This is like, super late because I posted two new additions to this series first and also because I procrastinated writing this scene because I was really not looking forward to it.
The carriage rumbled along the London streets, its occupants silent.
Matthew gazed out the window at the streets lined with storefronts and apartment buildings. The smog hung heavy here, nothing like the sweet air of the countryside they'd left. The carriage jolted and bumped on the uneven cobblestones of the slums. The people here were the factory workers, the backbones of the country's economy. Matthew could pick them out easily, their faces gaunt and wane, their eyes hollow, their skin stained permanently grey with soot. The street came to a standstill as they passed, paupers eying the carriage suspiciously, a handful of children dressed in rags on the corner whispering to each other. He caught the eye of a grizzled old man in a scruffed jacket, and looked away quickly.
The others sitting with him weren't doing much better. There was a tension in Arthur's shoulders, though he sat perfectly straight and still, loath to wrinkle his suit, and stared the same article in the paper that he'd been reading since they hit the outskirts of London. At Matthew's side, Louise swung her feet absentmindedly, holding her doll in her lap and staring at the floor. Opposite him, seated next to Arthur, Hamish worried the brim of his top hat, fiddling with the dark silk in his hands, and for once, Arthur didn't berate the nervous habit.
The air in the carriage was charged, heavy with unknowns. Matthew wondered if Louise even knew what was truly going on - she was still quite young, after all, and he certainly had never been involved in the politics of his colony at that age - but Arthur wouldn't meet his or Hamish's eyes, something sorrowful flickering within if he did.
Matthew wondered what Arthur knew that he wasn't telling them.
They passed in silence through the winding streets of London, leaving the slums and factories behind for the still filthy but not quite as impoverished working class neighbourhoods. Then, like the blink of an eye, the neighbourhoods turned to lavish gardens and wide streets with comfortable cottages along the side. The divide between the rich and poor ends of town were stark in contrast, and Matthew watched the rich men and women enjoying a rare bout of spring sunshine. He was willing to bet that the silk ribbons on the ladies' bonnets cost more than the average factory worker saw in a year. The air was still awful here and it hurt to breathe, but there was green, too, not just the dull, soot-covered greys and browns that seemed to dominate the outer districts.
Louise quietly hummed that sounded suspiciously like Alouette, though it was hard to tell with her warbling voice so quiet in the silence of the carriage. Despite that, and perhaps despite himself, Matthew found himself humming along with her, whispering the words under his breath, the cool curl of French on his tongue a minute comfort. A bit of a morbid song, now that he thought about it, but he also remembered teaching it to the little ones at home, their infectious giggles every time he made them grab another part of their body in response to the song.
Louise pinched her doll's nose as she sang "Je te plumerai le bec" and Matthew echoed the verse, keeping time with the tapping of his fingers against his leg. She giggled quietly as they fell into the refrain, their voices cascading quietly down until the next verse started. Hamish quirked an eyebrow at him, but Matthew just shrugged and kept singing quietly. He didn't have the nicest voice, sure, and it was definitely meant for tunes far rougher than Alouette, but he wasn't that bad. If it kept Louise occupied for the rest of the ride, Hamish could deal.
"Je te plumerai les yeux—"
Arthur slammed the paper down against his thighs. "Will you two bloody well knock it off?"
The tension in the air crackled, storm fronts colliding within their little carriage. Louise halted, her fingers pressing against the doll's eyes. "'M sorry Arthur."
Arthur froze, guilt and annoyance warring in his eyes. The fevered static in the air dissipated slightly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "No, I'm sorry Louise. You and Matthew can continue singing, if you'd like."
Louise nodded hesitantly, but made no move to pick up where she left off. She clutched her doll tighter against her chest and burrowed into Matthew's side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and shot a glare at Arthur. "Seriously? She was just singing. If it's because the song was in French—"
Arthur huffed and snapped the paper open again to a random page, bringing it up to cover his face. For all intents and purposes, Arthur had just declared the conversation over.
Matthew glanced at Hamish with a raised eyebrow.
Hamish shrugged back, his response written clearly on his face.
The rest of the carriage ride passed in silence.
oO0Oo
The conference room smelled faintly of oranges and lemons, exotic imports courtesy of the vast British Empire. Around a long oval table, men in stiff dark suits sat, going over the final revisions to the documents. It had already been through the House of Lords and the House of Commons at this point, so it was merely a formality.
At the head of the table, Queen Victoria spoke quietly to Arthur, clad in dark mourning gowns despite the wondrous occasion. Matthew couldn't hear what they were saying, but the Queen's brow was furrowed and Arthur's expression was pained. Matthew wondered if he was having second thoughts, but it was far too late for that. His colony, soon to be a Dominion, would someday stretch from sea to sea, Matthew knew, from the river unto the ends of the earth. Together, he, Hamish, and Louise would step out of Arthur's shadow under the wary eyes of the Americans, and he would make sure the world noticed.
Arthur stepped away from the Queen as she rose to her feet, and straightened his emerald necktie. He clasped his hands in front of him and looked resoutly at the documents on the table, jaw set forward.
Queen Victoria paused, waiting for their attention to be focused on her, though it was unnecessary; they were all already waiting for her. The humans had all already signed their own documents long ago, but now she slipped a new sheet of paper from the pile and passed it to Arthur. He took a seat and scanned it briefly, his eyes flitting over the words written there.
The humans in the room watched, the very air seeming to hold its breath, as Arthur signed his name, ending the d in an extravagant loop, before setting the pen down and passing it to Louise. Everyone in the room knew to some extent what they were, and they watched and waited as the paper was handed to Matthew.
