My Home From Home - Chapter 19: Chapter 19
You are reading My Home From Home , Chapter 19: Chapter 19. Read more chapters of My Home From Home .
6 November 1920
Dear Diary,
Normally if someone were to tell me I reminded them of their father, I'd be terribly offended; but in this case I daresay I wasn't. From what I hear Lord Robert Wilson was rather young and dashing when he eloped to Gretna Green with his Mama's housemaid, so bearing that in mind I shall take that as rather a complement. They were both only eighteen years of age. Papa missed him terribly, and they all but lost contact when Papa disappointed Lord Robert by taking the Duke of Bedford's side; though Papa never told me the full story, from what I understand Papa saw the Lord Robert's love as being a mere 'affair' even going far enough to say that Lord Robert could have both should he marry a well born girl form a well to do family whilst keeping the young maid as a 'mistress'. This in turn ended in quite the row; with Papa taking a punch to the jaw as Mama always cheekily recounted the story to us all, much to Papa's disgruntlement; and I daresay though Papa will always be my Papa, Lord Robert was in the right in this situation.
All that aside, I can't help but feel this uncertainty brewing deep within my soul as to what exactly thomas meant by that. The way I talk, the way I do things?! What the devil was that supposed to mean!? How on earth could he make the connection between a high born son of a duke with ME?! Who... Also is a high born son of a duke. Oh heavens, could it be that he might be on to my charade. I don't see how, I mention being common and working class whenever I see fit. Sure I never bothered to change my accent or anything, but surely that can't have given me away, could it? To be fair, perhaps I ought to have done more research on common people before pretending to be one.
Now all I can do is live with the utter, gutwernching torture that is having to both fear Thomas and be unnaturally infatuated with him. And whilst I should be over the moon having felt his embrace, been warmed by his muscle-bound body of a Greek god, feeling his scent take over my mind; all one can think about is him finding out the truth about me. One whole week I've lived with this torment of wondering when he'd come straight out and tell me he knew I was lying; so I've been so terribly careful what I say, careful what I do, relaying the framework of my false backstory being the ordinary country doctor from modest, humble backgrounds. All I can do at this point is pray that the truth doesn't come out; for I fear not only for losing a friend, the last thing I need is to make an enemy.
Love, Henry
Henry grabbed his coat and slipped out into the corridor, sauntering down the stairs and towards the kitchen where Thomas and the boys would likely be at this hour of the morning. Henry figured it best to offer his assistance with breakfast; he felt like that was what a small town, modest, young country doctor would do in such a situation.
"Good morning!" Sang Henry as he walked into the kitchen and greeted Thomas with a nod, ruffling Danny's hair playfully and making his way over to the pram next to Thomas to plant a chaste kiss on little Alfie's head. The handsome Constable couldn't help but smile at how good Henry seemed to be with the boys; Danny practically worshiped 'Henwy' and on nights Alfie was fussy even his own Dad couldn't seem to get him to settle down. But Henry always managed to put Alfie at ease within seconds of holding him.
"Morning." Thomas nodded back as he continue chopping up some of the leftover vegetables from the previous night's roast.
"Right, what's for breakfast, and how can I help?" Henry asked cheerily, almost too cheerily to the point where it felt as though he were overcompensating; likely because he was.
"Bubble and squeak." Thomas said as he put slid his finger down the flat sides of the knife to clear off the remnants of cabbage that adhered to the sides of the blade. "You could peel and chop the onion, if you'd like." Thomas offered, his eyes subtly narrowed towards the blue eyed young lad.
In the week since Henry and Thomas' tender little moment, Thomas couldn't help but feel his eyes opened in a way; though he felt himself falling for Henry more and more with each passing minute, he couldn't help but suddenly become hyperaware of something that he'd noticed before but chosen to store away in the deep, dark, recesses of his psyche. Nothing about Henry seemed to make sense.
Henry grabbed the onion that Thomas had set out and stared at it blankly; surely it couldn't be hard to peel and chop an onion, what could possible go wrong? But what Henry had momentarily forgotten was was the fact that he hadn't the slightest idea how to peel nor chop an onion.
The dark haired young man's sapphire eyes suddenly lit up with an idea, prompting him to spring up from his seat and walk over towards the drawer they kept the cutlery and rummaging around until he found what he'd been searching for; a potato peeler.
With an innocent, victorious smile blossoming across his face he took the potato peeler and made his way back to the kitchen table, all the while Thomas stared at him blankly; leant back in the chair, elbow on the arm rest as his hand rested pensively over his mouth to hide his utter perplexity. Henry chucked awkwardly with a wide grin before shifting his gaze back down to the potato peeler and onion in his hands; he'd seen servants use one before to peel potatoes downstairs but he'd never actually used one himself.
Thomas watched as Henry took the peeler and struck it against the onion, his entire body flinching ever so slightly as he did so; taking off the flaky skin along with a bit more of the actual inside of the onion than was ideal. But more than focusing on the brutalised onion, Thomas was all too fixated on Henry's rather peculiar ways; Henry looked uncomfortable just as he looked doing anything he'd offered to help Thomas with; so uncomfortable that even Thomas found himself visibly cringing at how odd it was. From mopping, to dusting, to chopping vegetables or cooking, Henry struggled with everything no matter how simple it might be. Not to mention the times his stories about his family seemed guarded, or flat out didn't add up.
