My Home From Home - Chapter 18: Chapter 18

25 October 1920
Dear Diary,
One can't pretend as though one isn't absolutely chuffed to bits that Thomas isn't courting Miss Emily; despite the fact that she's a sweet girl and undoubtedly would make a lovely wife for someone. I will admit that despite Thomas being rather adept and attentive single father to his young boys despite being busy as the town Constable; I should jolly well think it'd make things easier for him to have a wife who'd be his companion in the day as well as help to keep him warm during these winter nights. And can anyone fault me for daydreaming of a perfect world where I were the one to keep his bed warm?
One can't help but feel terribly foolish as I think of it; I am only a temporary fixture in this quaint little town. My journey almost certainly doesn't find it's end here, nonetheless I find myself falling deeper and deeper in love with the people and the landscape. The Rocky Mountains clear in the far distance, the open plains between here and there, the distinct greenish blue hue of the glacier filled lakes, one can't help but be in awe at the beauty.
I'm falling for something that I know I'll leave soon; I'm falling for people that I know I shall leave behind one day in the near to distance future. But with every passing moment I fall deeper and deeper into the crevasse of desire for someone whom I have no reason to believe desires the same of me... I only pray that my restlessly smitten soul finds some semblance of peace whilst here, for I should think whilst living under the same roof as the gorgeous and muscular Constable it might be too much for one to ask.
Love, Henry.
Henry walked through the streets of Fir Creek as he embarked on the short journey back from the mines in the outskirts of town back towards the infirmary. He'd received an emergency call from the mines after a man broke his femur having taken a rather nasty fall whilst propelling down a mine shaft. They managed to extract the wretched young man from the situation though he certainly wasn't unscathed. He screamed and wailed as Henry reset his leg as best he could; wrapping up the leg with a splint so it wouldn't heal wonky. He carried out his patient care duties methodically and thoroughly, though he'd be lying if he didn't say these sort of emergency situations didn't give him a rush of adrenaline and excitement.
He stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets, feeling the cold breeze penetrate the feeble fibres of his tweed trousers. He glanced around seeing people in town stopping and waving towards him; it was rather nice to feel that warm sense of community that he didn't whilst in London. Everything was so much slower paced here, so much warmer, so much ore personal whilst at time he felt London was so impersonal and cold. And though he missed his city that he still alled home, he couldn't help but find feel this was his home now too.
"Good evening Doctor Dunmurry, I trust you're doing well." Henry was jolted out of his thoughts as he heard a familiar voice coming from behind him; whipping around to see a Mr Graeme, the town postman, walking up towards him with a wide beam..
"Hello Mr Graeme. I'm doing well, thank you. And how are you today?" Henry tipped his hat to the man as they exchanged the usual pleasantries.
"Doing quite well, myself, thank's for asking." The man said with a bright hospitable smile. "Just going on my rounds. Speaking of! I've got a letter here from you, just arrived in this morning's post!"
"A letter? For me?" Henry's eyes brightened as he perked up ever so slightly wondering how it could be; he'd be lying to say he wasn't terribly excited at the prospect of a letter. He'd received letters from the Health Ministry in Calgary, a few from Adrien saying he missed him, but as of yet nothing from back home.
"Yes, for you! I could give it to you now, if you'd like; or I could just drop it off to the infirmary." Mr Graeme said with a knowing smile as he watched the young dark haired doctor nod with a muted smile. He flipped open his courier bag and rapidly scanned through the plethora of letters it contained. "Ah! Here we are." He said as he pulled out a letter and handed it to the Henry with a grin.
Henry thanked the older man, taking the letter out of his hand and bidding him a good day. He glanced down at the letter, off-white in colour with a blue coloured three pence postage stamp in the corner with His Majesty's on it. However it wasn't a Canadian stamp, it was from back home though he didn't recognise the handwriting; it wasn't his mama's, nor his papa's, nor Georgina or Edward. And though it could easily have been the handwriting of any of his family's ladies maids or valets, he nonetheless found it terribly odd.
