The Huxley Letters: Part 12 - Reborn from the Flames

17th July 1889

Dawsbury Manor, The Levick Estate, Dawsbury, England

Dearest Rachel,

I do believe you were right to hire a gardener to care for your beloved blooms, especially in the blazing summer heat you're experiencing at present. Mr. Hendricks certainly sounds like a kind young man: your vivid descriptions rather makes one wonder if it is merely your garden that he is tending to...

Forgive my girlish speculation – I have romance on the brain presently, for reasons I shall explain, but, all in good time!

As for Kit, his mind has been firmly fixed on travel. I still have not yet had the opportunity to read the book Mr. Anhysbys left behind, since my beloved has become so utterly spellbound by it. Indeed, he seems to believe himself to be on first-name terms with the author: whenever we chat, bless his enthused soul, it's "Jules", "Jules", "Jules" every five minutes. In truth, the name is starting to grow on me somewhat.

In Monsieur Verne's masterpiece, Kit informs me, the Earth's centre is reached by descending into a crater in Iceland, named in a cryptic note written in runes that obscures a Latin message. He consequently now wishes to visit the location, Snaefells, and attempt the voyage. I reminded him that the tale is a flight of fancy. Although, as an act of love, I may humour him and fly us there for – ah, gracious! Clearly, I must tell the tale now, for my pen is struggling to conceal it!

One place Kit and I have travelled to lately is the Isle of Wight, where we passed some pleasant days in one another's company. We visited Egypt Point, Shanklin Chine and various beauty spots during daylight hours, but as the moon rose, we returned to the Aurora (we forewent local lodgings, for privacy's sake) and retired to bed. The same bed.

I am nervous to reveal this, but as my friend and confidante, I trust you not to gossip. At the start, Kit and I were content with tender embraces and goodnight kisses, but within three days, our mutual desires roared too loudly for us to silence... and we came to "know" each other as a husband does his wife. There were some... hurdles early on, yes, but I have always been a swift learner, and consequently, I have known pleasure I could never before conceive of. Without wishing to speak ill of the dead, I doubt Huxley could ever have aroused such sensations within me, even if we had both been willing to perform our marital duties.

It was as we flew home, however, that fate truly impacted our mutual future.

As Kit looked down from our aerial position, he grew alarmed as he saw that a fiery blaze was sweeping through a large, grand building on the isle below. He insisted that I swoop the Aurora down as low and as close to the structure as safety allowed – and then, before I had any chance to object, my dear Kit, with astonishing bravery, ran out across the viewing deck, and leapt into the building through a broken window, its glass shattered by the intense heat, vanishing into the flames.

Time appeared to halt. My blood froze in my veins like icy water, my heart plummeting into the pit of my somersaulting stomach... until finally, a motley crew of strangers – some in servant uniform, others fine attire – all scrambled aboard. Last of all came Kit, who was escorting and assisting an aged lady. By now, the blaze had grown fearfully wild, and we retreated to the safety to the skies above.

Engaging the autopilot, I escorted the rescued persons in the parlour area for some sweet sugary tea, to allay their shock. The old lady came last, offering her arm to Kit so he could help lead her in. It was only when the others all bowed and curtsied upon her entrance that I realised exactly what structure had caught alight.

Osborne House.

Kit Morland of Saltaire, former mill worker, was holding the arm of... Victoria. Queen and Empress.

At Her Majesty's request, we diverted course to Buckingham Palace. As Kit and I made extremely nervous small talk with her, she permitted Darwin to lay in her lap, and she bade me to invite our families and friends to the Palace with much haste. Through numerous wireless telegrams, I arranged for Montague to hire a second private airship – known informally as a "sky cab" - to fly everyone down. He would travel with Fiona, Pippin and Mrs. Chattoway, picking up the Morlands and Muurbloems en route.

Once all had arrived at the Palace, and time had been given for outfit changes and other matters of toilette, Her Majesty summoned us all to an audience. Kit was called forward before the assembly, and to everyone's astonished and delight, was asked to kneel – the Queen taking a sword into her hand.