Thomas continued chopping up the Brussel sprouts and cabbage he'd taken a break from earlier all the while Henry continued to hack at the onion with the potato peeler. Thomas would glance up periodically, feeling physical discomfort and visibly cringing with every inexpert stroke Henry made with the potato peeler. But though Thomas could tell the pretty raven haired boy hadn't a clue what he was doing, he never once whinged or moaned about it. A part of Thomas admired him for his willingness to help, he nonetheless couldn't quite kick the feeling that every time Henry did so it looked as though he was doing it for the very first time.
Henry suddenly hissed in pain as Thomas' eye shot up to stare at him wide-eyed, his gaze travelling down to Henry's hand, seeing a small nick on his thumb knuckle with blood beginning to flow out. Hastily putting down the onion and the potato peeler, he grabbed a clean tea towel off the table and wrapped it around his thumb, applying pressure to his thumb to stop the bleeding; it was only a small nick, but it stung nonetheless.Henry grabbed his coat and slipped out into the corridor, sauntering down the stairs and towards the kitchen where Thomas and the boys would likely be at this hour of the morning. Henry figured it best to offer his assistance with breakfast; he felt like that was what a small town, modest, young country doctor would do in such a situation.
"Good morning!" Sang Henry as he walked into the kitchen and greeted Thomas with a nod, ruffling Danny's hair playfully and making his way over to the pram next to Thomas to plant a chaste kiss on little Alfie's head. The handsome Constable couldn't help but smile at how good Henry seemed to be with the boys; Danny practically worshiped 'Henwy' and on nights Alfie was fussy even his own Dad couldn't seem to get him to settle down. But Henry always managed to put Alfie at ease within seconds of holding him.
"Morning." Thomas nodded back as he continue chopping up some of the leftover vegetables from the previous night's roast.
"Right, what's for breakfast, and how can I help?" Henry asked cheerily, almost too cheerily to the point where it felt as though he were overcompensating; likely because he was.
"Bubble and squeak." Thomas said as he put slid his finger down the flat sides of the knife to clear off the remnants of cabbage that adhered to the sides of the blade. "You could peel and chop the onion, if you'd like." Thomas offered, his eyes subtly narrowed towards the blue eyed young lad.
In the week since Henry and Thomas' tender little moment, Thomas couldn't help but feel his eyes opened in a way; though he felt himself falling for Henry more and more with each passing minute, he couldn't help but suddenly become hyperaware of something that he'd noticed before but chosen to store away in the deep, dark, recesses of his psyche. Nothing about Henry seemed to make sense.
Henry grabbed the onion that Thomas had set out and stared at it blankly; surely it couldn't be hard to peel and chop an onion, what could possible go wrong? But what Henry had momentarily forgotten was was the fact that he hadn't the slightest idea how to peel nor chop an onion.
The dark haired young man's sapphire eyes suddenly lit up with an idea, prompting him to spring up from his seat and walk over towards the drawer they kept the cutlery and rummaging around until he found what he'd been searching for; a potato peeler.
With an innocent, victorious smile blossoming across his face he took the potato peeler and made his way back to the kitchen table, all the while Thomas stared at him blankly; leant back in the chair, elbow on the arm rest as his hand rested pensively over his mouth to hide his utter perplexity. Henry chucked awkwardly with a wide grin before shifting his gaze back down to the potato peeler and onion in his hands; he'd seen servants use one before to peel potatoes downstairs but he'd never actually used one himself.
Thomas watched as Henry took the peeler and struck it against the onion, his entire body flinching ever so slightly as he did so; taking off the flaky skin along with a bit more of the actual inside of the onion than was ideal. But more than focusing on the brutalised onion, Thomas was all too fixated on Henry's rather peculiar ways; Henry looked uncomfortable just as he looked doing anything he'd offered to help Thomas with; so uncomfortable that even Thomas found himself visibly cringing at how odd it was. From mopping, to dusting, to chopping vegetables or cooking, Henry struggled with everything no matter how simple it might be. Not to mention the times his stories about his family seemed guarded, or flat out didn't add up.
Thomas continued chopping up the Brussel sprouts and cabbage he'd taken a break from earlier all the while Henry continued to hack at the onion with the potato peeler. Thomas would glance up periodically, feeling physical discomfort and visibly cringing with every inexpert stroke Henry made with the potato peeler. But though Thomas could tell the pretty raven haired boy hadn't a clue what he was doing, he never once whinged or moaned about it. A part of Thomas admired him for his willingness to help, he nonetheless couldn't quite kick the feeling that every time Henry did so it looked as though he was doing it for the very first time.
Henry suddenly hissed in pain as Thomas' eye shot up to stare at him wide-eyed, his gaze travelling down to Henry's hand, seeing a small nick on his thumb knuckle with blood beginning to flow out. Hastily putting down the onion and the potato peeler, he grabbed a clean tea towel off the table and wrapped it around his thumb, applying pressure to his thumb to stop the bleeding; it was only a small nick, but it stung nonetheless.
"Hang on." Thomas sprung up and rushed out of the room, returning in mere seconds with an old First Aid box that he kept for emergencies in the police station. He hastily opened the metal box and fished out the antiseptic, a bit of cotton wool and some gauze and tape "Alright let me have a look." Thomas said, gesturing towards the tea-towel covered wound that Henry was applying constant pressure to.
"It's nothing, I'm fine, it's hardly a nick." Assured Henry, staring up at him through his raven black fringe that had fallen into his deep sea blue eyes.
