My Home From Home - Chapter 29: Chapter 29

As the day went on Henry buried his troubles with his work, but deep within his mind he couldn't stop thinking about Timmy; the bruises on his back, the fear in his eyes, things that many years ago he'd seen in another boy around Timmy's age... whenever he looked in the mirror.
The truth of the matter was that Henry did indeed know how Timmy felt; he too was called names, shoved around, bullied by other boys at boarding school. But the one bully that stood out from the rest was one of the people one would expect to be the exact opposite; his very own big brother, Matthew. Matthew bullied him for being feminine, for being a 'fairy' for being a 'freak', a 'queer'; shoving him in the corridors and overall just being a right git to him. It was a part of Henry's childhood that his psyche buried and repressed deep within the dark troubled recesses of his mind; yet seeing what Timmy was enduring only brought it all rushing back to the surface.
Though he had made amends with Matthew and ironically enough found an unlikely confidant in his formerly estranged brother; he couldn't help but feel a deep anger bubbling within. An anger for the way he was treated, the way he was hurt, the way Matthew's words and actions cut deep within his soul at a time when he was still piecing together exactly whom it was that the wretched young and impressionable Henry Aldringham was as a person.
And on top of it all he felt pity for Timmy; he felt sorrow for what he was going though, fear for the way he's being treated, and dread for what life was to becoming in the future. For Henry knew all too well how hard it was to come to terms with his attraction to other men; and for a lad like Timmy, living in a small rural Alberta town, he couldn't even begin to imagine. But most of all he felt guilt; guilt for thinking about his own trauma when he was fine, guilt of thinking about himself when he felt he ought to be thinking about Timmy and how he could help.
"Dr Dunmurry?" Henry was jolted out of deep thought as he heard Mary's voice call from the doorway. "Sorry to disturb you, it's just... this letter was just delivered for you." She looked down at the letter in her hands; off white in colour and clearly made of quality paper and with British postage stamps in the corner. "From England, by the looks of it."
"Oh, erm... Thank you." Henry forced a smile as the young red-headed girl stalked up with the letter, handing it to him and making her exit to leave Henry alone once again with his thoughts; of which he had many.He felt his heart sink in his chest as he looked down at the letter and recognised whose handwriting it was; Matthew's.
Though normally Henry looked forward to Matthew's letters in particular; in a  way the rest of the family's mundane letters seemed to pale in comparison to Matthew's which were so much more detailed. It was like for twenty seven years his brother kept him at arm's length and in a way they were now making up for lost time through their correspondences and truly getting on like brothers ought to. But today he didn't want to read Matthew's letter. A part of him wondering if he should even forgive Matthew.
Stowing the letter away into one of the drawers in his bureau, Henry went about his day like normal, eventually pushing it all to the back of his mind like he did with all his trauma and unsavoury memories. He cooked dinner for Thomas and the boys; a responsibility he and Thomas alternated on now that Henry had learnt his way around the kitchen. He often chuckled to himself as he wondered how his family would react, seeing him cook things without the help of a servant; he felt like Granny would be proud whilst his Papa would disapprove and his poor Mama would simply die of shock. And though Henry reckoned he'd successfully compartmentalised it all through dinner, Thomas could see right through his thinly veiled facade.
"Hey do you maybe want to have a drink by the fire after we've tucked the boys in." Thomas walked up behind Henry as the raven haired lad was doing the washing up. "We could cuddle." Thomas whispered cheekily into Henry's ear.
"I would've loved to..." Sighed Henry, much to Thomas' disappointment. "But I think I'd like to be alone, just for tonight. I hope you don't mind; sometimes I just like to mull things over. I'm sorry."
"Hey." Thomas leant up with his back against the counter as he stood next to Henry and craned his neck to look into his preoccupied looking sapphire eyes. "You don't have to apologise for taking time for yourself. I completely understand. I'm the one who should be sorry, I hope I don't come across as though I'm pestering you to talk about your feelings..."
"I don't see it like that." Henry blinked his gaze down towards the soapy plate in his hand, his raven black fringe falling into his face as he scrubbed the dishes to take his mind off of everything that was muddling his thoughts. "I appreciate it, really. Thank you for caring."
"No worries." A smile blossomed over Thomas' face; allowing those heart-melting dimples to recede into his lightly sun kissed cheeks as he reached over to push Henry's dark hair out of his face. "But if you ever need anything at all, I'm here to help you any way I can."
Henry's cheeks blossomed with a tinge of rouge as he simply smiled to that; Thomas had said that before, but the more he heard it the more he realised how fortunate he felt to have someone like that. Most of the time whenever people asked if one was alright, they prayed one simply said yes and crack on with the conversation; he couldn't imagine ever telling someone if something truly wasn't alright.And though he'd always been told it was terribly un-English and vulgarly common to do so, something about Thomas made him feel safe; safe to speak openly about his feelings.
