Mr Arland brushing down his waistcoat and lapels, disappeared through a door to another room off the hall where he was lecturing several collected ladies on the architecture of the Byzantine. And I was left standing there in the monstrous semi darkness as Simpers with his permanent stoop shuffled out of the shadows and led me away from these towering walls hung with their vast tapestries, ancient killing implements and where beneath these trophies and in the glow of a log fire I felt awfully sad about Mr Arland and his love spurned by the blue eyed girl with the golden hair who lived in the town in the grey stone house overlooking the village green.
Behind Simpers I went by a door up a candlelit stair hung with portraits to a landing. Then by another door up another staircase to a dark long hall and by pink carpet past endless bedroom doors and intersecting corridors. And yet by another door and up more stairs of more portraits to finally emerge in a large attic hall half way down which was a large room with a skylight and the windows barred. Here, with music crackling out of a great horn of a gramophone, a blond curly haired gentleman stood attired in light blue tights with three prominent little bumps bulging between the fork of his legs where no horse yet had bitten away what men usually had there. And flexing the muscles of his thighs he lisped in his high pitched voice.
‘Ah my last little victim has arrived. And who may I ask are you.’
‘I am Reginald Darcy Thormond Dancer Kildare.’
‘Ah you are already a dancer. Good. O.K. Pay attention. I am the Count Brutus Blandus MacBuzeranti O’Biottus and although I am named after the Greek comic poet I shall stand for no nonsense or comedy. And you will obey me. You will not speak. You will stand like so poised. And you will be fearful of your very life. Understand.’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes, sir, you say.’
‘Yes sir.’
The seven of us, four girls and three boys swirled around on the dusty floor. The Count pounding the worn broken keys of an upright piano. His metronome ticking and his shrill cries. With four white candles flickering in the breeze of his gesticulating arms.
‘Dance you silly little children, dance with the élan of the gazelle before I must tear my hair out in agony.’
Tea brought at four. Two great silver trays of scones steamy hot under linen napkins. Golden yellow beaming balls of butter. Honey, damson and gooseberry jams. Soda bread, ham, chicken and egg sandwiches. Silver pitchers of cream. The Count holding the back of his hand stiffly out under his chin to catch drips from his cup. And he stood to bow to our host’s mother who called.
‘How Blandus are they getting on.’
‘Ah the little darlings they are so wonderful. Simply wonderful. Look at them there, won’t you, so serenely sitting. But dance, never, they are too much like cattle, the ankles far too thick, my dear lady. Since I am a genius, it is such a waste of my most precious time. Better to teach them to plough and milk the cows. Ah but I am descended from fighters, and I will not my dear dear lady give the poor darlings up as a lost cause. Until of course I am exasperated beyond the redemption.’
A brougham came to call and drawn by two prancing greys, I was fetched back with three other little dancers two girls and a boy who regarded me with the deepest suspicion and I asked to be dropped at the front gates of Andromeda Park from where I could run free and wild by a short cut through the woods scaring up pheasants lurking in the dark passages under the rhododendrons.
And Miss von B upon my closing the front door came strolling out of the blue parlour, her high heels clicking on the tiles and her silk stockinged legs with long sinewy muscles splayed as she stopped and took her ivory cigarette holder from her mouth and blew a puff of smoke upwards into the chill of the entrance hall.
‘Ah what use is to clean. You have just come in like to a barn and make more muddy mess. While I am hoping perhaps to progress in ziss house while that Crook is hors de combat. But when everything spick and span it is quick again dirt and smear.’
‘It is my mother’s house and I shall do as I please.’
‘Ah, of course. Once upon a time. It was your mother’s perhaps. But now your father’s maybe.’
‘It is not. It is mine. Anyway he never comes here.’
‘Ah it is no business of mine but perhaps to avoid, how do you say, the misunderstanding, we should change the subject. You have learned by now, have you not, the waltz.’
‘I have not.’
‘What, you have not. But how come.’
‘I do not prefer dancing.’
‘O but you will never meet a nice girl.’
‘I don’t want to meet a nice girl.’
‘Ah but that is a pity. Because of course, you must sometime find a wife.’
‘I am never going to get married.’
‘Ah what a shame. Someday you would live with your wife here in this house.’
‘I am not going to ever live in this house.’
‘Ah but then what are you going to do.’
‘I am going to be a bishop.’
‘Ah a bishop. So. But before you become a bishop what will you do.’
‘I will be the Master of Foxhounds.’
‘Ah. Ah.’
‘Or maybe a jockey.’
‘Perhaps it is that Foxy who has taught you to be so marvellous a rider. He says he has the horse for me.’
‘I should not if I were you go on that horse.’
‘Ah he would run away.’
‘Yes and he would kill you.’
‘Ah tut tut, he perhaps would not kill me. But it is so friendly for Foxy to recommend a horse who would try.’
‘Foxy is not particularly keen on members of the household as a matter of fact.’
‘I should remind you I am not a member of the household I am a private person here who is in charge. As a guest you might say.’
‘You are not a guest.’
‘Ah perhaps not exactly. But your father would prefer it so.’
‘Why did you come here.’
‘That is perhaps not your business.’
‘Why did my father hire you.’
‘Ah again perhaps it is not your business.’
‘Why do you always carry your whip and make Norah and Sheila work so hard.’
‘They are lazy. But why I carry my whip. That also is not your business.’
‘Should you persist in being what I regard as uncommonly rude to me I shall turn every member of this household against you and drive you out.’
‘What is that you say.’
‘You have heard what I have said.’
‘That is outrage. Outrage. You. Who are you, Bonaparte already.’
‘I am a most cunning fellow. But because I am so young and have not come of age I have not got the power to dismiss you. Therefore I must use other means at my disposal.’
‘I would slap your little face. How dare you.’
‘I am a daring chap as a matter of fact.’
‘Ziss. Ziss madhouse.’
‘If you stay here, you too shall become mad.’
‘Your father is my employer. Until he tells me so to go I shall stay. You of course who have grown a few inches too fast perhaps. Your head it gets too much full of your importance.’
‘You watch out, you.’
‘Ah you set a trap. Like for Crooks.’
‘Good day to you.’
‘Good day to you too Master Reginald Bonaparte.’
At night before sleep, as Foxy recommended, I pulled and pulled my penis. With the sheets stiffened in the morning with white stains. Awaking with visions of that other night and day of the red haired woman out across the bogs. And returning home shivering rescued by Sexton, clip clopping up under the mists into the hills again. Past a little group of tinkers at their meal around a fire, like the multi coloured petals of a flower. They watched as we went by from under their tousled heads of hair. Their days spent beneath rainy skies on the chill wet grass. Clustering close to a kettle brewing over burning sticks and ashes. To all go lie asleep huddled tight in under their tiny canvas covering. While their ponies hobbled grazing along the road.