He kept himself at bay for the rest of the workday, though the letter remained buried deep within his psyche. His curiosity was strong and searing his nerves, yet despite that he refrained from opening it until after work; he didn't want any emotions the letter brought to hinder his patient care quality. Instead he chose to compartmentalise, focus on the few patients he had, writing the Ministry of Health requesting more supplies and doing sending the referral paperwork for the mine worker to get an X-ray imaging of his femur done at Calgary General.
When the clock struck five and the clinic was officially closed, Henry finished closing up before making his way up to his room with his letter tucked securely in his coat pocket; though he wished nothing more than to run as fast as he could up the stairs, he remembered his Papa telling him that running was terribly common. He slipped through his bedroom door, shutting it behind him before rushing towards the desk and fishing through the drawers of his bureau for his gold plated letter-opener he'd received as a graduation present from the his Mama's cousin, the King of Portugal.
Henry ripped open the envelop with haste, fumbling with the letter to pull out a folded up, cream coloured sheet of letter paper before he unfolded it; feeling his heart beating so loudly he thought the whole town would hear it. At first glance he still found the handwriting unfamiliar to him, sneaking glancing down to the bottom of the letter as he felt his blood run cold through his veins; the letter was from Matthew.
Dearest Harry,
I should think it rather a surprise for you to receive a letter from me; perhaps you might even throw the letter in the bin without reading it. One does hope you will read it, brother, though if you chose not to, one can't blame you. I've always been cruel to you, Harry. Perhaps even more than I've ever realised. So terribly cruel through no fault of your own; and though I thought from the bottom of my heart that I hated my little baby brother with all my heart, the truth was something different altogether.
There is a saying that one doesn't truly understand the value of what one has until it is gone. And I suppose I didn't realise how much you meant to me until you were gone. And though I thought death would come for me long before I ever admit this fact to Edward, he was right... When you left us, I was the one who missed you most. Though it might be terribly common and un-English to admit it, I even cried for a few nights when you were gone. Not a day goes by that I don't remember my little brother; the way you'd smile, the way you'd smirk when you were proving someone utterly wrong, your confidence, your passion for things you believe in.
The day your letters came in the post I understood just how much I'd wronged you. That my little brother hated me enough to write everyone in the family but me; and for that I have nobody to blame but myself. I won't lie, it did hurt; but after giving it a bit of thought I realised that you were well within your right to not write me. Because you see, dearest little Harry, I've always been nasty to you. not because I hate you, but because I was jealous. I was jealous that everyone loved you, that everyone doted on you, that you could literally get away with murder and still be the most beloved of the family. As the middle son, I always felt overlooked and since you came only a mere year after I was born, I never got to enjoy being the youngest; and I reckon a part of me blamed you for this.
So I am writing you today to say you do things; the first being to beg forgiveness for the way I treated you growing up. I was nasty and cruel and for that you have my humblest and most genuine apology. And the second being to warn you, my dear innocent brother, to be careful. Though Edward and Georgina don't know this, I overheard them talking about you after you left... The real reason you left England.
It would appear as though you and I share something in common, my dear brother; though I dare say I'm not surprised of it. I've always rather seen you as a kindred spirit; though I personally see no reason to limit to one type of human, read that however you'd like. Nonetheless I advise caution, Henry. Trust nobody, and especially not your heart. I think it rather foolish of father to send you somewhere he has no substantial influential reach.
Though I know I've said harsh and cruel things to you since childhood, from the bottom of my heart I do wish the best to you, Harry. Not a day goes by when I don't feel my heart wrench as my cruel mind brings forth memories of some or the other example of me being absolutely vile to you. Just before writing this I remembered the nights at boarding school when you'd have a bad dream and come looking for Edward finding his bed empty. And though I was always harsh on you, you still would come to my room and crawl into bed with me. You were only thirteen and I fourteen, and though i said all sorts of cruel things to you, I still held you close when you'd shiver from the cold Scottish night air. Because though I told myself I hated you or was jealous of you, I still deep in my soul wished to protect you from the cold...
