‘Ah god this is a time when arma pacis fulcra. Dominus vobiscum.’
‘Stuff that bloody popery.’
‘Who said that. Come on and bejesus I’ll swipe this right through you in bellum lethale.’
In the raging silence, Darcy Dancer loosening his grip on his two unconscious adversaries. Both lying stretched and still. Any moment now Sexton’s going to decline a series of Latin very irregular verbs. As far away as could be from amo amas amat. At least in the sea of staff betrayal two have remained loyal. And dear god what a wonderful blissful ensoothement it is to feel that one has for a change not only some brave brawn but also beatific beauty on one’s side in this world.
‘Take your hands from interfering under me skirt.’
A shout and a slap from beyond the console table. Dingbats standing up in high dudgeon. Crooks cringing in low. Eyes turning. Dingbats brushing down her uniform. Crooks rising, chest out shoulders back.
‘Lay hand to me girl, how dare you. I have never never before been accused of such a heinous thing in my entire career of service you insolent wench. And you go this instant and get the brooms.’
‘I was. I was interfered with.’
Dingbats flouncing off down the hall. Crooks loudly clearing his throat adjusting his tie and doing up his waistcoat buttons. Sexton herding the remaining assembly out before him. Past those allowed to stay. Gently nodding to the Slasher sisters, the Mad Major, ecclesiastics and Mental Marquis..
‘Now the lot of the rest of you be off before you’re all minus your ears.’
‘Lapdog of the gentry, that’s what you are. Arselicker of the gentry.’
Sexton prodding the agent in the spine with the handle of his hook. The agent sneeringly raising his fist and scurrying out of the way of Sexton’s lunge.
‘And the crooked likes of you were conceived, born and bred from the bowels of the devil and him an evil damn devil at that. Fuck off out of here now. And pardon the language ladies.’
Candles relit, Crooks stepping forward over the remaining incommoded bodies removing the still held glasses and clutched bottles. As the two asphyxiated on the floor suddenly revive, sitting up, the hunting priest in a priestly manner making the sign of the cross and blessing with mumbled prayers over these remaining highly irate currently prostrate Protestants. Wondering what foul popery was afoot. Sexton shouting to those still able to walk down the front steps.
‘And don’t set foot this way again or you’ll get the same. I’m telling you.’
Chill blasts of breeze in the door. Fire blazing bright. Darcy Dancer dressing gown retied. Standing one foot in a sock the other in a slipper. Sleeves and lapels ripped. Crooks dabbing a napkin on the buttery finger marks.
‘Imagine, me a rapist. The utter cheek of the trollop.’
‘You mustn’t mind Crooks.’
‘Locked away in the pig curing room a night or two she should be, Master Reginald, with her imagination getting plenty of exercise with the ghosts raping her.’
The parson carefully picking up pieces of a shattered plate. And into a piece of sideboard crystal pouring himself a glass of port. Holding it aloft crossing the tiles. His beige silk handkerchief hanging from his sleeve.
‘Well well Kildare. You’re in residence. Well well. Not the best surely. Not the best. But really. One would think in this modern day and age one could expect better manners to be about. But is there not something inherently unseemly emerging from the behaviour of the Dublin middle classes. Too many of whom I believe were down hunting today. Your mother would have been quite beyond herself with indignation. Thank heavens she’s safely resting in peace from such.’
Dingbats sweeping up. Raising dust, delft clanking and her broom knocking the furniture. The remaining household, all except Edna Annie, peeking around corners into the front hall. Raised voices out in the dark. Horses being mounted. Fast trotting hoof falls heard in the still cold night far off along down the drive. And more coming close of new arrivals.
‘I do so thank you Sexton. Quite honestly they nearly had me done for. Had it not been for you and Leila.’
‘Ah that is a one who’s a great brave lass. Just look at her now. Not a bother on her. There busily engaged in conversation with the Mental Marquis. And Master Darcy lucky for you I was in me cottage sitting semper fidelis in front of the fire studying me seed catalogue and heard the rapid commotion of hoofs going by on the road. Like the Boer War. I knew by the rush there was something afoot. Could hear the din miles away. And I went like the wind on me bishop’s bike.’