"Henry." Thomas took a playfully stern tone. "Just let me have a look."
Henry docilely nodded, removing the tea towel to reveal a small smudge of scarlet on its fibres and a small cut that slowly began refilling with blood. Thomas unscrewed the cap of the antiseptic and soaking a bit onto the ball or cotton wool.
"This is going to sting a bit." Thomas said in jest, making Henry glared up at him with a playful eye roll; Henry was the doctor here, clearly he was well aware it'd sting. Thomas placed the cotton wool on the open wound, applying a bit of pressure as Henry hissed from the pain, his spine tensing ever so slightly from the discomfort.
Thomas glanced up at him with a reassuring smile as he removed the plaster from it's wrapping and carefully winding it round the section of Henry's thumb where he'd incurred the wound. Thomas stuck the tape to seal the bandage before thoughtlessly taking Henry's hand and placing a chaste kiss atop the bandage. Henry gasped quietly, staring wide eyed as Thomas suddenly realised what he'd done.
"I just kissed your finger, didn't I?" Thomas ran his hand embarrassedly over his handsomely chiseled face.
"Yes..." Henry pursed his lips to stifle a giggle. "Yes, you did."
"God." Thomas grimaced with a groan, burying his face in his hands out of sheer embarrassment. "I'm so used to kissing Danny's bandages when he gets hurt, I-I guess I wasn't thinking."
"I don't mind..." Henry said with a smile, immediately realising just how strange that statement sounded as Thomas raised his head out of his palms and stared confusedly at the young raven-haired lad. "Erm... I only mean, I understand. It was out of habit. Though I daresay if you accidentally did that to someone else they not let you off so easy." He teased the blushing blond, a smile creeping across his pouty pink lips as Thomas simply shook is head and chuckled sheepishly.
The day went on and so Thomas found himself compartmentalising these thoughts as he distracted himself with work; but that night as he laid in bed they all bubbled back to the surface; Thomas couldn't help but allow his sharp mind to run wild. He remembered every piece of Henry's story, every random detail, every little thing that formed a puzzle; a rather dodgy puzzle with pieces missing and pieces that didn't seem to fit at all. But what could he do? Henry's papers were all normal, he was newly in the country so there was nobody he could call to verify his story; his only option was to contact someone in England which would take time, or... He could do something that he might regret...
The next afternoon, at a time when Thomas knew Henry was making a house call to the outskirts of town, Thomas did something that he knew was wrong and he knew could end disastrously. But the curiosity was simply eating at him, and his inner Constable clawing at his insides and practically forcing him to investigate something he saw to be irregular. Why did Henry's story seem to have so many irregularities? Why was everything he did and said pointing the very opposite direction from the the stories he presented? Who was Doctor Henry Dunmurry? What was his story? And most importantly, what was he hiding?
Thomas tiptoed upstairs after locking the door to the police station. He walked up past his bedroom, past the nursery where the boy's were having their kid-afternoon naps; stalking past he door between his side of the corridor and Henry's, grimacing as every floorboard seemed to creak and betray him with each step. He stopped momentarily as his hand reached for Henry's doorknob, knowing deep within that he was doing Henry a grave injustice by encroaching on his privacy; Henry never did anything that'd make him seem dangerous to Thomas, but he just had to know. He had to know who this person was whom he was involving in his life, this person he was involving in his sons' lives; this person that he saw his son's adoring and loving with each passing day Henry stayed there. Though he trusted Henry, his experiences as a lawyer before the war, his experiences dealing with human nature during the war, and his experiences with perpetrators during his time with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police all taught him that appearances can often be decieving.
Thomas creaked the door open and slipped inside, glancing around and feeling a sense of relief wash over him as he realised he was indeed alone. Shutting the door behind him he stood in the centre of the room and looked around; he didn't know what he was looking for, he didn't even know what he expected to find. He immediately regretted everything, but he knew something was awry; and whilst training as a Mountie he learnt one thing, always trust your instinct to never let you down.
He went straight for the bureau, opening a few of the drawers to see the usual fountain pens, writing paper, envelops and other such stationary. When he finally reached the final drawer he found something that finally caught his eye; a little leather bound book and a small silk satchel with a gold tassels drawstring and a stack of letters...
He hastily took the items out of the drawer and set them down on top of the bureau, staring down at the mess of random things before him. There were a few ripped open envelops with British postage stamps, all addressed from people whose names matched names that Henry had mentioned being his sister and brothers' names; the only curious matter was that their surnames weren't Dunmurry, but Aldringham. Thomas wanted to read the already opened letters, but he couldn't bring himself to breach his privacy; though Lord only knew Thomas being in Henry's room and going through his things had already proven to suffice as a terrible breach of his privacy.
He moved on to the satchel, opening it up and glancing down to see jewellery; expensive by the looks of it, and clearly out of the realm of affordability for a mere country doctor. Immediately Thomas began to understand that there was indeed something very wrong here. He glanced over to the diary and picked it up wearily, immediately noting a slight gap in the middle where something was likely tucked between the pages.
Thomas opened the diary to the page, his brow cocked with intrigue as he saw a stack of photographs tucked securely into the gutter of the binding. He set the diary back onto the mahogany desk top and picked up the photos, scanning through them with scrutinising eyes; the first few were normal, an adult Henry with his parents, siblings, and an older grandmother, seeming on what looked like someone's wedding day though everyone seemed to have very stoic, serious expressions on their faces. Another photograph was of just Henry and his brothers and sister.
