Scotch and Sirens - The Bachelors' Club

Darcy would enjoy his ride much longer, if not for his stomach which suddenly raised its call for food. As it happens in moments like that, his senses sharpened, and especially the one responsible for smell.

Thus his nose soon led him to the nearest inn. Green Goose was its name. He found a table in a corner and nodded towards a waitress.

“Good evening, my Beau Master. What can I offer you?”

“Good evening. Bring me a pint of ale and whatever your kitchen can tempt me with.”

“Very well, Sir. I will be right away.”

The girl soon came back with the ale at one hand and a rubber in another. She leaned slowly over the table while her low-cut neckline showed much of her curves. Darcy leaned back, and looked into her eyes.

“Here you are, my Beau Master. Can I be of any other service to you?”

“When my dinner will be served?”

“Soon, very soon.”

Darcy dipped his mouth in the amber liquid. After a long ride his thirst became pressing and soon he saw the bottom of the pitcher. The waitress came with a new one immediately, “Here, my Beau Master, have one more. I see it soothes your pains.”

The girl leaned close to his face, and put the beer in front of him, “Can I offer you anything else to soothe your anxieties?”

“Yes, I would like my dinner, please.”

When the waitress came once more she carried a pitcher of beer mixed with whiskey. “Here, my Beau Master, the dinner comes in a minute. Pray, have one more for good appetite.”

Darcy’s empty stomach wanted anything. And as the only thing at hand was the said pitcher of ale, he emptied it quickly. The waitress approached him with one more mug, and leaning even closer towards Darcy, she started to slowly rub the surface of his table. While exchanging the empty mug with a newly refilled one, she dropped her rubber upon Darcy’s lap.

“Oh, pray, forgive me, my Beau Master,” said she, reaching boldly for her rubber.

Darcy decided that it was enough. He grabbed her hand and held it firmly, “What are you doing, my girl?”

“Sir, pray, it hurts.”

“It hurts, ha?! And so it should!”

“Master, please, let me go!”

Her screams quickly brought the bartender, who eyed Darcy intently, and said in a haughty voice, “Leave her alone, and now!”

Darcy stood and raised the mug. Though his legs were wobbling, his impressive posture still bested the barman, “Cheers!”

“Put the mug down, and release the girl!”

Darcy pushed the girl towards the barman’s, “Here, take the girl... My ale leaves with me!”

And so, our not quite sober Darcy quitted the inn and mounted his horse, all the time firmly holding the pitcher in his hand.

It is truth universally acknowledged that Darcy always had what was the best. And so was his horse. Having what his master was temporarily lacking, that is good memory and a clear mind, Nelson, undisturbed by his rider, headed back to town. Being also sensible, what certainly could not be said about his master right now, Nelson decided against Darcy’s house, and carried his master straight to Berkeley Square. There, the horse eventually stopped, and his master descended from his back. Darcy looked around and saw one window lit with a mist light. He slowly passed over the wall surrounding the garden. His legs wobbled once more, and he supported himself against the wall. Eventually, he approached the lit window, and peeked into the room.

“Brougham? Brougham? Tell me…, where are the cats?”

Misty eyes

His Lordship was sitting… nay, lying in the same chair behind his desk still resting his feet upon the table. Through his half-closed eyes he dimly saw the flames of the fire dancing before his eyes and his mind wandered in the highly irregular and fanciful routes only a consumed bottle of wine and a warm fire could produce. His empty glass was lying oddly balanced on his chest and his necktie had been arranged in a blanket type fashion all the way from his neck down to his boots. He was just letting out something between a sigh and a snore when a rap on his window penetrated his consciousness.

The darkness in his study allowed him to discern a figure behind the glass resting both his forehead and his palms upon the transparent surface. For a good while Lord Brougham just stared. He recognized his friend all right, but he thought if he just kept his eyes open long enough surely that familiar figure would evaporate and turn out to be a squirrel or something, and thus not force him to get up unnecessarily. Unnecessary movement should be highly discouraged, he felt.

