petunia like a whirlwind it was said, out and back along the drive. And he came then each morning smiling with his little case and stethoscope. Making cheery quips to Norah and Miss von B while he made me, half awake, roll my eyes, and cough with his stethoscope over my chest. A wooden stick pressed down my tongue as he looked down my throat by torch light. And late afternoon of that third day I saw Miss von B’s anxious face. And Norah at her shoulder. My head felt so tight. My lungs full of rumbling and trying to catch my breath. Norah’s hands entwined. And her eyes looking up to heaven as she mumblingly prayed and then whispered.

‘The poor lad’s dying isn’t he. He’s dying. Jesus Mary and Joseph. The poor lad’s dying.’

Till I drifted off. And then heard whispers.

‘It’s the crisis now. It’s the crisis.’

The tower bell rang. I thought all had been summoned to my room for tea. As I lay hot and swirling in dreams. Down at the foot of my bed. All hovering. As each now comes in. One by one. I’m dying. Sexton there. His head looming over the others. He had placed on my dresser a plaster statue of his Blessed Virgin, a special candle burning in a red glass in front of her. My sisters. Where are they. They loved me. There. That must be Beatrice Blossom in the corner of the room. And then it was Catherine the cook. Her one big old hand wiping itself across her apron, and a big ladle held in her other. Shaking her head sadly back and forth. I’m dying. Going down under the waves of sleep. Head Groom Slattery. Foxy furtively behind his shoulder. A smile ready to burst out on his face. Thought his eyes were looking around the room for something to rob. Now they were all filing in. As the first who came walked out. I’m already dead. They’re just viewing the body. The silver hair of Edna Annie. Eyes sunk so deep in her head. Her great ancient purple veins under her parchment flesh. Yet soft as her bony hand touches against my cheek. Her words. Ah god love the little man put so soon out there now to rest under the lonely sky. Long before his time. Sure god in his mercy to a good little Protestant gentleman like that will give him the peace to die a good christian. Luke the groom. His ear now well healed but badly bent over at the scar where Foxy had nearly bitten it off. Norah and Sheila brushing at their uniforms and too terrified to come closer. My mother’s two friends the clerics. So elegantly so darkly approaching. Both blessing me with prayers. Edna Annie feeling her rosary beads through her hands saying the two parsons assembled together should do a power of good in heaven even with the unfortunate blasphemy of one being an Episcopalian. And voices. Please now. Time to go. Ah one last look. While he lives. Darcy Dancer. And Uncle Willie. The only one with tears in his eyes. And Miss von B stood there on the bedroom carpet. With all the other dark shadows gone. Her body all golden. Her belly softly round. Bosoms swelling full and fruity. Her arms raised from her sides. To welcome me into her embrace. And as I moved towards her I was walking on a road. Out there way beyond west of Thormondstown. Bordered by shrubbery trees. Marching with an ash plant through the boggy lands of the countryside. A cottage thatch ahead at the end of a path. An old woman in her shawl approaching. A farm labourer in his loose black old coat leaning by the side of the fence. Who doffed his cap to me. And I said, with no one in particular in mind to say it to. To hear me. And understand. That I am a member, perhaps presently in poor standing, of the landed gentry. I really am. And that I am possessed still, of all my gentility. Despite the depredations to my estates. And would not soon nor never be descending to the very last resort. That poor common dreadful state of being native. In rags, penury and ignorance. With big dirty fingernails. And clumsy boorish mind. And that still, the country women curtsy and the men remove their caps. As I pass by and go further. And there on the road ahead. Miss von B. A true real aristocrat. Glittering in diamonds. Her body waiting. Getting closer. Our nakednesses nearly in embrace. My arms widening to weave around her. And squeeze and squeeze. Nothing is there.

That evening it was said all over the household that a miracle had happened. That out of all the praying and right from the very sheer brink of death the very life of Darcy Dancer had been restored. The doctor came, ruddy cheeked and smiling as usual. To listen to lungs, spy down throats and read thermometers. And to say yes that the gentleman was indeed on the way to recovery. He came again next morning. Bright cheery and inquiring from Miss von B of the hunting. Said there was the greatest story ever told in years going round the countryside. And he was sorry she hadn’t yet heard it for it was not a story could be repeated by a gentleman to a lady.

Frost white out on the meadows. The air stilled under the sky once more after four days of blowing. Darcy Dancer sitting up clear eyed in bed. Sexton had brought bunches of tiny wild flowers he’d picked. And together with Miss von B placed and arranged them on my bedside and dresser tables. And then after my nourishing broth the next morning I even nipped out of bed to look out the window. At the sound of wheels over the pebbles. Luke the groom holding as Miss von B climbed in my mother’s phaeton, called the High Crane Neck for its elegant curvatures. She looked so smart in her tweeds and bowler seated there atop. And her blonde hair peeking swelling out in a bun over her ears as she delivered a light flick of the whip over Petunia’s quarters. To go off trotting away, perched so neatly upon the swan like springs. And indeed I had a little flutter of the heart. Till suddenly there were the boards creaking and there was Sexton himself standing at the foot of my bed. The great tall dark patched one eyed hulk of him. Cap under his arm. Hands joined in prayer. His hair greasier and blacker than ever. As if I were already this long time dead and he were praying for the repose of my immortal soul. And the Latin words mumbling out of him.

‘Good lord Sexton. Look at me. I’m alive. Here by the window.’