So, my dear little Harry, I write you this letter not knowing if I shall ever see you again. Knowing your free spirit I fear that even when it is safe for you to return home, you might find yourself too happy in Canada to even entertain the idea. So with that in mind, I couldn't live my life knowing my little brother hated me, and believed I hated him; when the truth of the matter was that I love you with all my heart. I love you like every brother should, though I never let it show. I don't expect you to forgive me after the way I've treated you, nor do I expect a response to this letter, because why should you? Nonetheless I love you dear Harry, and I wish you every happiness and such good luck as you embark on this new journey in your life. Know that you aren't alone as I pray every day for your happiness, health and safety as you are so far away from us all. Sneding you all the love in my heart.
Your brother, Matthew.
A single tear dripped onto the corner of Matthew's letter, leaving a wet stain on the otherwise perfectly pristine paper. Henry folded up the letter as he sat on the corner of his bed; staring off across the room as his eyes continued to pool with tears. All his life he wished his brother Matthew would love him like he did; all Henry's childhood he looked up to Matthew and only wanted him to love him back. He forgave Matthew, though if he were being honest he never truly harboured any ill will against his cruel brother. He regretted not writing him in the first place, but perhaps not writing him was the best thing to do; perhaps he wouldn't've have got the closure he had now had he written a letter before.
Henry set the letter down on the bedside table, pursing his lips as he felt himself lose all semblance of calmness. His eyelids shut as the tears began to stream down his cheeks, leaving wet stains down his alabaster white skin. His elbows resting on his knees, Henry buried his face in his palms and he cried. He cried like he'd never allowed himself to do before. He cried a muddled mix of emotions; pain and sadness for the little Henry who once would've given anything for his big brother to love him, and happiness that after all these years he heard exactly what he longed for; 'I love you dear Harry...'
Henry gasped as he heard a knock on his bedroom door, sitting up straight and hastily dabbing the tears from his lashes with the sleeves of his shirt.
"Come in." Henry called out towards the person behind the door, grimacing to himself as he heard his voice crack from his prior crying.
"Hey there." Thomas cracked the door open with a smile as he stepped into the door. "Danny wanted to have a snowball fight, I was wondering if you wanted to... join... " His voice trailed off as he watched Henry force a wide grin and a nod, though his bloodshot eyes and the residue of tear stains on his fair cheeks betrayed his facade. "Are you alright?"
"Yes. I-I'm perfectly fine. Just being silly, really." Henry said softly, his lips twitching slightly as he tried with every sinew and fibre of his very being to hold his composure; but something about hearing Thomas ask if he was alright was the straw that once again broke the proverbial camel's back.
Henry began to sob once again, tears streaming once more down his cheeks as he doubled over; his breath hitching over and over as he struggled to calm himself down. The initial look of shock and confusion that washed over Thomas' face was followed by genuine concern as he quickly shut Henry's bedroom door and walked over to sit down next to him on the bed. He pulled a silk handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and handed it to Henry.
"Here, take this." Thomas said softly with as the boy glanced up and humbly took the silk kerchief out of the man's hand.
"Thank you." Henry's sniffled as he dabbed the tears off his lashes and cheeks, his fingers feeling what felt like intricate embroidery on a corner of the silk kerchief.
"You wanna talk about it?" Thomas asked awkwardly as both lads sat on the edge of Henry's bed with their legs hanging off the end. Henry took a second to continue sobbing whilst Thomas was sat patiently waiting for him to calm down; he wished he could do something to help, but he also feared overstepping.
"I erm..." Henry glanced up with drenched lashes as his sad eyes scanned Thomas' face. He wasn't one to ever open up about feelings, it wasn't something people of Henry's social stature often did; and certainly not to a stranger. But something about Thomas and the look of true, genuine concern made him reconsider. He felt like he could trust the man, he felt like he wanted to trust the man. "I received a letter in the post... from home..."
"Is everything alright back home?" Thomas furrowed his brows with concern, his gaze warm and curious yet cautious not to pry.