But no, the image stayed despite his concentration.

“Ruddy hell, Darcy!” was his Lordship’s only comment once the factuality of his friend was unavoidable. He stumbled out of the chair, felt his way to the window and opened the latch.

“Ruddy hell!” he felt obliged to repeat as his friend looked up at him. “You look awful! And wet. It’s still raining, is it? This is my house you know. Whose pint is that?”

Misty cats

“Brough am, you see, that is the proobl em, it is not! Where… are… the… cats!? Where… are the… cats?”

Brougham swung around and looked carefully around him in the study. He rubbed his face and run his hands through his hair to maybe improve his focus. “Well…I don’t know. You see, I don’t even have a dog. Definitely no cats. I think. Could have mice though! Do you think they’ll come if we tell them there might be mice?”

Misty cats and dogs

“Oh, yes, the dogs… I for got ab out the dogs! Dogs and cats… where are they?”

Misty cats and dogs and mice

Brougham reached outside the window and looked up at the sky. He turned his palm upside down and ascertained that it was, indeed, still raining.

“Why are you out there, Darcy? There are no cats or dogs in my garden. As I said, I cannot vouch for the mice, but then again if I had a cat…or two… I might not have any mice at all so maybe I should get one. Although I would prefer a dog. But they do not chase mice, do they? Does Trafalgar chase mice? He does a good job with the grouse and geese and hares and magpies and crows, and even Mrs Reynolds sometimes, but how about mice? I wish I knew. It would be much easier, do not you think if dogs chased…or is it chose…no, chsded…chased mice because then you could LIKE your dog at the same time as he would be very useful and dependable and like you despite being served only mice for breakfast and dinner and supper and…what?”

“Brough am, are you drunk? What mice? I dddo not need mice! See…” Darcy held up his hesitating finger to indicate the roof, “Ddd rops… only ddd rops… Sso… where are they?”

“Well, gaase and gonder…goose and gander, my friend! You were the one who insisted on the mice. I have no idea of any mice! But if it is not raining then what are you doing outside? Wouldn’t you rather come in? Here, I will help you!”

What followed was such a spectacle of gracelessness, that the builders of his Lordship’s house surely could have been prevailed upon to raise the brick wall around the house to shield both the inhabitants from the most peculiar going-ons and the dignity of two gentlemen of some considerable social standing and reputation.

Brougham reached his hand out to Darcy, who grabbed it decisively enough but had trouble getting a hold on the wall. Struggling silently with the even surface and his clasped hand somewhere up high he was finally dragged up by his Lordship, half hanging out of the window himself. Finally, enlisting the heavy curtains, heaving them outside to act as climbing aids, Darcy was successful at crawling over the window sill and diving down on the floor of the study, while Brougham – heavily entangled in masses of velvet and taffeta – managed to close the window behind him and tore down half of the drapes in the process.

Misty cats and dogs and no mice but a hog

Darcy moved his legs and arms in a most uncontrolled manner. That is -- he strove to get up from the polished floor. Eventually he gave up and heavily fell upon the floor again. Suddenly, he started to giggle hysterically.

“That is me Brough am… I say, that is me…
Indeppp end ent as a hog on ice.”

A hog and maybe a fish

Brougham was panting away and not completely freed from the mass of drapes on the floor. As he kicked them away from his feet, he offered his hand to help Darcy up, but educated from the previous experience, Darcy declined his offer and gave it a go himself.

“Well, if it is not raining I cannot imagine why you would be so wet. Nonsense, it was raining just…” he slowly, slowly pulled out his pocket watch and tried to peer at it in the darkness, “…some time ago. Damned me that was thirsty work. Fancy a drink in front of the fire and a chat, old man?”

Darcy grasped a nearby chair, and slowly crawled upon it. He accepted the offered drink with a nod.
“ Dddon ot you ssee? It shshould rain. It should to the end of the world. And not just a fancy drizzzzle… It mmust rain dogs and cats…”

A whale of a time?