‘I was just praying in thanks for your safe deliverance from final darkness. Ah god Master Darcy, sine dubio it’s like the time you were rescued from the bog. That last afternoon there I thought we would be bringing you beyond to the sods. Or if there’s any suitable room left, be stacking you in with the rest of the Thormonds. And no sadness should that be, close with the unfaded beauty of your mother. Antoinette Delia Darcy Darcy. Wonderful woman. Ah god excuse me. Can’t stop a tear or two at the mention of her very name. But sure the whole lot of us in this house will all be going that way soon. So fast there won’t be them ones left to bury the others. How are you now.’

‘I am feeling much better thank you, Sexton. But surely one can’t say that you are exactly expostulating the most cheerful of views.’

‘Views born in the bitterness of life they are. But I’m glad to hear that you’re feeling better. It was as near a wake as ever I’ve seen. With the lot of them wailing down there in the kitchens you’d think you’d been already put cold out there under the meadow.’

‘That is in its way complimentary Sexton. They could have been laughing and rejoicing.’

‘Ah never Master Darcy. Sure like your mother they worship the ground you walk on. And speaking of walking I’m glad you’re up doing it. Because let me tell you. The sooner you’re about the estate the better. The depredations. The depredations would make you reel with consternation. That filthy little cur the agent. And there’ll be others in on it with him. The looting and banditry. What’s he doing but selling them fifty tall straight oaks. Planted by your great great grandfather and aged by the centuries. Majestic they are. Standing there in adoration of the great majesty above. Who gave them the ground in which to grow. The sacrilegiousness. It’s sickening. Never mind the tuppence ha’penny that shrewd snake in the grass says he’s not getting. O he’s getting it alright. And it will be more than tuppence ha’penny he’ll be keeping for himself. Be damned if it isn’t.’

‘You mustn’t upset yourself Sexton. It is making you unduly red in the face.’

‘Well I won’t stand idly by and stomach that vulgar treatment of nature’s beauty. Never mind the scurrilous wholesale robbery done thereby. I was up over there and told them there’d be repercussions. I told them. And six of them great majestic oaks down already. In the garden out there I can hear them up beyond, poor trees, screaming in agony on the ground.’

‘O Sexton, you do get distressed don’t you.’

‘Well Master Darcy, I’ve spent nearly all my years with the growing living things and the beauties of God. And sure in this country where treachery and deceit were invented, and where if the crowd of them could find any semblance of beauty not doing a soul any harm, they’d have an axe to it in an instant swinging it lashing in every blessed direction till not a sacred contour of its beauty was left.’

‘Well perhaps Sexton we can at least change to another mournful subject. Thunder and Lightning is no more.’

‘Pulverized he was by that mare. All his power beat out in seconds. In the hounds’ belly now, every bit but the biggest bones of him. And speaking about hounds. And mentioning hunts. Ah god there tells a story. Mournful and disgraceful enough too. Didn’t some tinker rascal who could jump a horse over the moon and thread four hooves through the eye of a needle, steal off with the master’s horse, over a parish or two there beyond. And the whole hunt after him. The cowards and all. Coming-out of their saddles, busting their heads on branches. And now rumour has it. And a filthy disgusting rumour it is too. That the entire lot of them pursuing the villain went cascading down that old lime avenue over there and other side of Thormondstown. The foul demeaning stories coming out of there. Slandering that lovely blue eyed beauty. Haven’t I said she’s a distant relation of the Thormonds. Haven’t I told you that.’

‘You’ve told me that, I believe Sexton.’

‘Well slurring her name they are. All over the countryside. Licking their lips. Whispering. Disseminating the most unspeakable of the unspeakable. I wouldn’t repeat it. Never never in a million years would I repeat it.’

‘Repeat what Sexton.’

‘What them rabble rousers of them mad bloody hatters, or cappers, or natters or whatever they call them bloody selves. Are saying.’

‘What for heaven’s sake Sexton are they saying.’

‘That she was compromised. Compromised I’m telling you. Besmirched.’

‘Dear me. What a dastardly business. But how. How could anyone compromise such an elegant young lady, Sexton.’

‘Well in not more than two dozen words now. I’ll tell you how. Didn’t the entire hunt chasing this rascal come upon her and that Mental Marquis. In the middle of the lime avenue. With every last horse having to jump the pair of them stark naked together entwined on the grass. That’s what they’re saying. With the hounds, the fox, the huntsman, whipper in, and the Master looking for his horse, all thundering over them. Ah god I hate to have to use such an expression but next they’ll be saying that the fox ran up the poor girl’s hole.’

‘O dear what a bother isn’t it Sexton.’

‘Well let me tell you Master Darcy if a one of them comes repeating that story to my face they’ll get a fist in the gob for their trouble. Ruining the girl’s pure virgin name, that’s what the gossipy swine are doing. Tongues never still. Wagging and wagging. In one shopkeeper’s ear and out to a dozen others. And in a thrice don’t they have the whole story all over Ireland.’

Under the sheets to muffle my sounds I did laugh rather heartily the moment Sexton stepped back out again into the hall. Indeed I nearly kicked the bottom of the bed out. And finally did. With Miss von B bringing me beef tea, tucking it all back in again. Although kindly she was continuing to be distant. I did dizzily recall the intimacy of her rolling me over upon my stomach and intruding a cold thermometer into where I thought it was quite indiscreet in front of Norah. But Miss von B as I groaned my reluctance insisted that it was the only proper place to take a temperature. It seemed a long time before she pulled it out again, reading it in front of the wall sconces brought up from the dining room. One admired her lack of squeamishness. For two more days when I wasn’t feeling like an overly cosseted baby, I felt like a long piece of overly boiled cabbage. As the household rallied about leaving me with little peace. In with breakfast. Out with lunch. Back with tea. And flowers and visitors and tidbits in between. But there are times when it requires just too much energy to protest.

