ReadFin Literary Journal (Winter 2018)

edifice that we might call the “Congress House.” The cards were
made in the USA and had a brilliant red coloured back that featured
a picture of a pheasant on an enameled button. The cards were very
elegant and the house was nearly identical in size to the “Queens
Slipper” mansion. The visual impact of the red cards and massed
pheasants was fantastic.
Its neighbour was made from a pack of “Indian Pacific” cards that
Clifford acquired during a train journey across Australia. The backs
of the cards showed a photograph of the famous train under a night
sky full of stars. The cards were very experienced. They had seen
action in numerous poker games resulting in a gritty patina, which
was ideal for building a house of cards. The base differed from the
rest because Clifford had used four cards leaning against each other
to form a sort of box. A flat card on top of the box allowed for the
next level to be built. The result was a squat house that was very
strong. It also had an aura of permanence that none of the other
houses had.
Next was the “black sheep” of the group. This house was made
of playing cards with pictures of young women in various stages
of undress on them. Clifford had shamelessly turned the cards
outwards so the ladies could be easily seen. Most of the other
houses referred to this construction as “the brothel”. Only the
“Guinness” house made any attempt at establishing a cordial
relationship. However, the ladies shrugged off the accusatory looks
of the other houses as easily as a duck might shed water off its back.
Last of all was a very tall tower in which Clifford used the best part
of two packs of satin finish cards from France. The green and black
colours on the backs of the cards created a striking effect and the
tower has assumed a quite arrogant attitude in the classical French
manner.
Since the houses of cards had been completed Clifford has insisted
that the door to the games room remain closed. He did not want
some chance breeze to topple any of the houses. Neither did he
want servants blundering around and causing chaos when cleaning.
It was a matter of some surprise therefore to the occupants, when
the door opened slowly and two figures slipped stealthily into the
games room.
‘Take me away? Of course, I’d love you to take me away. Even if it’s
only for a short time,” breathed Clarissa.
The downstairs maid and Sam the footman had been lovers for
some time. Stolen moments were a treasured release from their
work responsibilities. It was mid-afternoon and Clifford was away
on business in the town. Mrs Thomas, the housekeeper, was taking
a nap in the conservatory while Williams the butler was in his
room doing whatever it is that butlers do when not catering to their
employer’s every whim.
In the circumstances, the games room was a safe place. Everybody
was aware of Clifford’s injunction but Clarissa and Sam had not had
such a good opportunity for a couple of weeks. The heavy drapes
were not fully drawn so there was plenty of low seductive light
entering the room to enable the lovers to see what they were doing.
“Wrapped together like fish and chips, hey darling?” said Sam at his
most romantic. Clarissa laughed but she did not fancy Sam for his
wit alone. He had other qualities. As Clarissa shed her uniform Sam
rose to the challenge like a trout to the bait. At this point we should
withdraw. To linger would be bad form.
A frantic but enjoyable fifteen minutes later, Clarissa was looking
over Sam’s shoulder at the houses of cards on the billiard table.
“I don’t understand what old Clifford is up to with those cards?” she
asked.
“Buggered if I know, love,” was Sam’s considered and honest reply.
Sometimes, Sam could be quite sharp but when it counted most he
was slow and very amenable. Clarissa liked those qualities in a man.
Now, with the bottled up passion of a fortnight or so expended,
the lovers started to relax. However, there was to be no rest for the
wicked. A car door slammed loudly, somewhere close by. The lovers
were swiftly on their feet and pulled on their clothes. Both had
their ears cocked towards the door. Soon, angry footsteps could be
heard in the hall and they were heading towards the games room.
“Quick,” said Sam and took Clarissa by the hand as he dragged her
out through the French doors. The doors had just closed softly
behind them when the other door to the games room was thrown
open.
“Right, I will do it. I will move that bloody Seven of Clubs,”
announced Clifford to nobody at all.
Clifford had come to this important decision while driving along
the narrow, hedge-lined road that lead to his stately pile. Now,
with all the authority of generations of Sidney-Halls who had gone
before him, Clifford strode across to the table and leant over to
effect the crucial change. He carefully held the card that formed a
V with Seven in his left hand. Then he removed the other with his
right.
“So far, so good,” he muttered to himself.
Next he steadied the bottom card before he took another from the
top row and put it in Seven’s old position. Clifford completed the
change by sliding Seven into his new position. As he stood beaming
over his handiwork Clifford decided that a celebratory brandy was
in order. With the casual confidence of a conqueror, Clifford picked
up a large balloon glass and filled it with dark fiery spirit. But as
he raised the glass to his lips when there was a knock at the door.
Clifford sighed and uttered the command, “Come.”
The door opened and in walked Mrs Thomas fresh from her siesta.
As she did so a strong breeze blew up the hallway. The rogue zephyr
had entered the house because Clifford, in his haste, had not closed
the front door behind him. The breeze swept into the games room
and Clifford gasped in horror as the first couple of card houses
began to fall.
Mrs Thomas was mortified.
“Shut that damn door,” screamed Clifford.
As Mrs Thomas turned to comply, the French doors also blew open.
Soon devastation was visited on all the card houses. Call it chance
or fate but only the “brothel” remained intact. Mrs Thomas was
reduced to tears and feared dismissal.
Clifford was also in tears. It seemed that everything was his fault.
Leaving the front door ajar was bad enough. But his apparent
failure to secure the French doors after his morning’s tryst with
Gillian Ferguson was even worse. Gillian, the gamekeeper’s
sister, had arrived early to discuss the arrangements for tonight’s
dinner party. Clifford knew his butler and housekeeper were
otherwise engaged so it had not taken long for things to get all
Lady Chatterley like, once the menu had been settled. It had been a
leisurely and pleasurable encounter. There had been no pressure, so
Clifford could only put down his failure to sheer carelessness.
Meanwhile, the Seven of Clubs had found himself occupying a new
position right beside “the brothel”.
“Useless, am I?” He smiled before he declared to all within hearing
distance, “Oh well. It’s an ill wind…”
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