Upon being informed that he was triumphant, Borden simply departed for his residence. Laurier and his white plume returned to a defeated Quebec. Both sides showed solemnity and lack of merriment in response to the outcome. Union won nine out of ten ridings, excepting Quebec, which voted Liberal almost without exception. Parliament saw two thirds of seats claimed by Unionists. Parliament was reshaped after one third of incumbents retired, historically twice the dominion average from an election. Soldiers voted ninety-one percent in favour of conscription, no matter how they and their fathers voted previously. French Canadian Members of Parliament did not account for Union government, there being but two Catholics.
The two parties retained their typical separate meetings and the holding of the other in contempt. The effort was the sole agreement on which they shared common ground.
England’s army ventured to be nudged away to the Channel. The Corps was not in the thick of the mire, yet the dominion was ever aware of justice being wrested from the Empire as they had not yet seen. Daily, Canadians read of disagreeable news about Britain and the “momentousness of the battle.” Borden agreed to provide aid in all manner of ways.
The Military Service Act wanted for one hundred thousand, unmarried and childless conscripts. Well-nigh twenty thousand reported for duty. Many months would pass prior to recruits being declared fit for active service. High Command and government agreed the duration was to last into the next year. Tens of thousands of conscripts would soon be necessary to replace the pummeled Corps. If the duration saw the light of the year hereafter, conscripts would comprise the majority of the Corps. More than nine of ten petitioned conscripts saw release. Appeal committees afforded almost every case.
The 5th Division had been, by and by, disassembled then divided among the other four to reinforce them. Provinces were no longer allowed to exchange alcohol amongst one another or vend independent of their region. Government then halted the assembly of alcohol altogether. To aid with production, a measure was introduced called Daylight Savings Time. Taxes saw elevation. Shocking Aubrey most of all was the abolishment of hereditary titles for Canadian subjects as another move in the direction to create a more independent identity for the country.
Montreal hosted some of the most affluent patriots, though they were the most resented citizens of the province. The city’s Patriotic Fund arm did not venture to bring about provocation of its citizens with a fundraising push in the new year. A French (from France!) government-recruiting mission travelled through the French province. Speaking for his people, Bourassa stated the French were “trying to have us offer the kinds of sacrifices for France which France never thought of troubling itself with in the defense of French Canada.”
The day before, Germany began the assault on the Seigfriedstellung, or what the Allies called the Hindenburg Line. In her straight, curveless frock-turned-crepe mourning wear, Aubrey sat at her stationary, unable to concentrate. She tried to pray, Forgive, O Lord, a mother’s wish that death had spared her son170, but could not put the words in sequence from grief. “God said, the first born of thy sons shalt though give unto me”171, a line from Exodus, incessantly came to mind instead. Nearly four torturous months had passed since René had died. At the loss of one’s child, a parent became removed from society for six weeks. She could not attend balls or dinners for six months; yet another two months were to be observed until formal mourning ended. Even so, no more parties were occurring as the effort had become a total war.
One of the largest personal amounts to the Halifax relief fund was given by Auré. As of late, the master and wife of Pembina rarely saw one another. His parents’ hearts melting with pain172, René’s father and mother were reduced to sleeping on opposite sides of the manor. Aubrey had never known such melancholy. “You will never be forgotten by your loving mother, dear boy173,” she whispered with the stuffed beaver in her lap. At the Red Cross shelter in Halifax, the biggest shock of her life was in a volunteer sister handing her Lord Beaverbrook. Previously, she had been too stunned to accept the loss of her son, until that hideous moment when the teddy bear was given to her. One of Lord Beaverbrook’s ears was missing. The complete backside of his fur was singed. At the shelter, all she could think was Our family circle is broken, our dear boy174. The nanny died in the blast as well. Ever remembered by his loving mother175, René was thought of at all times. Aubrey glanced at the sole framed picture of René on her desk and thought, Son of my heart, live for ever. There is no death for you and me176. Aubrey signed the letter to Augusta explaining René’s death, My heart is torn with grief but God knows best177. Just as we learned to love him, God called him home to Heaven178. All we had, loved and deeply missed by father and mother179.