Saturday morning. With a red dawn and this day growing crisp and sunny. In a long mauve dressing gown with chocolate brown borders and facings, Darcy Dancer sitting by his fire. Sporting these, my mother’s racing colours. While suitably and contentedly reading Priests and People in Ireland. Of the low morality rampant in the Mecklenburg Street area of Dublin. Ladies of ill fame. Children kidnapped into vice. And in which volume it frequently appeared that Catholics did behave quite disgracefully. Of course one is always glad to be Protestant. But there are times when one is extremely glad. However I read with much interest of the Discalced Carmelites and how these gentlemen had established an oratory in honour of the divine child, Jesus of Prague, in whose devotion wonderful graces might be obtained. And I must confess, just for the novelty of it I prayed as one heard Sexton praying, to this Jesus of Prague to bring me back my strength. As every time I went now to pee or move my bowels, my legs were deucedly weak under me. And while I sat absorbed earnestly praying I heard the floor board squeak. And perceived from an eye. Miss von B at the door ajar. As she peeked in.

‘Please. Madam. Please. Come in.’

Miss von B in her brown hunting coat and white breeches. One gloved hand holding the glove of the other. The blonde buns of hair caught by a net either side of her head. And the red mark of her bowler striped across her brow. Her cheeks ruddy. Her riding boots black and so gleaming. Her bosoms swell up beneath her dark brown sweater and a gold pin stuck in the silk stock at her throat.

‘Ah I do not want to disturb you. Each time I come. There is already someone here. How are you.’

‘I am feeling immeasurably improved today. Thank you. You have been out exercising.’

‘Yes. We went a long ride around the lake. We were lost but behind Kern and Olav I found my way again. And I am pleased to see you so much better.’

‘I shall be up and about by Monday.’

‘No. You must not. I do not think the doctor would allow that.’

‘I must. To stop them taking away our trees.’

‘You are still so thin, pale. You take too much responsibility. What matter a few trees. There are thousand and thousand.’

‘I want nothing further to leave this place, not a branch, piece of straw or blade of grass.’

‘And of course, what does it matter if they take a few bits of wood. They pay something. It would be more important if they pay nothing and they take your cattle, your land, or even the beauty from your face.’

‘They are indeed madam already taking these things. And more often than not, paying nothing.’

‘Ah my poor darling. There is but one thing that is important, that no one can ever take your good manners from you.’

‘Miss von B. I thank you for saying that. Undeserved as I fear it may be. And especially in the light of my recent life. I do appreciate it. I think I am at a cross roads. And which way I turn may indeed be the direction of my whole destiny.’

‘Ah you are far too young to speak so. Life it comes. Bang. It knock you a little this way. Bang. It knock you a little bit the other way. And the direction you go. Well you are lucky if it is not backwards.’

‘Or bang, it could madam, flatten one altogether.’

‘Yes, it does do that too. But then we must get up again.’

‘I am going to get up and go away from here.’

‘Come come. In this house, as I say so often to you, this is where your life will be. You are sitting reading, so comfortably your book. Where it tell you how to bribe a saint and about the sin, priests and beggars everywhere. What could make a good Protestant gentleman happier. And you can as you will do, read just like that into your old age.’

‘My father will come. We shall argue. I know.’

‘How do you know he will come. When he did not come when I. Ah perhaps I should not say.’

‘Say what.’

‘O please, let us forget. It was nothing.’

‘It is something. You said my father did not come. When I was dying. That’s what you meant.’

‘He may not have got the cable. Plus as you know, you did not die.’

‘Yes, plus, I do know. But he will. He will come as soon as I stop the agent from selling the trees.’

‘Too many rashers of bacon for you at breakfast, that is what the matter is. You are getting your oats. Feeling them I mean. With your appetite back.’

‘I am I must admit rather deeply at this moment feeling my oats. And further for a long time now I have in fact been thinking. That things may not remain the same as one had expected they might. Especially now that Mr Arland has left.’

‘I did myself too become much fond of Mr Arland.’

‘O dear, I do desperately miss him. We did have some rather nice evenings together. One does not want to be unseemly and sentimental. But I cannot imagine my future here now. Andromeda Park is rather just a big old rambling monument to antiquity. And I do believe I’ve outgrown it.’

‘Come come. What is this. First no one is to take away a blade of grass. And now you speak of going away. And leave altogether. Ah I think you are just a little low after your sickness.’

‘The best part of my indisposition I suppose has been that you are now speaking friendly to me again. And that madam, is making me distinctly more content.’

‘Ah little man sometimes you are so sweet.’

‘Why madam do you stay here.’

‘Because there is plenty to eat.’

‘I see.’

‘Ah but I am half joking of course. I stay because I like it. At first I did not like you. But now I like you. And I like to live in the country. It is somewhere very pleasant. When you have nowhere. Of course I miss the mountains. The snow. The skiing. The crisp cold air. And the white everywhere. But then here there is the hunting. And such beauty over the fields. The crazy people who hunt. Who give me-a laugh. Like imbeciles when the fox run out, they all shout and scream which way he went. So I shout too.’

‘Of course madam that is quite incorrect. To point to the line the fox has taken you must put your horse in that direction, take off your hat and hold it out in front of you.’

‘But of course which of them could do that, each with a bottle of whiskey in them before breakfast they don’t know where they point.’

‘Please madam, come closer. I do like that coat on you. And you know don’t you that I have been very much wanting these days to put my arms around you. And hold you.’

‘Ah ha. How do you say, you are randy.’

‘That is not madam a ladylike term.’

‘Ah but it is what you are.’

‘Please don’t make light of my feelings. It’s not usually customary for me to express myself in this candid fashion concerning one’s deeper emotions. You wouldn’t would you, think it was disagreeable if I could just rest my head against your bosom.’