"Yes, yes everything is fine." Henry said dismissively with a sigh. "I just had a letter from my brother; we never really got on as children, nor as adults, for that matter. I was jolly surprised he wrote me in the first place, but... It was a pleasant surprise..."
"Oh, so these are happy tears, I take it?" Thomas said softly, almost like a soft whisper that seemed to put Henry's soul at ease.
"Yes." Henry let out a residual sniffle. "Yes, I suppose they are happy tears, aren't they?" He chuckled quietly to diffuse the awkwardness. "Terribly sorry, I've cast rather a gloom. haven't I..."
"No! No, no, nothing of the sort." Thomas shook his head vehemently, a genuine look in his deep brown eyes. "I just hope you feel a little better."
"I do, rather." A pained smile blossomed across Henry's naturally pouty lips. "Thank you... And, thank you for this..." he trailed off as he glanced down at Thomas' handkerchief in his hands; it was rather beautiful and smelt of his cologne though he'd only got faint whiffs of it the few times Thomas was extremely close. But there was something else that immediately caught Henry's eye.
There was an exquisitely embroidered family coat of arms sewn into the corner with red silk and gold thread. Two stallions flanking a shield with the lions and swords on it, adorn on top with a regal lion. Henry had seen loads of these sorts of arms in his childhood, his own family's, his mama's family's his various distant royal cousins; every family had one, or every aristocratic family did, rather. He didn't recognise it, though how would he? There must've been hundreds of them, one for each noble family going from King all the way down to Barons.
"No worries, you can hold on to it as long as you need it." Thomas said with a smile. "But I'll need it back eventually, it's my father's."
"Oh?" Henry asked, internally kicking himself for what he was about to do. "It is very beautiful, where did he get it?" He grimaced at his own impertinence; he'd always been taught that prying was terribly common. Nonetheless, he figured that since he'd already hit his nadir sobbing like an absolute wreck in front of Thomas, he didn't suppose he could possibly fall further from grace.
"Well it belonged to his family." Thomas said nonchalantly as Henry's jaw tensed; was Thomas' small town young man story perhaps not the entire story. "My dad came from an, I guess you can say influential family in Bedford; my mom was his Mama's ladies maid. They fell in love and when my Dad asked for my Grandfather's permission to marry, they forbade it outright. Dad was the oldest son and heir to the family's title and my grandfather said he had two options; the title or my mother..." Thomas stared off into space as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "He chose love."
"How romantic." Henry smiled up at Thomas as he felt his cheeks heat up ever so slightly, though his grin slowly faded as his mind began connecting the dots. "Wilsons... of... Bedford... Not Richard Wilson, surely?!"
"Richard Wilson was my grandfather." Thomas pursed his lisp with a nod, turning his scrutinising glare towards the skittish raven haired man who looked quite like a deer caught in headlights. "Do you know of him?!"
Henry stared at him petrified in unadulterated horror, wondering exactly what to say; Richard Wilson, 15th Duke of Bedford wasn't just someone he knew. He lived in the next county over and the Wilsons and Aldringhams were close family friends. Lord Robert Wilson was his eldest son whom nobody spoke about, though they all knew the story well. The handsome young Lord Robert Wilson fell in love with a maid at Greyfell Hall whilst home for the summer holidays before he was meant to go off to university at St Andrews. He and Henry's Papa were the best of friends growing up, until he was disowned and never heard of ever again.
"I've heard of him, he is the Duke of Bedford after all." Henry dismissively downplayed the relations between their families.
"I've only met him once; I went back to Bedford for the first time on the way home after the war." Thomas sighed, his eyes clearly miles away from the present. "I wasn't going to say who I was, I just... wanted to see the place my father told stories of... Where he grew up... But then my grandmother spotted me from the window. She thought I was my dad; we did always look rather similar. They were kind to me, but what was done was done. When I was leaving for home they gave me a letter to bring back to my dad..."
"Asking him to come home..." Henry muttered quietly to himself, though not quite quietly enough for Thomas not to hear.