Henry helped change Alfie's nappy, tucking both boys into bed and telling Danny a bedtime story; after kissing both lads good night he crept away towards his side of the corridor all the while Thomas looked on silently, peeking out form his cracked bedroom door. He watched as Henry mindlessly stalked past his own bedroom and towards the stairwell; gazing on from afar as the light flicker of the candlestick he carried disappeared and faded away.
Creeping down into the surgery and. guided solely by candlelight, Henry slipped into his office to fish the letter out of his desk drawer; carefully tearing open the side with the gold plated letter opener his Papa's dear friend, former Prime Minister Churchill, gifted him when he'd graduated from Oxford. He tiptoed back through to the kitchens, cringing as he heard every floorboard creak and moan to betray his stealthiness before finally making his way out onto the covered porch on the eastern side of the house.
His entire body shuddered from the cold, his breath forming clouds of vapour in the frosty Albertan winter air as he sat down on the wooden bench just by the door. It was terribly frigid and the nippy night gust seemed to cut through his clothes but Henry simply needed the fresh air; he needed to clear his mind, cleanse his lungs, and simply breathe.
Resting his eyelids shut, he felt the tickle of his eyelashes on his cold cheeks as he taking a deep cleansing breath and letting out a heavy huff. Mentally preparing himself before opening his eyes once again and pulling the letter out of the envelop; and by the light of the porch lamp above he began to read...
Dearest Harry,
One prays that this letter finds you well and that the New Year has thus far been kind to you. I know I say this in each of our correspondences, but words simply cannot convey how much I miss you. I miss the way you would annoy me, ask me stupid questions, follow me around. I miss how you'd look at me with admiration, try to hug me or simply want to play. I even miss when you'd sneak into my dormitory when you were little after you've had a nightmare and try to cuddle with your big brother.
But lately my memories have been cast into rather a gloom, because as it so happens dear brother, I've only seemed to cherish the memories of you and about you; my mind seeming to repress and suppress all memories of the way I treated you. We've talked about everything under the sun through our correspondences, but what I can't help but feel unease about is the fact that we've never truly talked about just how much damage I might've done.
I was utterly beastly to you; I hurt you, called you names, insulted you, bullied you. You looked at me like a hero, but I treated you like would a villain and for that I can't even begin to convey how deeply regretful I am. The truth is that at the time, I resented you because I knew you were like me in a way, and hurting you and making you feel low made me feel like I was hurting myself. Your femininity made you a target for me to take out my own resentment against my own attractions to other lads. And though for some ungodly reason this thought process seemed to makes sense to me at the time, I never once stopped to consider how it all would've effected you and your emotional wellbeing.
I had no right to treat you so. I had no right to call you a poof, a queer, a fairy. I had no right to be the one who hurt you when I should've been the one who was fighting your corner. I love you dearest little Brother, and as many times as I apologise, I feel like it'll never be enough. I only pray one day you'll find it in you to truly forgive, as I myself may never truly forgive myself. I love you with all my heart, little Henry, and every night I include you in my prayers. May God keep you safe and well.
Your Apologetic and Loving Brother, Matthew.
P.S. I nearly forgot to mention that the preliminary interrogations for the case has been thus concluded and your name has yet to come up in any of the testimonials from the men accosted that night by Scotland Yard. And God willing, I pray that should be in the clear when the Crown Prosecution presents its case before His Majesty's Judiciary on morning of the 14th March 1921 in Middlesex County Court House. I shall keep you informed on that. Until I hear from you again, Matthew.
Henry felt a heaviness in his chest, a sensation of dyspnea of sorts as he folded up the letter and held it close to his heart. Letting out a quiet heart-wrenching sigh he softly shut his eyes, allowing the tears that pooled in his eyes to gather on his dark black lashes and cascade down his porcelain fair cheek that flushed red from the bitterly cold January gusts. As quietly and steadily as the snow that gently fell just beyond the covered roof of the porch, Henry began to sob mutedly.
He sobbed like the child who cried himself to sleep in his dormitory whilst in the foetal position, feeling worthless and like a freak of nature just as his bullies and his brother called him. He sobbed just like that poor young Timmy had done in his office earlier that day. he sobbed like so many just like him in a time when they were ridiculed, ostracised, and shamed for simply being who they were.
Pulling his knees close into his body he rested his head on top of his kneecaps as he shielded himself from the world; shielding himself from it all. Neither the cold nor the embarrassment he'd normally feel of being potentially seen by someone seemed to faze him. He didn't know how to feel in that moment; in a way he felt this sense of closure, the slightest easing of his pain.