‘I will perhaps if you are a good boy, come back later tonight. And hold your hand.’

‘Now.’

‘No. Anyone could come in. Why do you take such a risk. When your father is suspicious already and you have run away from school.’

‘Well then we must do all we can do right now. Otherwise everything is going to be too late.’

‘Ah a relief to hear someone is in a rush. That is welcome for a change.’

‘Are you going to the next meet of the hunt.’

‘Yes.’

‘I shall join you.’

‘But you are not to do so. You are to stay as the doctor says, indoor for some time yet. And certainly not to hunt. So many are out who are all so stupidly dangerous.’

‘Ah madam in hunting there are but two words about safety. Should this in the least concern you, the words are. Don’t hunt.’

Sunday the sun outside was momentarily shining bright as heaven, as Sexton would say, and feeling much stronger, I walked through the house. Even to the spick and span ballroom. The parquet all waxed and gleaming. Where I felt it might be time for me to hold a grand party. Invite everyone of note from all over the countryside excluding only the very meanest. Unless they were especially of significance. No point in cutting off one’s social nose just to stick to one’s principles. And let them drink the cellars clean. Then before I decamp, pile straw in some quantity in the front hall and set to it a match and burn the whole ruddy place down just as the local peasantry have been threatening to do for centuries.

Darcy Dancer passing down the hall to the schoolroom. On the wall the old barometer newly cleaned. Its brass polished and hung back up again where it had not been for years. Its gilt doves surmounting its dial nestled in gilt oak boughs. Makes one feel you know the mystery of what’s happening out across the skies. And its rectangular mirror flanked by thermometers. Reading as usual rather cool interior temperatures and the weather pointer pointing as it always did between variable and rain. Everywhere one sees the work of Miss von B. Her constant improvements are the only things that give one hope for the future.

From out of the back of the library clock Darcy Dancer fetched the key to the gunroom. To unlock the big heavy iron barred door to that windowless chamber and therein choose from the mahogany rack of firearms my grandfather’s best shotgun. To polish and wipe clean its barrels of dust. Fill my gunbelt with a dozen cartridges. Just as Crooks pushed open the door.

‘Begging your pardon Master Reginald. I wasn’t sure that it was your footsteps I heard on the floor below in the wine cellar. You’re shooting.’

‘Yes Crooks, thought a few snipe wouldn’t come amiss.’

‘There should be plenty down in the bottoms. You’ll lock up well now Master Reginald. It wouldn’t do if any unauthorized person should have access in here. It’s this arsenal that keeps them having a second thought who would be contemplating getting past Kern and Olav with a mind to trespass in this house. And that scoundrel Foxy Slattery has been at the door with a chisel more than once.’

After lunch in my room and following a brief walk in the orchard and garden and through the farmyard where there seemed still fewer pigs and chickens in evidence, I returned with my legs decidedly springier and feeling quite refreshed. Went to take tea by the fire in the north east front parlour. Miss von B who said she had finally given up smoking and now had to occupy her mind, was seated with a local newspaper which was blotched and wet and brought personally for her by Luke all the way on his bicycle from the town in a miracle of speed and dispatch when an English ladies’ fashion magazine he’d been sent to collect didn’t arrive. The presence of a newspaper was in fact quite unprecedented. As my grandfather, who did not believe in modern communications, maintained that you could by human voice and ear, get enough news of anything that mattered within five miles of Andromeda Park to last you a lifetime and he would therefore have no newspaper or radio in his house. Much to the irritation of my father, my mother inherited this same principle. And now Miss von B totally hidden behind newsprint, was laughing. Rather uproariously I thought. And crossing and recrossing her legs most provocatively under her clinging grey wool dress. Perhaps she needs to take one hell of a hearty pee.

‘Would you mind awfully pouring me some more tea.’

‘Ah I am sorry.’

‘What has you so damned amused.’

‘Here, you should read. It is always of course, just like I say. The whole place is nuts.’

Miss von B’s finger pointing to the headline across the entire top of the page. Which I hold up between my two nervous hands. As one certainly does not know what and who, and especially including one’s self, will be the latest news these days.

SACRILEGIOUS ROBBERY

On Friday evening last, the Parish church near Thormondstown was broken into and robbed of vestments and a cask of the finest old Marsala Altar Wine. The empty cask was later found in the chapel graveyard. The Police are seeking to interview a man they think can help them in their further inquiries.

The man in question was seen by a witness who described him as ‘laggards drunk’ and who was spreadeagled on a memorial stone not far from the cask, singing ‘It’s A Long Way To Tipperary’ in a riotous manner, considering the vicinity. Witness thought that in the interests of keeping the peace he should inquire as to what such person was doing on the grave stone. As the witness who wishes to remain anonymous, more closely approached, he was at first aghast to see that it was a priest who was there prostrated and he immediately suspected that the reverend gentleman was delirious as a result of foul play. However as he inquired of the prone figure as to whether he could be of assistance to him, he was met with shouts and arm waving and loudly told to F off. Realizing this was not the language of a man of god he attempted to ascertain the identity of the stretched out form and thought he recognized the face of a person he had seen upon occasion in the district who had a reputation of a violent nature. This impression was immediately reinforced with the prone figure becoming quickly erect and with further use of obscene language and threats witness thereupon realized the fruitlessness of pursuing further pacification.

However the witness in beating a quick retreat, was then without provocation attacked, taking upon his face a swipe of a fist and his backside sustaining a kick of a boot. Witness said that in the circumstances he was forced to run every which way hopping over the gravestones for his very life, and as a consequence went down into a hole involuntarily disturbing and desecrating the dead and badly twisting both ankles where he lay incapacitated till dawn. The fact that his pursuer was in priestly robes and spouting filthy language left him with a very bad taste in his mouth.

