Halifax, Nova Scotia - September 1920
Henry closed the book he was reading as he heard the ships bellowing fog horn sound, glancing up towards the window in his cabin and perking up in his seat to catch a glimpse of the outside. Running his hand through his dark brown hair he pushed himself up to standing, squinting as the harsh bright sun in the horizon taxed his eyes. And there in the distance he saw through the Maritime fog, land...
It had been a gruelling and difficult six day journey from Southampton to Halifax. Most of which he'd spent locked up in his first class cabin, lost in a book or staring off into the distance contemplating his now dismally dull life. Often times simply he'd order his dinner into his cabin to avoid having to deal with people. Young Henry wasn't accustomed to the concept of lying, which made the idea that he'd have to live a lie whilst in Canada made it all the more difficult.
As he disembarked, Henry couldn't help but feel like he was back home; the foggy autumn air, the overcast sky , the chill in the light breeze . It all reminded him of England and he was beginning to think he made the right decision to choose Canada. After clearing customs his first order of business was to send a telegram back to London to inform his family that he'd arrived safely and upon completing that task he hailed a taxi to take him to the Halifax Railway Station to catch the next train bound for Québec City.
He didn't know much about Canada barring that it was part of the British Empire, some people spoke French, and that it got jolly cold and snowy in the winter. Henry rather hated snow; which was one reason he was pleased to leave Aberdeen after boarding school. Nonetheless Henry figured he'd simply acclimatise to his new surroundings, he hadn't much of a choice in the matter anyway; though the sheer difference in volume between an English winter and one in the Truth North would come to surpass even Henry's imagining.
Halifax was a picturesque port city that Henry couldn't help but find absolutely charming as he stares out the taxi window silently observing the people going about their business on the streets. The architecture reminded him of home to no end as he gazed at the passing building edifices and trees bringing bright with deep maroons, fiery reds and burning yellow coloured leaves as Autumn was clearly under way.
When he finally got to Halifax station and sat on the train bound for Québec he felt a strange sense of hope kindling within him; perhaps this new chapter in Canada would be good for him. Since he'd returned from France during the war, he'd felt this itching to leave his privileged life and simply run; not so much as knowing where to, nor how. To simply be free from the shackles of the English aristocracy and high society. The same social obligations that Henry loathed growing up seemed to be all the more unbearable after the war; perhaps it was the war in and of itself that prompted Henry's shift in perspective.
War did a number on Henry; though he felt a sense of duty to King and Country whilst helping to treat men injured on the battlefield, he'd never truly forget the stench of sulphur explosives and gunpowder mixed with death in the air. He could still see the looks in the eyes of those men, broken from the inside out by not only the injuries that maimed them, but also the images seared in their psyches of their comrades-in-arms slaughtered before their eyes. The deep drowning he'd feel when he's lose yet another man who was brought into the hospital tent with deaths shadow looming over their shoulder.
Henry glanced over towards his cases, a smile creeping across his handsome face as he remembered little Anna's gift for him. He leant over and picked up the leather suitcase, huffing as he hoisted it up onto the seat opposite him. He undid the buckle and opened the case, feeling a warm sensation in his heart as his eyes graced over the leather-bound diary with a bright red ribbon lovingly placed within the pages.
Fished around for a fountain pen before shutting the cases and stowing them away under the seat, he opened the page to see a photograph tucked inside of his family; taken at a photo studio the year prior around Christmas time. Henry felt his heart beating slowly but profoundly as he took the small black and white photograph between his fingers, feeling a bitter-sweet sensation deep within him as he took in each of the faces; all stoic, devoid of emotion and in their Sunday best. He wasn't entirely certain as to whether Anna realised the photograph was tucked securely into the gutter of the diary before she gave it to him. It wouldn't've surprised him in the least considering she was terribly clever for her age; when he was four he'd have given someone a flower he'd picked from the garden as a gift, but here Anna was giving him something oddly thoughtful for someone so young. Nonetheless, purposeful or not she gave him perhaps the greatest gift anyone could have; the tangible gift of a permanent memory from a time and pertaining to loved ones he knew in his heart of hearts that he'd likely never be able to see again.