The Kingstons had not sent condolences or attended the funeral. She knew what they thought anyways: “divine retribution” for marrying someone who was divorced and a Roman Catholic.
Aubrey sat answering letters. Gran had written that Uncle Walter was conscripted. England was conscripting fifty-year-olds. He had recently turned fifty-one and, though a senior, accepted his duty to his King.
The next letter opened came from Regina. Every noble life leaves a fibre of it interwoven for ever in the work of the world. Ruskin180, Mother Augusta quoted one of her favourite poets in condolence to Aubrey about René.
They gave their merry youth away for country and for God181, penned Mother Augusta of the Agnew boys. Asleep with the un-returnable brave182, Briarch was now gone. Killed near Passchendaele183, Briarch had been shot re-building the roads before the onslaught of the smash, Mother Augusta confirmed. Hit merely in the high shoulder, he had fallen off the slippery bath-mat he was on and into the mud. A Tommy would lay unconscious in the first minutes after a bullet pierced him. However, at Passchendaele, a gunshot wound proved fatal in basically all cases, due to the wallow. His normally hefty kit must have played a factor in his loss of balance, too, Mother Augusta assumed. To recover his body would have been preposterous amid the porridge. If a lad fell or side-stepped off a duckboard, drowning would instantly occur, unless mates were literally beside him to aid. Mother Augusta surmised that Briarch must have drowned while conscious, given the nature of his wound. Briarch’s parents decided his epitaph would read, “Honour thy Father and thy Mother. He did184.” Rupert’s family chose for his epitaph, “Like a soldier fell for King and country on 18th birthday185.”
More than 1,500 Canadians fell during the preparation of Passchendaele alone from enemy gunners and snipers striking from indisputably every direction. The Canadians were incredibly easy for the Germans to hit because the Canadians had no cover whatsoever in the open region. The ridge had afforded a great deal more than 250,000 Empire casualties. Britain rescinded Passchendaele to Germany with no struggle whatsoever in the spring campaign.
On a lighter note, Rupert’s bagpipes had been jolly found two years later. They were to return to his mother. Some small comfort would be taken in their recovery because his body was never found amid the wallow. His parents were unable to visit his grave.
After a shell landed nearby, Rupert was cut to bloody ribbons. Running across No Man’s Land, Rupert saw Briarch. The latter was acting as a sniper behind a large oak. Rupert waved and gave a wicked smile. While the salutation was returned, a shell exploded. Rupert was sent sky high; his remains so small they would not be gathered. For a moment, all went quiet about Briarch, who eye-witnessed the event. Bullets fell akin to hail, though momentarily not a single one in the area registered to him. After some time, Briarch gave a small smile where his cousin had last been. Faithful unto death186, while tears fell down Briarch’s cheeks, he turned around and carried on. The polite version was penned to their family. The truth of Rupert’s death died with Briarch. He was not able to speak the words aloud.
The 46th, predominantly from Moose Jaw, had the formidable nickname throughout the Corps as the “Suicide Battalion.” An almost ninety-two percent casualty rate found the 46th in esteem.
Reconciled to spinsterhood, Hortence could not but occasionally find herself in the company of a gentleman caller. She could host amusements, though seldom and in small fashion, if permitted at all. Of course, a matron had to support her. Augusta was frequently her matron friend and did not allow a gentleman to stay until the usual ten o’clock but had the fellow retire far sooner. Hortence could only serve male companions tea, coffee, lemonade, and chocolate, not even cigarettes. Hortence lamented that all honourable men who were her age, twenty-three, were married. Aubrey rolled her eyes and said aloud, “Oh, I was married at eighteen, even if it was to a Frenchman, and God knows the whole Empire hates them, but at least I married. What has she been doing with herself all these years? Hortence is ever irritating! She won’t help herself!”