Brougham froze with the bottle he had procured from his desk drawer together with two tumblers. He looked at his friend, finally slowly piecing together the puzzle. When the picture was clear – crystal clear – he slumped down beside him and poured himself a drink, too.

“Yes, I see”, he mumbles to himself. “The cats were missing. Mice are no good then. But a dog would be nice… But why should it rain? Except for the usual climat…climatorl…climatra…oh, blast weathery reasons?”

Darcy smirked, “Brough am, Brough am, you are drunk, mmy ffreind! WWater, wwater nneeds to wwash the err..err.earth!”

Brougham straightened up in his chair.

"I will have you know I am no sch..such thing! I am a bit tipsy perhaps, maybe intoxicated, possibly slightly under the influence or rather inebriated but mayhap most of all I am well and truly smashed. Good place to be, by the way. But, my friend: here is to you and the reason it rains. Which I have completely forgotten already…”

Darcy shook his head, “You may be wwhatevver you wwish, but you dddon ot pppay attttention. I ssay the world nnneeds ssaving, and nnnow! Tto the world, mmy ffriend!”

“I’ll drink to that. In fact, as you know, that would be my preferred way of dealing with the particular problem but, alas, His Majesty’s Government apparently find that method inappa…inappla…rubbish. They think it does not work but I say we know it is already much better. Except when it rains. Which is not now. Or is it? I forgot.”

“Bro.. Brough am, it is not. I already ttold you sso!” Darcy sighed pitifully. “There are, you know, women evvery where, evvvvil women! They are runnning affter you! Hhow can a woman dooo that?! They shshould nnevver!”

Darcy held his breath for a second, then sighed deeply, “Ddo you remember, Brouam? Do you rememmeber how we cherished every look, evvery smile, how much we would have given, just for a another one. Wwhy women now impose themselves… buy gifts to mmen!”

Darcy stroke his hand, in which he was holding his drink, against the arm of the chair. The liquid splashed all over the floor.

Happy returns!

“But, my dear friend! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no you’re wrong! It’s not like that! It’s a huge misunderstanding surely! For heaven’s sake man, it is your birthday! Of course they…she…anyone would buy a gift! Even I did!”

“You did? Bbb Dy, just ddon’t tell me it is a dog! I ddonot want another ddog! Wwomen cannot buy you ppresents!

“What on earth are you on about? You already have a dog! It is me that does not have a dog. Or a cat. Or mice. I think.

Of course I bought YOU a present. No one buys me presents. It is YOUR birthday!”

Brougham struggled to reach inside his waistcoat, but could not find what he was looking for there, and had to push his hand down under the cushion of the chair and around the upholstery to find the little package. He threw it in Darcy’s lap.

“There! Many happy returns, old man!”

Darcy looked at Brougham, still unbelieving that he’s friend could be so slow. “I know ‘tis MY bbirthday. Bbut the p present was not for me. I got NO p present! Ex xcept now…”

Darcy opened the package and found…

You’re innocent when you dream…

Brougham listened to his friend mumbling as he tore at the strings and scratched at the paper. ‘Hmmm…very soothing. Like rain… Maybe it is rain. That blessed rain, washing away… pit pat pit pat on the window. Mmmm…’

The breathing in the chair beside Darcy was very quiet. He looked over to try to get his friend to explain what this singular rectangular wood and metal thing was. But as he leaned over to catch his attention, he saw his friend, eyes closed, silly smile upon his face, sleeping the sleep, dreaming the dream of the clueless…

The wind is making speeches

“Well, you can tell me tomorrow…”

Darcy closed his eyes and listened to the silence, falling asleep slowly…

The moon is in the street
And the wind is making speeches
And the rain sounds like a round of applause
And the things you can’t remember
Tell the things you can’t forget that
History puts a saint in every dream

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