Page 23 of The Haunting of William Thorn

William held the telegram with careful fingers, doing everything in his power not to visibly tremble.

His discomfort wasn’t solely a result of everything that’d been uncovered since he woke that morning.

In fact, the majority came from being inside of the Hanbury Manor again, now that its secrets had been laid bare.

Edward sat opposite him across the old dining table, his back haloed by daylight from the window behind him.

It was on the tip of William’s tongue to direct the conversation outside, to sit beneath the unspoiled sky and leave the heavy air of the manor behind them. But he wasn’t about to let it win.

Not yet.

“What makes you confident this was forged?” William asked one of the many questions thundering around his head. He laid the telegram on the polished wood and slid it over to Edward, who left it untouched between them. “I mean, it’s a rather bold accusation to make, don’t you think?”

“I just know,” Edward said, clutching his mug of tea, which was undoubtedly cold.

“That doesn’t really answer the question,” William said.

He’d made himself a coffee because he needed the caffeine to settle his raging headache. His stomach was in knots, so much that he believed a single sip would make him throw up.

Edward took his time to soak in William’s distrusting stare.

He leaned back on the chair, making the aged wood creak, and then answered.

“It didn’t take much digging to find out that no one from Stonewell has ever served in World War Two.

I went looking for my great-uncle’s name in so many online searches regarding deaths at war, but didn’t find it.

In fact, I didn’t find anyone from Stonewell listed.

The last person to fight in a war from this area was during World War One.

Oddly, the entire village was just overlooked when it came to conscription apparently.

No one signed up; it was as if the war just forgot this place even existed.

I’ve personally combed the World War Two archives, paid professional historians based out of London and forked out a lot of money to about three different ancestry sites, not a single one ever suggesting that Edward ever served his country. ”

“That can’t be right.” William shook his head. “A woman from Stonewell said that there were other young men who died in service. Like your Teddy must have.”

“More lies then. A simple search will prove that she is wrong, and I’m right.”

William pressed his fingers into his temple, trying to abate his headache. “There has to be a chance they fought, surely. Maybe you haven’t looked in the right places?”

“Trust me. I’ve looked everywhere, and nothing. There’s no mention of Teddy, or these other men you’ve mentioned.” Edward downed the last dregs of his mug, tongue lapping the tea which escaped down the side of his lip. “Are you naturally a distrusting person?”

William leaned forward, balling his hands into fists and resting his elbows on the table. “Do you blame me? I’ve just found out that you lied your way into the manor. You’ve been camping out in the old gatehouse. Trusting comes naturally to people who haven’t lied as much as you have.”

“Touché.” Edward narrowed his eyes, clicked his tongue and then pulled a ‘you’re not wrong’ face. “You’ve got me there.”

William’s silent stare backed Edward into a corner.

“Truthfully though–”

“At last,” William interrupted with a roll of his eyes. “The truth.”

Edward pretended to ignore William’s rudeness and continued.

“I never even knew about great-uncle Teddy until my grandmother told me about him. Turned out, for all these years, he was some big family secret. Honestly, I don’t even think my mum knew about him either.

No one ever spoke about my great-grandmother having a sibling. Not until…”

A passing storm of sadness shrouded Edward’s eyes. William noticed it, almost tasting the change in atmosphere as the sour but familiar tang of grief stretched between them.

“Until what?” William urged.

“She was dying. Stage-four cancer. She’d been moved to a hospice just outside of Oxford when I went to visit her. Fun fact, she was the oldest living person in my family, she was incredible.”

It didn’t go ignored that Edward was using the past-tense to talk about her. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He shrugged, fingers fidgeting on the table. “It was during her last days when her truth finally came out.”

William had the strongest urge to reach over the table and take Edward’s hand.

He couldn’t explain the urge and almost couldn’t ignore it.

But William watched as Edward seemed to shrink into his self.

His gaze was lost to an unimportant mark on the table, his nails picking at the wood just to give himself something to do.

William read that truth in every creased line across Edward’s forehead. Grief was familiar, even as it weighed on someone other than him.

“This is very personal, I won’t blame you if you don’t want to talk about it,” William said finally, braving the words.

There was a dread that came with acknowledging death, as though the grim reaper was watching and waiting, looking for the praise that came with them completing their task.

That was how William felt when Archie was brought up in conversation.

Like somehow, if he had just pretended that death didn’t exist, he’d come walking back into his life.

“I said I was going to be truthful,” Edward said, lifting his eyes until their gazes collided.

The shock of his attention almost stole the breath from William’s lungs.

“I’ve never been a religious person, but I take peace knowing that she’s no longer suffering.

That her pain has gone, and she can be the person she was before the sickness claimed her.

Death isn’t always a bad thing, it can be freedom for some too. ”

William lifted his coffee, needing something to do with his hands, and raised it in salute. Edward offered him a side-mouthed grin that never quite reached his eyes.

“The story came out about Teddy because I’d walked into her hospice room, and she seemed to light up from the inside.

She was calling my name, but I just thought it was because she was glad to see me.

I think between her suffering and the drugs in her system, she was confused.

She took my hand and started waffling about waiting for me.

I will never forget when she looked to the door and asked where he was. ”

“Who?” William’s blood thundered in his ears. For some strange reason, he knew what Edward was going to say.

“Robert. Robert Thomas.”

Hanbury Manor decided that was the moment to groan.

The walls creaked, the ceiling bowing, as if some great biblical wind had just come in and attempted to sweep the manor from its foundations.

An ice-cold shiver traced down William’s spine.

He chose to ignore it whilst Edward turned his head up and looked, acknowledging the noise for what it was.

Unnatural.

A response to a call.

“Go on,” William said, almost too desperately. “Please.”

Neither he, nor Hanbury, would be satisfised until ever last detail was laid out between them.

Edward lowered his gaze and rested it upon William.

It was impossible not to notice how the tension across his face eased just a little when he did so.

“I played along because I didn’t want to upset her.

It took some time to piece it together. When she slept, I waited.

She’d wake up and it was as if her mind was hers again.

I was able to ask who Robert was, and that was when the story came out.

She told me about how her brother was sent to Hanbury Manor to stay with close friends of her parents, while their father was in London discussing the impending war.

I think that sending Teddy away was their attempt to keep him out of the jaws of conscription.

It worked until it didn’t. Except that’s what everyone else thinks.

My great-grandmother said that the last time she heard from her brother was a letter.

It had reached her, outlining his need to escape Hanbury with someone called Robert Thomas.

It wasn’t said in plain words, but she knew her brother and, even from reading his written words, could tell he’d fallen in love with a man.

They were twins. I should’ve mentioned that.

Some people talk about the mental bond between twins, and I think that was what it was.

Her own innate knowing. In the letter, he’d called them friends, but she believed they were more than that.

“It outlined plans given to my great-grandmother. A date and place for her to meet them. It was late November in 1939. Edward and Robert were meant to arrive at Oxford by train, where she’d arrange further travel to get them down south where my family originally came from.

But they never arrived. She’d told me that she waited all day for them.

Even when the last train arrived, she refused to leave the station.

Then she returned to the same place for the following four days and did the same, waiting for hours on end.

A few weeks later, the telegram about Edward’s death arrived with her post.”

“Oh, my God.” William stood abruptly, his body thrumming with nervous energy. He began to pace, and all the while, Edward’s story settled on his skin like ash. “She was right about Teddy and Robert. They did love each other.”

“How do you know?” Edward asked.

William had the urge to go upstairs and collect the journal, just so Edward could read through the story he’d discovered. “Robert called him Teddy, it’s all in his journal. But what your great-grandmother thought about them, she was right about that. I–”