But the next few photographs were what piqued Thomas' interest; two photographs of Henry looking much younger with dark blond hair, merely a child though his big blue eyes alone were enough to identify him. In one he was with two men who looked almost identical with chestnut brown hair and handlebar moustaches; one had dark eyes whilst the other appeared a lighter steel colour about them. They stood with blank expressions all the whilst the blue eyed man held a young bright eyed toddler in his arms; Henry. Thomas couldn't help but find the men eerily familiar, though he couldn't for the life of him recall how.
The next photograph was of an older woman, regal and larger than life with a calm look about her light eyes; she wore all black with regalia pinned to it and a white veil of sorts over her head. She was sat in a chair with a young blond toddler sat in her lap wearing a miniature white navy uniform with blue striped trim on the collar. Once again Thomas recognised this woman, but where from? He let out a frustrated huff, setting the photos down on the desk as he saw something catch his eye; the photo of the two men next to envelopes with the postage stamp with a side profile portrait of the king. Thomas' eyes widened in shock as he held the photograph and the envelop together as he felt his blood run cold in his veins; One of these men, was the King.
Just as Thomas was about to stuff the photographs back into the diary and make his escape before Henry could get back, his eyes travelled to the opposite page when he saw something rather intriguing; His name. He scanned through the diary entry, then another, and yet another; he knew it was wrong but now he knew that Henry felt... exactly how he did.
"What the devil is going on here?!" Thomas jumped, turning about face to see Henry standing in the doorway staring at him wide eyed.
"What are you doing here?!" Thomas stammered, realising he had Henry's diary incriminatingly nestled in his hand.
"What am I doing here? WHAT AM I DOING HERE?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" Henry scoffed in disbelief, his voice trembling with a deep burning anger and pain; his eyes immediately scanning the room to see his things strewn about his desk and Thomas' diary in his hand.
"Who are you?" Thomas took a step towards Henry with his scrutinising glare narrowed onto the smaller boy.
"You're looking through my things?!" Henry's voice cracked, his feeling a mix of pain, uncertainty, and mostly... betrayal.
"Who are you?" Thomas repeated through gritted teeth, standing mere feet away from Henry.
"How dare you?! You have no right to look through my things!" Henry screamed like a banshee, his eyes watering and his lip quivering from pure unadulterated rage.
"I have every right!" Thomas mirrored his tone challengingly.
"Well, have you got a warrant?!" Henry folded his arms over his chest, staring defiantly into the handsome blond officer's blue eyes. Thomas broke eye contact with him realising in that moment that this could be very bad for him. "You don't do you?" Scoffed Henry. "Then why..." He seethed angrily, his teeth gritted and his jaw clenching.
"Because nothing you say ever makes sense!" Thomas exploded, allowing everything he kept bottled inside for the past month to go rushing about. "Nothing ever adds up! You say you're so common and average but your accent says otherwise, your clothing says otherwise, your demeanour says otherwise!"
"That's not probable cause to search one's room!" Henry threw his hands up in disbelief. "Besides all the evidence you've presented is circumstantial at best; you haven't a single iota of solid evidence! It would never hold in a court of law."
"Oh so you're a barrister now?!" Thomas scoffed at the pretty flustered boy.
"No! But my Papa was one, and my both my brothers!" Henry argued, earning him a cocked eyebrow from the handsome blond.
"You said your dad was a farmer." Challenged Thomas.
"Oh spare me." Henry spat irritatedly, running a hand through his dark hair.
"Who. are. you?" Thomas repeated for a third time; calming his voice as best he could.
"WHY DO YOU BLOODY CARE?! " Henry screamed in Thomas' face as Thomas just sighed to keep from exploding on Henry.
"Because I trusted you!" Thomas snapped at him. "Because I told you things I've never told anyone! Because I trusted you and thought you to be a friend!" Thomas looked down into Henry's eyes, immediately noting how his icy blue gaze seemed to thaw ever so slightly. "Because I thought I knew you... But clearly I don't. And what hurts most is that... I let you get close to the boys, and I dont' even know who you are..."
"Get out." Henry's took in a deep breath and stalked up challenging to the taller blond; his eyes shattered and his eyelids pooling with tears. "Get out! I said get out! Get out, now!" HE screeched, his eyes panicked
Thomas closed his eyes and sighed, setting the diary down onto the desk and quietly walking out Henry's bedroom as the boy followed him to the door and slammed it as he crossed the threshold. Thomas flinched, turning around and staring at the now shut oaken door as he felt this numb helplessness take over his body. He ran his hand anxiously through his perfectly styled blond hair and tugged at his locks out of pure frustration; glancing up as he heard the door creak open once again to reveal Henry glaring with fiery blue eyes at him.
"I don't know what you've learnt of me, Constable. But by now you likely know I have more power and connections than you could've ever known" Henry said calmly, his arms folded over his chest as Thomas lowered his gaze to the floor like a naughty school child being told off by the headmaster. "But know one thing; if you even dare breathing a word of what you know to anyone, I'll ruin you." Thomas' gaze shot up to meet Henry's. "My Papa's cousin is the Governor General of Canada, and it would take one letter. One single, measly letter, stating that my room was searched without a warrant by an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police... Well, let's just say your days in uniform will be numbered. So with that, I bid you a good day, Constable. Goodbye." And with that he slammed the door shut again leaving a very shocked young Constable on oneside, and himself on the other; alone to cry with no-one to comfort him but himself.
