J. Donleavy - The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

Can you imagine. Having a joke. When those two bare arsed people had long since had a blatant fuck in the woods. One did feel shocked. And forgetting myself completely, I just sat down. Plonking deep into the soft blue and pink sofa. Not knowing whether to weep or cry foul loudly up to the gods. And not exactly stunned but certainly feeling deeply sorry for myself. Till I turned towards a sound made near the door.

‘What is the meaning of this. How dare you.’

I of course now did sit momentarily stunned. Looking up from the glossy pages. The images of the happy faces of the hunt members still before my eyes. And for the moment totally oblivious as to where I was. Till I was looking straight up at this woman’s face. The mistress of the house. Glaring at me in a manner which was so demeaningly hostile I was tempted to slap her face. Of the eighty thousand things that came all at once into my mind to say. I selected the one hundred and twelfth. Wrapping my lips around my vowels in all my most haughtiest possible manner. Just as her next words were shouted accompanied by her raised eyebrows rising even higher.

‘Stand up at once.’

‘Yes ma’am. I’m sorry. I apologize.’

‘And don’t you use that affected voice with me.’

‘I’m after begging your pardon ma’am. Me accent slips betimes. Me ould feet were playing up the very divil with me and I did sit down to take the weight off for a thrice.’

‘You were reading that magazine, don’t tell me such fibs.’

‘Ah I was and all. You have me there ma’am. Twas the great grand things you’d see in them pages that I couldn’t tear the sight of me eyes away.’

‘Well you’ll tear yourself up and out of that sofa I’m telling you now and remove yourself at once.’

‘Ah yes ma’am. Fast as me ould legs will hop.’

‘And get back to your chores. Don’t you let me ever catch you doing such a thing again. The unbelievable nerve. Your dirty filthy clothes on my best damask sofa.’

‘I am sorry ma’am to have given trouble. Upon me word now it won’t happen again.’

‘You’re certainly right it won’t. You’re not to come up into this house again.’

The only thing to do was slink retreating out in the most menial manner possible. Bringing my hand up and down to my forelock. In nervous moments my accent seemed always to slip badly. But also as I so mortified headed out I bumped straight into and fell over a small carved and gilded Adam window stool. Crashing a vase off a nearby giltwood side table. By far the best piece of furnishing in the house. With its veined agate top held elaborately on six fluted tapered legs ending in gadrooned feet. Upon which one had presently bruised one’s vertebrae. And from which, O god, also was pouring a goodly amount of discoloured water. Dripping on to the light beige and bright blue and pink colours of the carpet. Which latter was, to say the least, in such excruciatingly bad taste anyway that it could benefit by an extensive dilapidation. The advantage of which was totally lost on madam who was now quite wildly hammering her fists around her head.

‘Get out, get out you clumsy oaf. Get out. And don’t let me ever catch you setting foot in this house again.’

Assumpta stopped me at the bottom of the stairs, trying to block my way past. Her eyes like saucers and her nosiness driving her crazy.

‘A thump from above in the drawing room has sent plaster down off the ceiling into the cook’s soup. Was that you did it.’

‘I couldn’t care less Assumpta if the entire floor descends into the bloody soup. And it was me who did it.’

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, sure you’re not fit loose in a house.’

And this night now passing off to sleep, angrily pulling on my penis. And less angrily thinking thoughts of Miss von B. Her bosoms and all the parts of her beautiful body. Especially the soft silky loveliness between her legs to where I so feveredly wished again to bring my fingers, lips and prick. Were I of full age and out of one’s minority I would propose to her marriage. Bring her back to my estate. Sleep my body naked next to hers. Wake with her head next to my head. Far away from these musty smells. And the tapping of rain on these slates. I will descend the grand staircase at Andromeda Park. Wearing the court dress stored many years in my mother’s wardrobe. The whole staff in their best livery. Gathered assembled in the front hall bowing and curtseying as I make my way down the grand stairs and go between them in my black satin breeches and white silk hose. A sovereign’s crown perched on my head. With Crooks geared out in blue gold trimmed court vestments announcing my ruddy bloody appearance.

‘My Emperors, Lords, Ladies and Squires. The King.’

Honestly thoughts like that make one feel so damn good. To have them every night before going to sleep. There I was. Instead of under the flaking broken plaster of this ceiling I was standing there elevated on the stair as the ball commenced. The orchestra on the landing, its violins, oboes, flutes and harps sweetly making waltz music. And the ballroom pulsating with the latest chic two steps. And I even imagined swirling with Edna Annie who upon my word was done up like a queen.

Of course at meal times Smears now suggested snidely concerning my demotion from turf carrier. That although I had inferred a familiarity with a previous grand household, it was all too evident that when not trained to it, a stable lad simply could not elevate himself to that of a pantry boy. But also these days he had it in for the master and mistress. Who according to him, and I devoutly agreed, were simply not to the manner born. Smears taking this attitude following confronting the mistress in a state of nudity and when, as is customary at such time, a butler remarks that madam was looking her best, Smears got a swat across the cheek for his trouble. Big pompous idiot that he was.

But by god, things came to a head one most absolutely marvellous evening. On the occasion of a large dinner party when forty eight guests were invited. Along with a small string orchestra. Candelabra were lit, and all the staff mobilized with two extra staff called in. Even I in the absolute emergency of the moment was delegated to lugging wines from the cellars and pulling corks. Naturally with one’s substantial knowledge, one privately paused to sample these mediocre liquids. With Smears up in the pantry in an absolute dither when he wasn’t castigating the socially inferior nature of the guests or bemoaning the shirtyness of the new staff.

‘Of course O’Reilly you wouldn’t know, but these people are quite honestly the most ordinary lot I think I have ever had to preside over in my career which previously has been exclusively in service to nothing but the best aristocracy hardly any of whom was below the rank of Earl.’

I kept racing to proffer bottles that I urged Smears to taste to make sure that the contents was the wine that the big folks required, my accent later slipping badly, but not overly noticed by a progressively squiffier Smears.

‘Smears you absolutely must taste this unremarkable burgundy.’

‘I think O’Reilly you are getting far beyond your station, smart lad though you sometimes give an indication of being. I could train you up if you didn’t stink of horse piss so much.’

I kept polishing his glass and refilling it for yet another taste. There being plenty of time before the guests got from the drawing to the dining room. Since Mary the cook had blown up the whole oven by mistakenly dripping something which was distinctly not butter fat into a roasting pan. Smears got so absolutely paralytically squiffed while the oven door was screwed back on that he served the sweet directly after the soup which had maids crashing into each other retrieving courses before they were even served. With no main course at all. The master and mistress were fulminating. The former shoving his irate red round face into the pantry.