"Yeah... How'd you know?" Thomas glanced perplexedly at Henry's intuitive comment, though it truly wasn't all that intuitive.
"Just a guess, I suppose." Henry smiled back uncomfortably. The truth was that Henry knew exactly why they'd want Thomas' father to return; the Wilson family's younger son and prospective heir died, leaving the family name to a distant cousin. The return of Lord Richard to England would've meant the title as well as the Duke's coronet would stay within His Grace's immediate family.
"Dad ripped up the letter as soon as he read it; he said there was no place for anyone who didn't accept his love in his life." Thomas sighed heavily, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "He died within the year..." He trailed off with an empty look about him; his normally warm, dark eyes looking almost cold and grim. "Sorry, I shouldn't've burdened you with that... I haven't really told anyone about any of this, I don't know why I told you. I guess I erm... felt comfortable with you..." Thomas took a few steps turning his back towards Henry as he took a second to collect himself.
Henry got up form the bed and straightened out his waistcoat; walking up towards Thomas whose back was turned to him and gently placing his hand on the taller man's broad shoulder. Thomas cocked his head to the side to see Henry offering up the handkerchief back to him, smiling as he gently took the silk fabric out from Henry's light grasp.
"Don't apologise... I'm glad you felt comfortable enough with me to share your feelings." Henry said softly as the man turned to face him. "The truth is, I feel comfortable enough to share my feelings with you. And I don't believe I've ever felt that way for anyone before."
"That means a lot..." Thomas admitted with a saddened smile, his lower lip quivering ever so slightly as Henry could see the faintest hint of tears pooling in his eyes. "Ever since I lost every last member of my family, I felt like I was holding on by a thread. I feel like I have to be so strong for the boys. Thank you for letting me feel safe enough to trust you with my innermost feelings."
Henry raised his gaze to lock with Thomas' scanning his face with his sapphire blue eyes as he felt this bitter sweet feeling permeate through this body; he felt warmth that Thomas trusted him, and a stabbing pain in his chest at all the deception he's had to do whilst here. He felt his heart crack within his chest as he watching as the taller man clearly fought tears; he wanted to do something to console him but he'd always found himself rubbish at dealing with feelings both his and of others. So in that moment Henry Aldringham did what his heart told him to do, something he'd never done before; something his family back home would likely call 'terribly common' and 'un-English'. He stepped forwards to bridge the gap between himself and Thomas; creeping his arms around the taller man's muscular waist and pulled him into his warm, caring  embrace.
Thomas' spine tensed up for a second, a smile perking up the corners of his mouth as he wondered if this was all just a dream. He snaked his muscular arms around Henry's slender back, all the while Henry felt himself melt in the man's strong, manly arms. As odd as it was for Henry to hug another man, he couldn't help but find the sensation so natural as he let the hint of Thomas' scent enthral his sense.
In that moment nothing else existed; the distant sound of children playing outside his window in the snow seemed to fade to nothingness; all that existed was Thomas. How his manly chest was pressed against Henry's more toned slender build, how his bulging arms seemed to engulf Thomas, how his breath ticked Henry's neck and his scent enthralled Henry's senses. Though it only truly may have been mere seconds that they stood entangled in each others' embrace, to Henry it felt like a small eternity; a small eternity he wished never would've ended.
"You remind me of him..." Thomas' voice sent chills down Henry's back. "You remind me of my Dad. The way you speak, the way you carry yourself, the way you do things... I can't explain it... But you do..."
Henry's heart clenched within his chest as he felt his blood run cold in his veins; his gazes locked in with his own horror-struck blue eyes as he stared at the reflection in the floor length looking glass across the room; seeing himself entangled in the embrace of a handsome taller blond. But though he wanted nothing more than to cherish the man's warm embrace, another darker shadow was cast into the depths of his mind. Whether Thomas knew it or not, he'd just found a crack in the ice that was the fabricated story of Henry Dunmurry's life; now only time could tell if that crack would deepen and allow Henry to fall into the icy waters to his death.