I always wondered, in the grand scheme of things, was was next for the Pirates...and I could imagine an elderly Kevin Kline (I loved his Pirate King) in such a scene...
Eyes watering, the old man stared unseeingly across the Channel, swallowing convulsively at the hard lump lodged in his throat.
It was not possible—it was too much to bear. First his and Edith's darling Sabina lost to influenza in early spring, and now—
-the telegram crinkled as the man's thin, wrinkled fingers clutched at it. Where in God's name was Cambrai, anyway? Oh, he knew somewhere in France, yes, but where? He might not be looking in the right direction….
Hot tears spilled down hollowed cheeks, burning the skin. It wouldn't matter, he couldn't see anything now, and he was too far away — too far to have done anything. And now, his boy, his wonderful boy—lost to him forever, in some battle in this damnable Great War. Alone on some battlefield, far from his parents and surviving siblings….
A letter from Noel's commander had come, along with the telegram. He had barely been able to read any of it—the usual trite things were in there, how commendable the Lieutenant was, how very well he had distinguished himself in battle, how very proud the Marquess of Southmoss should be of his son. There were not-so-usual things in there, of how Noel would entertain the men of his unit with the stories of the Marquess's days as a Pirate King…at that, Richard had broken, fled the house for the comfort of the sea. He remembered all too well, when his children were small, re-enacting his 'misadventures' as a Pirate King for their amusement. Noel had liked the stories best of all, especially his Uncle Frederic's dilemma over the troublesome birthday—Noel Frederic (Edith had oftentimes accused him of naming him for Frederic as a joke, and Richard could not deny it), born December 25th, had understood his uncle's troubles with a problematic birthday all too well. Richard had always made a proper fuss over Noel's birthday, as he did Frederic's. Uncle and nephew had frequently laughed over it….
….and now, both were gone. Noel, killed in battle. Frederic, of heart trouble some two years past now.
He did not even have the comfort of being able to have Noel buried near his sister and uncle—there was nothing to be done for it, his body would be buried on the very battlefield on which he'd died, along with the others killed there. Perhaps Noel would have preferred that—he was proud of his unit, oftentimes referring to them as his other family—the boy had expressed his intention to be career soldier, a common choice for a youngest son. Perhaps at the hour of his death it had brought Noel comfort to know he'd rest with his army brothers.
Eyes clearing, the elderly man gazed out across the Channel again, mindless of the brisk October wind threading his gray hair. Hopefully, he was looking the right way….so that Noel would know his father was saying goodbye.