As he opened the pages of the book he remembered his little Niece's adorable face and blond ringlets; the way she'd play in the back garden and rub dirt all over her frock, earning her a strict scolding from Nanny. He remembered the rest of his family, their faces as they remained etched in his mind; but most of all he felt dread. Dread that one day these memories will fade and leave him with barely even the slightest recollection of how they all looked. He hovered the gilded tip of the fountain pen over the blank off-white page as he wondered what he should write. Should he write 'Dear Anna', or what? His lip quivered as he remembered her words; her innocent naive words hinting that her uncle would one day return to his blighty. A hope that'd pained Henry to know would never truly pan out... And that's when it hit him, he knew exactly how he'd start every entry... Dear Diary...
20 September 1920
Dear Diary,
I'm not entirely certain what it is I'm meant to write in this. One feels rather useless when it comes to this sort of thing; am I meant to tell you about my day, or my feelings? Mama always told me it isn't very English to share one's feelings with another, but then again, I reckon in a way you're not quite 'another', are you? You're not even a real person, you're a blasted book. In which case I'm beginning to second guess why I'm talking to you as though you were a real person.
Nonetheless I hope that writing to you, Diary, will help me to keep some semblance of sanity as I enter this new phase in my life. Canada seems rather nice the more of it I see; there's a calm quietness about the rolling Québec countryside as I watch it pass by outside my cabin window, the fiery reds, yellows and orange colours of the autumn foliage surpassing one's imagination. Though it's only the late of September, it feels as though autumn is entirely upon is already.
I feel apprehensive meeting Adrien for the first time after the war. The last I saw of him was on Armistice day when the clocks struck eleven and the war was officially over; it was odd to think that the War being over meant anything when the men in the hospitals were still bloodied and bandaged. It was a jolly relief to know there was to be no more bloodshed, but in reality these men and their new lives living with the emotional and physical wounds that war left them with was just beginning; the scars that in a way, war left all of us with.
Adrien and I served alongside all the other army doctors, nurses, and medics; we saw cases that'd stay with us forever, saved men whose lives we knew would be changed for the rest of their lives, and lost men who fought valiantly and sacrificed their lives for King, Country, and Empire. I should think it rather bittersweet to see a confidant I served alongside for the first time; whilst we share bonds of service and companionship, we also share memories of perhaps the darkest, grimmest periods of of our lives.
One feel hopeful for the future, nonetheless there is this sensation of deep seated uncertainty that one can't seem to shake. This is a new chapter in my life, and though I'm no stranger to unconventionality, even I can't help but wearily anticipate what lies ahead. All my life I'd had everything planned for me. From the moment I was born and swaddled in the nursery in Aldringham Manor, to scheduled daily hours spent with Mama and Papa after dinner, to Papa shipping me off to Scotland for boarding school. Going off to Oxford to read Medicine was the first real risk one took, and even then one felt not even a fraction of the restlessness that keeps one awake right now.
I only pray to the Lord that He may watch over me and guide me through these uncertain times as he has during my passage to this new foreign land. I can't help but feel like Québec isn't the future He has in store for me, my heart feels as though Adrien's house isn't the destination He planned for me. So I only pray that I might find the path I'm meant to tread upon and that you, my Dear Diary may be with me to keep me from going utterly mad. With that I end this entry, and with more of my adventures I shall return tomorrow.
Love, Henry.
Ville de Québec, Canada - September 1920
It wasn't long before the train pulled into Gare du Palais, the central railway station in Québec. Henry paid a station porter a few pennies to carry his cases out in front of the rather large and seemingly new railway station. There was something almost indelibly European about what he'd seen of Canada thus far; the climate, the architecture, the layout of the cities. But in a way it was pleasantly unique, with its breathtaking rolling expanses of jaw-dropping scenery.
