I like how much potential there is for other stories in this universe. Most of them I hope to turn into full-length pieces in some way, but on occasion I want to tell a story that’s not centered around one of our heroes Mary and Mrs. Hawking. So I need to find some other ways to depict those ideas, and a ten-minute play is a nice idea.
So in this piece, I am giving you all the first-ever first person look at the most speculated-upon character in the Mrs. Hawking universe, the late Colonel Reginald Prescott Hawking. I am not sure, in the grand scheme of the story, if it’s better to always leave you guessing about him or if your desire to know more about him should be fulfilled, but for scribbling purposes it’s all right.
One big question regarding the Hawkings’ relationship is how they interacted given the huge amount of silence, secrecy, and distance between them, and the one-sided nature of the affection. It’s a little hard for me to conceive of, as it’s tough to imagine how little talking and communication there would have to be to allow that, but this scene is my attempt to show a bit of how it might have been.
Also, I’ve been watching Downton Abbey so this sort of master-servant relationship is in my head right now. It was from this that I created the character of Henry Chapman, the Colonel’s batman and valet. I think, after the Colonel’s death, Mrs. Hawking got rid of Chapman so fast it made his head spin. Which did nothing to improve his opinion of her. I think he works for Nathaniel or maybe Ambrose or Justin now, but he’s still bitter.
This piece was originally written on August 2nd, 2013, and was expanded over the course of November 2013. Some very talented, discerning theater friends kindly workshopped a reading of it for me, with Ben Federlin as the Colonel and Eboracum Richter-Dahl as Chapman. As a production note, this piece is intended to stand alone and can be performed completely out of context. Though I do warn you, this contains spoilers for “Mrs. Hawking.”
by Phoebe Roberts
~~~
London, England, 1862
COLONEL REGINALD HAWKING, of the Indian Rebellion, late thirties
HENRY CHAPMAN, his batman and valet, early thirties
(CHAPMAN sits in the dressing room, brushing a top hat. He stands when his master THE COLONEL enters.)
THE COLONEL:
Evening, Chapman.
CHAPMAN:
Good evening, sir.
THE COLONEL:
I think I’ll turn in now.
CHAPMAN:
Very good, sir.
(He takes THE COLONEL’s tailcoat and helps him undress.)
CHAPMAN:
If I might ask… is she any better today, sir?
THE COLONEL:
Much the same, really.
CHAPMAN:
I’m sorry to hear it.
THE COLONEL:
I expect she shall be for some time now.
CHAPMAN:
I see. A shame.
(CHAPMAN makes a face as he assists THE COLONEL.)
THE COLONEL:
I know that look.
CHAPMAN:
What look, sir?
THE COLONEL:
Come off it, now. I know you don’t approve.
CHAPMAN:
Sir! I would never presume—
THE COLONEL:
Of course, of course.
CHAPMAN:
Far be it from me to judge the bearing of the lady of the house—
THE COLONEL:
Spare me, old boy. Just that I’ll thank you to keep it to yourself.
CHAPMAN:
Of course, sir.
THE COLONEL:
Well. I’ve had enough of all this. Tell me something new, Chapman.
CHAPMAN:
Something new, sir? Well. You’ve had another letter from your brother.
THE COLONEL:
Have I? I suppose he won’t be put off, then.
CHAPMAN:
May I ask what he wants?
THE COLONEL:
A visit, it seems. A long one.
CHAPMAN:
Hmm. It would be quite understandable if you weren’t keen on having company.
THE COLONEL:
I think he means to take my mind off things.
CHAPMAN:
Well. That’s kind of him.
THE COLONEL:
Ambrose always looks out for his little brother.
CHAPMAN:
Perhaps you might find him a comfort.
THE COLONEL:
Perhaps. She won’t, though. He’s never cared for her either.
CHAPMAN:
I’m sorry, sir.
THE COLONEL:
He can think whatever he likes. I only hope he doesn’t teach it to the boys.
CHAPMAN:
Will they be joining him?
THE COLONEL:
I expect so.
CHAPMAN:
You don’t seem pleased.
THE COLONEL:
Don’t I?
CHAPMAN:
I thought you were quite fond of them.
THE COLONEL:
I am. They’re fine boys. Ambrose is very lucky. But— I fear they may wear on Mrs. Hawking’s nerves.
CHAPMAN:
I see.
THE COLONEL:
With her mood this black, that’s the last thing she needs right now.
(Pause.)
CHAPMAN:
It must be difficult.
THE COLONEL:
What must be difficult?