The garda should like the assistance of anyone who might have knowledge of the incident to help them in pursuing their further investigation.

I did think that Miss von B as she took the paper back again and slowly read aloud certain passages that she was rather making much of it all in ridiculing our simple country ways.

‘They are so funny.’

‘Well I’m glad you think so.’

‘Ah but you must forgive one. Imagine two broken ankles he gets falling into someone’s grave.’

‘They were sprained as a matter of fact. And how would you like it if someone trampled your skeleton.’

‘O dear you are so serious sometimes.’

But in any event I was quite certainly serious about the way Miss von B’s grey wool dress looked quite stunning with a very large thick leather belt and a big brass buckle tightening it snug around her. And I did not really mind her being so amused. And must confess my penis was painfully hard as I stared with great excitement at the way her girth made her waist so slender and her hips and bosoms swell so splendidly out. To use Miss von B’s unladylike word I was indeed randy. Even as I managed to change the subject of rural indiscretion to discussing my pedigree. As Miss von B had been previously leafing through the vellum volume describing it.

‘I am at least agreeably surprised by the Thormonds and the Darcys. But nowhere can I find the name Dancer.’

She of course quite cleverly ruined all the compliments by stating that so much Irish ancestry had been compromised by parlour and scullery maids, grooms, gardeners and gamekeepers. And that it could hardly be discerned by appearance as to who was mistress and master and who was servant or menial. I don’t know what on earth she thought we gentry did all the time, if indeed we had any free from our presumably constant putting it up our various female staff. I mean we really didn’t sit around all day as I only just happen to be doing with damn big erections. Or indeed, having the lady of the house get it put up her by stablemen, cowherds and shepherds. Her whole aspersion began to be quite heinous. Especially as to most of us being English, Jews or Danes and that the fine blood of those races had been horribly diluted by that of the native peasant Gael. I was quite alabaster faced with anger. I mean to say, one’s pedigree gives one confidence to keep others in their place. She did however finally smile in the firelight and say I was singularly possessed of an amazing resemblance to Uncle Willie. Whose most attractive eyes were further apart than my father’s and who also had my upper class jaw and cheekbones.

‘Ah yes, all is not completely lost. You have at least, the good bone structure.’

That late evening following supper in my room, and when Crooks had left my hot drink by my bedside, Miss von B came. She had quite marvellously and magically repaired my suit and darned so beautifully my socks worn in my cross country escape. But I of course despite my penis bulging in my trousers, could not help immediately resuming defence of my ancestry. The whole damn issue had already ruined my enjoyment of the rather tasty boiled bacon and cabbage and buttered spuds Catherine had dished up. But as I was about to let her have a socially redeeming salvo or two, she opened before me a black leather album embossed with a coat of arms and full of photographs.

‘I brought this for you to see.’

Bending close by me her soft grey breast touched my cheek. I couldn’t just grab her as I dearly wanted at that moment or I’d muck up her album. As her fingers turned the black sheets of pages of pictures of her when she was a little girl. With the castles and palaces where she grew up. And in front of which, festooned in furs in the winter snows, she sat in a horse drawn sled. Of course it was quite grandly embellished and there was a coronet obvious on the sled’s lantern lights which she did not allude to. In other pictures she was on skis, big boots on her feet. And then there she was in a hay meadow in front of a hunting lodge with balconies growing flowers. Smiling in her native costume. A bonnet on her head and holding a big scythe.

‘All the colours you cannot see were in the meadow and also in my frock.’

As each page turned she grew bigger. Then there were pictures of her with other girls, her bare arms crossed. And in one, she sat in the long grass on a hillside overlooking a castle. She said she was angry at that moment. She would not say why. Nor when I asked, was she entirely forthcoming as to whose particular castle it was. But it was suitably impressively imposing sitting there with numerous turrets and battlements. And then on the castle terrace she sat a smiling jolly looking girl. Who seemed she might enjoy a good joke and play tricks on you and not nearly be so solemn as she seems now.

‘And here we are for the boar hunting.’

A photograph in a valley on an edge of forest with great white capped mountains rising out of the steep wooded hillsides all around. Gentlemen in breeches and boots and others in short leather trousers with staves and their hats with brushes sticking out. She showed me her robust grandfather with a great moustache and big watch chain across his chest. I thought he looked quite an ordinary chap as a matter of fact. And another sadder one of her walking along a country road in a black dress and a coat tied half way closed and her long tresses over her shoulders. Which she said fell reaching all the way down to her bottom.

‘The week before this picture was taken, the handsome Count to whom I was betrothed had while skiing disappeared forever in an avalanche of snow. In my face you can see the end of the world.’

And that, by my reckoning anyway, was three poor gentlemen of whom she was clearly enamoured gone to their doom. She was clearly such a nice girl. Although in the picture she was only seventeen, she seemed quite grown up. Behind her all in black as well, was her favourite aunt called Mafalda.

‘She did my dear lovely aunt die six months later of consumption. Her husband, he was dead but a year later of grief.’

‘You have haven’t you madam, had much sorrow in your life.’

‘Ah but when you expect little else, it is then just life.’

‘I do think I live in quite as grand a house as some of those you have lived in.’

‘Ha ha.’

‘I do think so, madam. I really do. Especially when you include our ballroom.’

‘This. Just look. This is my uncle’s castle. Andromeda Park you could fit into the drawing room and sit on the chimneytop and not be able to touch my uncle’s chandeliers. And besides inside there is beauty and elegance. Not like here, where everything is ruin. There everything it was polished, spotless. Gold leaf, it was simply everywhere. Pearl, marble. Not like this, rotting boards, damp crumbling plaster, pipes that you do not know where they go or what will come out of them.’

