‘I will not be spoken to in that manner, I won’t. With years trying to get blood out of a stone in this place. I won’t be spoken to with the likes of them remarks. Not from you nor nobody like you. You’ll have my notice of resignation.’
‘And I’ll accept your notice.’
‘Who are you suddenly. Tell me. Thinking you can run this place and you still just out of short pants. And the likes of you who wouldn’t know a bullock from a heifer.’
‘I think it is more required I know a rascal from a yeoman.’
‘I’m due thirty acres by the old school house on the main road for my services over the years. And I’ll have that from you.’
‘You’ll more likely get the end of my boot to put you out of this room if you’re not singularly careful.’
‘I’ll not forfeit my rights. Call yourself a gentleman do you. Threatening me with violence are you. I’ll get the Guards to you. And a writ. I’ll give you a writ for your trouble. Accuse me of embezzlement will you. Fraud is it. When I’ve been patching this place together so the buckeen likes of you and yours can twiddle their toes in the bathwater to go lie on your backsides in silk under the crystal chandeliers. Recruiting hardworking young ladies to sweat for you.’
The agent wisely sidling round to the other side of the rent table. As one must confess I was just then aiming a fist straight at his beetled brows to knock his bowler hat flying. Which of course he had the insolence to persist wearing in my presence. Tugging it now jammed down over his ears. Throwing keys on the table and pulling open a drawer taking what appears to be a parcel wrapped in mouldering brown paper. Delicious to see his eyes glancing at his lunch tray. Cork pulled and the full bottle lying in such magnificent comfort in its wicker basket. Whose label upside down I could at last read. Chateau Cos d’Estournel. And which I must say, did give me an immediate ruddy roaring appetite.
‘I’ll have freehold my thirty acres out of you and more before I’m finished.’
‘You get out that door this second, or by god I will throw you through it.’
‘I’ve been slandered. Threatened with violence. I’ll put a writ on you.’
‘Get out. Or you’ll be murdered long before you get to a solicitor.’
‘A writ. Gentleman you call yourself.’
A series of distant doors heard slamming. Darcy Dancer ensconced at the rent table. Elbows sawing back and forth cutting nice chunks from the thick slab of beef. Napkin tucked over his gold pinned polka dot pink and blue cravat. A spot of sun beaming in the barred window. Bringing to light three ancient bullet holes in the portrait of my grandfather which were meant for and missed his then very alive head. My lips at the edge of this, his armorially engraved glass. Sipping the musky smooth velvety brick red nobility of this wine. And hugely bursting into laughter between nearly every mouthful. A quarter pound of butter in a dish. Half a loaf of Catherine’s soda bread like the most delicious cake. Swirling the claret to perfume the air and further tempt one’s mouth. The roast beef a little overcooked but refreshingly tasty nonetheless. Just as one found most unrefreshing the bitter hatred suddenly erupting from the agent which had obviously lurked smouldering in him over all these years hidden beneath his smarmy smiles and obsequious genuflections. However he did rather conjure up a very nice image indeed. Twiddling toes on one’s backside swaddled in silk. Awfully nice. And perhaps even popping grapes down one’s gullet while watching up into the celestial bliss of one’s crystal chandeliers. Quite delightsome. Before of course such ceiling glassware unhinges out of its rotted anchorage and plummets straight down on to one’s previously idyllic countenance.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph.’
‘Do come in Mollie.’
Dingbats transfixed in the doorway with another tray. Containing a bottle of port, Cointreau and brandy. Saw me with cigar alight and nearly dropped the lot as she looked around the room, glancing even under the rent table and beyond the old oak filing cabinets. Now looking suspiciously side to side for more ghosts as she puts the liquors down and quite quickly moves again backwards to the door. Blessing herself in the usual manner.
‘Was it you it was wasn’t it I brought the lunch to.’
‘I think so Mollie.’
‘I could have swore. I’d swear. And you’d think I was a liar that it was himself the agent, so help me god was here in the flesh ordered lunch. If my mind is not playing me tricks.’
‘Your mind Mollie is playing you tricks.’
The men having spent the previous day with ropes wandering the countryside hoping to somehow entangle the wild stallion and blindfolded get him back to the stable were all now, even including old Pete and Willie both retired and pushing ninety, sitting around in the tack room, plotting useless strategies, the premier one being that of merrily wasting time. One realized one would have to head out oneself. And after such a good lunch, claret, brandy and cigar why not join them in the fun. One did attempt to put the task to them in the most indirect way possible.
‘Well I think perhaps we might give that old stallion a try again, keep him on his toes.’
Needless to say we were the first time coming upon that old stallion again running for our lives in all directions. Those at least who couldn’t climb a tree. Out of which I nearly fell laughing watching Luke go splashing face first into the bog. And luckily for him totally submerging long enough that Midnight Shadow seeing him disappear chose another victim in sight. One suspected of course that the four footed monster was completely enjoying himself. Routing us all, taking a sleeve here, a lock of hair there, the bottom out of someone’s trousers or landing a kick as he did in Mick’s belly which deposited its luncheon contents over the meadow. And then the beast rearing and with a triumphant victory roar taking off gale force cross country, black mane and tail flying.
‘Are you alright Mick.’
‘Not a bother on me, just a bit of this ould blood leaking up me throat that spit out now here all over the grass will grow great clover. Sure all I need is a kick in the backside now to put me stomach back out where it was.’
Although one could level a litany of criticisms, it had to be said that no matter what physical evil or maim seemed to befall the man that one never did hear even the most minor complaint. But after crashing through hedgerows, trampling forest meadows and bog lands mile after mile, one was oneself not only too exhausted to complain but hardly able to speak. And one was damned if one was going to do another inch of search this night or suffer such efforts to worry further of what murder and mayhem the savage animal might still do. But one thing one was sure of. Just as the stallion could not be trapped or caught, that if ever the damn creature could with its monster tool put a decent civilized kind mare in foal, you could end up lucky with a sane two year old such as would be just wild enough to have a stride and jump in him that would leave every other nag gasping furlongs behind in the Grand National.
An owl hooting. Darcy Dancer returning up the front steps of Andromeda Park. The great door scraping open to internal darkness. Boots kicked off in the hall. The sweet scent of turf smoke from the fire. Go wearily feeling my way climbing the stairs in stockinged feet. Hair congealed with salty sweat. Mud spattered up and down one’s brow. Blood dried down cheeks. The stiffened strains in one’s guts. Dublin life has softened the muscles, weakened tendons, shortened the breath and nearly civilized my mind into finding life out in this wild wilderness grossly uncomfortable. And a sorry beaten mess one feels.
‘I am Master Reginald having the towels as of old aired for you in the oven.’
‘That is much appreciated Crooks.’
‘Sir now you shouldn’t take a mad horse to heart. Sure with miles to gallop he’d be dead tired like yourself and bring harm to no one this night. And you’d find him tamed and exhausted enough to bring in in the morning.’