Napoleon was quoted as saying, “An army runs on its stomach.” Pembina set a resplendent luncheon of numerous courses, much like the Old Days. Auré had returned to the front. Aubrey hosted Lady Bird and Peter, given that her husband was not present to object to their presence. So cross was Aubrey at her husband’s return to the front, she did not say goodbye at all. Before Auré left, he had a telephone installed for Aubrey’s safety. As the lines were open, she had already listened to any number of other conversations. She had thus far accused numerous military wives of “stepping-out.”
Aubrey commented that the Red Baron must have been a high-ranking pilot, given his long career because he killed so many Allies. Whirling the new cocktail in hand, Peter corrected her. Richtofen was actually twenty-five when he died. The latest figure came to Aubrey’s mind: some 50,000 Canadians had already been killed in action. She wondered how many more would die by war’s end and, in ensuing years, from gas exposure and other battle-like injuries. Peter took a sip of his American drink. He himself was older than Richtofen at the time of Richtofen’s death. For the first time in their kinship, Aubrey glared at Peter as he continued to speak. “Oh so much the better dead,” Aubrey heard nurses say. The thought of her fallen chums and of Newfoundland came to mind. The regiment was so devastated at Bailleul during the spring campaign that it had to be pulled from the front lines altogether, until its numbers could be restored well enough to return to action. The regiment was discharged from the 29th Division and stationed in Montreuil at Haig’s Headquarters. She was at a loss to defend Peter not being in uniform and no longer cared to. Peter did not even look as dashing as he once did to her. Suddenly, she found him very irksome.
She gave a tired sigh and tried in vain to carry on with the conversation. “What are our underage still doing over there in the fourth year of the cause? At the same time, Longley’s mother must have been so proud of her boy. But, how does an officer explain to a mother that her fourteen-year-old son was shot to death? And what were the Germans doing shooting at a bugler? They knew he was underage and not seventeen. You can’t mistake a fourteen-year-old boy for a seventeen-year-old young man. But, at the distance the Germans were from the brigade and how close the brigade was to our bugler, he was probably said to be fair game by the Germans.”
“And, we must give our colonials this — not a lot of mounted units — Allied or foe — have been charging twice against machine guns. That’s incredibly rare. We could be wrong about the Canadian mettle—”
Over the gravel the sound of tires was heard rather than hooves of the farmers’ work horses. Peter’s Studebaker was not the only automobile in the drive. The auto was an emblem of conspicuous consumption, and Peter was easily marked war profiteer. He was a traitor to the cause. Automobiles tripled in quantity over the course of the effort. A soldier would not earn enough to purchase an auto if he lived through the duration in its entirety.
Food Management Patrol agents were shown in while Aubrey tended to her favourite sweet, rice pudding. Canadians were rationed by informal gentleman’s agreements. Tremendous volumes of food were sent to nourish the Allies and her populace who faced starvation. Coal, flour, sugar, wheat, milk, meat, and beans were all dissuaded and seen as frivolous commodities. The Canadian Food Board, founded in 1917 for the effort, instructed, “Do not serve bread and butter before the first course. People eat them without thought.” Posters read, Back up the Soldiers by substituting fish for meat, vegetables for bread, fruit for pastry, dripping for butter. Regulations stated meat was allowed for supper only. Yellow sugar was substituted for white. Eggs soared from less than thirty-five cents to one dollar a dozen. Two pounds of sugar had to stretch over ninety meals. Every four pounds of white flour called for at least one relief pound of oatmeal, corn, or whole grain oats. Bread and sugar were rationed in restaurants.
The majority of expenses doubled by way of inflation. Salaries reflected the rise of prices, though soldiers were left with pay that accompanied them to basic training the first year of the war. Hoarders were fined between one hundred to one thousand dollars, sent to jail for as long as three months, or in some cases, both. Few would be made to serve the maximum penalties. Government had not previously, nor would again, have such control over its people.
Aubrey mollified herself from shock and went into the gunroom across the hallway. The federal agents left her with the maximum fine or the equivalent of the average Canadian salary over ten years of employment. For the table’s spread, she should have gone to prison. She had an unsettling feeling the sole reason she did not go to jail was due to her husband’s status.
Caught for being a hypocrite, the bell of conscience chimed afar. As was their “patriotic duty,” Aubrey and Lady Bird had tittle-tattled of many who possessed more than “their fair share.” In doing so, they had ruined the reputation of more than one aristocratic family. She wondered who had tattled on her. Worse, the thought she attempted to push clear from her mind altogether was Auré. Her husband had returned to the front not yet fully recovered, and she was acting in such a deprecating fashion.
Peter and Lady Bird could be heard as they moaned about their respective plights. Peter went on to say his father’s estate, Chesil, had today the embarrassing matter of fewer than one hundred servants. The estate could no longer host hunting parties due to the implementation of taxes. Duke Edwards once had the Prince of Wales and Randolf Churchill on his grounds for a hunt, where one thousand birds were shot in one day alone. The Saturday-to-Monday had cost Peter’s father more than what it cost to run Chesil for an entire year. Lady Bird wailed how some of her jewellery was sold for taxes as well. Something a Bluebird said came to Aubrey’s mind again. Henrietta had mentioned to her and Auré, at some fundraiser the three of them had attended, “Of our British dead, the Canadian dear could neither read nor write.” They got the flag out for the lad later that evening or the next day, after his broken body was found on a mound of shell casings and placed in hospital, where he died. An Austrian was the soldier who found him, carried the chap on his back, and left him next to an Allied lorry before walking away. Or was that another chap altogether? Aubrey could not remember. Her patience was wearing thin with Peter and Lady Bird. Neither volunteered for the effort in any way. Be that as it may, neither did she.
Peter commented that the high fever he contracted a while ago had yet to subside. He then lamented he could possibly die from the virus. A certain flu had become pervasive in early spring and had so far affected millions in various countries. As well, it was found in military camps on the Western Front to the point where certain battles were delayed. The cold ran its course and the vast majority who were afflicted recuperated.
Aubrey thought, in a terribly cross state, I contracted my cold from him?! He knew he was sick, and from a virus that could potentially kill me, too. He did not inform me, before we slept together, of his malady. How dare he put me in such a position without making his sickness clear! It was at this hour she knew why she was feeling so under the weather. Her doctor explained that her constant fatigue was due to René.
By now, Aubrey’s anger was quite substantial. She thought, in extreme agitation, Wolves are at my door, and my so-called intimates only care for themselves. They have not even offered to aid in the payment of this ridiculous fine. She now understood why she had not let Auré see this debasing, slanderous side of her. She respected and admired Auré too much to allow him to view her in such a callous manner.
Aubrey resigned herself to who her kindred friends really were. It is all rot. Lady Bird is a snob, pure and simple. And Peter is a jolly royal ass. Auré ought to have it out with him, if only he weren’t away! She thought bitterly.
Two servants happened in the gunroom for the daily cleaning task.
“Oh! Madam, I do beg your pardon,” exclaimed one of them in fright. Out of fatigue and indifference, asking for silence, she waved at the footmen. An idea came to her. When Aubrey was a little girl and when wolves or other wildlife were on the estate, Emmett would ride out with the groundskeeper to either shoot or hurry the animals off. The servants were handed a rifle each. Once backs were turned, smiles transpired from the two footmen while they went to inform their mistress’ guests to leave. Peter’s scream was well-nigh equal to Lady Bird’s as they scrambled in great haste for the front door.