"Hello there, sir." Henry beckoned before one of the taxis parked in front of the railway station; leaning over to peer though the partially lowered car window to see a handsome young man in a smart chauffeur's uniform. "
"Bonjour." (Hello.) The man replied curteously, tipping his hat at him.
"Ah yes, Erm. I'd like to go to this ad-..." Henry trailed off as he dug into his tweed coat to find a small bit of paper with Adrien's address written on it.
"T'es au Québec ! Parle Français !" (You're in Québec! Speak French!) The man scolded coldly, causing Henry to initially be taken aback a bit; he'd never had the likes of a taxi driver use the informal tense with him, but as he thought about it he understood the man's sentiment completely.
He'd forgotten that Québec was a French speaking province, and he felt rather embarrassed to have spoken English there. He always found it rather admirable that the Québécois strove to maintain their distinctive and proud French Canadian identity and wholeheartedly supported their will to do everything in their power to maintain their rich linguistic and cultural identity and history.
"Euh oui, désolé, j'avais oublié. Est-ce que vous pouvez m'emmener à cette adresse, s'il vous plaît." (Uh, yes, sorry, I'd forgotten. Can you take me to this address please?) Henry handed the paper over to the man as he watched his eyes widen at the address.
"Oui ! Bien sûr, Monsieur ! Venez s'il vous plaît !" (Yes! Of course, sir! Please come!) The man's demeanour changed drastically from disinterested to almost overly friendly as he read the address on the little bit of paper though Henry didn't know why.
"Merci beaucoup. " (Thank you very much.) Henry smiled as he climbed into the back seat of the man's taxi. He couldn't help but feel like a child at a sweet shop looking around at everything; men and women ishuffling through the cobblestone pavement going from shop to shop, children running around and being scolded by their mothers to settle down. Young men and women gossiping at the lovely French cafés that lined the promenade with beautifully coloured facades on the buildings facing the St Lawrence river opposite it. It was almost strange how different it was from his first point of entry, Nova Scotia; if the Maritimes reminded Henry of England, then Québec were reminiscent of his Bourbon relations' chateaus in Bordeaux and holiday villas overlooking the Côte d'Azur in the south of France.
"Merci pour votre aide." (Thank you for your help.) Henry said with a nod as the carriage pulled up to Adrien's family's tasteful mansion; his father worked for the government of Québec and they were rather influential in both provincial politics with a reach into the federal political sphere as well, so it only made sense that their home should exude such extravagance.
"Bienvenue." (Québécois: You're welcome) The man nodded with a friendly smile and a gracious nod, earning him a perplexed stare from Henry who simply watched as he leapt out of the drivers seat to unload Henry's cases from the boot.
"Merci...?" (Thank you...?) Henry forced a smile through his confusion, handing the older man the fare he'd owed him for bringing him from the station; plus a generous tip for loading and unloading Henry's cases.
Henry trudged up the steps of Adrien's beautiful brick mansion with his cases in both hands, huffing and puffing as he realised that this was his new reality; up until then he'd been travelling first class and having everything done for him, but from then on he'd be forced to be more self sufficient than ever before. He rang the doorbell and waited on the doorstep until a wise-looking older man answered the door who was presumably the Bilodeau family's butler
"Ah! You must be Lord Henry. Good afternoon! I'm Poirier, the Butler. Please, do come in. Mr Bilodeau has been expecting you." The butler nodded cordially as the handsome young Lord Henry smiled at him softly. The older man beckoned him through the foyer and into the library.