Dear Diary,
Normally if someone were to tell me I reminded them of their father, I'd be terribly offended; but in this case I daresay I wasn't. From what I hear Lord Robert Wilson was rather young and dashing when he eloped to Gretna Green with his Mama's housemaid, so bearing that in mind I shall take that as rather a complement. They were both only eighteen years of age. Papa missed him terribly, and they all but lost contact when Papa disappointed Lord Robert by taking the Duke of Bedford's side; though Papa never told me the full story, from what I understand Papa saw the Lord Robert's love as being a mere 'affair' even going far enough to say that Lord Robert could have both should he marry a well born girl form a well to do family whilst keeping the young maid as a 'mistress'. This in turn ended in quite the row; with Papa taking a punch to the jaw as Mama always cheekily recounted the story to us all, much to Papa's disgruntlement; and I daresay though Papa will always be my Papa, Lord Robert was in the right in this situation.
All that aside, I can't help but feel this uncertainty brewing deep within my soul as to what exactly thomas meant by that. The way I talk, the way I do things?! What the devil was that supposed to mean!? How on earth could he make the connection between a high born son of a duke with ME?! Who... Also is a high born son of a duke. Oh heavens, could it be that he might be on to my charade. I don't see how, I mention being common and working class whenever I see fit. Sure I never bothered to change my accent or anything, but surely that can't have given me away, could it? To be fair, perhaps I ought to have done more research on common people before pretending to be one.
Now all I can do is live with the utter, gutwernching torture that is having to both fear Thomas and be unnaturally infatuated with him. And whilst I should be over the moon having felt his embrace, been warmed by his muscle-bound body of a Greek god, feeling his scent take over my mind; all one can think about is him finding out the truth about me. One whole week I've lived with this torment of wondering when he'd come straight out and tell me he knew I was lying; so I've been so terribly careful what I say, careful what I do, relaying the framework of my false backstory being the ordinary country doctor from modest, humble backgrounds. All I can do at this point is pray that the truth doesn't come out; for I fear not only for losing a friend, the last thing I need is to make an enemy.
Love, Henry
Henry grabbed his coat and slipped out into the corridor, sauntering down the stairs and towards the kitchen where Thomas and the boys would likely be at this hour of the morning. Henry figured it best to offer his assistance with breakfast; he felt like that was what a small town, modest, young country doctor would do in such a situation.
"Good morning!" Sang Henry as he walked into the kitchen and greeted Thomas with a nod, ruffling Danny's hair playfully and making his way over to the pram next to Thomas to plant a chaste kiss on little Alfie's head. The handsome Constable couldn't help but smile at how good Henry seemed to be with the boys; Danny practically worshiped 'Henwy' and on nights Alfie was fussy even his own Dad couldn't seem to get him to settle down. But Henry always managed to put Alfie at ease within seconds of holding him.
"Morning." Thomas nodded back as he continue chopping up some of the leftover vegetables from the previous night's roast.
"Right, what's for breakfast, and how can I help?" Henry asked cheerily, almost too cheerily to the point where it felt as though he were overcompensating; likely because he was.
"Bubble and squeak." Thomas said as he put slid his finger down the flat sides of the knife to clear off the remnants of cabbage that adhered to the sides of the blade. "You could peel and chop the onion, if you'd like." Thomas offered, his eyes subtly narrowed towards the blue eyed young lad.
In the week since Henry and Thomas' tender little moment, Thomas couldn't help but feel his eyes opened in a way; though he felt himself falling for Henry more and more with each passing minute, he couldn't help but suddenly become hyperaware of something that he'd noticed before but chosen to store away in the deep, dark, recesses of his psyche. Nothing about Henry seemed to make sense.
Henry grabbed the onion that Thomas had set out and stared at it blankly; surely it couldn't be hard to peel and chop an onion, what could possible go wrong? But what Henry had momentarily forgotten was was the fact that he hadn't the slightest idea how to peel nor chop an onion.
The dark haired young man's sapphire eyes suddenly lit up with an idea, prompting him to spring up from his seat and walk over towards the drawer they kept the cutlery and rummaging around until he found what he'd been searching for; a potato peeler.
With an innocent, victorious smile blossoming across his face he took the potato peeler and made his way back to the kitchen table, all the while Thomas stared at him blankly; leant back in the chair, elbow on the arm rest as his hand rested pensively over his mouth to hide his utter perplexity. Henry chucked awkwardly with a wide grin before shifting his gaze back down to the potato peeler and onion in his hands; he'd seen servants use one before to peel potatoes downstairs but he'd never actually used one himself.
Thomas watched as Henry took the peeler and struck it against the onion, his entire body flinching ever so slightly as he did so; taking off the flaky skin along with a bit more of the actual inside of the onion than was ideal. But more than focusing on the brutalised onion, Thomas was all too fixated on Henry's rather peculiar ways; Henry looked uncomfortable just as he looked doing anything he'd offered to help Thomas with; so uncomfortable that even Thomas found himself visibly cringing at how odd it was. From mopping, to dusting, to chopping vegetables or cooking, Henry struggled with everything no matter how simple it might be. Not to mention the times his stories about his family seemed guarded, or flat out didn't add up.
