Mr Arland said he had to be up early in the morning. If he were to be ready in time to come and see us all off to the meet. He rose and bowed at the salon door to Miss von B who inclined her head gently in his direction. He thanked me in the front hall as I helped him on with his naval great coat.
‘You know you are, Kildare coming along quite nicely. Your chess game is lively. And despite a little slip here and there with the goose and a few other small lapses regarding your French irregular verbs, you promise to be a most worthwhile member of society. Indeed to use your sobriquet, one might say, the destinies of Darcy Dancer, gentleman, are foretold. And I must thank you again, and for the marvellous cravat. I shall wear it often.’
The sound of rain on the skylight. Faint embers of the hall fire. Mr Arland keeps so secret all his woes. To return back to his lonely room. Into which he would never invite me. And once I saw his cracked ceiling as he kept me waiting in the governess’s cart outside when we were on our way to the big castle and he had detoured to collect prints to show the ladies he lectured. And he told me. When I was stammering over some words. That he had stammered. So much so that he could not speak. And remained mostly silent during all his school years. Until upon entering University, he had changed his rural Irish accent to an English one. And never stammered again.
‘Kildare, I wonder might I trouble you with the request of a favour. I fear of a rather personal nature.’
‘Most certainly Mr Arland.’
‘It is somewhat of an imposition but would it be asking too much. I should like for tomorrow’s hunt to borrow kit, should there be any spare lurking in the household.’
‘Ah Mr Arland shall you come out with us tomorrow. After the fox.’
‘Yes Kildare, after the fox.’
‘That would be so splendid. You’ll be my guest and most welcome. We have drawers and closets full of breeches, jackets. I’m sure we’ll fit you out. Crooks will see to everything. I didn’t know you hunted.’
‘Well Kildare, I don’t actually. To tell the honest awful truth. At most I’ve been on a horse. And when given a little luck, have stayed thereon. And I might just manage I think not to give too much offence if I turned up.’
‘The scent should be good tomorrow. O that’s exciting. You’re coming out. That really is.’
‘I’m not quite so sure about that, Kildare. As I think I am very likely to break my neck.’
‘Foxy will have a very safe mount for you. We’ll saddle up Petunia.’
‘Thank you Kildare.’
Watching from the open door Mr Arland affixing his candle lantern to the front of his handle bars and disappear down the little hill beyond the rhododendrons. The world so dark wild and windy out there that you could not think that it would ever blossom so green again under grey skies at morning.
And Mr Arland now, who would come, perhaps even hard riding by day on the chase and hard drinking by night. And who had brought me once to have my hair cut. To the fox hunting barber he said was the most erudite in the county and with whom he often discoursed in the pub. And Mr Arland asking him why he hadn’t seen him having a pint for some time. And the barber stopped cutting my hair and looked up at the ceiling.
‘Now I’ll tell you Mr Arland, I had to give up the hunting and abandon the drink for a bit, as I drank so much the scissors of a morning was jumping like a live fish out of me hand.’
And as I sat there I felt the nip of the leaping shears taking bites out of my scalp. With Mr Arland grinning behind his sleeve.
And tonight to walk back over these worn, chipped and cracked black and white tiles. Push ajar this heavy mahogany door into the salon. Its warmth of fire and light. Miss von B, a tome open across her lap, turning the pages.
‘Miss von B may I offer you further refreshment in the way of another liqueur.’
‘O I couldn’t. It is my third brandy.’
‘It will as a matter of fact be your fourth. But of course I’m not counting.’
‘Ha ha.’
Darcy Dancer taking the stopper from the decanter. Crossing the creaking boards under the carpet to pour the pale brown liquid with its sweet aroma into the balloon shaped glass.
‘Miss von B I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of hearing you laugh before.’
‘The occasions are perhaps rare, I admit. Nothing has been very funny for some while. Today it has been very nice. And you, you can be a perfect little gentleman when you choose.’
‘I hope you have not been too unhappy here.’
‘Ah but anywhere you can be unhappy.’
‘Have you been very unhappy somewhere.’
‘I have seen much and been through much. So much awful things. Here at least there is a little peace.’
‘And madness.’
‘Ha yes. But it is mostly foolish madness. It is not evil madness. Maybe there is evil madness but I do not see it yet. You turn the water tap it say cold and out come hot. It is dirty and the people are stupid but what matter. Maybe it is better that way.’
‘Mr Arland is not stupid. Nor is Sexton.’
‘Mr Arland no he is not. He is very clever. He speaks such perfect German, such perfect French. But Sexton O tempora O mores, he says. With this black mess on his hair. It come off all over the cabinets in the flower room and everywhere it gets on the vases. He is charming. But quite insane.’
‘He would not appreciate it to hear you say that Miss von B.’
‘No Sexton, poor man he would not. He is so easily upset. Ah but it is beautiful, the hills, the fields so green. And when sometimes you want it to be, life can be so slow. That you do not do today what you won’t do tomorrow.’
‘That is because cattle never stop eating and the grass never stops growing.’
‘Yes perhaps that is why.’
‘And we have rainbows.’
‘Yes you have. And it was nice that you call me when the priest and parson come. You and I, I think we could be friends. Perhaps. But you should not call your father a thief.’
‘That’s what he is. If he is stealing what is mine. And all this belongs to me.’
‘Ah you are a funny little one.’
‘I’m not so little. And I don’t think I am so funny.’
‘Ah but you are. Come. Sit by me here on the sofa. I will not bite you.’
Two candles guttering out on the mantel. And the glow of the fire waving on the moss green brocaded cloth of the walls. The wind still blowing hard beyond the panes and shutters. Darcy Dancer placing a log on the fire and pushing the big embers together. Letting the tongs lean against the cold marble chimneypiece. To go sit on the sofa. My jacket tight, my sleeves short and trousers hiked up round my ankles. And Miss von B pats a seat beside her.
‘Ah but you can sit closer than that. Come. Here. Beside me.’
‘I don’t mean to be unfriendly Miss von B but I do think I am close enough. I have an aversion to being too close to people.’
‘Ah what is that word aversion. I do not think I know it.’
‘It means repugnance. I have a slight repugnance to other people.’
‘Ah repugnance, now my English is not that specialized. This repugnance, what is that.’