J. Donleavy - The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

‘Ah Master Reginald, it’s a transformation.’

‘Thank you Crooks.’

‘But Master Reginald can I ask now, has anything happened that would make you curt with me.’

‘Curt. I don’t believe I have been curt Crooks.’

‘Ah it’s only that I’m mindful that there’s been rumoured changes are coming.’

‘What changes.’

‘It’s not my place to remark upon them Master Reginald.’

‘Well you are making a damn good start if you don’t mind my saying.’

‘Now. That’s the curtness I mean. Ah I’m getting on now. There are not many years left me. Sure what do they do with old butlers but shed them. Like a dog’s winter hairs in summer. And send them with their tray into the grave. And they don’t know the good servant’s gone till they’re sitting in all their splendour waiting in the drawing room. Wondering what’s holding up the refreshment after dingling the bell down the kitchen hall. And if it’s me they’re calling I’d be coming only that I’m gone. And with luck be up there serving God instead.’

‘You’re being most dramatic this evening Crooks. Do you think god prefers his sherry medium, dry or sweet.’

‘Ah now, not to be impertinent, but that’s blaspheming, Master Reginald. How would I know how almighty god prefers his sherry.’

‘I’m sure some good butler must know Crooks. Surely god would not be without one who’d maybe been in ducal employ. And I think we are all quite conscious that certain good servants may go unappreciated. However, do let me point out. That not many of us may look to heaven as a place where we may continue our valued service on earth.’

‘Ah well now some of us may not be wanting to go bowing and scraping continuously hereafter in the after life. Me own legs for a start wouldn’t stand it.’

Crooks went mumbling off. I tarried in the hall. Looking up at my Thormond ancestors. To see in the faint light if their previous critical view of me had now changed since I was to put it mildly really decked out for dinner. But no expression seemed particularly approving. Indeed they appeared nearly more bored than usual. And in a moment Crooks was back again letting the side down in his slippers, the heels of which were clacking more loudly than ever. He put a plate of cut soda bread adorned with smoked salmon on a library side table. Miss von B was actually standing nearly in behind the door and I had closed it before noticing her. First catching upon my nostrils the immediate soft light sweetness of her perfume. No question but the time has come to be at my most gallant. Administer one’s every charm. And sport the lady’s every possibly courteous entitlement.

‘Ah your highness, how pleasantly agreeable to see you. You have decided to join me.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why.’

Miss von B stepping towards Darcy Dancer in five long slow leisurely strides. Her whole beautifully undulating loveliness stopping in the candle light. The blonde long body rather more than apparent in her form flattering pale purple dress. And I do believe I may just be that fraction taller now. With all the leg stretching one has recently been doing. I was holding the neck of the sherry decanter. Prior to inquiring if madam would, as she frequently did, have hers pale medium. And wham. Good god. Stars. Absolutely like the ones one saw sparkling out there when the great bowl of black sky cleared one night over me. Nearly dropped the sherry. Rocked as I was back on my heels. With the stinging feel of her palm and fingers, right across my face, making the most frightful ringing in my ear.

‘That is why. To slap your face.’

‘My god I mean to say, look here.’

‘You look here. And next time, don’t you ever dare to address me in such manner as you did during tea.’

Miss von B in three or maybe slightly more steps. Vanished from the library. With the door slamming once more. Hardly the thing to do in a mansion which merely by brushing against a wall could bring the entire roof down. And leave me here covered in rubble. With nothing now whatever to celebrate. Sipping sherry. Nibbling salmon. And dear me, why should I care about another cursed thing. Except to preserve my own sweet life. Towards the destiny which the better of my past best ancestors ordain.

And avoid

Forever

These

Damnably difficult

Women

‘Shall I remove this setting Master Reginald.’

‘No Crooks.’

‘It’s a grand roast of beef, Master Reginald, fetched this evening by urgent bicycle from the butcher’s for your delectation.’

‘That’s most agreeable Crooks.’

‘And done to a rare turn.’

‘Most agreeable.’

Candelabra and sconces all lit. The fire roaring up the chimney. The wine crystal sparkling. Darcy Dancer seated end of the gleamingly polished mahogany. The chill blue colours of the onion pattern Meissen. Norah lugging in the covered dishes. Set by the hearth on the brass warming table. Crooks pouring my glass full of deep red softly fuming claret. A nice cool crack of breeze coming up between these two floor boards. Always means that less than arctic conditions are prevailing in the dining room.

Deliberately I delayed each course. Hoping Miss von B would reappear. Till Norah trying to catch her breath said that her Royal Highness was taking supper in her room. Somewhat mournfully I awaited Crooks to pour my lonely enjoyed Chateau d’Yquem. Knowing that madam especially would appreciate the noble rot of its rich textured pale goldenness softly sliding down the side of the glass rim and its musky heady scents wafting up the nostrils. And instead now she would I suppose, following her supper, be somewhere perusing another anti Catholic volume in the household. In her pale purple gown. By the library fire, or her legs wrapped in a rug in the chillier drawing room or parlour. Or perhaps even freezing her tits off waltzing by herself in the ballroom. As indeed I noticed before she slapped me that she was rather thinly covered there. And the welcome bosom swelling sight of her, did I thought, even make me feel a little dizzy, before as well as after her striking me. And I do indeed feel that way right now.

‘Master Reginald, is there something wrong.’

‘Well as a matter of fact Crooks I think I may be feeling rather heady.’

‘It’s that d’Yquem, the great accumulated golden overtones from sublime sauterne, would, with enough of it, put your brains pleasantly swirling. Sure it’s the very mummified death of the grape you’re drinking there.’

‘Well I do believe my brain is, as a matter of fact swirling, or else the table is swaying.’

‘Now would I fetch up a bit of our best brandy, it would bring you around in no time. There’s a bottle in the cellar lain there since the middle ages for just such a moment as this.’

‘I think, thank you Crooks, that I shall make do with d’Yquem. O god.’

‘Good lord save us, Master Reginald.’

Darcy Dancer pitching forward. Face banging the table. To slowly keel over sidewards and fall to the floor with a room shaking thud.

‘Master Reginald, can you hear me. Can you hear me. Are you all right. Norah, fetch Miss von B.’

Crooks walking stumbling upwards backwards, his hands caught under each arm of Darcy Dancer. Could feel his big fingernails digging into me. Hear all their voices. Out there beyond me in the dark. Even thought in my unconsciousness that a rake of an ancestor on the staircase wall winked at me. Miss von B in a big grey sweater over her gown. Had me by a leg. And Norah with her lace cap knocked askew, her hair loose was carrying the other. Could smell her rather strongly. Mixed with the clean sweet scent of Miss von B. But as the direction of the hall breeze changed, both ladies’ essences were promptly drowned by the close up smell of Crooks. As he grunted, huffed and puffed shifting me up the beech grove stairs. And along the hall to my room. Backing through the door and loading me all black attired and silk shirted, flat out on my bed.