Because Hortence was a spinster, she had taken on a nursing role to give herself something to do at one of the convalescent hospitals in Regina. Aubrey read on. One of the poor convalescents had taken his life. Hortence went on to describe the barbarous act as the most selfish thing a person could do. Aubrey put the letter down. Even Aubrey thought this declaration too far. Though, thought she, What is the difference between a fatally ill patient and a shell-shocked one in the extreme? What a fatal disease does to oneself and one’s family is exceptionally hard to bear. The patient is in so much pain they want to die. Are they really choosing to die when, in so much agony, they can no longer bear life after so many years of suffering? Not a soul would dare call this person a coward or selfish or what not. How could anyone be so mean? They say the worst forms of nervous trouble are akin to physical torture. There is often no difference in pain between a fatally ill patient and a tottering one, for all that doctors can monitor the sickness of the former and not the latter. How can she be so exceedingly ignorant and in her position of a nurse?! An abomination! She needs to lose her employment. What — kind of care is she giving those — patients? Aubrey would not permit the dastardly opinion to be given further voice. The letter was tossed into the fireplace, unfinished. As she walked clear the room, she muttered, “A disgrace to her profession.”
In the hall, Aubrey thought she heard a sound. A look was taken down the way. She was unsure, given her hearing was a tilly impaired after Halifax. Every pane of glass in Halifax shattered from the explosion. Mercifully, Auré had been in a shop at the time of the explosion and suffered no great harm, other than scars and minor bruises. There were water spots in the front room. Once she was in the hall, she heard a door shut on the second floor. Perplexed, she wondered if she ought to ascend the grand stairs. What an odd thought; why would one worry about ascending stairs in one’s manor? Mother Augusta came to her, As soon as one thinks, “that is odd;” that is one’s intuition giving the first indication that something is actually wrong.
Upon reaching the landing of the second floor, she saw that Auré’s office light was on. She knocked. An answer did not greet her. In the study, even the mistress of the manor had to ask permission to enter. The door was opened a jot. Jean-Pierre was seated in the master’s chair. He was positively wet. Auré was kneeling before Jean-Pierre, who spoke in rapid French.
“I’m dashed sorry. Father only sent word in time after they visited him. I am terribly sorry to do this—,” Jean-Pierre spluttered. Auré waved him to silence.
Oh, Jean-Pierre was conscripted, that would explain the papers he’s holding, thought Aubrey. His father would naturally order him to apply for exemption. “We have to get you into Quebec. Do you have relatives there?” Asked Auré.
The answer was no. A footman came to the door and spoke in his mother tongue, “Monsieur (Sir).” Auré turned and looked up at him. For a servant to interrupt a master would have resulted in dismissal in normal times. An understanding seemed to be shared between master and servant. Auré answered him. A master replying to a servant would have been unthinkable. The reply given, in quick French, was to go to the windows. The servant departed.
“However—,” Aubrey started to say.
Neither master seemed to listen to her. After a bit of time, the servant returned, though no one noticed until the word “Monsieur” was spoken. In the short silence that ensued, the faint sound of a motorized engine could be heard ascending the drive. “We need to ‘ide Jean-Pierre,” demanded Auré. “Go to the Virgins’ Corridors.”
The Virgins’ Corridors was where female servants resided.
“Too obvious,” before she could stop herself. “And Jean-Pierre will need to change clothes. He will freeze if he stays in those ones.”
Out of doors, automobile doors were heard to open. Aubrey suggested that he go downstairs, through the second downstairs service hallway and out the back. Auré argued that ten servants could be there at the very moment. Only one servant would have to speak to a servant at another manor, and the truth would instantly surface through the servant grapevine. Aubrey’s boudoir was the decided spot, at the back of her closet.
