‘Of course yes. That is how they are haughty.’
‘And also you will agree that they will sometimes not answer questions put to them and will look in other directions until the person asking such questions of them has sheepishly retreated.’
‘O come, my god, enough. Let us continue the battle in the morning. And for now let us say you are the most arsy versy randy little aristocrat there is.’
Miss von B kissing me on the brow and sat there holding my hand till I went most contentedly to sleep. Waking momentarily in darkness to hear the friendly little scratching of my mouse devouring his crumbs. By the moonlight the branches of the trees all white. Frost settling on the grass. All is so blissful to be so deeply in love. To want hands you want to touch you to touch. With words said you know you both will say. And lips and eyes and all their colours there swirling in the mists of the new wonders that come in every embrace. And of course Miss von B did see me peeing off the front steps one evening.
Black as I woke. To lie thinking. Of the chilly morning. So warm in under the covers. And now standing aristocratically peeing into my suitably emblazoned chamber pot, a faint light was slowly pinkly brightening in the window. The wind risen and long patches of blue between the sky’s clouds gliding from the west. Where Uncle Willie said the great Atlantic ocean made them the grey they were. I rang for Crooks. And miraculously he was knocking with a tray of tea in a thrice.
‘Good morning Master Reginald. I trust you had a good night.’
One does not know quite at this early dawn how to aristocratically reply to what might in its casual statement hide quite saucy implications. But in the interests of not disturbing the recent pleasant tenor of household activities, best to reply in a like manner.
‘Thank you Crooks, yes. Indeed I had a splendid night. I feel quite chipper.’
‘That is good news. I’ll leave the tray here. And while the sun’s not up yet just let me stir the fire with a blow of the bellows and I’ll have a blaze out of these embers in a moment.’
‘Lay out my shooting clothes please, Crooks.’
‘You are not I hope intending to proceed to the outdoors Master Reginald.’
‘I am as a matter of fact proceeding to the outdoors, Crooks.’
‘The doctor will not like the sound of that. He said you came through that pneumonia hanging by a thread of life.’
‘Ah but now Crooks can’t you see I hang by a string.’
‘Ah you may be that bit stronger but not fit for the rigours of shooting. Will I be drawing your bath Master Reginald.’
Another remark of which one must be wary. If good lord my every activity is monitored. And my most marvellous bath had the ruddy household fighting each other at the keyhole to behold the doings beyond the door.
‘No not this morning Crooks, had one last night.’
‘Ah well it was a good long deep one you must have had too. Reading my bible I could hear the drain gurgling.’
‘I beg your pardon Crooks.’
‘There’s not much Master Reginald that one misses in a house like this. Human it is. You learn to know its groans. You can hear it sigh. Hear it weep. You would even know if it ever erupted in ecstasy.’
‘I do hope Crooks that you are referring only to the house’s structural proclivities and not those of its human inhabitants.’
‘Ah isn’t one thing nearly the same as the other. I often recall to mind the evening I heard Her Royal Highness our housekeeper, singing there in the ballroom. The marvel of that voice nearly made the whole building throb with life.’
One did not relish prodding further into Crooks’s musical appreciation or concerning from where he was spying on that particular evening or indeed the wide all encompassing custodial chores he would appear to have taken on. But quite pleasant to hear aristocratic reference being made to a member of one’s household staff. Miss von B did however, more than once hint of her suspicion that Crooks was spying upon her undressing which I’m sure accounts for his improved good relations with her. And not surprising when Crooks knows that Foxy and I nearly broke our necks doing it. And certainly how could it much matter now when the poor old fossil has already once seen her stark raving nude.
‘Have you any special desires for supper or shall I refer myself to Her Royal Highness.’
‘Her Royal Highness, Crooks.’
‘Thank you, master Reginald.’
In a double edition of my woollies that Crooks laid out I dressed rather rapidly to be about my business. But I did indeed recall that evening of aria. Prior to dinner and just before drinks were to be served in the library. I thought at first it was a new lease of life that my father’s gramophone had taken on. Till I realized the sound was coming from the ballroom. To whose door I tiptoed thinking, o god who now has gone bonkers. And pushing the door ajar I saw Miss von B. In a long white flowing gown, a candlestick in her hand, her arms held out. In the centre of the ballroom floor. Her head held back and singing with such lyric feeling and compassion. Her whole marvellous body alight with such shimmering beauty that I began to shake and tremble. Goose pimples galore all over and my hair standing up on the back of my neck. Had to loose the door knob I held in my hand because it began to rattle too. There I stood in the darkness transfixed. And a little frightened as well. The candle light throwing shadows upwards across the side of her face. But of course I was rather shamed not only by my having an erection during such a culturally magic moment but also that I had spied in this manner on what was another’s most intimate reverie. And then she moved, the candle fluttering, to glide silently in circles till the candle blew out.
Darcy Dancer proceeding down the beech grove stairs. Rooks squawking out there in the tree tops. And with my grandfather’s best Purdey gun from the gunroom, I came round the corner in the half light out across the hall. Norah taking ashes from the grate. And jumping up in a fright. As I came upon her silently on the rug Miss von B had just resurrected from the attic floor hall. To then quickly regain her senses with a little smile and her usual little nod of her head. When you’re nearly dead it must make people become a little wide eyed to see you abroad alive again.
‘Good morning, you did give me a start there, Master Reginald. ‘Tis good to see you, sir.’
‘Good morning, thank you Norah. And how are you keeping.’
‘Middling sir, only middling.’
‘O well, that’s better than poorly, isn’t it.’
‘It is sir, yes.’
Rather disturbing enlargement one thought one noticed of Norah’s belly. Or else she is simply getting rapidly and deucedly fat. She has when one really looks, quite an extremely pretty face. Big brown eyes. Freckles on forehead nose and cheeks. Ample bosomed and trim strong legs. Which I must confess I have upon occasion turned to watch disappearing down a hall or ascending a stair. Good lord, I hope not yet another pregnancy in this house. That’s the trouble with wet weather. Causes so much hanging about getting up to mischiefs. If the remaining last of the useful servants start having babies it will be a damn nonsensical nuisance. With priests and nuns clammering about to find out who did it. And perhaps why. Will certainly not increase the household’s day to day agreeableness. Seems one hardly gets down the stairs and out the ruddy front door. Before more tribulations unfold.
Darcy Dancer on the front steps. Taking in deep cold sweet lungfuls of air. Kern and Olav happily pushing and shoving their big heads at me. Then growling in jealousy at each other. And pending parturition makes one distastefully recall. My father’s tufts of lighter hair high on his cheek bones. His chomping hunting boots, the crops and whips and horse equipages piled at the front entrance of the house. And the mysterious pregnancies that began to appear among the household staff. With suspicions forthrightly cast upon the grooms but whispers had it said it was my father. And a story going round the countryside that while he was out and about on his horse that he never hesitated inquiring after any likely girl he might see. For whom an immediate staff opening was provided at Andromeda Park. Then too there was the story of the pretty girl, the daughter of the gombeen man at a crossroads some miles away who sold groceries and various and sundry divers manufactured articles and one night my father aseat on his horse had watched her through the lighted window behind the counter of the shop and on a pretext that he was lost and needed directing in the dark he took her off into a wood the other side of the road. Her bald father later came to discuss with my father behind locked doors of the rent room. And was even once received in the north east parlour. And there were whispers about the consequences for years and that a little boy was growing up in Dublin who was a Kildare.