Thomas continued chopping up the Brussel sprouts and cabbage he'd taken a break from earlier all the while Henry continued to hack at the onion with the potato peeler. Thomas would glance up periodically, feeling physical discomfort and visibly cringing with every inexpert stroke Henry made with the potato peeler. But though Thomas could tell the pretty raven haired boy hadn't a clue what he was doing, he never once whinged or moaned about it. A part of Thomas admired him for his willingness to help, he nonetheless couldn't quite kick the feeling that every time Henry did so it looked as though he was doing it for the very first time.
Henry suddenly hissed in pain as Thomas' eye shot up to stare at him wide-eyed, his gaze travelling down to Henry's hand, seeing a small nick on his thumb knuckle with blood beginning to flow out. Hastily putting down the onion and the potato peeler, he grabbed a clean tea towel off the table and wrapped it around his thumb, applying pressure to his thumb to stop the bleeding; it was only a small nick, but it stung nonetheless.Henry grabbed his coat and slipped out into the corridor, sauntering down the stairs and towards the kitchen where Thomas and the boys would likely be at this hour of the morning. Henry figured it best to offer his assistance with breakfast; he felt like that was what a small town, modest, young country doctor would do in such a situation.
"Good morning!" Sang Henry as he walked into the kitchen and greeted Thomas with a nod, ruffling Danny's hair playfully and making his way over to the pram next to Thomas to plant a chaste kiss on little Alfie's head. The handsome Constable couldn't help but smile at how good Henry seemed to be with the boys; Danny practically worshiped 'Henwy' and on nights Alfie was fussy even his own Dad couldn't seem to get him to settle down. But Henry always managed to put Alfie at ease within seconds of holding him.
"Morning." Thomas nodded back as he continue chopping up some of the leftover vegetables from the previous night's roast.
"Right, what's for breakfast, and how can I help?" Henry asked cheerily, almost too cheerily to the point where it felt as though he were overcompensating; likely because he was.
"Bubble and squeak." Thomas said as he put slid his finger down the flat sides of the knife to clear off the remnants of cabbage that adhered to the sides of the blade. "You could peel and chop the onion, if you'd like." Thomas offered, his eyes subtly narrowed towards the blue eyed young lad.
In the week since Henry and Thomas' tender little moment, Thomas couldn't help but feel his eyes opened in a way; though he felt himself falling for Henry more and more with each passing minute, he couldn't help but suddenly become hyperaware of something that he'd noticed before but chosen to store away in the deep, dark, recesses of his psyche. Nothing about Henry seemed to make sense.
Henry grabbed the onion that Thomas had set out and stared at it blankly; surely it couldn't be hard to peel and chop an onion, what could possible go wrong? But what Henry had momentarily forgotten was was the fact that he hadn't the slightest idea how to peel nor chop an onion.
The dark haired young man's sapphire eyes suddenly lit up with an idea, prompting him to spring up from his seat and walk over towards the drawer they kept the cutlery and rummaging around until he found what he'd been searching for; a potato peeler.
With an innocent, victorious smile blossoming across his face he took the potato peeler and made his way back to the kitchen table, all the while Thomas stared at him blankly; leant back in the chair, elbow on the arm rest as his hand rested pensively over his mouth to hide his utter perplexity. Henry chucked awkwardly with a wide grin before shifting his gaze back down to the potato peeler and onion in his hands; he'd seen servants use one before to peel potatoes downstairs but he'd never actually used one himself.
Thomas watched as Henry took the peeler and struck it against the onion, his entire body flinching ever so slightly as he did so; taking off the flaky skin along with a bit more of the actual inside of the onion than was ideal. But more than focusing on the brutalised onion, Thomas was all too fixated on Henry's rather peculiar ways; Henry looked uncomfortable just as he looked doing anything he'd offered to help Thomas with; so uncomfortable that even Thomas found himself visibly cringing at how odd it was. From mopping, to dusting, to chopping vegetables or cooking, Henry struggled with everything no matter how simple it might be. Not to mention the times his stories about his family seemed guarded, or flat out didn't add up.
Thomas continued chopping up the Brussel sprouts and cabbage he'd taken a break from earlier all the while Henry continued to hack at the onion with the potato peeler. Thomas would glance up periodically, feeling physical discomfort and visibly cringing with every inexpert stroke Henry made with the potato peeler. But though Thomas could tell the pretty raven haired boy hadn't a clue what he was doing, he never once whinged or moaned about it. A part of Thomas admired him for his willingness to help, he nonetheless couldn't quite kick the feeling that every time Henry did so it looked as though he was doing it for the very first time.
Henry suddenly hissed in pain as Thomas' eye shot up to stare at him wide-eyed, his gaze travelling down to Henry's hand, seeing a small nick on his thumb knuckle with blood beginning to flow out. Hastily putting down the onion and the potato peeler, he grabbed a clean tea towel off the table and wrapped it around his thumb, applying pressure to his thumb to stop the bleeding; it was only a small nick, but it stung nonetheless.
"Hang on." Thomas sprung up and rushed out of the room, returning in mere seconds with an old First Aid box that he kept for emergencies in the police station. He hastily opened the metal box and fished out the antiseptic, a bit of cotton wool and some gauze and tape "Alright let me have a look." Thomas said, gesturing towards the tea-towel covered wound that Henry was applying constant pressure to.
"It's nothing, I'm fine, it's hardly a nick." Assured Henry, staring up at him through his raven black fringe that had fallen into his deep sea blue eyes.
"Henry." Thomas took a playfully stern tone. "Just let me have a look."