"You may wait in here if you wish, Mr Bilodeau will be in down shortly. I'll have your cases taken up to the guest room. If you need anything at all, please don't hesitate in ringing the bell." The man said politely as Henry thanked him before stepped into the library. Henry loved libraries and especially the homely warmth one felt whilst sitting in one, and Adrien's library was no different; with it's dark wood room bookcases lining the walls filled with hundreds of books, red canapés around for lounging whilst lost in a book, and gorgeous silk Persian carpets over the deep brown hardwood floors.
In the distance Henry saw an antique mahogany boudoir with gold accents and an organised mess of writing paper, fountain pens carelessly strewn about, and an open medical journal that Henry couldn't help but feel drawn to. But as he stalked closer to the boudoir there was something else that managed to catch his eyes; a particular framed black and white photo.
A smile crept across Henry's handsome face as he recognised just where the photograph was from; a small herd of men in khaki army uniforms with and nurses in pristine white dresses with head coverings, all with white arm bands displaying a Red Cross to set them apart as medics and nurses and face masks to protect them and others from the raging Spanish Flu pandemic. Henry remembered this photograph like it was yesterday, though really it was only a year prior. But with the Spanish Flu and all the stress that came with it, it felt like a small eternity in the past.
"You remember that day?" Henry heard a familiar voice reckon from behind him, turning around with a smile to see his old friend gazing at him charmingly with his hands folded over his chest. Adrien looked as handsome as he remembered; tall, with the slightest tinge of olive skin that paired perfectly with his messy curly chestnut brown hair and deep brown eyes that melted Henry's heart.
"Of course" Henry walked up to him with a suave confidencey; glancing towards to door to insure it was closed before kissing Adrien softly on the lips. "Armistice Day, how could I forget?"
"I missed you." Adrien smirked as he thumbed Henry's cheek fondly.
"And I you." Henry said softly, glancing up to lock eye's with Adrien's who looked down at him with .
"You did, did you?" Adrien said huskily with a cocked brow, smirking as he watched the pretty dark haired boy in his arms bite his lower lip. "Well I'm glad you're here, come. Let's get you settled in."
Henry and Adrien shared one of the medic's tents where they were stationed together in the North of France. At first they were strictly brothers in arms; but eventually it took a very un-brotherly turn which led to an emotional connection between the two men. Filled with late night secret trysts, discretion, and the need to not be caught; the danger of it all only adding to the heat.
It was perhaps this deep emotional connection between the two men that helped them get through; day and night living the misery of treating the mangled men who returned form the battle field, surrounded by the smell of sulphur and death in the air. It was their emotional connection that ultimately gave them the needed stress relief and endorphins that kept them from loosing their minds.
Adrien smiled as he took Henry's hand in his and led him towards the Library's old oaken door, immediately letting go as they walked into the hallway. Yet another example of how men like Henry lived their lives careful not to allow anyone see. He lead Henry up the staircase and towards the bedroom, and once the door shut behind them they were in their own world to do as they pleased...
"Henry Dunmurry, eh?" Teased Adrien as Henry opened his cases and began trying to make sense of it all; he could've sworn he'd categorised things by necessity and use but now that he was unpacking he'd found there to be no rhyme or reason to it all.
"It's Mama's maiden surname." Henry rolled his eyes as he took a stack of his pressed and folded trousers and walked over to stow them in the mahogany chest of drawers across the room "Papa says it's important to use an alias so that I can start afresh; just be plain Henry Dunmurry, middle class country doctor from Hertfordshire."
"Middle class?! You!?" Teased Adrien, earning him a glare from the dark haired lad.
"What, you reckon I can't be middle class?" Henry challenged with a sultrily furrowed brow.
"You, Harry are the literal definition of the English upper class." Adrien smirked smugly at the pretty lad across the room, his eyes darkened with lust as he scanned Henry's slender body from head to toe.. "If I remember correctly, you thought 'middle class' was a type of railway travel class."
