‘Now there’s plenty of light sir.’
Darcy Dancer pulling himself up from under the covers. Dingbats lighting the bedside candles. And would you believe. Performing a curtsey. Her concern over my upper nudity would not appear to be as great as it is over Crooks’ alleged prodding finger.
‘And now while the door is open behind me, should I be back to you sir momentarily. With the more of anything you may want.’
‘There’s yesterday’s newspaper in the library, if you’d bring it please Mollie.’
‘Very good sir, I’ll be back, momentarily.’
Dingbats withdrawing. Tiptoeing towards the door. She closes with a new silence I’ve certainly not heard before. And of course one will wait momentarily. And wonder momentarily whyever she is increasing her vocabulary so formidably. Especially with a word unheard of in this household since I’m sure it was built. There was of course momentarily a risqué moment with one’s chest exposed in the dim light. O god and why does not my loyal lady ever bring me breakfast. Ever come in that door to my lonely dark. And she. She is what I want. Your lovely purple ribbon. On your lovely black hair. To take up its satin in my fingers. To undo. O god. As I might. Your body. To lie it stretched soft sinewy beneath mine. Souls clutched in warmth. Side of a slender neck to kiss. A brow to touch and tender. And have nothing. Except all these days to try to shut out all the thoughts of her. The jealousy. Like a great massive void. Cloaks my brain. Not once, not even once to speak to her all these days. Not even thank her. Except to see her come and go in the dining room. The inane conversation of my sisters. I’m sure appalling her ears. Of the dances and balls in London. The horses and hunting in Leicestershire. Racing at Newmarket. And the most grim and terrible embarrassment of all. Lavinia suggesting that she smelled. One knew Leila heard by the cold implacable fury rigid on her face, followed by her sudden departure, with a crash of crockery in the pantry, and resounding slam of a door. Dingbats leapt backwards into the dining room with a blob of whipped cream between the eyes as Crooks, his shoes and lower trousers splattered with trifle, reappeared, his one eye staring directly east and the other at the northwest corner of the ceiling which at that unfavourable moment started to leak.
‘Forgive me sir, and your ladyships, but the pudding lately prepared for this evening is regrettably indisposed.’
O god one did wish one’s sisters would soon go elsewhere. With their now written commands following breakfast in bed. Making suggestions as to decor, mealtimes, servants’ rosterings and issuing orders all over the place. Each wanting their own private apartments and the silver on their dressing tables daily polished. And my best horses to hunt. Complaining about the lack of hot water, and the overabundance of cold sheets, their bedroom fires untended and draughty rooms. That tea was late to the parlour. And that it was Indian and not the China with lemon they preferred. Dingbats at least this morning seems all intent upon dancing better attendance upon one. Having in the middle of the night one of her more normal occurrences. With Kitty banging at my door in her nightdress. Come quickly sir with the shotgun, a vampire bat is flying round Mollie’s head and a rat has her cornered in her room. Of course we were all minus our ear drums as a result. With the explosion sending the bat to kingdom come along with two panes out of the window. And the whole household peeking out their doors thinking the world had just ended. The only constructive thing being, that it was obvious to anyone watching Dingbats jump and leap up and down on her mattress that she did have such a great pair of tits, of which any poor understocked farmer would be immensely proud to find on his best cow. And here she is now. In my bedroom door. Actually breathing heavily. Back sooner than one expected. And believe it or not with the newspaper.
‘Sir here you are now and did you ever hear tell of what happened to that man Hitler. They say he’s living. In secret seclusion. Not ten miles from here.’
‘I’m sure he is Mollie.’
‘And is there anything else now I can do sir.’
‘No thank you, Mollie.’
‘Draw your bath.’
‘Ah yes, you might indeed.’