"Hey." Henry heard a familiar voice coming from beside him, raising his head up off of his knees to see Thomas standing over him with an empathetic smile over his handsome face. He was wearing his housecoat and his hair looked messier than his usual clean cut appearance with two copper mugs in each of his hands. "I know you said you want to be alone, but I couldn't fall asleep without checking on you. And good thing I had." He said with a smile, running a hand through his effortlessly messy blond hair to push it back atop his head. "Are you okay?" He sat down next to the dark haired lad, lovingly nudging him with his shoulder as he nestled in beside him.
"I'm... better than before. Make of that what you will." Henry huffed exhaustedly, forcing the corners of his mouth to smile though his broken pained eyes betrayed him.
"Here." Thomas said handing Henry the steaming copper mug. "Thought you could use hot toddy on a cold night like this."
"Cheers, thanks." Henry obliged, feeling the warmth of the cup against the wool of his cosy mittens.  He took a sip of the hot liquid, allowing its warmth to travel down his throat and its whisky slowly thaw his chilled body.
Silence ensued between the two as they sat there gazing out at the gently falling snow. Henry simply stared out into the bleak darkness in the distance as he rested his head tenderly on Thomas' broad shoulder.
"Um... Henry?" Thomas whispered as he glanced down enamoured at the mess of raven black hair pressed up against his shoulder
"Mhmm?" Henry hummed in acknowledgement.
"As much as I love being here, with you, in the cold, in the dead of winter. Outside. Did I mention it's cold?" Thomas teased with a playful smirk. "Do you wanna go inside? I can put the fire on, we can just talk or cuddle."
"I should I like that." Henry smiled up at him as he prised himself off of Thomas' shoulder, running his fingers through his messy dark hair to tidy it back up. He pushed himself up to standing just as yet another gust of the cold winter wind hit them like a tonne of bricks. Henry shuddered as he felt it penetrate through the fibres of his clothes, as though rendering them useless to it's frigid might. But through the huffing and puffing of the prairie winds Henry's ears caught the slightest, faintest sound that turned his attention towards the stairwell; a whimper of sorts but so subtle it nearly sounded like a door creaking.
"Did you hear that?" Henry's head whipped round towards Thomas. "That noise, just then?"
"Was it the wind, perhaps?" Thomas cocked a perplexed brow at him.
"No, it was something different, rather." Henry turned his head back towards the stairwell, his eyes darting as he wondered if it was merely his mind playing ricks on him. Perhaps someone's door creaked open in the distance and Henry merely perceived it as being closer than it was.
He shook his head, chalking the sound up to his wild and clearly vivid imagination; but then he heard it again, a distinct quiet meow in the distance. Henry whipped his neck round again, this time locking gazes with Thomas who appeared to have heard it as well. They crept towards the oaken staircase that led down from from the covered porch down into the back garden. Henry gasped as they heard the sound again, turning towards Thomas who jogged down the wooden steps and crept around to peek under the steps.
Thomas crouched down onto his hunches, the moonlight above enough to reveal just what little creature was responsible for the sounds; a tiny little kitten, no bigger than palm of Thomas' hand shivering alone in the cold under the refuge from the snow. The kitten was shaking like a autumn leaf ready to fall from the tree, shivering from the cold as it whimpered pitifully.
Henry knelt down and gasped at the sight of the kitten all the while Thomas glanced around for any signs of a mother or other kittens of the litter; it appeared to be a young kitten only a few weeks old with big blue eyes, grey fur with dark striped markings and a white snout and paws. He gazed on over Thomas shoulder as the taller blond reached over and very gently scooped up the shuddering little kitting into his gloves and pulling him out from under the steps.
"He's a boy." Thomas gently turned the kitten onto his back to examine the gender. " He can't be more than a week or two old." Thomas cocked his head to the side to look into Henry's eyes. "I don't see any signs of a mother under there, I wonder how the little guy got here."
"The poor dear must be absolutely freezing, we really ought to take him inside. " Henry's teeth chattered as he pulled the flaps of his coat in and overlapped them across his body to get even the slightest bit more warmth within it's fur lining.
The two rushed inside as Thomas refuged the little kitten under his coat to shield him from the freezing winter wind. Henry went to the cupboard to find a small picnic hamper, grabbing some soft linens and blankets to line the inside of the makeshift bed while Thomas gently laid the kitten into the picnic hamper and engulfed him in the blanket to keep him warm before kindling a fire in the drawing room.
