Passing Time
A Modern Dramatic
Historical Fantasy
By David J. Glover
27 February 2008
SCENE ONE
Essex, England, January 1901.
The living room in the main house of the Ashton Estate.
The internal decadence of the room is suffocated by the reek of melancholy and stale pipe tobacco. The oppression only magnified by the blood red walls and thick crimson drapery drawn tightly against the world and the possibilities which it represents. The Ashton family continues in deepest mourning for the recently deceased patriarch, Lord James Ashton III. Outside, the world mourns the passing of the longest reigning monarch Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and First Empress of India
As the curtain rises to the sounds of Mozart’s Piano Concerto Number 21 in C Major, a small shaft of early afternoon, winter blue, light forces its way though the extensive drapery, falls idly upon the large Persian floor rug and toys with a scintilla of dust in the air. In the centre of the room a large crystal chandelier hangs unlit, with ominous disdain. In front of the large, white marble fireplace, facing up stage, rests a plush velvet, high-sided, armchair in which Charles Hinckley sits.
Hinckley is a young bespectacled man in his late twenties with an air of arrogance and self-righteousness. He rests his muddy boots precariously on the empty coal scuttle at the side of the unlit fire and begins to masturbate.
Lady Cecile, the youngest daughter of the late Lord Ashton, enters through the large double doors which lead in from the hallway. She is a heavier set girl in her early twenties. Unmarried and likely to remain so, she maintains herself with an air of confidence and knowledge clearly beyond her years.
Lady Cecile
She is momentarily caught unawares, but not completely shocked.
Oh!
Charles
(Arrogantly)
Yes!
He continues to play with himself, more for the perceived shock value of his actions than for the pleasure.
Lady Cecile
She is clearly unfazed by Charles. A hint of repulsion betrays her aloofness, not specifically because of his current actions but in general.
Why are you doing this?
Charles
(with faux sincerity)
It’s the best thing…
Turning away from him she walks towards the curtained windows upstage intending to open the voluminous drapes and let the family’s sorrow mingle with that of the world.
Lady Cecile
Over her shoulder
You can’t mean it.
As she approaches the drapes Charles leaps from the armchair and with surprising speed grabs her from behind reaching his arms around her. She is frozen but does not struggle.
Charles
No.
He begins to rub his disgusting hands over her ample bosom squeezing them painfully; all the while he is licking her neck.
I’m serious.
Cecile reaches up and draws open the heavy drapes unexpectedly. Light floods into the room. Letting go of her, Charles stumbles backwards. Calmly but with tenacity Cecile turns on Charles.
Lady Cecile
(with dismissive distain)
Please.
Charles
(Surprised at the turn of events, his confidence waning, he hesitates to react)
What…
Cecile, with all the artifice of a lady of her stature, points to his already flaccid member with fake sincerity.
Lady Cecile
(mockingly)
What does this mean?
He struggles to quickly redress the situation.
Charles
(embarassed)
Nothing.
Lady Cecile
So different.
Charles
(defensively)
Not really.
Lady Cecile
(With a questioning mockery)
Oh?
She turns to briefly look out of the window, checking to see that no one is walking in the gardens then, turning back to Charles, she proceeds to play with her own breasts.
Pushing them together with one hand she expertly licks her finger and runs it up and down her expansive cleavage. Charles’ hand winds its way into his pants.
She smoothly frees her left breast from its corseted imprisonment and proceeds to lick and suck at her own nipple.
Charles
You’re good.
He makes a motion as if to grab for her but she sidesteps him and grabs a dangerous looking poker from the fireside. She absently waves it in his general direction.
Lady Cecile
Forget it.
Charles
(Confused)
What?
Lady Cecile
Motioning, with the poker, towards the arm chair.
Go on.
Charles
I will.
Stubbornly he returns to the armchair, flops down in it and puts his muddy boots back onto the coal scuttle. He returns to masturbating as she returns the poker to its fireside nest before unceremoniously putting her breast back into her bustier. As Cecil walks past the armchair Charles makes a half hearted lunge to grab her left arm. She is too quick for him and pulls away. She looks down at him with a mixture of pity and disgust, spits violently on him and leaves, quietly closing the double doors behind her.
----end----