The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

  ‘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.

  Miss von B made a sudden stir out hunting. Changing from her own usual regalia. To riding side saddle wearing my mother’s habit and on my mother’s mare. Crooks the following day retrieved the outfit to hide it, shouting loudly, up and down the kitchen hall.

  ‘The sheer brazen cheek of that woman to dare to sully my ladyship’s robes.’

  And an evening following hunting and her long hot bath, Miss von B was down in the kitchen hall pinning notices on a board under the servants’ bells. With dire warnings should her breakfast be late brought to her bedroom. Crooks now limping and quaking in anger again. Buttons missing from his stained livery and with his leg recently sprained in another fall. And following his long silences as he served me as I sat solitary in the dining room, he would always bark out after I’d finished my pudding.

  ‘Kummel Master Reginald.’

  ‘No thank you Crooks.’

  ‘Cigar Master Reginald.’

  ‘No thank you Crooks.’

  And then in his specially deep voice, reserved for these occasions, he would lean in close to my ear.

  ‘Well that awful woman thinks that she should now dine with you and she has posted a notice to that effect. Which I, knowing of your preferences, Master Reginald, took the liberty of tearing up.’

  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 y
ou 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.

  Darcy Dancer pressing back into a bedroom doorway. Foxy crouching next to a large glass fronted cabinet. Stored with stacks of dishes of patterns and styles disused over the years. Crooks arriving at the top of the stairs dimly silhouetted by the moonlit landing window below. Until the light of a candle held high in the hand of von B wrapped in a towel throws more shadows down the hall. And illumines to Crooks the sight of Foxy pressed up to the side of the dresser.

  ‘I’ve got you, you brazen hooligan.’

  ‘Like hell you have you ould crippled cunt.’

  Foxy springing up and out with a growl. Colliding with Crooks’s and the two of them in a whirl engripped, falling backwards against the dish cabinet. Crooks hanging on for dear life. Foxy dragging him back and forth on the clamouring floorboards as Crooks loses and regains his hold and in one grand embracement locking his arms around Foxy as the two fall with a massive thump against the cabinet which smashes against the handrail of the banister and breaks it from its anchorage in the wall.

  ‘You ould stupid eegit let loose or I’ll fucking well brain you.’

  ‘I’ve got you now.’

  Crooks’s strange shrieking grunts with his arms grabbed around Foxy as the pair of them again and again crash into the cabinet. Von B raising her candle higher over a nicely rounded pair of shoulders. The tall dark shadow of the piece of furniture and its entire breakable contents slowly moves, creaking, breaking and with a splintering of wood pitches through the balustrade. A female screech as the cabinet plummets. A moment’s silence before it crashes. And a thunder as dishes, bowls, sauce boats and egg cups shatter in pieces everywhere down the flight of stairs below. With Crooks still bellowing and holding on.

  ‘You’ll not get away from me this time you blackguard.’

  From my redoubt I had a rear view of the silhouetted bifurcation of Miss von B’s legs. Wondering when she was going to shout stop. As she did the day out on the bogs. While Foxy tore at Crooks’s grip and dragged him thumping down the stairs to the landing. Where with one massive wrench Foxy broke free. Sending Crooks flying and momentarily stunned against the clanking rusting metal of a suit of armour from which as a tiny boy I always thought I saw eyes peering out. As Foxy stood with all his escape routes blocked. The cabinet wedged between wall and banister. Von B above and sounds of more feet coming up the servants’ stairs.

  ‘You’ll none of you get me you bunch of cunts.’

  Foxy turning and facing the casement window, took two steps backwards and with his arms and elbows held up in front of his face, leaped crashing through. To descend three storeys down into t
he darkness. With the sound of breaking branches followed by a thud and thump. With Miss von B suddenly apoplexed bare arsed without her towel. And Crooks surfacing from his dazed condition on the floor.

  ‘That should be final good riddance to that blackguard. Bury him we will. And be delivered forever of his infernal nuisance.’

  Crooks getting to his feet. Turning to pick up and hang back the metal codpiece knocked off the suit of armour. And carefully stepping over the pieces of glass from the smashed casement as he wrings his hands in the fresh breeze blowing in this recently widely opened window. And slowly raising his head to look up. To see the apparition standing in its candle light at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Jesus Mary and Joseph. As if death out the window isn’t enough. Haven’t we got up there the kraut herself in the buff.’

  Naked

  As the day

  The

  Almighty

  Made her

  7

  Foxy following his jump from the window had a broken finger. And his jacket hung caught between the branches of a yew and ash tree high above the deep impression he left of his feet arse and hands in the soil of a flower bed where he landed. Miss von B had shrieked and grabbed up her towel, rushing away back down the hall. Leaving Crooks, lame as he was, dancing over the broken glass in circles of joy. Till he fell groaning with a twisted ankle. To be escorted under the armpits by Norah and Sheila back to his chambers.

  And I had made my way along past the bedroom door where von B had taken her bath. Foxy said it was the room where the hottest water came up from the kitchen range. And where, after a day’s hunting my father used to come to bathe in the medicinally beneficial big copper tub.

  For some time after her impromptu nudity Miss von B was bundled in shapeless sweaters and often took till noontime to appear at all. And when she did I found my trousers poking out nearly popping my fly buttons. While I disported myself with an academic air carrying about my person books Mr Arland recommended I read from the library. And he gave me promiscuous exercises in Syntactical Parsing.