‘O god, how sad life can get so immediately after a moment when it was perhaps beautiful even if only for the shortest of time.’
‘Have you madam fucked many others. Or put another way, how many others have you fucked. Has my father been one of them.’
The blood leaving Miss von B’s face. Tightens her finger about the handle of her tea cup. One wants to be so mean to her. To make her cry. And sob. And be defenceless and begging for help. Instead of being back here as she’s been so comfortably these past miserable days.
‘You are again I think in your most unpleasant mood. But I will answer your question. As to fucking. And that is what you mean. Yes.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘I have, to use the phrase, fucked my share. Not your father. Nor anyone I did not respect. And certain things have happened to me. That I will not discuss at this time.’
‘You have been raped, madam.’
‘I have warned you, I shall slap your face. If you ask such questions again. What has become of you. Why are you like this. Sitting there, in rags. Like you were a tramp. You make me so angry.’
Miss von B standing. Putting her long angular fingers to brush back a strand of hair loose at her temple. A crumb on her wool dress tweezed between two fingers and put on her saucer. Lifts her tweed coat over her arm. Turns and places her book on the hunt table. She abruptly leaves. In what one would term a huff. Rather banging the door which shook the window panes. And Crooks took an unseemly delay to appear after I rang. Approaching me across the parlour floor using a bowing motion. As if he were a water pump.
‘You called Master Reginald.’
‘Yes Crooks. Decant our best laid bottle of Chateau Margaux. As well as that of our most ancient Chateau d’Yquem. Tell Catherine to prepare a roast side of beef. Rare. And not burned to a cinder. Nor perfectly raw either. And together with suitable gravy, choicest of spuds, selected sprouts, I want served an immortal meal.’
‘I shall, of course, Master Reginald, as the available ingredients might allow do precisely as you instruct. For two.’
‘For two.’
Following three more cups of tea and barmbrack and four slices of toast slathered in bramble jam I repaired to my room. To disrobe. To find most of me in my dressing mirror quite white except where the bruises were quite blue. The rain now blowing in gusts outside. And proceeded with some dispatch skipping over the rattling floorboards to bathe with all my scratches stinging. Could feel the smooth copper of the bath replenishing my blood. Making me quite chipper. Dressing for dinner. Till Crooks knocked. To announce that Miss von B sent her regrets and would not be joining me. In this my celebration of my most astonishing homecoming. Calling for my silk shirt removed from its protective tissues to stop it gathering dust. And also in view of the mournful news. Told me by Norah as she brought me towels from the kitchen oven. And said through the door. That the mighty and wilfully spirited Thunder and Lightning had been kicked to death when put to cover a young mare. Another blow fallen. Another revenue gone. About the only damn use that such news can be, is to older gentlemen to make them specially mindful of the antics of young ladies. But never mind. Distinctly more pleasant hours are upon me. My bath bringing out my embedded thorns and I squeezed and pinched away the pus. And as I descended the beech grove stairs heading for the library for a sherry before the fire, Crooks was backing his way with a tray out the door.
‘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