‘I’m afraid I rather do regard your remarks as being transparent.’
‘What. Bloody hell, Kildare. I don’t like the sound of that word one bit. But since I’m drinking your damn fine port let’s not quarrel about that, especially when the subject of brains is at stake. Now don’t you agree that a woman’s mind is of some importance. I mean let’s face it man to man. You put your old what for up their well meant for and you do your best done for and then you want to be immediately a mile away shooting snipe. Wouldn’t it be better to be able to have a civilized word with a woman one has just pranged. What the deuce is the matter with you Kildare. Don’t you see what I’m talking about here. It’s a matter of principle.’
Of course both of us calling for still more port were finally quite tight. And totally forgetting my sisters. Till Crooks appropriately clearing his throat at the door reminded one. As much as one found the Marquis’ designs on Leila a bitter thought one does admit it could brighten her future. And also rid me of one of my very best reasons for remaining alive. Which does make one considerably angry especially as he keeps dropping more than a little of his cigar ash on the carpet. But one does still find him amusing. As well as suddenly sad. Sitting there. Staring into space. Looking terribly lonely.
‘You see Kildare. Fraud, artifice, overreaching and deception are fundamental to democracy. Therefore I believe in socialism. You know what that is do you. Fair shares for all you know. We’ve been kicking the damn peasants around for too long. Now they’re trying to kick us. I don’t mind them poaching a few of my bloody salmon but some damn rogue has killed about two hundred of my trees. Hammered a copper nail into each wretched one. Our way of life is going you know. We want to be ready. When socialism comes. Yes siree as they say in Amerikay. You know power to the ruddy people and all that kind of cod’s bloody wallop. It’s a pity, but brains are not going to matter in the future you know. Fault of too much damn thinking getting nobody anywhere in the past. The war you know. Made too many people realize you had to kick someone in the goolies if you wanted him to do something. Man to man Kildare, what does a brainy chap like you think of socialism.’
‘I have not as a matter of fact recently thought about it.’
‘Well you think about it Kildare. But by god when you’ve got a female item like that gaoled out in this neck of the god forsaken bog.’
‘I’ll thank you not to refer to her as an item.’
‘What. What. Good god. You’re not, are you. Smitten too. By jove you are. You well and truly are. Your face may be affected by the wine dear chap but a bloodier blush than that I’ve never seen. Now look here Kildare. Just shut up and listen won’t you for a moment. Girl like that. Should be in London and Paris. I’ve got a proposition to make you. Now here it is in a nutshell. You agree to my taking her, quite properly chaperoned of course, over to my place where she can be trained up, and if a spade’s to be called a spade, also groomed damn it, and polished. Made fit for society. And not bloody high society am I talking about here. I mean good bloody sound society. And if you’d only shut up and listen Kildare. The girl already knows some French. And we’d teach her some Italian too. Chi nasce bella nasce maritata. If you get my meaning. I mean someone’s going to steal her Kildare. And it may as well be a damn decent kindly chap like me.’
Who the hell does he bloody well think he is. Expecting me to hand her over like a sack of oats, just because his damn decent kindly prick’s been recently rigid over their lofty cultural conversation. All he is, is just a bloody Marquis. And all she is, is just a bloody servant. O god. How the hell do I tell him to fuck off to mid Sahara. And there having erected the appropriate scaffolding go and cohabit with a camel. I even see her face when I stare at the wall across this room. Every damn place I look. Outside on the stones. Her eyes, lips, teeth. Gems in the moss. While I think of her. And am so desperate to know. If she thinks of me.
‘Sir, you rang.’
‘Yes. Bring a bottle of champagne. His Lordship and I also require a sabre.’
Of course Crooks, returning cobwebbed from the gunroom was half an hour finding the latter and nearly jumped through the ceiling as the Marquis sent the blade whistling through the air knocking off the champagne bottle’s top and cork with a single cut.
‘Forgive me your grace for me jump.’
‘That’s alright Crooks. I’m not a duke yet but I’m a bloody good swordsman, what.’
‘You are indeed and no mistake sir.’
‘Bring some to the ladies Crooks, please. Tell them we’ll be joining them.’
‘Very good sir.’
‘No on second thoughts, wait. They may drink it all.’
‘This is a fairly big damn room you know, Kildare. What you need down that end either side of the window are a couple of Regency carved giltwood girandoles. Just happen to have a pair collecting dust. Commemorating Nelson’s victory at the battle of the Nile. As you scoop up your pudding, you contemplate his sterling triumph knocking any of those wogs for a loop. Don’t want to be a spiv about it, but I could let you have them at a decent price if you’ve a mind. Damn decent price in fact. Bit of decorative ornate gold leaf would cheer this place up. And you ought to have a Kingwood parquetry commode right there. Also happen to have one which would suit. Or is that damn presumptuous of me.’
‘O no. Not at all. I like people to come into my house and cast their eyes around and comment freely upon one’s shortcomings. Especially when they appear to have a warehouse full of exactly the items necessary to correct one’s poor taste. Gives one, how shall I say it, a certain confidence that one day in the future, provided I avail of the splendid bargains being offered, my house will be properly furnished. Nice to have something like that to aspire to.’
‘You know Kildare. I like you. Think we could be damn good friends as a matter of fact. Ah, and I deserve that. Damn it. Quite right. You Thormonds always did know how to grasp the nettle. As if it were some pulchritudinous lady’s limb. And, as I understand from quite a few voices, you were indeed trying to do out hunting today. That Baptista dear boy. Bit of a trollop. Don’t look at me in all innocence. As if your eyes are going to fall out. And don’t turn your nose up at my girandoles. Sixteen hundred quid, the pair. Seven fifty for the commode. No. Let’s make that thirteen for the girandoles, five for the commode. Both cheap at the price.’
‘I haven’t seen them yet.’
‘See. Are you doubting their middle eighteenth century authenticity.’
‘Well they could be falling to bits.’
‘Well as a matter of fact they are but it’s a damn bloody reasonable price I’m asking. Good carpenter put them right.’
And finally on the way to join the ladies in the east parlour. Heading along the hall to the slow military clomp of his Lordship’s riding boots.
‘By the way Kildare how are you off for shotguns, have a pair of side lock ejector Purdeys.’
‘I’m fine for shotguns at the moment, but there wouldn’t be a bend in the barrels.’
‘You’re cheeky Kildare. Very cheeky. Offer you a bargain and you riposte with a bloody slander on Purdeys.’
Crooks following his tray held much higher than he usually manages bearing the champagne and glasses. And patiently waiting for his Lordship to sell me a few more console tables for bare spots along the hall wall. I’m not sure that the damn man is not trying to unload all his castle junk and take more than a few quid from me at the same time. This house must give him the impression I have more money than my ancestors had taste. And if that’s his conclusion, instead of in his trees, the Marquis must have had put in the baldest part of his head a bloody copper nail which is killing off his excess spivvy brain cells. Dear me, who knows, but just like me, he may not, for all his land presently have a jade pot to piss in. Although his ruddy father the Duke owns enough to start a couple of small nations. But one does have the impression seeing him standing there that he is utterly happy and utterly contented puffing on his cigar. Just as must be his horse utterly uncomplaining presently out in the stables munching up my hot bran, beetroot, hay and oats. Of course Dingbats did rather heap whipped cream in place of mayonnaise on his salmon. And then of course in one’s bonhomie inebriation of winy bliss to make up for it, as one does, and to make matters even worse for oneself, one did do the unbelievably stupid thing. And offer the Marquis a bed.