Darcy Dancer turning. Towards the corner of the hall. Leila, her poker lowered. Soft silken skin flushed. Her arm brushing back her curls of dark gleaming hair. O my god. She’s smiling. Standing beneath the painting she so admires. And one’s heart is stopped. So painfully to see. To helplessly watch. Her paying attention to his silly loftiness. The Marquis. One leg cocked forward. And would you believe it, a bloody hand on his hip. I’ll break his bloody titled arse if he thinks for one second that I’ll tolerate his familiarity with a member of my staff.
And my loyal
Lady
From whom
Every unblessed day
Keeps
My love
9
Darcy Dancer, a glass of port to his lips. The front hall door opening wide. A roar of draught up the chimney. Two ladies standing, their gloved hands politely up, smiles vanishing on their faces as Gearoid’s quickly widened on his greasy one.
‘Ah jasus wasn’t it a good hooley gone great they had in here.’
‘Well, isn’t anyone going to say hello to us.’
Darcy Dancer turning round to the sound of this familiar voice. My god. My sisters.
‘How do you do.’
‘O dear, how formal. We are your sisters you know.’
‘Yes of course, indeed how are you. Forgive me. We’ve had an entirely unpremeditated small disagreement here this evening.’
‘Well you must forgive us for not giving you more warning. But we thought as we’re now back in Dublin we’d pop down and see the old place.’
‘Delighted to have you both I’m sure.’
‘Well we are glad to be home, especially for the hunting as a matter of fact.’
‘And so nice to have you both.’
‘I’m afraid this person here has presumed to help us with our luggage. And I’m afraid we’re rather short of change.’
How of course are they to know that Gearoid, with the face like a toad, is a now and again unofficial footman at Andromeda Park, and officially permitted as a one time farmer to wear his cap and muddy boots in the house and to stink to high heaven of horse piss, stables and farmyards, while making familiar with guests and as an equal helping himself to copious of his host’s wines and beers in order to keep himself happily half out of his senses. And how are they to know this goggly eyed, shabbily attired crew before them are the same lot who in our mother’s day ministered in such impeccable splendour. I suppose if they ever dreamt of this place over all these years it must be one ruddy rude awakening. As good grief tennis racquets in their luggage. What on earth are they expecting. Of course in one’s sunnier moments one did think of restoring the tennis court to playing condition. And needless to say soon find oneself lobbing balls up into the rain sodden clouds as one splashed muddily underfoot splattering one’s white playing garments and sending gobbets of muck unhelpfully into one’s partner’s eyes. Perhaps from childhood, one is overly alarmed by their sense of presumed ownership being as the pair of them purloined my toys and constantly plotted to frighten me out of my wits. Even to threatening to snip my penis off with a scissors. And now, by the sound of their first few words, they return such utter Sassenachs. And I am as Sexton says. Undisputed Pasha of Andromeda Park. At least one is relieved to find them quite mature looking ladies of attractive facial appearance. Hope to god their high flown vowels, gay laughter and light jokes, will distract the Mental Marquis’s rabid gaze and attention from Leila. Which is so utterly enlarging the hole at the bottom of my sinking soul. And of course, as would embarrassingly happen, my sisters’ names, on the tip of my tongue, have gone both flying straight out of my head. Quite maddening as one does at least want to make a decent impression. But bloody hell the Marquis has cocked his other leg forward, changed his drink from one hand to the other and is now smilingly pointing out Leila’s most admired painting to her. As my blood drains away into a groaning yawning abyss of jealousy. And O god. I am completely ignoring my sisters. But that bloody man is there brazen and blatant, clicking his heels on the tiles and clearly adoring to hear himself talk while his engorged prick is absolutely forcing his breeches out a mile. Leaving me in deep spiritual snooker. Yes, that’s where you are my dear chap. Blue bloody bananas, how incredibly stupid it was to have invited him to dinner tonight. But then he did kick one or two interlopers in the arse and one was flattered by his back slapping camaraderie and jollity in nearly regarding me as a long lost friend. Of course it will relieve oneself of one’s sisters’ prying questions. For instance, where are our dear mother’s jewels. To which I would adore to lay hand to, myself. Of course the Marquis does occasionally display a sensitivity of spirit that comes of deep melancholia. And his words did rather cheer me up.