My Home From Home (ManxMan)

Chapter 12

The old grandfather clock in the small library sounded it's deep chimes as the clock struck eight. By the time Thomas had changed little Alfie's nappy and tucked him in it had already been eight o'clock. Henry stalked about the small library as he glanced about at the random trinkets and books on the bookcases. It was a rather small library that paled in comparison to anything he'd been accustomed to, yet there was something charmingly warm about it. The cosy dim lighting, the dark wood panelling all reminded him of home; and whomever had curated the little personal collection had quite the eye for classic literature.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting." Henry turned as he heard Thomas' silky masculine voice beckons from behind him.

"No need to apologise, I was simply admiring the collection." Henry pointed out as his finger grazed the spine of a particular book that interested him. Wuthering Heights by Charlotte Brontë. "Do you enjoy reading?"

"I did, especially growing up. But as an adult, unfortunately, I reckon other things seemed to take over most of my leisure time." Admitted Thomas . "What about you? I take it you're an avid reader."

"One might say that." Henry chuckled softly. "As a child I'd love to get lost in a book. Allow it to take me away through it's thin parchment pages. It felt like I could go anywhere it took me. Like the world was right inside my head. Make me feel less alone." He glanced up to see Thomas looking at him empathetically, realising he'd cast rather a gloom just then. "This one time, I hid under a table utterly lost in a book. They had everyone upstairs and the downstairs searching the whole village for me!" Henry's let out a naughty giggle of sorts as he tried to lighten the mood.

"Upstairs... and downstairs?" Thomas cocked an eyebrow at Henry who in that moment realised he'd just backed himself into a rather difficult corner.

"Yes." Henry replied as calmly and nonchalantly as he could. "Oh! Sorry, I must've misspoke. By upstairs I meant they searched the attic." He was beginning to think this whole charade of being someone he wasn't was going to be a lot more difficult than he'd originally intended; he'd come up with a story that he was this normal, ordinary, working class lad. But what Henry neglected to figure into the equation was that he'd never actually had a real conversation to a working class person other than the downstairs staff whom he really didn't know on personal levels.

"Ah! I see." Nodded Thomas understandingly, though it would be one of the odd things about Henry he'd notice but stow away in the back of his head. "Have you got any favourite authors or books, even?"

"Oh loads of them! Anything by Charlotte Brontë or Jane Austen, for starters are my absolute favourites; just ordinary stories about common folk like us leading very common lives." Thomas couldn't help but smile he watched Henry explain his favourite books; there was a passion in him that seemed to make his entire aura glow. "It has to be said, the collection in this library is rather good, did you ahve a part in that?"

"Me?! Oh, no! The library was from when this was a private family home. You see, many years ago it belonged to a well-off farmer called Mr Richards. Before Fir Creek was a town this area was a small settlement owned by Mr Richards. He started as a mere grain farmer, but grew his business by celling throughout the valley. He was able to build this house and this great fortune but unfortunately he never had any children of his own. Fifty years ago some surveyors discovered coal in the valley and opened a mine; not long later this area developed into a town. Not long later, Mr Richards passed away and left all his fortune to the city along with his house to use as they saw fit. At the time with the way the town was developing, families coming from all around to work in the mine, opening businesses and what have you; the city decided a constabulary an infirmary were necessary. And now here we are."