“Come along, we may yet ‘ave enough time to see this through,” Auré said. Auré instructed the footman to the master’s room to fetch clothes for Jean-Pierre, then to Aubrey’s room. One by one, they dispersed to set about their tasks. Aubrey made for her room to see if a servant was along the way. A skivvy carrying laundered cheesecloths was left aghast at her mistress instructing her downstairs to take tea. Aubrey could have bitten her tongue. A more probable task should have been ordered.
Jean-Pierre was shown into her closet to hide amongst the numerous ball gowns. As she crossed the landing of the main staircase and by dreadful luck the Federal agents were at the bottom of the grand stairs in the entryway. A pair of agents were searching for Jean-Pierre. As an ardent pro-conscription Unionist, Lawrence was present along with the agents. Lawrence wanted nothing more than to avenge his son’s death by having all the traitors and cowards finally made to do their duty. The small party at the main doors looked up at her. Dash it! thought she. The back staircase should have been taken!
“I give you my word that that shirker iz not present,” her husband said in disgust while she descended the stairs. As a gentleman, Lawrence had no choice but to believe Auré. Furthermore, Auré had been with Lawrence’s youngest son at the Somme in his final moments. Aubrey balked. Per the Gentleman’s code, lying was the most serious offense of all. Lawrence and the agents turned to look at her.
“Pleaze do pardon my wife. The loss of our son has been most difficult for ‘er to bear. This is all, quite frankly, too much for her,” Auré made quick clarification.
“In the name of God,” whispered Lawrence. “I do beg your sincere pardon, Mme. Richardieux. Of course, we shall depart right away. We were only inquiring if you knew the whereabouts of Desrosiers,” bowing to Auré an apology.
The trio was partially hidden from view as they went through the colonnade. Rain fell while they passed the bakehouse. A haversack containing bills, food, and some articles, among them a note with Philippe’s Montreal address, was strapped to the thoroughbred. Jean-Pierre spluttered that his father would repay Auré, who waived an impatient hand of irrelevancy.
“Now see here!” Jean-Pierre countered, upon being made to stay indebted to Auré.
Then, in an almost pleading voice, Auré spoke, “Jean-Pierre, s’il vous plait (please).”
Jean-Pierre looked from him to Aubrey and back again. “Good God! I would rather go to the front than betray you!”
Auré returned to his usual nature and spoke in rapid French, “As long as you can enter Quebec, you should be safe. If trouble finds you, go to the French police. Be wary of the dominion police flooding in. Stay off the main roads. Avoid public transport. Don’t trust an Anglophone—”
“—THIS IS TREASON!” cried Aubrey. Auré brushed her aside.
“God speed,” Auré said.
Jean-Pierre bolted from the back of the stables on one of Pembina’s magnificent black stallions in a race against time and the setting sun. Her husband let out a long-overdrawn sigh. He spoke French. She doubted he realized the break in habit. “Shall we? We need to return before a servant sees us.” He made for the doors.
“How can you remain so calm?!” she spluttered. The conversation had resumed in English.
He replied with his back towards her, “The British army never runs when retreating.”
“But Peter was conscripted, exempted, and you called him a traitor!”
“Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant taste of death but once,” His tone changed to boredom with a Shakespearean quote answer.
“You lied to those agents — if anyone were to know — our reputation.” Nothing mattered more to an Edwardian than reputation.
He stopped in a dead halt.
“We — ma chere — we lied to those agentz, and you will not say eh word nor will I, especially to your precious Mr. Lawrence.” So he did know about her affairs and did not care! The way he was looking at her dared her to say more. He brushed a lock of hair that had fallen out of her normally immaculate chignon, which took one hour and a servant to create every morning. He made for the manor. The lightning, rain, and wind hitting the gates against the walls returned to her consciousness. But Aubrey stood where she was, rooted to the spot, staring aghast at her husband, whom the country had deemed her prodigal son returned and one of the greatest heroes of the empire, and who was thus revealing himself to be some double agent.
“For whom did you vote?” she asked quietly.
He turned round. “Laurier.”
Above the sound of his boots hitting gravel, she thought he muttered the word “bastards.” For one wild moment, she thought he might laugh.