This was it. He dipped his own pen into the inkwell and scanned the clauses before the signatures. It seemed to be a summary of the seventy-two resolutions they had debated long hours over and had already been decided upon. His signature was merely a formality, something to satisfy the ancient laws of the Nations that predated anyone in the room.
But as he pressed his pen to the paper, he hesitated.
He couldn't be a Kirkland anymore, that much had been made clear by previous negotiations, and he wasn't even sure he wanted to keep that name anyways. It wasn't his name, not the true one he'd been born under but one he'd been saddled with nonetheless.
Even if he wanted to, he couldn't take Bonnefoy as his name either; that right having been forfeited a century ago when François' people had given up on him. Taking Alfred's new last name would be in poor taste and Matthew hadn't seen his brother in decades, not since those horrible years when Alfred had enacted misplaced revenge upon him.
Besides, the whole reason for these conferences was because there were whispers of another American invasion, one the British weren't sure they'd want to defend against. It was an uncomfortable truth that made Matthew's mouth taste sour. So both Kirkland and Jones were off the table, the weight associated with those names too much for Matthew to handle.
A droplet of ink pooled beneath the pen, staining the paper midnight blue.
If this was going to be his last name for the rest of eternity, he was going to make it count. A new legacy for a fresh start.
Williams.
The name came to him suddenly and his pen was gliding along the paper before he could think.
Williams, for the French Duke who'd become Arthur's first king. Williams, united both his French heritage and his English legacy.
Matthew Williams.
It sounded nice.
He dotted his i's and crossed his t's and then he was done, a century of subservice and obedience ended with two words. No longer would Matthew be beholden to the whims of the Empire and to Arthur's every order. He'd taken some measure of control back in his life, one he'd never truly experienced before, and he couldn't wait to navigate this new world with Hamish and Louise.
He passed the paper to Hamish at his left.
Where would they all live? He still had that old house on the corner of la Rue de Meulles, but he hasn't been there in years, not since that awful day when Arthur had laid siege to the Citadel and Matthew had succumbed to fever dreams, screaming the dying words of his commander and his colony. He's not sure he ever wants to go back, the fortified city and the home within its walls holding far too many memories of times long since passed.
And now his colony was to be split into two distinct provinces under a larger government, so that complicated things further. Matthew was French Canadian at his heart and Québec had always been his home, but the new government was to be based in Ontario and shouldn't he live in proximity to that as a priority? But where to build a house in Ottawa big enough to house the three of them…
Or perhaps Hamish and Louise would do as Arthur's siblings did and live in their own territories, venturing into England only when absolutely needed, despite living together under one flag.
That would have to be something Matthew would have to talk with them later about, because as far as he knew, neither of them had their own properties already set up in their colonies. Neither did he, if he was being honest, because he was not stepping foot in that old stone house even if it meant he slept on a church's doorstep while he waited for a new one to be built.
The sound of rustling skirts at the head of the table broke Matthew from his musings. Queen Victoria stood and addressed the room.
"We do ordain, declare, and command," she began, her voice carrying throughout the room. "That on and after the First day of July, One Thousand Eight Hundred and Sixty-seven, the Provinces of Canada, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick,shall form and be One Dominion, under the name of Canada."
Something in Arthur's face tightened in grief but Matthew had no time to think on it as the Queen brought her seal down and stamped the act into official creation.
And then two things happened at once.
Hamish and Louise suddenly stiffened in their chairs, their bodies going unnaturally straight as their spines contorted beneath their skin. Their eyes went wide and unseeing, and the ethereal aura seemed to seep right out of their skin, their hair turning dull, their skin suddenly wan.
Beside him, Louise struggled for breath, her tiny chest spasming up and down, face slack as she breathed out golden mist with every strangled exhale.
At the same time, sharp, cold pain lanced down Matthew's spine, his insides broiling, his skin feverishly hot, like it would suddenly burst into flames. He gasped as hot air flooded his throat and choked him, making it impossible to breath. The duality of hot and cold inside his body made him feel like he was about to combust, and he grit his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut again the whine that threatened to rise pathetically in his throat.
And then as soon as it came on, it was over. Faintly, Matthew could hear the sound of something thumping against the table, but he was too focused on the disappearance of the brilliant golden light that had threatened to blind him.
For a moment he just lay there, half-sprawled in his seat, tuning out the murmurs of the humans in the room. His suit was uncomfortably damp with sweat and his curls were plastered to his forehead. The world felt off, too, like someone had just put his life under a microscope, suddenly highlighting everything in smooth clarity. It was a good off, Matthew decided as he regulated his breathing. It felt like another puzzle piece had snapped into place, a part he hadn't ever noticed was missing until he found it.
The pain had died down to shuddering pulses, though now they felt more like a discomfort than anything. If these were the perks becoming a full country brought, he should have petitioned for it sooner.
With a sigh that probably bordered on giddy, Matthew pried his tear-crusted eyes open. A hand came to rest on his shoulder, it's owner murmuring soothing words to him that Matthew couldn't quite make out.
He liked his dry lips and blinked several times to focus his eyes, his gaze coming to rest on Arthur kneeling beside him. His eyes were red.
"Hey Arthur," he managed, still disoriented. "I think it worked."
Arthur made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and tears glistened silver in the corners of his eyes. "I would be inclined to agree."
Matthew huffed a laugh, but it soon died when Arthur's face crumpled. "What's wrong?"
And then he saw the bodies.
If this chapter seems weird, it's because I was writing it on my phone in the darkness of my bedroom at 2am and I could barely see through my tears.
I really hope you guys weren't attached to Hamish and Louise, because I really tried not to be because I knew this was coming right from the start, yet here I am, in the wee hours of morning, crying quietly into my pillow so I don't wake the rest of my house :(
