Speak Its Name: A Trilogy (6 page)

Hugo began to laugh, a sound that Edward had been sure he would never hear again. “I said I was hopeless, and I am. I’ve been standing here racked with torment these last few minutes, telling myself to be brave and good and ‘repress the desires of the flesh’ like my dear old nanny used to tell me. Then you make a pompous speech and I lose all my resolve. Don’t you dare go and find yourself anyone, do you hear? We’ll grow old together like two monks from some order that encourages laughter and happiness rather than silence and solemnity. Perhaps I’ll embrace chastity and be happy. All it needs is for you to smile and it’ll seem possible.” He tapped Edward’s shoulder, then linked his arm and they set off back to Cranmer, Hugo suddenly talkative, full of ridicule at the ridiculous ducks on the Isis and the even more ridiculous people in rowboats.

Edward was happy to see his friend suddenly in his proper spirits again, but deeply concerned about the words spoken about chastity and references to monasteries. If Hugo really did intend to remain chaste all his life, he wasn’t sure he’d survive.

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Hugo had lugged his picnic blanket and basket to the first cricket match of the season at The Parks and there wasn’t a speck of caviar in it. He’d refused to touch the stuff since Edward had been so scathing about it. There was champagne, though, and a fine veal and ham pie, salad, cakes, and tiny tomatoes that were as sweet as a kiss. Edward had contributed a box of candied fruits, sharp and succulent, making the fingers of the diners even stickier than the cakes had made them

“He needs to watch that spinner,” Hugo licked his fingers and pointed airily in the direction of the batsman who was about to face. “There’s a fair amount of rough at this end and he’ll be turning them through ninety degrees in no time.”

Edward nodded, but not in a convincing manner.

Hugo studied him closely. “Shall I say that all again in English?”

Edward grinned sheepishly. “I can’t help it, we were never a great cricketing family. Golf, that’s what the Easterbys play, summer or winter. I could wax lyrical about mashie niblicks and spoons, but the art of the off spinner is beyond me. You might as well be spouting Russian for all that it means to me.”

“Then we’ll need to attend lots of matches and you’ll have to listen very carefully. I shall ask questions afterwards to make sure you were paying attention.” A tender smile lit up Hugo’s face. He adored exchanging banter with his friend, just as he loved the man himself. There could be no denying it now. For all he was never more than arm in arm or lying side by side with Edward as they were now, their association had passed beyond friendship. They both knew it, although nothing had been said outright—looks and nuances of speech spoke much more loudly than declarations of undying affection might ever have done. They were inseparable at hall, they went to concerts and watched the oafs in eights flailing down the river. Everyone at Cranmer recognised that Hugo and Edward went together like lamb and mint sauce.

Even the porters had recognised the blossoming alliance, although they firmly believed it was no more than platonic, the sort of thing they’d seen in the trenches where lifelong friendships had been forged and withstood the fire of conflict. Most of them had served in France or Belgium, most of them had known officers who had come close to a fellow combatant who’d ended up meaning more to them than the wife or sweetheart left at home. Comradeship in the face of adversity, perhaps. It was no wonder that some men had come home from the war almost as strangers to their families, feeling lost in a world they’d once known but which now had no colour or depth for them.

There were some old soldiers at the cricket match, swapping stories, delighting in being able to relive the past. Perhaps regretting the way their lives had turned out. Edward watched and listened to them, deep in thought. In the end he began to clear lunch away. “Let’s go back to my rooms, Hugo. There’s something rather special I want to show you.” They strolled back to Cranmer, where they’d barely been in Edward’s room a moment before he thrust a silver object into his friend’s grasp.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Hugo admired the handsome cigarette case as he turned it over in his hands.

“I don’t, that case was my grandfather’s. He’s given up the things as being bad for his lungs and left it with me, in case I took up the filthy habit.” Edward smiled ruefully. “This nearly fell into the hands of those ogres down at the porters’ lodge. I had to tell a lie or two to get it back.”

Hugo had noted the strange tone in his friend’s voice. “I don’t understand.”

