Elsingham's Son

A Family Drama in Sixteen Scenes

by Airn Hethaway

email: s_psoli@yahoo.co.uk

Scene XIII

The tarn lay still and dark under the pre-dawn sky. Horatio’s motorcycle had made light work of the rough terrain and as he breasted the hilltop above the tarn, he saw the faint rays of the morning sun struggling over the horizon. Switching off the engine, he coasted down to the shepherd’s hut.

     After the roar of the engine, the silence was deafening. It was cold here and Horatio, although warmly dressed in his leathers gave an involuntary shiver. Had he looked behind him before descending into the hollow, he might have discerned the black Range Rover, headlights extinguished, which had been following him, about a mile or so back. But he didn’t. His thoughts were entirely focused on his childhood friend, who was in need of him and was there, waiting for him in the bothy.

     Horatio dismounted and taking off his crash helmet, looked about him. It was deathly quiet and here, down in the hollow, still very dark. Following the rough stone walls with his gloved hands, he found his way to the entry to the little stone hut.

     “Hamlyn?” His whisper sounded like a mighty roar in this stillness. No reply.

     “Hamlyn! Are you in there?” He thought he heard a faint rustling sound, but in this darkness he could see absolutely nothing.

     A third time he called to his friend. “Ham…” He was cut off by a hand covering his mouth and another round his torso, pinioning his arms to his sides. He felt the breath of whoever it was on his cheek; warm, fetid.

     “Are you alone?” The voice rasped in his ear.

     Unable to speak, Horatio nodded.

     “You’d better be.” With a sudden move, Horatio was wheeled around and half thrown into the hut, landing with a heavy thud on the earth floor, knocking the wind out of him. He felt rather than saw the figure kneeling over him, hands patting him, looking for a weapon. Evidently satisfied, the figure retreated, allowing Horatio to struggle, still winded, into a sitting position, back against the wall. He heard the sound of a match being struck and then, in the faint glow of a candle-stump, he found himself looking into the face of a wild-eyed stranger. Was this unkempt tramp really Hamlyn? If it weren’t for the piercing blue eyes, eyes that Horatio had known since boyhood, he would not be certain that this was, indeed, Prince.

     “Were you followed?”

     “Followed? Here? No! … I mean … I don’t think so … I don’t know…” his voice trailed off. He hadn’t checked. But no-one would have seen him slip out of the cottage, would they? He suddenly felt anxious and cursed himself for being so careless.

     He felt those pale intense eyes on him, almost looking through him. He suddenly felt inadequate, as if he had let his friend down.

     “Well, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” replied Hamlyn, grimly, pulling a long steel blade from his trenchcoat pocket. Horatio stared at the blade, then at his friend. “Hamlyn…it was you, you did kill Paul! But why?”

     “I didn’t know it was him,” Hamlyn replied. “I thought it was that arsehole Claude. Paul just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It all happened so quickly…” He broke off, tears choking his voice.

     At that instant he looked so small, so vulnerable and for the first time in many years, since they were small boys together, Horatio saw the real Hamlyn come to the surface, the gentle, introvert young man whom he had loved for so long. His heart went out to him.

     He went over to his friend and without thinking, took the weeping blond man in his arms, holding him close. He didn’t notice the stench of Hamlyn’s unwashed state, his rough beard, the greasy hair. All he felt for his friend was love and compassion. That it had come to this… his boyhood friend, the man whom he had loved since he could remember, should be a fugitive, wanted for murder. Horatio, too, wanted to weep, but he knew he had to be strong for his friend. Somehow or other, he had to get Hamlyn out of this mess. He had no idea how, but for now, he just stood holding his dearest friend close to him, murmuring into his ear, stroking his hair, soothing the blond young man, whose world had deteriorated to nothing about him.

     They stood like that for several minutes, until Hamlyn’s sobs had subsided. He held on to Horatio tightly as if his friend was the only thing keeping him upright. Horatio whispered soothing noises to him.