CHAPMAN:
When the family doesn’t get on.
THE COLONEL:
That’s putting it mildly.
CHAPMAN:
Well… it isn’t as if we choose our brothers’ wives.
THE COLONEL:
No more than we choose our brothers. Like it or not, Ambrose is stuck with the lot of us.
CHAPMAN:
I suppose not every man would choose a woman so… ah…
THE COLONEL:
Yes, Chapman?
CHAPMAN:
Fierce, perhaps?
THE COLONEL:
I’m a soldier, old boy, I’m drawn to it.
CHAPMAN:
Of course, sir. But fierce is a two-edged sword.
THE COLONEL:
Precisely. You lot only see the cuts. You miss how bright the blade is. She really is a remarkable woman, you know.
CHAPMAN:
I’m sure, sir.
THE COLONEL:
No, Chapman, don’t nod me off like that. I know what she seems like to you, but you’ve not seen the other side of it. It means more than just that she’s difficult for going so much her own way.
CHAPMAN:
How so?
THE COLONEL:
She’s utterly fearless. Their judgment can’t touch her, and no man, woman, king, brute, or god can bow her. Have you ever known a woman like that? I hadn’t, not before her.
(He pauses, remembering.)
THE COLONEL:
The first time I ever saw her– I was only a callow youth, a green officer stationed abroad in the colonies. I was making a report to the lieutenant governor in New Guinea, and when I was on my way to his bungalow, I saw, of all things, a girl climbing up a tree. The lieutenant’s daughter, though I didn’t know it yet. I watched her a moment, then all of a sudden she dropped down. I thought she was falling, so I rushed over to catch her. But she landed like a cat, whirled out of my arms, and her fist shot out faster than I could blink. Like a striking cobra, she blacked my eye.
CHAPMAN:
She never!
THE COLONEL:
Quicker than I could blink. Damn near knocked me bum over teakettle.
CHAPMAN:
My word! Surely the lieutenant had something to say about that.
THE COLONEL:
I never told him.
CHAPMAN:
But your black eye!
THE COLONEL:
Said I’d had it boxing with the lads. He never knew the difference. I tell you, Chapman, I thought I’d frightened her that day, but no. She was just that fierce.
CHAPMAN:
I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.
THE COLONEL:
No. You don’t. No more than Ambrose does, nor anyone else.
CHAPMAN:
Except you, it seems.
THE COLONEL:
Someday, perhaps.
CHAPMAN:
Sir?
THE COLONEL:
It would take a lifetime to understand her. I knew I had to marry her to give myself the time.
CHAPMAN:
I supposed you’ll have to forgive the rest of us if we haven’t done it yet either.
THE COLONEL:
Suppose I shall. If you lot can forgive her in turn.
CHAPMAN:
A fair point, sir.
(Pause.)
CHAPMAN:
Is that how you manage? You forgive her?
THE COLONEL:
Forgive her for what?
CHAPMAN:
For this.
(Pause.)
THE COLONEL:
You’ll not judge her for it, Chapman.
CHAPMAN:
It’s not that, sir. Not precisely.
THE COLONEL:
After bearing through that, she can do whatever she damn well likes.
CHAPMAN:
It’s only… what about you, sir?
THE COLONEL:
What about me?
CHAPMAN:
He was to be your son, too.
(THE COLONEL tenses and turns away. CHAPMAN is chagrined.)
CHAPMAN:
Forgive me, sir. I shouldn’t speak of it.
(Pause.)
THE COLONEL:
I don’t know why it should hit me so hard. These things happen all the time. To some people, over and over again. Nothing to be done.
CHAPMAN:
It’s normal to mourn a loss.
THE COLONEL:
Strange, though, to call it that.
CHAPMAN:
You held in him your arms, sir.
THE COLONEL:
Wonder if it wasn’t a mistake.
CHAPMAN:
A mistake?
THE COLONEL:
He never cried. Never opened his eyes. But he was whole, you know. Still warm. He might have been sleeping but for that he never drew a breath. Made it harder to remember that… we never really had him to lose, did we?
CHAPMAN:
Still. It feels a loss, to you.
THE COLONEL:
There’s the rub, Chapman. If it’s like a loss to me… what must it be to her? She would have been his mother, for God’s sake. If I feel like… like this… what must it be like for her?
(Pause.)
THE COLONEL:
Tell me, Chapman, how can I ask anything of her now?
(He pulls on his robe.)
THE COLONEL:
That’ll be all now, old boy.
(CHAPMAN bows and exits, leaving THE COLONEL there alone.)