‘I rather take that amiss you know.’

‘Ah you poor little peasant, you get so upset when I point out to you that there are far grander places out in the rest of the world. You have never for instance been in a palace. Have you. Come now. Have you.’

‘Of course I have, as you well know. I’ve been in the great castle.’

‘Nothing. Absolutely mere nothing. A palace is so much more splendid. With long long halls of mirrors. Ceilings of mirrors.’

‘Well, when our ballroom shutters are closed they are inside painted gold.

‘You do not paint gold. It is with a hammer you make it into like a leaf.’

‘Well we did have mirrors in our own dining room ceiling. My grandfather had them put there. So he might by casting his eyes upwards peer down upon the ladies’ bosoms and the only reason they were taken away was because the hot dishes from the kitchens fogged them over which angered him when he couldn’t see the ladies’ décolletage and he had them removed.’

Miss von B and I went on and on about our various lists of embellishments. I nearly punched her when she just laughed in a superior manner when I told her of the vine my grandfather had trained to grow from the greenhouse through a hole in his bedroom wall so that he could eat grapes in bed. I thought it a jolly good damn idea even though the grapes never ripened. And then she spoke of all manner of architectural accoutrements, formal gardens and water works. I did somehow think that she was rather putting it on. Assuming graces to which she was not entitled. With her princes, princesses, dukes, duchesses, counts and I may as well say it, cunts and their seemingly endless castles and palaces to which she was privy. In order that I should feel that Andromeda Park was not quite grand enough. Nor my blood royal blue. However I made it quite clear that the Thormonds had not descended to squalor and we could easily claim to be a minor dynasty with a standing in society quite assured. And for many miles about one was still accustomed to locals giving way on the roads. Fortunately, when finished viewing her album we only kept on earnestly discussing that kind of thing for another few hours till perhaps well past midnight. And I was nearly hoarse. When she finally said.

‘You take it all so seriously. I am not saying you do not live here in some refinement.’

‘You are. If you are not directly saying we have descended to squalor then you most certainly infer a distinct lack of stylishness.’

‘Ah. In that, there is far more than a lack. There is none.’

‘What. How dare you. My sisters are ladies of rank and my mother bought her better things from the very leading London shops across the water. And I say damn you.’

‘Ha ha. You sweet little man. Do not upset your lovely dark curls or your vivid marvellous eyes. What matter is it, a little lack of as you say, stylishness.’

And I did so want to kiss her. To put my lips on her soft smooth skin. O god I was nearly dying to. Utterly mad to. And to undo that belt around her waist. And then replace it with my arms squeezing her tight. Her slight aloofness these past few days was most irritating. Not to say inciting to sheer blatant lust. And I felt she might be heeding the attentions of other men. Some perhaps as odious as the agent with whom she admitted she sat for more than just the cursory moment in the parlour.

‘Are you not going to allow me to touch you.’

‘No.’

‘Why.’

‘It is that time of the month when ladies don’t.’

‘But you would otherwise.’

‘Ah, who knows.’

‘Are you no longer in love with me.’

‘Love. My god. Love.’

‘Yes. Love. Or are you now frightened that we may be spied upon.’

‘Love. That is such a silly word.’

‘Why.’

‘Because love is a future and what future is there. For me. For you. Ladies must think always of the future. Her beauty is her future. It is that which makes men want you. When it is gone all is but beautiful memories. You must then have things which replace the attentions of men. It is most important.’

‘Like doing embroidery you mean.’

‘Yes.’

‘You will always be beautiful. My mother was. And I could hire you forever. Then you could go and sit with Edna Annie down in the laundry and do embroidery. It’s warm there mostly.’

‘You want a sock in the jaw.’

‘No please.’

‘Anyway you would not want me around forever, I assure you. As every little lady in the countryside is beaucoup busy counting your acres, your horses and grooms. Even already I notice how they are riding at your back at every hunt. Keeping close and following you like the hounds do the fox. Just waiting for the moment when she can toss her head and attract your eye and procure you.’

‘Your English madam has improved marvellously but procure, I think is hardly the word.’

‘Ah perhaps the word is then conquer, snare, make a grab. Catch you. I practise my English. But two hours every day is not enough. And I will need to be expert to find another job.’

‘Are we now discussing the down to earth probability that you and I shall be departing soon.’

‘I think so, yes. I mean but a day or so ago you were gone.’

‘But I am here. And I may be deeply in love with you.’

‘You would be certain if you were.’

‘Well perhaps I yet will be. When I’ve thought extensively enough about it. But I could be already. Other men are attempting to befriend you I suppose.’

‘Ah of course, there are always men. Who are maybe bored trying putting it up the sheep. There is the Major, the agent, Murphy the farmer. There is hardly a shortage. Even the Mental Marquis.’

‘You are sometimes a little brutally blunt madam. But what did the Marquis do.’

‘O he let me know when he saw my long magnificent legs that how do you say, that he fancies me.’

‘That does not become you to brag like that.’

‘Ah you are angry.’

‘He fancies Baptista.’

‘Dumb minded little bitch.’

‘Well she may be quite stupid in brains but the Marquis it would appear was quite happily content to ravish that part of her body not containing them. The whole of the Moonhound Mad Hatters hunt came upon them in the woods. Stark naked on top of one another.’

‘I do not believe it.’

‘It is absolutely true, ask Sexton.’

‘Ah then who was on top. Baptista or the Marquis.’

‘The Marquis as a matter of fact. And you may think it’s all a joke but there are many witnesses should there be any doubt as to the accuracy of the matter.’