It was a moment akin to a fairytale transformation. Kit, a working-class Yorkshireman of the most humble birth, was now Sir Christopher Morland: Knight of the Order of the Garter, and a recipient of a yearly allowance of £1000* as a reward for his outstanding bravery.

Rosie Morland wept with pride. She even curtsied before her son, but he pulled her up gently, insisting he was no grander than she. Jim was too overwhelmed to speak, but embraced Kit with great paternal love.

The blessings continued. Montague invited everyone back to Dawsbury Manor for a congratulatory banquet. Pippin played with the Masters Muurbloem and Darwin, trying to get the robotic hound to perform a certain trick for them – but to no avail.

I knew exactly which trick she was trying to recreate. Back when Mr. Anhysbys was visiting us, Darwin would look up at him, and cock his head to one side, almost like a confused greeting. He has never done this before or since to anyone else – it seems completely unique to our unusual, unexpected guest. It was one of those rare moments where I wished the creation could speak: perhaps he knows something more about him that we do not.

As we toasted to Kit's new-found status, wealth and health, both wine and laughter soon flowed: disrupted only by the constant pings of wireless telegrams. As news of Kit's knighthood and fortune spread, every noble with an unwed daughter, sister or mother was sending proposals – all rushing to catch the newest much-sought after bachelor in England.

I tried to ignore it, rise above it, but confound it all, fear and jealousy overtook me. In the end, I left the party, and went for a walk in the gardens to try and clear my head – Darwin loyally following at my heels. After some time, my sweet puppy started to yap enthusiastically, and as I turned, I saw Kit approaching me, chuckling.

"Yes - I've read the telegrams," he said, donning a grand accent that reminded me somewhat of my brother's tones. "It seems Sir Christopher Morland is quite the catch."

Then, in his usual broad Yorkshire accent, he added:

"But I'm still me. Still Kit. That ain't changing. And as for those desperate proposals – my God, lass... if you think I want any other woman but you, that I love any other woman but you, then you're a daft ha'p'orth."

He went on to tell me that Klaus Muurbloem had just approached him, saying that he'd loved his ideas for factory life. With his new venture in Leathfield about to open, he'd asked Kit to become his business partner: a position bound to bring him even greater wealth and success. I congratulated him, and he smiled.

"I'm a proper gentleman now," he said. "All I need is a proper lady by my side."

Joking that he'd "got used to this position as of late", he dropped down on one knee, and reached into his pocket, producing a beautiful ring. It was a gold band adorned with two interlocked cogs (one gold, one silver) with a diamond set in the centre – made to resemble a flower.

"My own design," Kit explained. "I made it for you myself. Clara, if you're willing... will you make me the happiest man in Earth by letting me share the rest of my life with you? By being always by my side, living through one adventure after another, as Lady Clara Morland?"

Dearest Rachel... words cannot express my joy in that moment. Of course, I accepted without any hesitation.

As Kit embraced me, kissing me passionately as he placed the ring onto my finger, an afterthought occurred to him. Reaching into his pocket once more, he fished out a small but familiar scrap of paper.

"Huxley gave this to me just before he died," he said, handing it over. "In case you're worried that he'd disapprove... this ought to put your fears to bed."

In truth, despite my happiness, I was concerned that I might be moving on too soon. However, just as Kit had said, the note's contents – a single sentence in Huxley's scrawl - allayed all of my worries, and touched my heart.

Make her happier than I ever could.

"Thank you, Charles," I breathed.

I had gained a wonderful man. However, the one I had laid to rest, deep down, had had goodness within him, too.

Kit took my hand, and led me back inside, where we broke the news of our engagement to everyone. We intend to marry as soon as we can, and are rushing to planning everything. Fiona jested that she was praying my little niece or nephew wouldn't arrive on the same day!

Warmest wishes,

Clara

*Note from the Dawsbury Manor Archives:

As of 2017, £1000 in 1889 England was equivalent to roughly £83,899 (or $102,004 USD) in modern money.