The Era of Good Feelings - 1. Horatio the Younger

Horatio Gerry Titus Brant, Jr., or, as many of his comrades like to don him, Horatio the Younger, was a brisk walker. Many have said that he acquired that from his father, Horatio the Elder, but Horatio would beg to differ. No, he was a brisk walker because there was not enough time in the day to achieve all of his sizable goals, and that he would gladly tell you. ‘Not enough time, not enough,’ he would usually mutter under his breath as he strode back to his offices, his shoes tapping on the hardened floors. His pages, usually boys 12 or 13, would jog behind him, prattling on about meeting and papers that needed signed; Horatio would half-listen, nodding when the young lad needed conformation, and patting the boy on the shoulder as job well done. ‘Tattle off now, Master George’ or ‘Prance away, Master Edward,’ would generally be heard as Horatio would strut away in deep thought, his hand raised to his chin in an introspective fashion, his double-breasted tail coat flailing impressively behind him.

Horatio carried an impressive figure. Long legs adorned a firm torso and broad shoulders, which was topped with a piercing gaze and fair hair. He was brisk in everything he did; his handshake always lasted a millisecond shorter that one expected; his gaze flickered and fluttered, yet pierced and flashed. His mouth was held at a thin line when he wasn’t talking, and on the occasions he did speak, he was quiet and to the point. Any stubble he would acquire was quickly shorn away, and his hair was cut to the style of the day. Nearly unflappable, one had to do something utterly inane in order to him to deem his attention worth enough to be irritated.

Unfortunately, Blair Umlow had done just that, and he was squirming under Horatio’s gaze.

They were currently in Horatio’s offices, in a building near the Palace of Westminster. Horatio, just like his father and grandfather, was a Member of Parliament. The offices that he inhabited was handed down by the two men, and was furnished with impressive grandeur. Glittering sunlight adorned his back office, which covered with luxurious red Persian carpets and an ornate mahogany desk with the family crest carved to the front. Books galore filled the messy bookshelves, and papers hibernated on his desk. Horatio normally didn’t work at his desk, as he found it too constraining. Normally he could be found pacing, muttering to himself, sometimes striding over to the family heirloom to scribble something down in a notebook. He figured the last person to sit in the chair was his father, nearly five years ago.

But that fact was no more, because the infamous Horatio the Younger was sat behind the dark structure, gazing out at a jittery, hand-wringing Blair. Horatio’s mouth was set in a line, his jaw working ferociously in what could only be described as incredulous fury. He silently rubbed his pressed hands on the bridge of his nose, and then silently folded them on top of the desk. The papers under his clasped hands crinkled disparagingly. Blair’s ragged breath was the only thing in the room that could be heard for nearly four minutes before Horatio decided to speak.

“So, you were unfaithful to me.” It wasn’t a question.

Ragged breath. A swallow. Then, “I...can explain…”

Horatio stared.

“Francis came onto me. I...couldn’t stop him -”

“- wouldn’t stop him -”

“...and...and things just spiraled out of control.”

Horatio raised an eyebrow. His jaw worked faster, if that were possible. “Control, huh?” His eyes hardened.

Silence. Another swallow.

Horatio looked down and absentmindedly smoothed out the papers below his with his hands. Looking back up, his eyes were hardened further; had Blair been made of straw, he would’ve gone to flame.

“This was last Thursday, correct?” Horatio didn’t wait for an answer. “I waited six days for you to confess - to me - of what you did. I knew the minute it happened. You know why?” The silence was deafening as Horatio paused for effect. “Because you were in my offices!”

Horatio stood suddenly, which cause Blair to flinch in a near comical fashion. Striding around his desk, and past Blair, Horatio started to pace frenziedly. His hand clasped behind his back, Horatio continued.

“Master George came running to me in tears - you were one of his favorites, you know. Those boys look to me and my companions as surrogate fathers. How dare you tear away from those boys what they yearn for most!” He whirled around on Blair. “This is not about me anymore, Mr. Umlow! I didn’t apprentice those boys for playthings - as I’ve heard some of my same ilk does! They deserve the status that they shall most surely earn under my deliberate care and guidance! They needn’t know that another one of my companions is off galavanting with a traitorous leech!” Horatio was yelling now, his voice growing hoarse. Mr. Umlow was getting a treatment that only a few have been able to witness. Horatio continued, witheringly, “Oh, don’t give me that look, Mr. Umlow. Wipe that incredulous sneer of your face, you impossibly apathetic inbred!”

Horatio nearly ran over to his desk to catch his breath. Lowing his tone in a register that struck unexplainable horror in Blair’s stomach, he spat, “Get out, I say! Get out! If you set another foot in my offices - nay! - this building, you shall quite understand why my childhood name was indeed Horatio the Harmful.” Silence. When Blair stood frozen, Horatio cried, “Out! You fucking disgrace!”

Only when the door slammed behind a thoroughly castigated Blair, did Horatio allow himself to crumple, suddenly waifish, against his desk and onto the floor, weeping bitterly.

*        *        *

Horatio’s flat was silent as he entered; George and Edward wouldn’t be done with their work until later in the evening. He would cook them a fair supper and then send them to bed. Though he couldn’t be sure about it, he was nearly positive they were of his ilk, and quite close, so he didn’t mention anything of their relationship. In fact, he thought it was quite sweet. He made sure that their secret was safe, covering for them on more than one occasion when they had disappeared to vacant closet or alleyway. Though he shot them a look when they got back, he stayed silent, maybe throwing out a knowing smirk. They never quite understood what he knew. Though Horatio figured he’d have to break it to them sometime, he felt that he was to protect their sweet innocence for now.

At any rate, the boys wouldn’t be home till later. Horatio spent his time between reading, writing letters, and cooking for the three of them. His small apartment was a shock compared to his offices; he bought this himself with the scant money he earned that was not within the family fold. He figured that, though small, it was his, and he could do with it was he pleased. If that meant having a companion over for some tea and biscuits, then he would.

He stoked the fire, and contently sat on his chair and read. Not long after, he was aware of some giggling, and then door trembled and the two boys tumbled into the flat.

Horatio smiled warmly, rising from his chair and setting the book down on the table next to him. “Hello, boys.” He called, advancing towards them. They took a pause, and, settling a second to assess their boss, George was the first to make a positive diagnosis.

“Mr. Umlow is gone?” He said, suddenly despondent. Edward looked from George to Horatio with a sweeping and accusing glare. Horatio sighed, then nodded.

“It’s true. I’m sorry you had to witness that, George.”

George was silent, instead opting to shuffle over to the rough-hewn table and sit heavily down. Edward was right beside him.

Edward looked at Horatio with surprising contempt. “You don’t seem to keep ‘em very long, sir.” He looked over to George with a compassionate glance. “Blair was George’s fav -”

“I know that, alright?” Horatio snapped with exasperation; he’d dealt with enough today. He continued, agitatedly, “My God, boy, I liked him too! But that cheating fool was having fun with someone else while I was doing my duty! That fucking -”

Horatio let the insult die in his throat as he noticed George was having a hard time keeping his face from dissolving into a whimpering mess. Edward was talking quietly into his ear.

Edward glared up at his surrogate father. With a haughtiness that Horatio didn’t think the young man had, he said, “We’re going to bed, sir. Perhaps you can think of how to retain your infidelitous companions over lukewarm soup.” Edward twirled away towards the bedrooms, George’s wrist in his grasp. George followed sulkily.

Horatio heard the door shut and then sat back down heavily in his chair by the fire.

The soup was indeed lukewarm.