Steaming a bit of milk on the stove and transferring it into an extra baby bottle, Henry brought it into the drawing room to see Thomas sitting on the sofa with the picnic hamper; a smile on his face as he stroked the minuscule wee kitten's soft grey fur with his finger. Henry couldn't help but smile as well, treading over to sit opposite the hamper and swaddled the kitten in a blanket so that he could hold him in his arms whilst feeding him. It wasn't long before
"He's a hungry little fella, eh?" Thomas nestled up next to Henry and put his arm around him as they both gazed down at the precious little kitten at the  Feeling Thomas' soft, warm gaze on him, Henry glanced upwards, cocking a brow confusedly at the taller blond.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Asked Henry cheekily, catching the handsome fair haired Constable staring at him with a beam about him.
"Nothing." Chuckled Thomas as pulled Henry closer to him to nuzzle into Henry's soft hair. "It's just, I love seeing your usual glow on your face once again." He gently caressed Henry's shaven cheek with the back of his knuckles. "It made me sad seeing you upset earlier today."
"I... am sorry, I've had quite a rough day." Henry sighed, pursing his lips as he gazed down lovingly at the kitten as he finished the bottle, his eyes blinking slower and slower as sleep began to descend on his furry little body. "Have you... Ever been teased as a child? Being... You know, one of our kind."
"No, can't say I have."Thomas frowned as he rehashed memories of his childhood. "Guess I lucked out in that department. Were you... Bullied, that is?"
"I suppose I hadn't lucked out." Henry chuckled emptily to hide his pain. It made sense to him that Thomas, who was easily more masculine and 'heterosexual-passing', as society off the time would've preferred; Henry on the other hand didn't have that luxury. He wasn't particularly 'camp' but he had a tinge of femininity and meekness that made him a walking target at times. "I was teased by a few lads at school, but most of all, my brother."
"Matthew?" Thomas asked curiously.
"Yes." Sighed Henry. "I'm afraid it's terribly difficult to wrap one's head around. The same Matthew whose letters I look forward to so, whom I now feel the most connected to of any of my family back home, is the same Matthew who called me names, made me feel like I was nothing and nobody. Made me wish I could fall asleep and never wake up."
"God... I'm so sorry, Henry." Thomas dabbed the tear that'd escaped down Henry's long dark lashes and onto his snow white skin.
"Sorry, I'm being silly." Henry forced a chuckle to hide his sadness, balling his sleeves into his palms to dab the tears off his lightly dampened skin.
"No!" Said Thomas with a firm gentleness. "You're not being silly at all." He gently coerced Henry's chin so the raven haired boy could see the genuineness in his honey brown eyes. "You should never apologise for feeling the way you do. Those are your lived experiences and your emotions and they are valid."
"Thank you for that. I do feel quite better now, I got a letter in the post from Matthew and curiously enough it gave me just the closure I needed." Gazed a grateful Henry into the distance; he wanted to open up more, talk about the situation Timmy was in, but despite desperately wanting the weight lifted, Henry knew his professional obligation to patient confidentiality prevented him from doing so. He glanced down into the peacefully sleeping kitten in his arms; he looked so blissful as the shuddering seemed to stop and the gentle rise and fall of his little furry body growing more normalised. "He's absolutely adorable, isn't he."
"That he is." Beamed Thomas, his gaze softy observing how mesmerised Henry seemed to look at the sleeping kitten, safe from the inhospitable winter bluster whirling just outside the safety of those walls.
"But I do wonder how the poor devil got here, I haven't seen any stray cats about, now that I think about it." Henry's brows furrowed in curiosity.
"Perhaps he was sent to you." Whispered Thomas with a loving grin perking up the corners of his lips and glint in his bright, warm eyes.
"How do you mean." Henry cocked a brow at the handsome blond.
"Sometimes I feel like God sends us just what we need in the right moment." Thomas explained tenderly, placing an affectionate kiss atop Henry's dark black hair as he held him as close as he could whilst being careful not to disturb the basket between their bodies. "The letter from your brother, for example, and now this little fella."
"Perhaps you're right." An inexplicable warmth permeated through Henry's body; perhaps this all was simply what he needed to feel better, in a way the concept was indeed of some comfort to him.
"As well... seeing as we haven't seen a mother cat around, and the poor little guy was all alone in the snow..." Thomas teased with a cheeky smile. "I'd be willing to say unless we do find his mother, this little fella might be staying with us for some time... We probably ought to name him."
"A name..." Henry whispered under his breath as he looked down towards the peacefully slumbering little kitten, his brows furrowed in thought. "How about we call him erm... Leo?"
"Leo it is, then." Thomas cupped Henry's face in his hand, thumbing his soft alabaster cheek fondly as the blue eyed lad blushed deep red like an English rose. "Welcome to the family, Leo."