‘How very unsporting. The Marquis crushing such a small girl into the grass. And how indiscreet of the Marquis in front of people. But how typical of the little bitch. To choose to open her legs in such a theatrical place where the hunt would find them. And how very inclement and how very unfastidious to know no better than to be on the wet ground. It serves her right.’

‘And now madam, it is you who is angry.’

‘Certainly not. But the hunting field is not the proper situation for the parting of a lady’s lower limbs other than upon her saddle. And even then it is not preferable for her to be mounted astride.’

‘Do you not agree that their blood, madam, must have been up. Or if they were leisurely doing gates together, I do believe they may have grown rather familiar. And then as often happens in our mild wintry countryside, a lady and gentleman so delegated, are pausing also to build back up walls, with the lady bending over and her behind flattened by tight breeches, does thereby give a gentleman the opportunity to take an unpremeditated fancy and that the parties then promptly, even in the deep mud, disrobe, and there entangled go splashing and sloshing.’

‘Sweet one I do wish the time of the month for me were different and then I would have you do more than to pull my leg.’

‘Madam honestly I do not pull your limb as enchanting as that should be to do. Quite seriously often when one is jumping a wall in chasing a backtracking fox one does find that there, sheltering in the lee of the boulders, there are pumping pairs of nude bottomed hunt members absolutely lust embroiled out of their minds and crazed with a lasciviousness that would be hard to believe.’

‘And how would you Master Kildare, like if I should give you a nice bath before you try to tell me any more tall stories. If you do not mind the little smell the water has of dead mice who rot in the water tank.’

‘Dead mice tend to sweeten the water madam. But do you really mean that madam. You will give me a bath.’

‘Yes I do really mean that. But do not let your eyes pop out.’

‘They are not popping out. But that would be most cordially splendid of you. And I do really most marvellously appreciate your so beautifully refurbishing my suit. You are, aren’t you, a really clever lady. You really are.’

‘Well really. Then you really come. And really flattery will get you far. And really right into the bath which really I shall as you say really draw for you. Which really stinks of dead mice.’

‘You mustn’t madam. I can’t help it if I really get excited.’

‘But ah I really like it when you do. I really do.’

‘And I shall never say that word again.’

‘Unless of course you are. Really excited.’

Darcy Dancer in his mother’s racing colours. Behind this bathroom door firmly locked. Candles burning in the chill steam rising from the copper. Disrobing before Miss von B. Was throbbingly thrilling. It really was. To have one’s penis stand up towards the ceiling pointing at her belt buckle. It felt distinctly ticklish, for want of a better word to use. And I do believe Miss von B was casting brief admiring looks at it. As I made it twitch up and down. She seemed to take such instant open hearted interest in such things. As often she would remark quite casually upon the enormity of Thunder and Lightning’s engorged penis when we had occasion to be together near that now sadly departed stallion. Who got an erection immediately any lady came within sniffing distance. Madam also had a certain fearlessness which was devilishly attractive. That she might do whatever I might saucily off the top of my head suggest to her.

‘Would you grab it madam. Please.’

‘Ah you are always so in readiness with that, are you not.’

‘It is I think merely the gush of blood to that part due to the bathroom chill.’

‘It is just as I say, your randiness. And you are twitching it.’

‘But your merely taking hold of it might calm it down.’

‘You devil.’

Although my penis kept mightily rigid I pretended that one was not in the least excited. After all one had posed this way for artists. But I was most embarrassed just as I, while lifting my leg to climb into the bath, without warning, hopelessly unintentionally but loudly and at length, farted. One bang followed about four others. And in utter anguished mortification I lowered myself to nearly drowning in the water and watched as she sniffed and then brought her finger pinching both her nostrils closed.

‘Peewewew.’

‘I do, my god, madam apologize. Honestly. I really do. It just came out.’

‘Ah but I really think at least you did it with a certain aristocratic charm. That is what matters my darling. My Darcy. My Dancer. It was just perhaps a trifle too big a bang for it to be royal but it was aristocratic enough.’

‘I do thank you for letting me off so easily. You could have pretended to be quite offended and I wouldn’t have in the least blamed you.’

‘Such things my dear darling are the real music of love. And often such tunes play long after the kisses have stopped.’

‘My goodness that is madam an awfully nice turn of phrase. You really are a one. Aren’t you. O dear that word again.’

Miss von B had with her a most elegant pedicure outfit in a black crocodile case, vaguely resembling one belonging to my mother. Pearl handled silver little instruments. Each with a coronet on the handle. Which did appear to be that of a Duke. But one has had enough of that thorny subject and that’s when I think I expanded my chest in order to present a muscular image to her which exertion put pressure on my belly and made me break wind. Serves me jolly right for showing off. I should have been enough content to enthrall Miss von B with my elevated penis. As the tip top of it was now doing as a periscope, lying back in these hot waters. Miss von B leaning over me smiling. Taking each of my hands in hers and with my wrist over the edge of the bath resting on a towel as she clipped my nails one by one. Pushing back the skin to show, she said, a little bit of moon. Then filing each gently round. Such divine deliciousness of the pressure of her fingertips on mine. Then taking each foot up over the side of the bath. And from each toe the nail was trimmed. She had rather to struggle a bit to cut my main ones.

‘Like elephant tusk these are.’

‘But that’s what we Irish use to dig our potatoes with.’

Miss von B flicked bath water in my face and then frowned and made a mock funny expression with her mouth. It was quite damn easy to keep her amused in fact. And the muscles flexed along her forearm and the white neat scar there. She’s so absolutely right. They were indeed rather long and thick. Resting my head back against the soft slipperiness of the copper I could see Miss von B was really putting her all into pressing together the scissor handles. And when she leaned back on her heels to take a much needed rest she was more than somewhat impressed with the Thormond coat of arms emblazoned on the bath. At least it was a little evidence of our ancestral haughtiness that one must not lightly overlook. One did not want to resurrect our social fencing match but I thought it was as well that it was made known especially in view of her coronet on her pedicure instruments.