Awfully difficult to know what prompts a servant’s sudden diligence. There’s no doubt one’s previous nudity helped her to take one more seriously. Although god, this is bloody last month’s paper. They are such an utterly stupid lot. Certainly one’s sisters would agree. Yesterday, while I took tea in the estate office, they had theirs in the blue parlour. And which on this particularly mournful occasion, Leila brought. And concerning which, joining them later for drinks before dinner, Lavinia bitterly complained.
‘She’s insolent. She should be let go. She’s talking back. Not only refusing to do what she’s told. Do you know what she did. Threw the tea strainer at me from the door. Nearly struck me. Then she lifted up her uniform at me. Above her thighs. After bringing us Indian tea again. And having been told China.’
I must say I was tempted to say it was a pity the whole thing wasn’t dumped on them. To get them up off their grand arses which only shifted out of their beds to either recline in feather upholstery or sit on a horse. And then I did say it.
‘It’s a pity she didn’t dump it on you to get you up off your continually leisurely arses.’
‘Well damn you brother, for your privileged information, she did dump it on us.’
Then monopolizing the gramophone in the library. And playing their ruddy rumba over and over again. Bloody Brazil. Which record if I hear it just once more, I shall break. Then switching the wireless on and off when they see fit. And more often than not absenting themselves and running down the battery requiring its recharging in town. Their imperious descent of the grand staircase. And as they did so, invariably issuing in their lofty grand manner some inane request to any servant seen in the vicinity. Especially Crooks.
‘I wonder Crooks could you see if the library fire is bright as I shall be there presently sitting.’
Crooks of course on one occasion did take the opportunity to pretend he was in a ducal house exercising his lofty command in delegating the precise division of duties. And he did split his infinitives calling and clapping and finally pulling the bell to summon one of his charges to pump the bellows at the library fire. But with Kitty, Norah and Dingbats repaired to an attic bedroom where Foxy Slattery’s brother had brought them up biscuits, tea, scones and jams and where they sat around a fire smoking those Woodbine cigarettes, and I believe telling quite salacious stories, the servants’ bells clinked and clanged unheeded down in the kitchen hall. Serving only to annoy Catherine, who of course much mumbled to herself these days having her own small farm to worry about. Dear old soul did do me many a kindness. Dear me I think that one could easily get bitter. End up forever pursuing the things of enjoyment in life without much enjoyment. Must not lose sight of the fact that menials have their own worries. And at least less a nuisance is Christabel once off her arse. She did succeed in putting a new born calf sucking to its mother. Always remember her kinder to animals than she was to humans. But of course my sisters as a pair did as soon as our nanny’s back was turned try to poke out my eyes. Explaining, we want a blind little baby brother so we can lead him around by the hand. Or if I were to crawl on the front lawn or hall, they would drive their prams over on top of me. We want a dead little baby brother so that we can hold a funeral. And while I screamed, and if Nanny weren’t on her instant way, they would kick me. We want a wounded little baby brother so that we can play hospital. And not a toy could I pick up that they wouldn’t rip it away out of my hands. Leaving me screaming. We want an unhappy little baby brother so that we can make him happy again. And dear me one nearly feels one is still facing these previous inclemencies of body and soul. Only my poor dear man, Mr Arland ever succeeded in making me feel that someone cared some little bit for my welfare. There we were all those many hours in a chill dusty schoolroom lodged in under the servants’ stairs. Even he grew moderately impatient trying to pound some Latin into my so obtuse brain. The lonely sadness in the man, so much like the sadness I felt myself. Being able to do or say something to cheer him cushioned and encouraged my own spirits. And then how cruel life was to him. Mocking all his kindly ways. Baptista Consuelo spurning his so shyly proffered attentions. Then death tearing his dearest love from his life. No god could ever make another Clarissa for him to cherish. Or such a Clarissa who had loved him. Whither now has he gone. His homoeopathy book to cure his bodily ills. But no book to cure his grief. Where e’er he walk. That solemn man. Under what tiny piece of sky. Does he wander in his own abyss of sorrow. How find him. Hear him speak. Make me in my own sad dilemma. Not so sad.