Jesse only bit his lip. Chuckling, Arthur tousled Jesse’s hair, and then the two fell into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” Arthur whispered after some time.
Jesse smiled. “I am, too.”
***
In the morning, Arthur had barely even rubbed the sleep from his eyes when he and Jesse climbed out of bed and headed to the dining room together for breakfast. Both of them were wearing last night’s clothes—Jesse out of necessity, and Arthur so that Jesse wouldn’t feel out of place in his slightly rumpled suit. Since it was past ten o’clock, Arthur wasn’t surprised to see both Charlotte and Emma awake, though hewasa tad surprised to find them still eating, their bowls of porridge only half empty. Perhaps the two of them had slept in as well.
Crossing the room, Arthur met Charlotte’s warm smile with a small, sleepy one of his own. Everything was still fuzzy, the memories of his evening with Jesse clouding his mind like a beautiful mist on an early fall morning. After Arthur took his seat at the head of the table, he motioned to the empty chair closest to his, offering Jesse the spot. Jesse obliged. Letting out a contented sigh, Arthur basked in the perfection of their morning together.
But then, the sound of footsteps came roaring into the room and cleared the fog of bliss like an unwelcome rush of wind. Fear twisted Arthur’s insides into a knot as Gertrude came hurrying in from the kitchen. On a tray, she was carrying two cups of coffee and a small carafe of cream.
“Good morning, Mr. Hughes,” she said in a cheerful voice.
“Good morning,” Arthur forced out, his tongue feeling swollen in his mouth.
Delicately, Arthur removed his spectacles so that he could rub the last remnants of sleep—and of ignorance and obliviousness, too—from his eyes. He needed to be fully present. Needed to read between Gertrude’s words and peer beneath her cheery façade to confirm whether or not he and Jesse were safe.
Arthur’s face was still contorted into a sour expression as Gertrude placed his cup of coffee in front of him. Stomach roiling, Arthur looked up from the black liquid in his porcelain cup to find Gertrude’s waiting gaze, praying that he would only see confusion or unease, rather than something as hurtful and terrifying as outrage or revulsion. It was only then that Arthur noticed the warmth in her smile, free of even the faintest hint of hostility.
Closing his eyes, Arthur took a breath and reminded himself that Gertrude had known him for his entire life. The woman knew every other secret of his. What was one more?
“Gertrude,” he began, his voice slightly wobbly, “you may be wondering why Mr. O’Connor here stayed the night.” Jesse turned to face him, his eyes wide with worry, and Arthur forced what he hoped would be a smile, but was likely more of a grimace, in return. “Well... it’s because Mr. O’Connor is my... ehm, my... my friend.”
Arthur winced. God, why couldn’t he say the truth out loud? He opened his mouth to clarify when Emma spoke up.
“He’s my father’sforever friend,” she said, her tone light and loving and playful. Scooping up some more porridge, she looked over at Arthur with a smirk. “Right?”
Arthur cleared his throat.
“Yes. Right,” Arthur said. Heat crept up his neck. His stomach was beginning to hurt from having twisted itself into such a sorry state. “Mr. O’Connor is my, uhm, well, he’s my companion.”
Gertrude placed a hand on Arthur’s forearm and patted it.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Hughes, I know what the two of you are to each other. And I want you to know that I’m not bothered by it,” she said kindly, her lyrical voice filled with nothing except what Arthur could have only described as motherly love. “I’m not surprised by his company this morning. Before you two woke, Miss Fields let me know that your friend had spent the night here with you.”
Arthur’s eyes teared up, the knot in his stomach loosening, and the heat that had previously bloomed on his cheeks from the mixture of worry and shame cooled, leaving Arthur momentarily speechless. Ever since marrying Ella, Arthur had kept his staff laughably small for someone of his station, mostly because he valued his privacy, though he had never imagined back then that he’d ever have a secret larger and scarier than the truth of Emma’s origin. Only the secret of Charlotte’s reason for her having come to live with him had ever even come close. Arthur had suspected that Gertrude and Patrick would continue to be loyal to him once they learned that he had made a forever friend, especially since, contrary to his self-effacing humor, he paid them handsomely and treated them well, but he had still been afraid to tell them. And even while hoping for their loyalty, Arthur still hadn’t evenbegunto expectthis. Warmth. Kindness.Acceptance. Being offered such things was, in Arthur’s opinion, nothing short of a miracle. Gratitudeswelled in Arthur’s chest, the rush so intense that he could barely breathe.
Gertrude turned to Jesse and smiled.
“I’ve known Arthur since he was a boy,” she explained. “I was his family’s kitchen maid.”
Arthur blinked back his tears. “Yes, and Iadoredher,” he said.
“Because I constantly snuck you treats,” she replied playfully. “Although, knowing you, you’d have stolen them yourself if I hadn’t.”
Laughter bubbled out of her, and Arthur began to laugh, too, his eyes becoming misty once again.
“I’ve always known that he was trouble,” she said to Jesse. “It was one of the reasons that I was so fond of him then. Truthfully, it’s one of the reasons that I still am.” After a pause, Gertrude took a step closer to Jesse and placed his cup of coffee in front of him before touching his shoulder. “I won’t complicate things for either of you. Neither will Patrick.”
“Oh,” Jesse spluttered. “I...” He shook his head, bewildered, his cheeks turning pink.
Arthur held up his hand, intending to signal to Jesse that he’d take care of the rest.
“Thank you, Gertrude,” he said. “I cannot even begin to tell you how much your kindness means to the both of us.”
With a nod, Gertrude said, “Of course.” She removed her hand from Jesse’s shoulder. “Now, would you and Mr. O’Connor like a bit of porridge? Or something else?”
