by Lady Carlton née Katie O’Roarke, heroine of “The Blonde Samurai”
Did you notice the gleam in his eye and the snicker on his lordship’s face when he kissed you goodbye on this grand morning and left for his club? Did he sport a green silk puff in his lapel, perhaps? Or a green plaid cravat tucked under his portly chin?
Then I chance to wonder if he was on his way to Madame Moiret’s on York Street on this fine St. Patrick’s Day, a lucky day for the wearing ‘o the green and for all the gentleman who visit there.
Including his lordship.
What is the attraction? you ask. Green Guinness? Green-eyed mistresses wearing green stockings and rose garters and nothing else?
No, ’tis one plucky young Irish maid by the name of Darla O’Clancy.
What makes her so popular, you wish to know, a maid no less?
Before I tell you, I shall recount a passage from my memoir, The Blonde Samurai, about the similarity between the lucky shamrock and its counterpart in Japan, the maple leaf.
“Content to be on my own, I took long walks in the late afternoon on the Bluff [Yokohama], strolling through dusky gardens with paths and stone lanterns warmed by the deepening sunset, a unique shimmer upon them glowing like tiny sparks among gray ashes. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the season for the delicate maple trees with their seven-pointed red leaves, but that didn’t stop me from wishing I’d find an eight-lobed maple leaf, thought to be as lucky to the natives as a four-leaf shamrock is to the Irish.”
As for this Irish maid, ’tis no doubt the name of Darla O’Clancy is bantered about in houses of high standing since she possesses a rare gem deemed to be a lucky charm by the gentlemen who visit Madame Moiret’s. They descend upon her establishment on this day to–
I shall not tell you just yet, but instead recall from where the lass came. ‘Tis a small town in Ireland on the coast called Killian’s Cove, a town so small it has yet to find its way onto a map. And a town so green it makes your eyes blink with wonder as you gaze upon its rolling hills filled with shamrocks for miles and miles.
‘Tis said that the mother of Miss O’Clancy so loved these hills she insisted her handsome young husband make love to her there among the shamrocks. And so he did. Three times. And each time, she bore him a beautiful daughter: Emmie, Lenore and Darla.
And each lass, they say, bears a lucky shamrock birthmark in a most unusual place on her body.
Emmie, the shy one, has a shamrock on the inside of her thigh near her sex.
Lenore, the brazen one, has a shamrock on her left breast.
And Darla, the plucky one, has a shamrock on her right buttock.
Now you know the secret of The O’Clancy Sisters, who left Ireland and came to London looking for husbands. ‘Tis Darla I write about today and how she found work as a maid at Madame Moiret’s. She is not one of her girls, but instead guards the pot o’ gold between her legs fervently, waiting for the right lad to find it.
But once a year on St. Patrick’s Day, she drops her drawers and allows the gentlemen callers to rub the shamrock on her naked bottom for good luck.
And where are Emmie and Lenore? I dare not say, except that they are also Irish maids serving in Mayfair houses.
Yours, perhaps? I would check my household staff if I were you.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
The Blonde Samurai
“She embraced the way of the warrior. Two swords. Two loves.”