A chill struck one’s spine. The hair rose to stand on the back of my neck. Felt the blood draining from my face. And greeted with my silence, Sexton turned his one eye up from the plant he was packing in a pot.
‘Sure now you look as if you’d seen a ghost.’
‘Who was she, Sexton.’
‘A visitor to Thomastown Castle. Had the merest limp, one leg slightly shorter than the other. But by god for beauty she had no shortage. About to be married she was. To one of the richest peers in England. Trousseau packed. Sure the lass could quote the poets, as she would of a morning constitutional when I was a groundsman over at the castle with my starvation wages. I put many a flower on her grave, would coax and cuddle them. But not one would grow. A sure sign her body was elsewhere. But I’m not pretending there’s a word of truth to the ghost of her on the bridge.’
‘You don’t yourself believe in ghosts do you Sexton.’
‘Ah now it’s this way with me. After the Holy Ghost, one ghost is the same as another. If you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. I take them as they come. But then the diehard members left one late evening of the hunt ran a fox to ground a stone’s throw from the very spot. And having roused him once more off into the mists swirling, followed by the huntsman, the whipper in, the Master, the Mad Major and the Mental Marquis and one of the sisters, they all saw her the other side of the river. Standing in white on the end of the little stone bridge. Made the Marquis, mental enough already, even more mental. Sent him drunk for a week.’
I accompanied Sexton to a new layout of vegetable garden already dug over he planned for Indian corn, sunflowers, artichokes and asparagus. One always took heart from his horticultural enthusiasms.
‘Be eighteen feet tall they will. Sunflowers that will set the whole garden alight with their glory. They will surmount the wall. But now coming over that bit of broken wall there didn’t I catch redhanded the other evening, a trespasser and you’d never guess what he was after.’
‘I don’t think I would Sexton.’
‘Ah they’re all bleating and moaning lovesick since the dance. Sure this one told me it was none of my business what he was doing here. Skulking around. I said I’ll do for you. With a boot sailing up your backside. Ran him off I did. O but such beauty as that Master Darcy is trouble I’m telling you.’
‘Sexton, what on earth are you talking about.’
‘Sure didn’t you hear about the dance the other night. That Leila went to with Kitty and Dingbats. Mademoiselle created a sensation. For every lass furious at the sight of her there were two lads with their tongues hanging out in awe.’
One did all too soon find oneself out of the garden and back in the library. With one’s teeth clenched in pique and one’s heart pained with jealousy. I too was bleating and moaning. Albeit inwardly. But outwardly, at the thought of her, my trousers were sticking out a mile. Just hoping she would come in the door. That we would confront as we had a previous time upon my entering. And she had suddenly grabbed up her jar of wax and polishing cloth, nodded her head and before I could on some pretext engage her in conversation, she vanished out the door. And I wondered why she would rush so out of my presence. Until the reason became apparent from Crooks, to whom I tried striking a cheerful note as I sensed he was about to present me with a highly unwanted difficulty.
‘Crooks, the library does seem so awfully neat, dusted and frightfully well polished these days.’
‘Master Reginald, sir, that may be but not without some shocking liberties being taken. And I refer to that girl Leila. She must be taught her place. Completely out of order she was. In here reading books.’
‘O dear. Pray tell what books.’
‘The porcelain and pottery if you don’t mind, laid open on the tablature over there. And surveying with your magnifying glass if you please.’
‘O dear. O dear.’
‘Well she’s been placed back down below stairs until she has some better manners put on her.’
‘But surely Crooks is it so sacrilegious. The young lady may have been merely trying to improve her mind.’
‘Sir with the greatest respect I submit that is not what she is serving in this household for.’
What a terrible prig Crooks is. Sounding like an awful pompous barrister at times when his accent wasn’t assuming its unpleasant Dublin undertones One nearly feels like blowing him up with some strong language. But as he stood about to deliver an envelope the sight of which spelled immediate danger and embarrassment, one decided to take unpleasantries one at a time. And deal with the documented ones first. Crooks placing the salver in front of one as one imagined some high court judge might, handing down a sentence of death. I slit the letter open.
‘That Johnny Gearoid, sir, brought it this few minutes ago. Face red as an old beet and puffing like he would explode, and, forgive me sir, stinking of stables. I gave him a shilling and sent him down around to the kitchen.’
One knew Johnny Gearoid well. A gentleman short of stature and long on thirst, who for the price of a few pints of stout held horses while hunt members either peed, cohabited in the bushes or drank to inebriation in the pub. And this letter he carried comes from that unpleasantly familiar old firm of solicitors in the town whose rambling dusty offices are full of gossipy spinster women and ancient creaking mahogany desks. One felt it should not have the dignity of being opened in the library or of having its bearer stuffed with refreshment. Containing as it does such arrant nonsense and the ridiculous assumption I give two hoots about proceedings.
Dear Sir,
We are instructed by our client J. Quinn, Esq., to protect his interests in this primary matter, among others, concerning his position at Andromeda Park.
Our client not only was disparaged, slandered and, with menace, was put in fear not only of his good and respected reputation, but of his very life and as a result has since been under the care of his physician.
Clearly you are of the assumption you are a law unto yourself, which is inconsistent to say the least to the standing your forebears have enjoyed in this community. And in this context we advise you that our client is owed five years of uncollected bonuses promised our client by your father. Further he is entitled to have conveyed and registered to him thirty acres, four roods, three perches or thereabouts, of that land in the Parish of Thormondstown adjoining the old school house and extending south west to the bank of the river from the main road.
We would be glad if you would forthwith take the necessary steps to convey such land due to our client failing which we are instructed to take proceedings on this matter and the previous matters aforementioned.
Yours faithfully,
Fibbs, Orgle, and Justin, Case, Fluthered
Imagine elevating a low fellow like Quinn to the dignity of esquire. One remembers this firm when their name was somewhat different, tussling with us over something previously disagreeable. And now they again think they can put the wind up me. How abysmal the world suddenly is just before lunch this morning. With a sudden predominance of Protestant names in the obituary column of the newspaper. To which the religious clue was given by a scientifically motivated gentleman donating his body to the College of Surgeons. While a list of much loved and deeply regretted Catholics were complacently content to proclaim their joyful reunion in heavenly places. Clearly certain their papist corpses will luxuriate in eternal happiness. And one suspects there are more than a few Catholics in the company of Fibbs and Orgle. By god I shall out of the library’s legal tomes hurl such torts, rebuttals, grievances and summonses in reply, they will be sitting around their rickety old offices wondering what counterclaim to use to wipe their arses with.