‘Ah I shall agree my sweet fellow it is quite haughty. And of course it has the simplicity of those escutcheons which carry the most ancient distinctions.’

Quite obviously one must accept that one is the product of one’s antecedents and Miss von B had previously rather made one feel rather socially less esteemed. So her observation certainly made me feel much much better. Although good god, with one so lazily warm in the bath, I was feeling so damn good anyway. Recovered from death. Clonking the gunman and nearly committing my first murder. A temporary horse thief and highwayman. But then one must suppose that everyone really is trying to knock or demean you somehow. And whatever it is one may profess to be. How pleasant for a change, to have a little social flattery. So many have so little of anything. Like poor Lois. All she wanted she said, was someone to love and love her. And good lord, it seems that simply everyone is running around looking for that. Makes for such a ruddy mêlée. With people bumping indiscreetly into each other all over the place.

‘And now shall we wash your hair.’

‘Yes please, indeed do.’

‘And we hope we shall not get too much of Edna Annie’s strong soap in your eyes.’

‘Madam when you were in Dublin, what was your life like.’

‘It was work. It was sometimes funny, sometimes sad and sometimes highly irritating. Now just put back your head.’

‘When was it irritating.’

‘When these women come in for their hats who think they are the cat’s whiskers. Now close your eyes.’

‘Surely that must have been unpleasant, having social inferiors in a position to command you about.’

‘O perhaps. How is one to mind about such things. If you want their money, then you must give them what they want. And you cannot then pretend to be better than them.’

‘And did you have gentlemen friends.’

‘Ah but that is none of your business. Back again with your pretty head please.’

‘I am merely inquiring about your life. In which, if you don’t mind my saying, it is not in the least unusual, considering our relationship, that I should take an interest.’

‘Ah well then. My life. I shall speak of. But not the gentlemen in it. For there is a rule which women are unwise to break. And that is to talk of men to other men. There were of course parties. Every night. They bring back drink from the pub. Everyone becoming drunk. So boring. They sing, then they argue. Then they fight. Then they wash off the blood, shake hands. And drink again. And then fight. Night after night it is like that.’

‘Dear me.’

‘The next afternoon they meet in the pub to talk of the night before. Of how much they drink, about who was fighting, about how many teeth knocked out or fingers broken. It is like a race they are in. Who has drunk the most. Who slaps his wife the hardest. It is like a club. Which the members have joined so that they all go to hell together. They are all so proud of the hangover they say that morning they wake up with. Like it was a halo. How they give their wife a fist in the gob. Or they say a boot in the hole if she protest that they broke down the front door to get in the house. So many such simple sad little people. Who read the gas meter. Who own a shop. Who have maybe some business. Or uncle who leave them money. And there is a crazy lady artist always inviting them to her studio to paint their privates.’

‘Are these people not what one calls Bohemians.’

‘Bohemians. Ha ha. They say they are poets when they are pigs. Pee everywhere and shit anywhere. They are imbeciles. They say they write books. When they only sharpen pencils and pull corks out of bottles of stout. Their moments of glory are when they can find someone they can insult.’

‘You do madam, don’t you, rather paint an unpretty picture.’

‘Well perhaps it might only have been like that on Saturdays, Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays.’

‘What about Thursday.’

‘They sleep that day.’

Miss von B rinsing Darcy Dancer’s hair. Pouring glasses of mouse tainted chilly water out of the tap. Sweeping back the wet locks from my forehead. Kissing me moistly on the brow. And just staring down at me peeping up out of the bath. I did not let her kiss me on the mouth for fear of my disease and she kissed me on the neck shoulders and bosoms. Then soaped me all over with Edna Annie’s nearly dissolved big bar of yellow soap. That that ancient lady made every month down in her laundry. Who was now said to be beyond a century in age but could still see a wren at a hundred yards or hear a pin drop at fifty.

‘Now my darling. Keep your head up out of the water.’

‘Madam, I do hope you never grow old.’

‘Ah but I shall. Isn’t it sad.’

‘Yes.’

Miss von B’s hand pushed up over me. Making big hills of suds on the water. As I arched up my back for her to make suds all over my privates as she whispered.

‘Ah my darling my past might be unhappy but this, this is all so very exciting.’

Her hand pressed over my mouth when my moaning suddenly turned to screaming. In what must have been a death defying tumult, furore, fuss bother and frenzy of a thunderstorm of the emotions as I writhed in certain ecstasy. Nearly I do believe flapping like a fish out of water. Clearly Miss von B was a past master at this kind of pleasure giving. But I did not want to sound too desperately thankful, feeling as I was rather like a libertine in my licentious life. But my god it did feel so awfully utterly good.

‘Ah my little one it is like a gushing fountain.’

And the warm waters. Her soft soothing touches of fingers and hands. The smooth wondrous skin of her throat. The velvet pink lips parting across her teeth as she smiled. And the tiniest of golden little hairs on her flesh. Who could care a tinker’s curse about the low morality rampant across Ireland. Or of Lois painting privates. Or of hunt members taking each other by the ears or arse and entangling goodo upon the grass all over the ruddy countryside. Where one in spite of sighting the fox, was quite liable to be compelled at almost any time to rein up and shout, hark, what new wantonness do I perceive with rear cheeks naked in yonder copse. To make the innocent stars dance in consternation.

And the

Fox

Run

In shame