It was one of the last summer evenings before fall set in. The wind did not reach the terraced guests, who were treated to a panoramic view of the stars. Peter was speaking to a British Naval Officer, Rear Admiral Sir—. The Admiral was a gentleman by circumstance of birth and, later, of chosen character. Dignified and excellently mannered, he stood close in height to Peter. Because the royals had gone from the Duke’s position of Governor General, Peter only associated with pilots — as they were the smartest of all soldiers — Victoria Cross recipients, or the highest-ranking officers, and he would not lower himself to attend a party without such military personnel present. When his country called he came55, and upon being wounded at Jutland, the Rear Admiral was sent to Ottawa to convalesce due to British hospitals being at near capacity. Peter was vehemently discussing the servant problem with his polite, though disinterested, listener. If Peter looked down on one group of people more than colonials, it was servants.
Wanting a change of subject, the Rear Admiral said, “Old Neptune fought hard for our King. That naval show transpired on May 31st, right? Both sides claimed victory; Germany did so because she sunk more of our ships than we did hers. Be that as it may, we staved off the invasion from their taking control of the ports, and that was Germany’s intention, so we rightfully take the glory. Who will surely be the youngest Victoria Cross recipient of the war garnered his medal in that scrap. Jack Cornwell, an English boy, one of ours, by George,” with unmistakable pride in the Admiral’s even tone. “His shipmates were dead about him. He was manning a gun when he was gravely hit and kept fighting. Evacuated and died later in hospital — of his multiple injuries, the stomach wound was what got him. Sixteen years old. A dark week for the Empire, to be sure, the battle of Jutland along with Kitchener dying. There was not a figurehead the empire turned to more than him. His death was incomparable. When he died, Britain stood still out of respect for their army hero and minister of war. Canada suffered, as well, when Kitchener drowned while headed for Russia on The HMS Hampshire.”
Rejected four times, accepted the fifth56, the last of Peter’s remaining brothers paid the price of admiralty at Jutland, the grandest naval battle of the war. One of Peter’s brothers fell in the initial fighting of 1914; the other was slaughtered in the Somme. Peter, though the youngest, was the only son left of Duke Edward’s. Aubrey had never seen him so jolly as in recent times, given that he was now the rightful heir of his family’s fortune. Auré said that, if not for being his father’s sole heir, Peter would become the first male of the empire to be financially dependent on a woman, that is to say his wife, when he would eventually remarry solely to secure financial security. This made Llewellyn laugh out loud, as the very idea that a male could be financially dependent on a woman was incredulous.
“Father wrote to me, which he has not done in quite some time. I am to return home if I enlist.” Redemption was seen in the look of the sailor. “Unfortunately, I replied to father that the war will end soon and, considering the time it takes to go over there and whatnot, it would not make sense to enlist. Weeks or months are necessary to complete basic training before embarking to the front,” a cavalier Peter explained. The light went from the Admiral’s eyes as he stood serenely listening. Peter carried on of a light affair, “Father has not replied to me, what with how busy he is, naturally.” The Admiral smiled at Peter’s oblivious and mistaken reason why the Duke was ignoring his only remaining child.
Aubrey was seated at a table with friends near the dance floor. Lindsay had returned. After a few attempts with a knife, his left foot and ankle were amputated from trench foot in a frontline hospital. Such a pity, one of the most fun leads for dancing I knew, thought Aubrey in response to Lindsay’s, “Twas my cheerful duty57.”
Cavalry squadrons were by and by broken up and sent to fight in the poor bloody infantry. Trenches were usually quite water-filled, although they were dry in summer months. Tommies would stand in trenches for days at a time. Often times frigid, wet feet would become blistered and inflamed, would lose circulation, become entirely deadened, balloon to several times their normal size, and turn red, blue, or a more disagreeable colour. A bayonet could be stuck through an infected foot and not a thing felt. The agony would commence when the swelling subsided. Troops would scream themselves into delirium or unconsciousness until surgery removed the foot. Trench foot was an all-pervasive and remarkable problem the first two years of the effort, specifically during winter. As time went on, British High Command tried to eradicate the extraordinary pandemic across its Forces by revoking leave privileges of a Tommy’s whole battalion if a lad was found to have the condition. Mates took care to ask after one another for this reason. Duckboards were eventually put at the base of trenches in order for troops to be out of the water and muck. Basic devices to do away with the water were installed at the bottom of trenches as well. Eventually, boots reaching past the knee were distributed to the poor bloody infantry.
Aubrey glanced to the entryway to see if Auré had come to collect her. He was present indeed and stood at the top of the dance floor, head and shoulders taller than any given male. So shocked was Aubrey by the sight of her husband that she dropped her champagne flute. A servant turned to stare at a lady who caused a scene before he removed the shattered pieces.
Gentlemen and ladies at surrounding tables quitted their conversations in astonishment. Kellynch, who was dancing, actually stopped waltzing altogether. His partner was made to look around at what the commotion was. Hatred, coupled with astonishment, registered in Fitzwilliam’s eyes, as the most wretched male in Ottawa made his way across the dance floor. Ladies stared too, for most could not resist a man booted to the knee in those signature black puttees over brown boots, wearing khaki trousers and the tight-fitting seven brass-button serge, completed by the peaked cap which held the iconic gold maple leaf emblem of the Canadian Expeditionary Force uniform.
He enlisted?! It cannot be so, was all Aubrey’s mind could absorb. Auré walked up to their table. A seated Desrosiers said to him, “Come now, see reason,” and said it with a smile, though he refused to shake Auré’s hand upon greeting. How astutely rude, thought Aubrey, at the blatant disregard of etiquette on Desrosiers’ part. Her husband, however, seemed unsurprised by the slight. But Aubrey was too flabbergasted, too shocked to consider the tension Desrosiers tried in vain to conceal. The English ladies at the table asked why he enlisted. The reply was a resounding, “Ze war iz now personal.”
“A crusade for Christian soldiers? To fight for the King? Gallantry to the Empire?” were all suggested.
Auré corrected them, “Government iz now telling women to deny their husbands ze bedroom if not in uniform. It’z time this war endz.”
The statement was true, although the effect the latest enlistment gimmick had on civilians had been almost naught. Desrosiers roared with laughter and spat out his drink quite unintentionally, so much so that others turned to stare. Lindsay looked as though he wanted to hang his now brother-in-arms.
At Pembina, later the same evening, the maid was dismissed by her master once he walked into her mistress’ room. Auré sat and watched Aubrey undress by herself. The question of why he enlisted was asked. A long silence ensued. The reply given was, “Conscience doth makes cowards of us all.” She dare not contradict him, as a lady doubting her husband was akin to her striking him, but she knew Auré’s Shakespearean answer was a lie. To congratulate him was quite certainly thought of. If a Frenchman wanted to volunteer, his kinsmen emphasized the abandonment of their heritage by their motherland. From long experience, she knew better than to discuss such issues with him. Mainly, she was shocked into silence. The Somme was still raging: Auré was headed to the worst bloodbath in history. Aubrey did not have further time to ponder his enlistment at his words “come here.”