Henry docilely nodded, removing the tea towel to reveal a small smudge of scarlet on its fibres and a small cut that slowly began refilling with blood. Thomas unscrewed the cap of the antiseptic and soaking a bit onto the ball or cotton wool.
"This is going to sting a bit." Thomas said in jest, making Henry glared up at him with a playful eye roll; Henry was the doctor here, clearly he was well aware it'd sting. Thomas placed the cotton wool on the open wound, applying a bit of pressure as Henry hissed from the pain, his spine tensing ever so slightly from the discomfort.
Thomas glanced up at him with a reassuring smile as he removed the plaster from it's wrapping and carefully winding it round the section of Henry's thumb where he'd incurred the wound. Thomas stuck the tape to seal the bandage before thoughtlessly taking Henry's hand and placing a chaste kiss atop the bandage. Henry gasped quietly, staring wide eyed as Thomas suddenly realised what he'd done.
"I just kissed your finger, didn't I?" Thomas ran his hand embarrassedly over his handsomely chiseled face.
"Yes..." Henry pursed his lips to stifle a giggle. "Yes, you did."
"God." Thomas grimaced with a groan, burying his face in his hands out of sheer embarrassment. "I'm so used to kissing Danny's bandages when he gets hurt, I-I guess I wasn't thinking."
"I don't mind..." Henry said with a smile, immediately realising just how strange that statement sounded as Thomas raised his head out of his palms and stared confusedly at the young raven-haired lad. "Erm... I only mean, I understand. It was out of habit. Though I daresay if you accidentally did that to someone else they not let you off so easy." He teased the blushing blond, a smile creeping across his pouty pink lips as Thomas simply shook is head and chuckled sheepishly.
The day went on and so Thomas found himself compartmentalising these thoughts as he distracted himself with work; but that night as he laid in bed they all bubbled back to the surface; Thomas couldn't help but allow his sharp mind to run wild. He remembered every piece of Henry's story, every random detail, every little thing that formed a puzzle; a rather dodgy puzzle with pieces missing and pieces that didn't seem to fit at all. But what could he do? Henry's papers were all normal, he was newly in the country so there was nobody he could call to verify his story; his only option was to contact someone in England which would take time, or... He could do something that he might regret...
The next afternoon, at a time when Thomas knew Henry was making a house call to the outskirts of town, Thomas did something that he knew was wrong and he knew could end disastrously. But the curiosity was simply eating at him, and his inner Constable clawing at his insides and practically forcing him to investigate something he saw to be irregular. Why did Henry's story seem to have so many irregularities? Why was everything he did and said pointing the very opposite direction from the the stories he presented? Who was Doctor Henry Dunmurry? What was his story? And most importantly, what was he hiding?
Thomas tiptoed upstairs after locking the door to the police station. He walked up past his bedroom, past the nursery where the boy's were having their kid-afternoon naps; stalking past he door between his side of the corridor and Henry's, grimacing as every floorboard seemed to creak and betray him with each step. He stopped momentarily as his hand reached for Henry's doorknob, knowing deep within that he was doing Henry a grave injustice by encroaching on his privacy; Henry never did anything that'd make him seem dangerous to Thomas, but he just had to know. He had to know who this person was whom he was involving in his life, this person he was involving in his sons' lives; this person that he saw his son's adoring and loving with each passing day Henry stayed there. Though he trusted Henry, his experiences as a lawyer before the war, his experiences dealing with human nature during the war, and his experiences with perpetrators during his time with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police all taught him that appearances can often be decieving.
Thomas creaked the door open and slipped inside, glancing around and feeling a sense of relief wash over him as he realised he was indeed alone. Shutting the door behind him he stood in the centre of the room and looked around; he didn't know what he was looking for, he didn't even know what he expected to find. He immediately regretted everything, but he knew something was awry; and whilst training as a Mountie he learnt one thing, always trust your instinct to never let you down.
He went straight for the bureau, opening a few of the drawers to see the usual fountain pens, writing paper, envelops and other such stationary. When he finally reached the final drawer he found something that finally caught his eye; a little leather bound book and a small silk satchel with a gold tassels drawstring and a stack of letters...
He hastily took the items out of the drawer and set them down on top of the bureau, staring down at the mess of random things before him. There were a few ripped open envelops with British postage stamps, all addressed from people whose names matched names that Henry had mentioned being his sister and brothers' names; the only curious matter was that their surnames weren't Dunmurry, but Aldringham. Thomas wanted to read the already opened letters, but he couldn't bring himself to breach his privacy; though Lord only knew Thomas being in Henry's room and going through his things had already proven to suffice as a terrible breach of his privacy.
He moved on to the satchel, opening it up and glancing down to see jewellery; expensive by the looks of it, and clearly out of the realm of affordability for a mere country doctor. Immediately Thomas began to understand that there was indeed something very wrong here. He glanced over to the diary and picked it up wearily, immediately noting a slight gap in the middle where something was likely tucked between the pages.
Thomas opened the diary to the page, his brow cocked with intrigue as he saw a stack of photographs tucked securely into the gutter of the binding. He set the diary back onto the mahogany desk top and picked up the photos, scanning through them with scrutinising eyes; the first few were normal, an adult Henry with his parents, siblings, and an older grandmother, seeming on what looked like someone's wedding day though everyone seemed to have very stoic, serious expressions on their faces. Another photograph was of just Henry and his brothers and sister.