     “We’ll find a way out of this, Prince,” he said. “It was an accident, or else you were merely defending yourself. We’ll find a way…” but even he knew that the deck was stacked against Hamlyn. An innocent man had been murdered, Hamlyn Senior’s oldest friend and advisor, and to all intents and purposes, Hamlyn’s uncle, they were so close. Gerda had witnessed the killing. She had already told the police what she had seen. Horatio couldn’t see how on earth Hamlyn was going to get away with it. There was no doubt that he had to disappear and soon. Horatio wished he had brought the Landrover, then he could have driven his friend away and hopefully found a way out of the country.

     As they stood there, Hamlyn in Horatio’s tight embrace, they were startled by a tiny sound, a sound which didn’t belong there, at the tarn, in the middle of nowhere in the small hours of the morning. It was the quiet, yet in this place and at this time, deafening squeak of a brake. There it was again! There was a car edging down the hillside, engine off, the only indication of its presence that tiny, occasional tell-tale squeak.

     “Quick!” whispered Horatio, as he kicked the small candle to the floor extinguishing its feeble light. “Outside and round the back! Quickly!” Hamlyn was quick to respond and the two young men, bent double, exited the bothy and hugging the wall, ran noislessly behind the small stone hut. It was still dark in the hollow, but growing brighter by the minute as the sky above began to lighten. Peering round the wall, they saw the Range-Rover as it coasted slowly and carefully down the slope, the driver applying the brakes in short, frequent bursts. Bad luck for him that the brakes made that tiny noise, bad luck for him that the slope was so steep that he was obliged to use them, bad luck for him that those whom he was seeking should be in this quiet god-forsaken spot. He knew they were there, he saw two ghostly shadows leave the hut and run round the back, but, having now got here, Larry didn’t know what to do next.

     Horatio couldn’t see how many people were in the car. All he knew was that they had been discovered and that whoever ‘they’ were, they weren’t here by accident. Horatio cursed himself for not being more careful. It had to be Claude and his henchmen, he thought. It looked very bad, very bad indeed. He had often heard Claude ranting about what he’d do to Hamlyn when he found him and he was in doubt whatsoever that Claude had meant every word he said. He knew Claude and those thugs would be armed, all he and Prince had was that blade of Hamlyn’s. They didn’t stand a chance. What was worse was that Horatio’s bike stood between them and the car. They wouldn’t even be able to get to that and away without being sitting ducks for the armed men. They’d be dead before they’d gone two yards.

     He looked towards his friend. “Doesn’t look good, Prince,” he muttered. He was surprised to see Hamlyn was laughing. “What the fuck! I’m not particularly interested in carrying on anyway…” he looked at his friend, serious again. “I just wish you hadn’t got mixed up in this, Hobs.” He took his friend’s arm. “I don’t care about what happens to me,” he went on, gazing intently into Horatio’s eyes, “but that you’ll get harmed as well, I couldn’t bear that. Let me go first, try and talk to whoever it is. Maybe they’ll be satisfied with just me and let you go…” Horatio could see that Hamlyn didn’t believe what he was saying. He pulled his friend close to him, holding him in an almost desperate bearhug. “Don’t worry about me, Prince. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you! Remember, we’re best friends and best friends stick together. I won’t let them hurt you!”

     Suddenly, without any warning, Hamlyn pulled his friend’s face to his and kissed him long and hard on the lips, drawing his friend as close as he could to his own body. They stood for what seemed an age, deeply kissing one another, each one expecting a hail of bullets to end it all at any second. They were beyond fear. They were beyond this world. They were, as they should always have been, together.

     There were no shouts, no hail of bullets, no sudden end. Just a soft, sardonic voice:

     “How touching! The two boyfriends! Horatio has finally found the love of his life! What a shame your lives are going to be so short.”

     Larry levelled the .22 at the two young men and slipped off the safety.