J. Donleavy - The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

And now whenever Crooks and von B confronted there would be conducted loud shouting matches. The two of them raising and waving their arms. With Sheila running for her life and Norah raising her eyebrows high over her bright green eyes, mumbling, it’s a loony bin, it’s a loony bin. And I would always speed to the locality to take up my listening post. For as Foxy now said life in Andromeda Park was quickly becoming every man for himself. And the more recent news one had of the goings on, the better.

‘You have no right madam, while my back is turned to enter the wine cellar and remove bottles without my leave.’

‘And why not.’

‘Because not only are you assuming prerogatives beyond your station madam but I must make a note of all bottles in the cellar book.’

‘Ha ha, the cellar book. I laugh. It is so much, how do you say fraud, ziss cellar book.’

‘Fraud. Before I consult my solicitor, let me tell you a thing or two madam. I won’t be spoken to in that or a similar manner under the roof of this house where I have served faithfully my dear mistress, the Antoinette Delia Darcy Darcy Thormond.’

‘Your mistress Madam Kildare you mean.’

‘I mean my mistress loved by all, the most wonderful charming beautiful lady that ever strode or rode across this county.’

‘Of course it is sad but she is dead.’

‘She is not dead. As sure as the god above, she lives and breathes in this house. She walks these halls at night. She dances in the ballroom. And she is appalled. Absolutely appalled by you, madam.’

‘O god what nuts. Already I know you are all mad.’

And as I sat one evening in the dining room with the winds howling and shutters rattling and Miss von B taking her meals alone served by Norah in the small morning room just across and down the hall, I dropped a potato on the polished table. And as I reached to wipe away the steamy stain it made, Crooks gave a great sigh of his whiskey perfumed breath.

‘Ah Master Reginald now, no need for you to bother doing that. A wipe from me in a thrice will take care of it. It’s that woman of course with her rules has us all extremely upset. She will soon be cleaning and polishing the pebbles on the drive. And I do think and fear that I will, should she continue to stay, give in my notice.’

‘Crooks please, you must not entertain such a thought.’

‘I shall. Believe me I shall. She is quite making my life miserable. I have run this household all these years, O but I simply can’t repeat what I have already said so often.’

‘Crooks you know I had nothing to do with putting bottles for you to slip on, on the stairs.’

‘I heard it told from Foxy’s father’s lips that indeed you were innocent of that blackguard’s attempt at murder. But that interfering woman and I cannot stay in the same house.’

Foxy came riding on the hunt. And where we met at the pub on the four roads, he won bets drinking pints of porter while standing on his head. With folk later screaming at him as he barged by on the untameable Thunder and Lightning, smashing through hedge and fence, scattering sheep and cattle and sending protesting farmers running for their lives.

I rode along with Miss von B and others of the nervous contingent who took up the near rear of the field, next to the terrified contingent who lagged building back walls and closing gates. I saw Baptista Consuelo. On a silver grey mare. A light tinge of red on her cheeks. A bowler set on her golden hair, her smile radiant and blue eyes sparkling in the fresh blowing breeze. And poor Mr Arland with the locals came cycling the roads after us. Dismounting in his naval great coat to approach while we waited for the hounds to raise a fox. As again and again they failed to keep a scent. Mr Arland looked many times in his little queen’s direction and once, as he approached, she with a kick of her spurs cantered away. And I wondered if beauty did make a woman very mean.

Sunshine broke out over the fields. Suddenly the hue and cry went up as the hounds found a fox. And the horses and their thundering made the whole earth shake. Foxy in front of the master flailing the quarters of Thunder and Lightning. The brave contingent in hot pursuit. Down across a pasture towards a high bank and ditch. And suddenly one saw a horse and rider somersaulting through the air and both thudding to the ground. And as I got closer I could see it was Foxy, still tightly gripped to his rein, Thunder kicking and lashing hoofs in all directions and one knocking Foxy flat. I approached thinking he was done for. But again he was up and mounted and hammering away with his crop.

‘Come on get going you four legged cunt.’

Back in the stables that evening, Foxy said Thunder’s kick was only a feather tap on the belly and with the briar scratches on his face caked over with dried blood, he finished rubbing down the legs of my pony with his clumps of straw. Beckoning me as I stood taking my saddle and reins to the tack room.

‘Come here till I tell you now while the time’s ripe. Let me back in the house behind you. Sure I could be carrying up an extra basket of turf for your fire and none would be the wiser. And maybe I’ll show you something you won’t forget.’

Foxy following me lugging a basket of turf. Catherine giving him a dirty look out the door as we passed the kitchen. And an even dirtier look and a distinct growl from Crooks on the landing next to the schoolroom. And up the servants’ staircase we went and down the hall to my ablution room.

‘Take off your boots now and come this way.’

In stockinged feet following Foxy up two more flights and tiptoe along the cul de sac hall with all its closed up servants’ rooms. Foxy carrying a chair to a small window aperture shaped in a fleur de lis high on the wall. A faint light glowing beyond inside. The sound of a splash and water. Foxy standing on the upholstered chair his finger over his lips for me to climb up behind him to look.

Darcy Dancer holding on to Foxy Slattery’s hard muscled shoulder. As they peered in through the glass and through an open closet door. And diagonally across and under a bed tapestry and downwards, there was Miss von B lying stretched with her face and bosoms floating in the steaming bath water.

‘Got to wait till she gets out before we can catch a good sight of her. Anytime about evening that I could get into the house I’ve had my eye full of plenty from here I’m telling you.’

Miss von B pulling herself up by her hands on the edge of the tub. Her bosoms expanding forward.

‘Ah now look at that. Didn’t I tell you. O what I wouldn’t give to get a handful of one of them.’

Miss von B climbing out of the copper bath.

‘O Jesus O Jesus now will you look at that.’

The gleaming whiteness standing drying in the candlelight. Seeming so much bigger and more of her than when she wore clothes. The white curving contours shining wet and dabbed and rubbed pink and bright. The chair wobbling with the shifting weight of an excited Foxy.

‘Ah Jesus it would put sight in a blind eye. Will you get that now. Will you look at them fine bags on her.’

Miss von B her foot up against the edge of the copper tub, breasts shaking gently as she spread cream up along her thighs, knees and elbows. And pushes her feet in red slippers to move out of sight. Foxy groaning as he stretches craning to look. The fabric of the chair creaking and the cracking sound of wood. With a loud collapsing crash. A whisper coming from Foxy out of the blackness.

‘Fucking cunt.’

And from the other side of the partition, a voice sounding nervous in the stillness.

‘Who’s dat.’

As I fell backwards. Landing on the fundament. My legs suddenly without feeling. With more challenging shouts from within the bedroom. And just as I was sensing in the dark with my hands to see if the bottom part of me was still there, my legs began to feel again. With pounding sounded coming up the servants’ staircase. Foxy already taking his leave on all fours. With only one way to go or be trapped back down the cul de sac hall. Or turn left along the corridor now echoing the steps of an approaching von B or else a recent new ghost wearing slippers.