Owned by the Ocean (3 page)

“
You do realize that it is well past curfew?”

“
Yes sir,” Brant replied, not a hint of apology in his voice,
just simple admittance. He had learned quickly that the man was
soft and would likely not do anything unless there was some serious
harm in a boy's actions.

"It is also
against the rules to smoke on school property.”

“
Would you like to join me?”

Headmaster
Mansfield chuckled. “You know, I really would. I won’t tell anyone
if you won’t.”

"Deal.” Brant
handed the Headmaster a cigarette and his box of matches.

They sat in
silence for quite some time, staring into the smouldering fire and
smoking the forbidden cigarettes. Headmaster Mansfield attempted to
make conversation a couple times but Brant would only reply with
one or two words and continue to smoke sullenly.

“
You know, Brant I’ve heard a lot of things about you from the
teachers. Not very much of it good. What is troubling
you?”

“
I just have no interest in what you have to
teach.”

“
And what do you have interest in?”

Brant was a little taken aback. No one had ever shown
interest in what
he
wanted. No one since his mother. “It doesn’t matter; my life
is already planned. I know you are trying to look after the
well-being of your students, but don’t waste your time on me. I’ll
be fine in life no matter what happens. I could smoke, drink, and
gamble my youth away and I’d still have a fortune waiting for me.
You don’t have a bunch of well-behaved boys here, Headmaster. Just
a lot of hypocrites.”

Brant stood up
and walked out, leaving Headmaster Mansfield alone with his
thoughts. The man was soft… too soft. He didn’t realize what was
going on around him and he chose to turn a blind eye to much of the
rule breaking. It was no wonder no one here had any respect for
him.

Lying in bed
Brant lit another cigarette… One of these days he would really have
to kick the habit but right now it was just too good to let go. As
the last of the ashes fell from the cigarette and onto the floor
Brant stepped on the already cooling butt and then undressed. Sleep
came quickly once he chose to close his eyes in the early hours of
the morning. Tomorrow was another day, another day of broken dreams
and disappointments.

* * *

Christmas came
all too quickly, yet all too slow. Brant hated the idea going home
and spending an entire month with his father, but the thought of
leaving this place, if only temporarily, was undeniably
attractive.

Sir Calvin
Foxton’s carriage pulled up at precisely twelve noon, just as he
had told Brant it would. Brant sat on the steps with his bags and
sullen attitude—he had been waiting in the cold for ten minutes. If
there was anything that Calvin couldn't stand for it was tardiness.
Especially when he was, out of the goodness of his heart, making
the trip into London to pick up his son.

Brant had said
goodbye to Leo that morning at breakfast. Their disagreement hadn't
lasted longer than the one night, but Brant still worried about his
friend. He seemed to be drinking more often, more than what Brant
would consider recreational. He went to most of his classes
slightly buzzed but the teachers gave no indication that they had
noticed. How they missed it, Brant couldn’t figure out. Leo reeked
of booze and smoke. Drinking of any kind by the students was
forbidden, but it seemed that the teachers preferred to turn a
blind eye rather than deal with the issue.

Getting up
from the step, Brant tossed his two small bags into the carriage
and then stepped up, sitting on the bench opposite his father.

“
Hello, son.”

“
Father.”

“
How are your studies going?”

“
Fine. You get reports from Headmaster Mansfield, I’m sure, so
you know.”

“
Yes, but I thought perhaps you would like to tell me how
you’re enjoying it.”

“
I’m not.”

“
I worked hard to be able to get you this kind of
education.”

“
Officer training is a good education too.”

“
That is not a good life, Brant. It's beneath you. Try to
remember who you are.”

“
I am a Foxton, son of Sir Calvin Foxton, former Commodore in
the Royal Navy. You should be proud of me wanting to follow in your
footsteps.”

“
It is a hard life and below you, no matter the recognition
that comes with it. I came to bring you home for the holiday,
Brant. I pay for you to have the best education. I will take no
argument from you about what is best for your life. You're just a
boy. That's all.”

"So you'll
just brush me off as if I'm no one? I'm not one of your
sailors.”

“
Enough, Brant. I don't want to hear another word of this
again. I have made my decision and you will accept
that.”

Brant knew
better than to push his father any further. Calvin was not a soft
man and when he reached the end of his patience the punishment
doled out was more appropriate for an insubordinate sailor than a
sixteen year old aristocrat.

The carriage
ride was long; nearly two hours and it was spent in complete
silence. Brant stared out the small window the entire way. He
refused to look at his father, for fear of seeing the disappointed
glare directed at his eldest son.

Calvin Foxton
was gray and old before he should have been. His years as a sailor,
officer, and commodore had aged him before his time, and the death
of his young wife had only succeeded in making him bitter towards
life. He was in his mid-fifties and yet had the appearance of
someone much closer to seventy. His eyes were hard yet tired and
full of sorrow. His strong jaw had lost all appearance of power,
instead it looked hollow and unsuited to his weather worn and
wrinkled face. His expensive clothes hung on a body that once
boasted physical strength and prowess but had now been left soft
and weak.

They arrived
at the large Foxton estate still in complete silence, father and
son refusing to speak to each other. Brant leapt out of the
carriage as if to shove into his father’s face his young and vital
youth while his father slowly climbed out. The cold ride had
stiffened his joints; joints that had been abused and worn down in
their years of hard work and sleeping in damp cold. Brant had his
two bags in hand and burst into the house, up the stairs and leapt
onto the bed that he had missed for six long months.

