Elsingham's Son

A Family Drama in Sixteen Scenes

by Airn Hethaway

email: s_psoli@yahoo.co.uk

Scene I

“Brrr!!! It’s bloody cold here! Why is it always so damn cold here?”

     The young man, fair-haired and blue-eyed, aged about twenty or so, stood on the high wall of his family home, Elsingham, the light breeze tugging at his wayward locks. He hugged himself, stamping his feet in an effort to get the circulation going. He wasn’t dressed for the climate; a thin cotton shirt, pulled by the wind from the waistband of his snugly-fitting trousers, which in turn were tucked into soft leather knee-length boots.

     “You call this cold?” laughed his companion, similarly clad, although his raven-black hair was tucked in beneath a woollen hat. “It’s a lovely spring day, Hamlyn!” he continued, giving his friend a playful punch on his arm. “Look, the sun is shining, not a cloud in the sky. And only a light breeze! Perfect day, I’d say.” He laughed again, giving his friend a quick affectionate hug.

     He and Hamlyn were boyhood friends, almost inseparable since they had first met aged five or so. Although the fair-haired man was his social superior, both young men ignored the fact. They were close friends, had often ended up in some sort of daredevil scrape or other, getting each other out of tough spots, covering for each other. Hamlyn looked at his friend, a sad smile playing on his full, ruby lips. He couldn’t remember a time when Horatio, for that was the dark-haired man’s name, was there for him, always looking on the bright side, always upbeat, encouraging. Horatio was named after the great admiral Nelson, by a father whose lifelong passion had been the eighteenth-century sailor’s life and battles. It was not unusual that young Horatio had been teased in his youth for his name and Hamlyn, himself blessed – or cursed – with an odd name often stood up for his friend, deepening the bonds between them. Actually, because his father had also been called Hamlyn (all the eldest sons had borne that name in the family for generations) he had been given the nickname of ‘Prince’ at some point and it had stuck. Most people called him that rather than by his rather odd first name.

     Hamlyn, despite his social position, wealth and standing in the community, which was one of the reasons for his royal-sounding nickname, was a serious young man, almost broody, they said. Recently he had become even more withdrawn and Horatio had found himself worrying more and more about his friend.

     In part, it was understandable. Hamlyn’s father had died fairly recently and the young man was deeply affected by the sudden death of the man he looked up to, admired so much. It didn’t help matters that his mother had found another man within what most people said was an almost indecently short span of time. And not only another man, but Hamlyn’s uncle, his father’s younger brother. The two brothers had been as different as chalk and cheese. The whole family remarked on their dissimilarities when the ‘clan’ got together at birthdays, christenings or funerals. The fact that he and Hamlyn’s mother had got together so fast did not escape scrutiny by the family and many of Hamlyn’s maiden aunts had expressed strong disapproval over their Meissen cups of Lapsang.

     Hamlyn and his uncle did not see eye to eye, to say the least. Hamlyn thought he was all his father was not. Where his father had been generous, Claude had been mean. Where Hamlyn senior had been successful, Claude had failed and Claude had most certainly not been as good-looking as his elder brother. It was as if Nature had overdone it a bit with him; the eyes were a bit too widely set, the lips too full, the hair prematurely balding, the figure gone to seed too early in life. Claude was a known drunk and womaniser and Prince couldn’t for the life of him see how or why his mother had become so attracted to him. Until then he had loved his mother, or rather, he respected her. Love would be too strong a word. At times he found her shallow, a little frivolous, not really equal to her late husband’s intellect and noble character. Yet he loved her well enough. If his father had seen something in her, then she had to have some qualities he himself could not discern, so in effect, they tolerated each other, but not much more than that.

     However, now, a barrier had grown between them. Prince could never forgive his mother for what she had done, and so soon after his father’s death, too. He felt it as if it were a personal betrayal and could not understand his mother’s behaviour.

     The two young men stood in silence for a few moments, looking out from the high wall over the estuary. “It’s the wind whistling in over the water makes it so cold,” grumbled Hamlyn, “my bollocks have frozen off, it’s so damn freezing. Let’s go back inside. Why did you drag me out here anyway, Horatio?”

