‘I am lord of the manor madam.’
‘But you are young too.’
‘I am a man.’
‘Yes. O well. Perhaps I shall just take some young hours of your life and in exchange I shall give you the rest of mine.’
‘Would you.’
‘No I would not. For nothing can win my sweet in a race against age. This is all we can ever have. It is not wise to seek more. But I would be so proud to walk at your side. If we were together in life. But we have, even for such a short a time, we have lived. What more can there be but to just make it as long as we can. There was the swallow bird who last summer fly in my window. He sit up there on the big brass curtain rod. And all his family, they sit all seven out on the drain along the roof making a white path shitting down the wall. And first when he come in, his little breast was beating in such fear as to how he could get out again. And his terror was so sad. But he swoop and swerve. His flight so brave. Till he find the space to fly free. And then he was gone. And he, that swift graceful bird, my little sweet, is what I think of whenever I think of you.’
Sleep coming. Quietly to my eyes. Miss von B and I. Side by side. Rest my head back across her outstretched arm. The sweet smell up in under her hair. When the whole world goes and fades away. Right up into the little plaster trio of feathers in each cornice of the room. If I lie absolutely still Miss von B may not chuck me out till morning. And may just let me fly around like the swallow under her covers. One has had rather a fine day. I might even record all the details in my diary just as my great grandfather did for the sake of his heirs. And perhaps even make as he did some philosophical observations. Except not even once did he make a saucy comment. Seemed only to care for hunting, shooting and fishing. Or in the case of the agricultural, of making improvements. Which he would do by periodically convening the estate workers to make known information recently obtained by scientists. Which he said thus put the knowledge of an educated class at the disposal of a class who derived little information from reading. He had his own remedies for cattle disease. With all kinds of mixtures either boiled or cold. Of oil, turpentine, sulphur, permanganate of potash. And gave his annual address to the tenantry, servants and staff of the estate. When he spoke of his great delight. To go in and out among you, not as a stranger but an old familiar friend. And he would end by saying. I trust that with god’s help I shall not be found an unworthy descendant of the old stock. And be assured it is my most earnest desire to promote the well being of my tenantry and to deserve in my own person their respect and attachment.
Feel Miss von B’s toe wiggling against mine. Probably to appreciate the splendid pedicure she gave me. Tasted milk out of her breast. The lush salty silky sweetness between her legs. The gunman I clonked on the head and if he never woke up. I’m a murderer. Be accused as an arsonist. If the school burned all the way to the ground. In any event Awfully Stupid is certainly never going to be stupid enough again to let someone walk away with his box of fudge. Even when they swear hysterically on three stacks of bibles that they’ll bring it back in just a moment. The sounds. The corridors of that school. The feet. That walk. So lonely along a hall. And get louder and louder as they approach.
‘Mein Gott, who’s at the door.’
‘Open this.’
‘O my darling who is it. Who is out there.’
‘This is Reginald Kildare. And you have madam, I believe that little bastard in there with you. Do you agree. Or must I have this door broken down to see for myself.’
‘No. You do not have to break it down. No. You do not have to.’
‘And I’ll see you, you little bastard, first thing in the morning in the library.’
The footsteps walking away. And my great grandfather’s words. That the prosperous state of the tenantry was due to a just and considerate agent which had added to the reputation of a noble name handed down through a long line of ancestors and had placed him on high vantage ground. And he trusted that by such esteem he should do his duty to all who stood before him. And I had dreamt that I had made an annual address to the staff. As they all stood stark naked in the front hall applauding me with huzzas. As I stammered out some feeble apology for my erection. Now I must begin saying something to Miss von B. Whose tight grip on my arm is squeezing even tighter. And from her there came just a strange little sound. Like an animal out in the dark woods when a predator tears life from them and they let out their squeal of death. And Miss von B sat up. In the moonlight so pale and white. Her splendid breasts shadowly trembling on her chest. Upon the softness I so cherished to lay my cheek. Hands now to her eyes making fists at the side of her face. Which shook each time she brought her arms up and the breath stuttered into her lungs. Her whole back bending and shaking as she sobbed. Her voice. Begging. O please please please, don’t let it happen. I beg of you don’t let it happen. Please please please. And I did not have to tell her to stand over there close to tears. The whole of her. Inside and out. Weeping. Anguish pleading in her eyes. And I listened. My own deepest sorrow stirring.
And
I loved
Her
19
As a bright orange dawn broke I crept from between the covers and tiptoed out. Leaving Miss von B finally asleep, her breathing making a strange high pitched sound like a singing bird. In my room, under my chilly blankets, I stared out the corner of the window at a now snow threatening sky till Crooks brought me tea. His crossed eyes as ever made it rather more than impossible to discern what expression he was wearing and what on earth was going on in his mind.
‘There are the two boiled eggs this morning, Master Reginald. To keep your pecker up.’
Of course one could make no other comment than thank you. And I applied one of the more common egg cutters of an inferior nature kept in the kitchen. Decapitating the brown shell to dig out silver spoonfuls of the deep orange yolk swimming in melted butter.
The sun suddenly blazing golden white on my bedroom wall. And the beads of moisture on the blue tinted glass window panes hung like strings of diamonds. Through the night with the foxes barking, I was held clutched by her. Her body and bosoms pressed warm on my back. She wakened again and again from her sleep to clutch me even tighter. Her whispering voice all hoarse from crying. You’re not gone. And other words in German I could not decipher. Our tall candle now a stump and nearly burnt out. I wanted so much to tell her that everything was going to be alright. She seemed so exhausted. Her eyes swollen and red. But magically, still so tenderly attractive. Her dress she wore was black and hung on a hanger inside her cupboard door which had opened in the night. And I thought it was a ghost. With a whole face of eyes and fountainy head of hair.
Darcy Dancer descending the main staircase this morning. Someone’s feet departing from the front hall. Where the fire was blazing. And somewhere outside a faint roar of a cow for its calf. I had gone into the whim room for a brief think. Kept seeing Miss von B hanging suspended, hung by her neck. Her eyes popping and tongue hanging out. And indeed I opened the whim room window to look down to see that her body wasn’t already thrown there lying broken and lifeless on the front steps.
Passing the dining room door I thought I heard a noise. And peeked in. Sheila with a tray just departing pushing through to the pantry. My father in a brown shooting tweed sitting at the head of the table presiding over a dish of rashers and eggs. A bottle standing near by which said Powers Gold Label. And a half full glass of whiskey next to his cup and saucer of tea. A great bunch of household keys on a plate and the wine cellar book open beside him. And as I stepped back to leave and close the door, I winced at the sound of his voice.