“The old gentleman was visiting last term. As he left he presented it to me and then held me in a huge embrace. It was the first time I can ever remember him showing such affection. I was so overcome I didn’t realise we’d dropped this,” he fingered the case lovingly, “until Marsh caught me the next day to return it. I was rather abrupt with him.”

“Why? Surely he was just doing his duty? The initials on the outside would guide him to you.” Hugo traced the outline of the E. “Is your grandfather an Edward, as well?”

“No, he’s an Edwin. The name suits him much more than it would me. Anyway it wasn’t so much the snapping up of lost trifles I minded—I trust them not to try to steal things—it was the thought that they may have been snooping around.” He opened the case to reveal an inscription. “Grandfather was very particular about pointing this out to me.”

Hugo took the case and inspected the handsome copperplate writing.
To thine own self be true.
“It’s from Hamlet, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. Polonius’ advice to his son, I believe. I didn’t want Marsh and his colleagues speculating about its meaning.” Edward fell quiet, still considering the case. “It was given to him—my grandfather, I mean—when he was twenty one, by a maiden aunt. He says that she was particularly perceptive.” He turned the thing over again.

“There’s a story here, isn’t there? Don’t feel obliged to share it with me if you feel it would break your grandfather’s confidence.”

“No, I believe it’s important that you know. We should have no secrets.” Edward looked deadly serious, an expression that always melted his friend’s heart. Just like a schoolboy explaining something to a teacher or making a report to the Headmaster about why a window had been broken, Edward seemed very young and vulnerable. “When he was younger, Edwin Easterby fell in love with a girl. His parents felt the match was totally unsuitable; she being only a servant and him the son of the house. They intervened, sending grandfather away to join the army and her to service with a family in Scotland.”

Hugo shook his head. “I know it goes against the grain, that there are norms of society and unspoken rules that everyone expects to be obeyed, but this seems ridiculous. I can’t understand why two people who love each other shouldn’t be allowed to do so.” If he appreciated the irony in what he said, he didn’t show it.

“My family wouldn’t hold with that point of view. As far as they’re concerned, one has to do one’s duty in terms of finding a suitable partner. So my grandfather married a pleasant young lady of his own standing. There was no great love between them, but an agreeable friendship—and my father was produced. He was an only child, against a family tradition on both sides of large families.” Edward looked shrewdly, surprisingly shrewdly, at Hugo. “I think that speaks volumes, doesn’t it?”

“It appears to. Is your grandmother still alive?” Hugo sat down next to his friend, closer than they’d been since the morning they’d kissed.

“No, she died two years ago. What I never realised, as he’d never told any of us, was that my grandfather immediately set out to locate his old love. He traced her via the family she had been sent to. Their identity had never been divulged to him by his parents, but he found an old servant who’d kept in touch.” Edward didn’t look at his friend. “Hugo, I’ve never believed that I could really open my heart to anyone before now, but I’ve kept this secret too long.”

“And did he find her? Is there a happy ending to this?” Hugo kept his eyes fixed on Edward’s face, even though the man couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from the cigarette case. His friend was unbelievably beautiful and when he was solemn, as now, it added greatly to his allure. Hugo couldn’t, in all conscience, resist touching his hand.

“He did, or rather he found her grave. She, too, had married, been mother to five children and had died in childbed with the sixth.” Edward acknowledged the touch with a movement of his fingers. “Grandfather met her husband, and the man was happy to talk about his
bonny Rosie
as he called her. My grandfather said it was obvious that this chap had loved her very much and that their marriage had been extremely happy. Much more so than his own had turned out to be.”

“And his aunt had known? That the family hadn’t let him to be true to himself?” Hugo was beginning to understand why Edward was sharing this tale with him. He caressed his friend’s hand again.

Edward nodded. “I was very surprised that he chose to tell me this story, of all the family, although perhaps he shared that lady’s insight.” He began to study his shoes, a signal that meant he was talking about things which mattered very deeply to him. But he kept a grip on Hugo’s hand. “I don’t want to have the same misgivings as he has. He told me very plainly he regretted that he’d not simply defied his family, followed the girl and married her himself. Perhaps I wouldn’t be here, then, it’s an interesting philosophical point, but I sympathise with him entirely. To live your whole life wishing that events had gone otherwise must be mortal hard.”