     His companion looked keenly over at his friend. There was a reason why he had asked Hamlyn out here, but now it came to it, he could hardly bring himself to say it.

     “Look, er… Prince…” he stammered, unsure how to proceed.

     “Come on, Hobs, out with it!” Hamlyn urged.

     “Are you and Poppy still an item?” Horatio said, the first thing that came to mind, the question out of his mouth before he could stop it. He dropped his gaze, he couldn’t look his boyhood friend in the eye and, blushing furiously, inwardly kicked himself for the moment of weakness. He had long ago decided he wouldn’t go there, wouldn’t pry into his friend’s relationship with Poppy.

     They had both known Poppy for about the same length of time. Although not of the same class as Hamlyn, she was still richer than Horatio and her father and Hamlyn’s had been partners in various business ventures. It had been assumed from his early teens that Hamlyn would eventually marry Poppy.

     “Poppy? Me? An item? Why do you ask?” Hamlyn’s brow furrowed as he peered at his friend.

     Horatio was annoyed with himself. That hadn’t been what he had intended to say, but it had been preying on his mind for a few weeks now, how he viewed his best friend’s relationship with Poppy. He found he was for some reason discontent recently, that it felt as if he would eventually ‘lose’ his friend to Poppy, which was silly really. Why did the fact that Prince and Poppy might be an ‘item’ depress him? He wasn’t sure. Nonetheless, that really hadn’t been the reason he had asked his friend to come outside for a chat. What he had to say had been something else entirely. Something much more serious – and unsettling. He just couldn’t really find the courage, or the right way to broach the subject. He knew it might have an adverse effect on his broody friend. Which is why he had blurted out that silly question about Poppy. Damn!

     He looked back into Hamlyn’s puzzled gaze and shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno,” he replied to his friend’s question. “Just wondered, that’s all. Nothing important.” He felt an idiot. What a dumb thing to do! And now he wouldn’t have the courage to say what was really on his mind. Another opportunity lost.

     “For what it’s worth, and if you really must know, Hobs, my old mate, Poppy and I are just good friends. I mean, we did have a fling once, a couple of months ago, as you of all people should know, and I think she’s still burning a candle for me, but we sort of cooled off. Don’t really know why. Too much effort, I suppose! I know her bloody father thinks we’re going to get married. It means he gets to be related, for what that’s worth. I dunno, I suppose everyone thinks I’m going to make an honest woman out of her!” His expression clouded over for a moment then, as if shaking off an unpleasant memory, he grinned again as he continued, “Women are way too complicated! You know where you are with a bloke, with your best mate, eh Horatio?” He gave his friend a warm hug.

     “Suppose so,” replied Horatio. In a funny way he was relieved to hear that Poppy and Prince were not lovers, but why was he so relieved? It wasn’t as if he fancied her or anything…

     “Why?” asked Hamlyn, as if reading his best friend’s thoughts, “do you fancy her Horatio? Are you nurturing hopes in that direction? Or…” he gave Horatio a keen gaze and gripped the young man’s arm tightly, “or are you and she already at it, eh?”

     “No! Certainly not!” Horatio flung his friend’s hand from his arm, eyes blazing. “Nothing like that at all, Prince. How could you possibly think…?”

     “Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist! Just a joke, mate. You are touchy these days!” Hamlyn paused before he said, “Are you sure that’s not what this is about, Horatio, my old friend? What is it then? Come on, we’re best mates! What’s up? You can tell me.”

     Can I?  thought Horatio. What will you think of me if I do tell you what I need to? Will we still  be ‘best mates’ then?

     “Well, is that all? Is that why you brought me out here getting my goolies shrivelled to the size of frozen peas? If so, it’s worked, I’m perished out here. C’mon, let’s go inside and have a drink.”

     Horatio suddenly made up his mind.

     “Listen, Prince. I have to tell you.”

     He began speaking fast and quietly, almost as if his conscious mind did not want to register what he was in fact telling his friend. As he listened, Hamlyn’s gaze grew hard as steel and he gripped his friend’s arm tightly as he listened to what Horatio had to tell him.