He wondered
how James had done, his six year old brother, alone in this large
house with their father. There were, of course, maids and a nanny,
but they could do little to stand in Calvin Foxton’s way when his
temper flared up. When thinking about his life at home, Brant came
to the realization that his six months at school may be a blessing
in disguise. He may not enjoy what he was being forced to learn but
at least there was a distance between him and his father. At least
at school he could escape. After all, security was lax and the
Headmaster didn’t seem to care as long as his students made a show
of good behavior.

“
Brant! Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. I expect you to
be on time,” his father shouted from down the hall. Apparently he
didn’t feel like having another confrontation with his son and had
instead opted to keep his distance, something that was extremely
out of character for the Commodore.

Brant chose
not to respond and continued to lie on his bed. A whole month here
in the hell hole of a house. There were too many ghosts walking
these halls, of his mother in particular and of how their family
used to function. He could remember the Christmas before his mother
had died. The three of them; Brant, his mother and father had spent
the day together. They had saddled up their horses and gone for a
long ride in the frosty air. The bluffs were beautiful at this time
of year and Suzanne had always insisted in taking her daily ride to
see them. Often Brant would accompany her but it was a rare
occasion that Calvin would put his work down and join the wife he
adored and his handsome young son.

Brant could
remember laughing and racing his father all the way up the road and
then back to join his mother. They had gone back to the house and
hot tea had been waiting for them. They all sat around the
fireplace in Calvin’s study warming their frozen fingers, toes and
faces while sipping at their hot tea and laughing about memories
they had shared in the last year. Life had been good then, seven
years ago. It had all changed so quickly and now it was nothing
like it used to be. Christmas would be a short business affair with
a few gifts for the two boys and then Calvin would be back to work
while Brant and James would be expected to entertain
themselves.

Brant got up
and walked downstairs and into the dining hall. James and his
father were already seated at the large table that hadn’t been
filled to capacity since before his mother had died.

Memories, they
were all memories and they haunted Brant just as they haunted
Calvin. James was spared knowing any life better than the one he
spent with his detached father. He knew very little of his mother;
she wasn't a comfortable topic of conversation and often left
Calvin angry and on the rare occasion violent. Brant had learned
long ago that it was better for everyone if Suzanne Foxton was
never mentioned.

“
How are you, James?” asked Brant upon sitting.

“
Fine, thank you.” Perfect manners from a perfect little six
year old.

Dinner was
spent in complete silence aside from the initial greeting Brant and
James had exchanged. As soon as he was finished eating Calvin
disappeared into his study where he would remain until long after
both sons had retired for the evening. Brant and James were left
alone together, Brant unsure of what to say to his young brother
and James content to remain silent.

Brant had only
been gone six months but already James had changed. He had become
an empty shell. A man that followed orders rather than a happy and
vibrant child. Gone was his playfulness, giggles and childlike awe.
He was now subdued, silent, following perfect protocol like no
human child should.

“
James, are you okay?” How do you ask a six year old if he’s
unhappy? If he wants something different in life? He didn’t
understand being jaded. He couldn't comprehend not loving his
father or accepting his wisdom. Brant knew this because he had
struggled with those very feelings after his mother had
died.

“
What do you mean?”

“
Do you like being alone here with father?”

“
I’m not alone. Maggie and Josie and Markus and everyone else
are here.”

Brant smiled
slightly. The servants; the only friends of a Foxton boy. "Did you
miss me at all?”

James smiled.
“There’s no one to play with me when you’re gone. Everyone is so
quiet around papa and he gets angry when I get too loud so I
learned to play by myself and be really quiet so I don't upset
him.”

Brant nodded.
“That’s very good, James. And then when you’re my age you can go to
school and learn stuff and have lots of boys your age to play
with.” The words seemed hollow, hypocritical, but he had to give
something for James to look forward to.

“
Is it lots of fun at school?”

Brant
struggled with what to tell him. He was only six years old and he
would likely grow up just the way the Commodore wanted, but he
hated lying to the young boy. “It’s so much fun. We play lots of
games and learn lots of interesting stuff.”

”
I can’t wait to go to school, Brant. Papa makes me learn
boring stuff like my letters and he gets angry when I forget, but I
try so hard.”

“
I’m sure you’re doing a great job. Father just wants to make
sure you do really well.”

James smiled
up at his big brother and leapt towards him, wrapping his small
arms around Brant's much larger frame and squeezing him with what
seemed like every ounce of strength in the six-year-old's body. The
poor boy was starved for affection, and as much as he wanted his
little brother to be happy, he couldn’t help but feel that James
was the reason his mother had died and had left him in this mess of
a life. But James didn’t deserve to be blamed and Brant knew that,
it was just an impulse that occasionally reared its ugly head and
Brant was forced to fight it off.

“
I uh, am glad to see you again, James. I have to go for a
walk," he said, gently peeling the boy off of him. He needed
air.

“
Can I come?” he asked eagerly, bouncing along at Brant’s side
as he walked towards to front door. His coat was hanging on the
tree there and he grabbed it off while James jumped, trying to
reach his.

Brant
desperately wanted to go for a smoke but he couldn’t very well do
that in front of James. The Commodore smoked, most men did, but he
would have been angry to know Brant had started. Smoking was a
privilege reserved for men, not young boys. But he was
disappointing his father at every turn, why not add smoking to the
long list of transgressions?

“
Sure, you can.” Brant reached up and got his brother’s coat
for him. The small boy shrugged into it and struggled with the
buttons.

“
Here, let me help.”

“
I can do it.”

“
I’m not going to wait all night for you,” teased
Brant.

James got a
stubborn look on his face, jutted out his tongue from between his
teeth and slowly but surely got the buttons done up.