But the next few photographs were what piqued Thomas' interest; two photographs of Henry looking much younger with dark blond hair, merely a child though his big blue eyes alone were enough to identify him. In one he was with two men who looked almost identical with chestnut brown hair and handlebar moustaches; one had dark eyes whilst the other appeared a lighter steel colour about them. They stood with blank expressions all the whilst the blue eyed man held a young bright eyed toddler in his arms; Henry. Thomas couldn't help but find the men eerily familiar, though he couldn't for the life of him recall how.
The next photograph was of an older woman, regal and larger than life with a calm look about her light eyes; she wore all black with regalia pinned to it and a white veil of sorts over her head. She was sat in a chair with a young blond toddler sat in her lap wearing a miniature white navy uniform with blue striped trim on the collar. Once again Thomas recognised this woman, but where from? He let out a frustrated huff, setting the photos down on the desk as he saw something catch his eye; the photo of the two men next to envelopes with the postage stamp with a side profile portrait of the king. Thomas' eyes widened in shock as he held the photograph and the envelop together as he felt his blood run cold in his veins; One of these men, was the King.
Just as Thomas was about to stuff the photographs back into the diary and make his escape before Henry could get back, his eyes travelled to the opposite page when he saw something rather intriguing; His name. He scanned through the diary entry, then another, and yet another; he knew it was wrong but now he knew that Henry felt... exactly how he did.
"What the devil is going on here?!" Thomas jumped, turning about face to see Henry standing in the doorway staring at him wide eyed.
"What are you doing here?!" Thomas stammered, realising he had Henry's diary incriminatingly nestled in his hand.
"What am I doing here? WHAT AM I DOING HERE?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" Henry scoffed in disbelief, his voice trembling with a deep burning anger and pain; his eyes immediately scanning the room to see his things strewn about his desk and Thomas' diary in his hand.
"Who are you?" Thomas took a step towards Henry with his scrutinising glare narrowed onto the smaller boy.
"You're looking through my things?!" Henry's voice cracked, his feeling a mix of pain, uncertainty, and mostly... betrayal.
"Who are you?" Thomas repeated through gritted teeth, standing mere feet away from Henry.
"How dare you?! You have no right to look through my things!" Henry screamed like a banshee, his eyes watering and his lip quivering from pure unadulterated rage.
"I have every right!" Thomas mirrored his tone challengingly.
"Well, have you got a warrant?!" Henry folded his arms over his chest, staring defiantly into the handsome blond officer's blue eyes. Thomas broke eye contact with him realising in that moment that this could be very bad for him. "You don't do you?" Scoffed Henry. "Then why..." He seethed angrily, his teeth gritted and his jaw clenching.
"Because nothing you say ever makes sense!" Thomas exploded, allowing everything he kept bottled inside for the past month to go rushing about. "Nothing ever adds up! You say you're so common and average but your accent says otherwise, your clothing says otherwise, your demeanour says otherwise!"
"That's not probable cause to search one's room!" Henry threw his hands up in disbelief. "Besides all the evidence you've presented is circumstantial at best; you haven't a single iota of solid evidence! It would never hold in a court of law."
"Oh so you're a barrister now?!" Thomas scoffed at the pretty flustered boy.
"No! But my Papa was one, and my both my brothers!" Henry argued, earning him a cocked eyebrow from the handsome blond.
"You said your dad was a farmer." Challenged Thomas.
"Oh spare me." Henry spat irritatedly, running a hand through his dark hair.
"Who. are. you?" Thomas repeated for a third time; calming his voice as best he could.
"WHY DO YOU BLOODY CARE?! " Henry screamed in Thomas' face as Thomas just sighed to keep from exploding on Henry.
"Because I trusted you!" Thomas snapped at him. "Because I told you things I've never told anyone! Because I trusted you and thought you to be a friend!" Thomas looked down into Henry's eyes, immediately noting how his icy blue gaze seemed to thaw ever so slightly. "Because I thought I knew you... But clearly I don't. And what hurts most is that... I let you get close to the boys, and I dont' even know who you are..."
"Get out." Henry's took in a deep breath and stalked up challenging to the taller blond; his eyes shattered and his eyelids pooling with tears. "Get out! I said get out! Get out, now!" HE screeched, his eyes panicked
Thomas closed his eyes and sighed, setting the diary down onto the desk and quietly walking out Henry's bedroom as the boy followed him to the door and slammed it as he crossed the threshold. Thomas flinched, turning around and staring at the now shut oaken door as he felt this numb helplessness take over his body. He ran his hand anxiously through his perfectly styled blond hair and tugged at his locks out of pure frustration; glancing up as he heard the door creak open once again to reveal Henry glaring with fiery blue eyes at him.
"I don't know what you've learnt of me, Constable. But by now you likely know I have more power and connections than you could've ever known" Henry said calmly, his arms folded over his chest as Thomas lowered his gaze to the floor like a naughty school child being told off by the headmaster. "But know one thing; if you even dare breathing a word of what you know to anyone, I'll ruin you." Thomas' gaze shot up to meet Henry's. "My Papa's cousin is the Governor General of Canada, and it would take one letter. One single, measly letter, stating that my room was searched without a warrant by an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police... Well, let's just say your days in uniform will be numbered. So with that, I bid you a good day, Constable. Goodbye." And with that he slammed the door shut again leaving a very shocked young Constable on oneside, and himself on the other; alone to cry with no-one to comfort him but himself.
End of My Home From Home Chapter 19. Continue reading Chapter 20 or return to My Home From Home book page.