“It’s a feeling many folk must share after these last few years.”

“But that’s different, entirely. Serving one’s country is a question of duty, and it would override personal considerations. That would be a question of protecting the innocent, seeing that the aggressor doesn’t go unopposed. But no one was at risk in my grandfather’s case—all that was at stake was our family’s sense of their honour, their ridiculous concept of the importance of their name.” Edward was becoming heated, this whole affair having touched on a raw nerve.

“Not so different to the war, then.” Hugo understood for the first time why his friend hadn’t wanted the porters to touch the cigarette case. It was as if they would be touching the man’s heart. “Families do protect their honour. In England there is a ridiculous amount of importance put on a man’s surname, his family history. The Lord alone knows that I’ve had to live with it all my life.” Hugo’s voice began to falter. “I’m not the eldest son, so there’s not the pressure that there is on Gordon to marry and produce an heir. But they still try to put me in the vicinity of eligible girls and drop subtle, and in my mother’s case unsubtle, hints about me settling down once I’m finished here and starting to make my way in the world.”

“Do they have any idea?” Edward raised his head, looking at Hugo face to face once more. He clasped his hands tightly, as if he was trying to stop them reaching up and touching Hugo’s face.

“No, there’s no one in my family of your grandfather’s discernment or common sense. Or if there is, they’ve not informed me. It’s part of what makes the whole thing so very hopeless.” Tears began to well in Hugo’s eyes. They were exposing the deepest recesses of their souls, and it felt wonderfully liberating. “It’s hard enough to live with the disapproval of the church and the world in general, but to be letting one’s family down as well is just about unbearable.”

Edward gently offered his handkerchief but didn’t offer either advice or platitude. He squeezed his friend’s hand once more.

Hugo accepted both the linen and the kind-heartedness it represented. He knew that at times like this, listening and companionship were what counted, however much he wished that Edward would take him in his arms and smother him with affection. He shook his head and tried to compose himself. “Sorry.” It was the only word he could manage and he couldn’t trust himself to say more.

“You need never apologise to me. I won’t have you debasing yourself.”

Hugo began to laugh, tears turning into giggles, especially when Edward looked so solemn and puzzled at what had caused the transition. “You are absolutely priceless. There are times you resemble nothing more closely than a hero from a romantic novel.”

“Am I that funny?” A few months before, Edward might have been offended at such a remark, but now they were used to teasing each other. Although they’d never been so bold as to hold hands while doing the teasing.

“No, you’re absolutely wonderful. The lady who would write about you in that novel—it would be a lady, no doubt of great virtue and the highest morals—would fall in love with her creation and portray you as the absolute pinnacle of what women desire.” Hugo shook his head ruefully. “I suspect you’re the pinnacle of what I desire as well, and I should just damn well kiss you here and now. If I only had the moral bravery to say that the opinion of the world and my family didn’t matter a jot.”

Edward studied him carefully, still stroking his friend’s hand. “I’ve already made that decision, back when we walked down to the bridge and you told me about that boy. I won’t marry just to please my parents, nor will I turn my back on my true nature just to satisfy the expectations of my peers. I’m not a popular man; I can cope with being rejected.”

“Even by your nearest and dearest?”

“I only hold two people dear. One is my grandfather, and I believe he’s given me as clear a sign as he could that he would want me to live my life as honestly as possible. The other person is you. No one else counts.”

“And you would give it all up for me? Your good name in the eyes of your parents?” Hugo was finding a glimmer of hope. Somewhere in all this mess of emotions and expectations, there was a possibility that things could be all right.

“I’d rather that than lose touch with you. I’ve tried to imagine myself in my grandfather’s place, taking a wife he didn’t love just to satisfy someone else. Losing the one thing he cherished because others thought it wrong. It makes me furious on his behalf. I won’t have some grandchild of mine, the product of the unwanted offspring of a loveless marriage, thinking the same of me. I’d rather go to that monastery of yours.” Edward clung to his friend’s hands still, and Hugo wondered whether he was trying to make sure he’d never let go of them. In case losing touch with the hands meant losing the man.