"Don't be daft! I could certainly pass for middle class. I'm a doctor, Papa didn't speak to me for a month when I told him." Henry said confidently, stalking up to Adrien with a sultry look in his alluring blue eyes as he began unbuttoning the man's dress shirt, placing kisses on his exposed skin. "He said being a doctor is terribly common."
"Harry, cheri there's something I need to tell you." Adrien cleared his throat awkwardly, knowing it was the right thing to do before they got any further. Henry could feel the taller blond's body tensing up. He pulled back to look into his deep brown eyes as he felt a sudden dread in him noting that Adrien had a tinge of melancholy in his expression, as though he knew he was about to break bad news to Henry. "I'm to be engaged in a week."
"Engaged...?" Henry whispered, his eyes scanning Adrien's handsome face for any hint of jest. "Y-you never mentioned..."
"Was I meant to?" Asked Adrien. "She's the daughter of a Cabinet Minister, but you Henry... You and I we share something special... But hey, this isn't the end. Even after I'm married we can carry on. Especially if you stay in town..."
"Carry on?! As what, your mistress?!" Gasped Henry in clear offence.
"As my lover." Adrien said nonchalantly earning him a scoff from Henry. "Honestly, Harry! Listen to yourself! What do you expect from me?! What is there for men like us?" Adrien threw his hands up in disbelief before huffing to clam himself as he noted the look of discomfort in Henry's gorgeous blue eyes. "Listen, Harry. I... This is the life men like us lead. We have urges and we fulfil them in the shadows before returning back to our wives and children. We have no other option. Lest we wish to open up about ourselves and end up in jail."
"But what about love, Adrien... What about loyalty?" Henry's voice cracked ever so slightly as he felt his heart sink in his chest.
"Osti! (Damn!) What Oscar Wilde poem do you live in?! What love?! Men like us aren't meant to find love. Only lust." Adrien chuckled humourlessly at the prospect, though Henry didn't find it funny. He didn't love Adrien and he knew Adrien didn't love him. For men like him love was a rarity, because there was no chance for love to blossom. Sex was available if one knew where to look, but true emotional connection was something that was only thought to be a thing of novels and poetry. "I care for you, Harry. But the trajectories of our lives aren't ideal for one another. I want normalcy, and you were always the foolish young dreamer who wished to live in a secluded mansion in the countryside with another man posing as your 'cousin' or 'friend'. But the truth is, Harry. I cannot see that for myself."
"I understand." Henry eked out the words as he tucked a strand of his raven coloured hair behind his ear and averted his gaze from Adrien's. Here he was, having travelled across the ocean to a foreign land where he only knew one person, only to find out that person might not be as reliable as a companion as he'd originally anticipated.
"If you choose to stay in the city we can have it all. You'll have my body and my heart, but you won't be able to have me..." Adrien laid out the facts pragmatically all the while Henry sat naked in the man's bed. "If you wish to leave, I can see what I can do about employment for you elsewhere. I have a friend who knows of a post in the rural North of the Province, but I'll warn you they aren't well versed in standard Metropolitan French in those parts; you'll need to acclimatise yourself to the local Québecois dialect to practice as a doctor."
"Is that the only option I've got?" Henry smiled awkwardly to hide his pain for the uncertainty that lay before him.
"Well... I've got another friend who knows of a dire shortage of doctors in small towns in the Prairies." Offered Adrien, running a hand through his messy chestnut brown hair.
"Is that far from here?"
"I'm afraid so." Adrien chuckled with a melancholic look in his eyes. "Very far, actually. it's clear on the other side of the country... It'll be far away from me, Harry." He said as he snaked his arm around Henry's slender waist. "Think on it..."
"I'll do it." Henry said softly, watching as Adrien's eyes flashed up to scan the English boy's face. "I'm sorry, Adrien. But I-I can't be someone's mistress."
"Very well." Adrien pursed his lips disappointedly as he pulled the slender dark haired boy into his body. "I shall miss you terribly."
"And I you..." Henry sighed disappointedly. "But it is for the best..."