The Huxley Letters: Part 11 - A Man of Honour

21st May 1889

Dawsbury Manor, The Levick Estate, Dawsbury, England

Dear Rachel,

I have just witnessed the most alarming vision of Mr. Anhysbys mounting the saddle of his clock-clad contraption, starting it up, and then vanishing suddenly in a blazing flash of light. He has been pleasant enough as a house guest in these recent weeks, but his abrupt, astounding departure leaves questions and confusion in more ways than one.

Things came to a head about five days into his unexpected visit. During the day, he mostly kept to himself and worked on his machine – Mrs. Chattoway bringing him regular refreshments on a tray. In the evenings, however, he was civil enough to join us for dinner. On this particular night, Montague tapped his glass to bring forth our silence, rose from his seat, took Fiona's hand... and announced to us all that she is pregnant! The child is expected in late August or early September.

In all honesty, I'd had my suspicions for a while. Regardless of how well she dresses, Fiona has never quite fully concealed the little bump upon her belly – not that she has any need to! I am thrilled for both her and my brother. Perhaps we shall finally have our new Viscount Roewick!

This announcement naturally turned our conversation onto the topic of family. Mr. Anhysbys has delicately dodged our gentle probes into his own history (dear God, I pray he was not an outlaw!), but took great interest in ours. Kit and I tend to sit together at dinner now, and on this night, our guest enquired how long we had been wed. I laughed this off, explaining Kit and I were not a couple... but then Pippin, bless her honest heart, called out.

"Then why did you kiss him on the ship?"

Silence befell the table. After several tense seconds, Montague turned to me, and asked if it was true. With tears forming in my eyes, and too afraid to speak, I rushed from the room. Kit hastily followed, and found me shaking in the parlour, where he embraced me in an effort to calm me. Then Montague stormed in, and the horrendous confrontation began.

It likely took mere minutes, but it felt like aeons. Montague accused Kit of all manner of dishonourable misdeeds, which both he and I strongly rebuked. But despite me pleading Kit's innocence and mine, Montague paid me no heed. He ordered Kit to meet him in the gardens tomorrow at dawn, where he would be handed a pistol, and they would duel - to the death. To refuse would be proof that Kit had "brought shame and ruin" upon me.

Courageous Kit, wanting to prevent any possibility of my disgrace, immediately agreed.

Horrified, I walked out.

In the hallway, Fiona was tending to a crying Pippin, who believed she had done something wrong – the poor angel! Mr. Anhysbys was also very sheepish: he stood before me with hanging head, shifting his weight from foot to foot... almost like a scolded child. His hands clumsily and nervously fumbled with his pocket watch. For an instant, I caught sight of the initials "J.M." inscribed on the back. Stolen goods, possibly? Or an indication, perhaps, that he was not who he claimed to be. However, I never got a chance to press him on the matter.

He apologised for the uproar he had innocently invoked, but I swiftly offered pardon. In a way, it was a relief to be free of the burden of my concealed feelings for Kit... but fears of what the next morning would bring robbed me of sleep that night. I would either lose the man I loved, or my dearest brother: my last blood relative in this world, excluding my unborn niece or nephew. And, not to mention, the presently last male in the Levick line.

Kit's death would rob me of my love and happiness, whilst Montague's would rob an innocent child and unborn babe of their father – a newly-wed wife of her loving husband. The prospect of losing either of them was completely unbearable.

At dawn, Kit ventured out into the gardens to meet Montague on the vast lawn, as agreed. Summoning up all the courage I could muster, I walked out with him, bracing myself to witness whatever would occur – Fiona standing beside me, eerily calm. Pippin, thankfully, was still asleep in her bed: lost, I hoped, in happy dreams, and oblivious to it all.

I strove to maintain my composure, but it was impossible. As I wept bitterly, pleading for this unnecessary bloodshed to be stopped, the two men walked ten paces... and fired.

There were no shots – only a pair of clicks. Neither pistol was loaded. As Kit stared at his weapon in disbelief, Montague finally let the mask slip: collapsing into a wild cackle. Beside me, Fiona stifled a giggle of her own.

The scoundrels had planned the whole act together! I could have beaten my brother senseless with his own copper arm.

Composing himself, Montague clapped his hands onto Kit's shoulders warmly. By being willing to give his life for me, he had proven to my brother that his love was true, and as such, he had his blessing to court me.

"I knew somehow," Montague added, "that you would be the one who'd make my sister happy."

I still cannot say that society will accept us, but to know my brother does is a blessing. All the same, Kit and I still dare not... ahem... "express" our love. Pregnancy in a wedded woman is all well and good, but not in a widow who conceives after her husband is buried.

Moving on to today, and Mr. Anhysbys' departure, the only trace of his presence that he left behind is a book that fell from his machine as it disappeared into the ether: A Journey to the Centre of the Earth, by one Jules Verne. Kit picked it up, and despite never being the most bookish of men, he has spent the evening reading it with gusto – utterly enthralled by it.

Montague has suggested Kit and I should have a holiday together. A hint, perhaps, to have some time alone, away from prying eyes. They say the Isle of Wight is nice in June...

With kindest regards, I remain, your loyal friend,

Clara