Dancing Suite, part 2: The Consequences of Flight, 14/?
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Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: William Murdoch/James Pendrick
Characters: William Murdoch, James Pendrick, Julia Ogden, Inspector Brackenreid, Georges Crabtree, James Gillies, Dr. Roberts (Murdoch Mysteries), Thomas Edison, Auguste Lumière, Gustave Eiffel, Marcel Guillaume, Antoine Lumière, Alphonse Bertillon, Louis Lumière
Additional Tags: A host of OCs - Freeform, A host of historical figures, Diary/Journal, Fake Academic Essay, Historically Accurate, Bycicles
Series: Part 2 of The Dancing Suite
The following is taken from a recently defended Master’s cognate in History entitled « The Consequences of Flight : The Rediscovered Diary of a Canadian Homosexual in the Late-Victorian Era. »
The Murdoch Diary, part 2:
25 and 27 May 1900
25 May, Friday .
There was a conflagration yesterday. That is is the only word I find that applies to what happened between James and me. I could not write about it until now. James was drunk, massively so, and I had been ruminating for most of the afternoon, knowing Guillaume will arrive at our door at any moment. I would do the same were I in Guillaume's position.
Never have we been so cruel nor loud with eachother before. Even when I thought him a killer, I never flung such bile at him as I did yesterday. Of which he returned in equal amounts. We tore at eachother for hours, bearing all our pain and despair since To. The worry, the grief, the gaping holes left by cutting ourselves out of our lives. After the recriminations and the accusations were thrown, we were both exhausted, both literally on the floor, his back to the door, mine to a chair, James wept. Through it all, since October, James had never shed a tear, not in front of me at least. Then he told me everything. The truth finally.
He believes he committed a grave mistake when planning our escape. He said he realized it within days of our hiding in Sault-au-Récollet. What had gutted him so completely and drove him to despair and drink is so simple and so obvious, I cringe now. Why had I not seen it previously? He gave up his name. He says he should never have changed his name. He is no longer James Pendrick.
He explained that through all of his life, through all of the difficulties he experienced, from his father's death, through Sally, the Rembrandt, the death ray^1^, the loss of the high rise and his investments and fortune, he always had his name. Through it all, he was James Pendrick and no one beats James Pendrick. James Pendrick survives everything.
But James Beckett is no one. His is not a world-renown civil engineer, not a brilliant inventor. Beckett is not an architect, not an industrialist. James Pendrick would have realized the de Suffren walkway was unsound before it collapsed. He would not have run away from Bourdais and he would have confronted Eiffel under his Tower. Pendrick would not have to cow away from all acquaintances visiting Paris this Spring. But Beckett does run away, must hide, because Beckett is a two-bit tutor who repairs bicycles on the side. A useless sodomite. A moping drunk living in a third-floor closet. I should have known.
This morning, he told me before I left for work that he looks forward Guilaume's visit. Because once Guillaume comes here, whatever happens to us, he will be James Pendrick again. Perhaps a prisoner, perhaps a criminal extradited to Britain or back to Canada, but himself once more. He was home, plainly sober, when I returned from work today, but not very talkative. We read in silence in our bed and loved gently. He sleeps now as I write this. I pray I won't lose him, us, in what is to come.
27 May, Sunday .
Church was a boon this morning, solace after this trying week. James chose to accompany me for the first time since I've known him, not because he has found God, but so as to not be left alone in his thoughts. We stayed in La Chapelle all day. I convinced him to try the pool with me. It is a new and serviceable building, very clean, with naturally heated water pumped from an artesian well ^2^ . The water washed away our troubles for a while. So much so that we were asked to leave when we splashed around a bit too much. James smiled freely for the first time in too long. It was somewhat bittersweet, but genuine. We truly lanced the abscess on Friday. I feel light.
Marcel Guillaume came to the bank yesterday, alone rather than with a delegation from the Sûreté. I gave him my notes. He caught my eye from across the accounting room, circulated, strolled, around the desks. When he neared mine, I feigned accidentally dropping papers and pens at his feet. I passed him the report in a tightly folded bundle while he played at helping me pick up everything. He slipped it in his breast pocket and walked away.
Come what may, like the Bard says ^3^ .
This most likely refers to the microwave weapon developed by Sally Hubbard and her accomplices in a scheme which ultimately revealed herself as a criminal while clearing James Pendrick of all wrong doing, saving him from the noose. One will remember the movie The Murdoch Trap (2012) famously opens with the weapon in action and famous inventor Nicola Tesla saving the day. See both Gunn's biography of Murdoch and Burke's thesis on Hubbard.
The Hébert Public Pool, on Place Hébert in the De La Chapelle neighbourhood, was opened in 1896 in an industrial hangar and is still in operation today. It is fed with artesian water at 26°C to 30°C.
Shakespeare, Macbeth , Act 1, Scene 3.