The Huxley Letters: Part 3 - April in Paris

4th April 1888

Quai des Dirigeables Sainte Jeanne D'Arc, Paris, France

My dear Mrs. Fairfax,

Greetings from Paris! The Aurora arrived here two days ago. Lord Huxley has refused to leave the ship – he claims the flight has made him quite ill. As do boats. And carriages. And every other form of transportation known to man.

(Although, I suspect the only ailment Huxley is truly suffering from is intolerance, Like many pompous British peers, he is horribly prejudiced against the French - apparently still considering the Norman invasion of England a recent and relevant event.)

So, my husband was left in Dr. MacDearmid's care whilst I explored the city – with Kit as my chaperone, and Pippin for company.

Our first stop was Champ de Mars, where they are constructing the most extraordinary monument. They say it is to be a great tower. If so, it shall surely marvel the world, and be something truly amazing to look at. A real eyeful.

After visiting the Arc de Triomphe, I took my companions to a fine patisserie on the Champs Elysees, where I treated them both to their first ever mille-feuille. Next stop – Rome!

Ah, yes – Pippin. As you'll have gathered, we never quite reached Dr. Barnardo's orphanage. Having swiftly won our hearts with her wit and curiosity, we have chosen to let her travel with us for the time being. This is fanciful, I know, but as she walked with Kit and I, it felt like a family outing.

Paris from above truly is a magnificent sight. Patches of green from spring fields alongside grey squares dotted with houses and hallmarks of industry. All this with the River Seine running through it like a bright blue thread in a tapestry.

Your excursion to the village fête with your old school chums sounded most delightful. I myself have been rather devoid of female company in my adult years, having lost touch with my own classmates over time – not to mention the early death of my mother and my stifling marriage, which took me away from dear Mrs. Chattoway. True, at Huxley Hall, I had housemaids and chambermaids, but one got little conversation out of them except for "Yes, Lady Monsmere" and "At once, Lady Monsmere". It is not their fault, and they mean well: most of them are younger even than I, and merely act in the way they were taught is proper.

Thankfully, Dr. MacDearmid – Fiona – has filled this gap most nicely. We often sit in the Aurora lounge, chatting over tea and shortbread... until we are inevitably disturbed by my callous husband, screeching over some perceived malady. It seems she is saint-like not only in faith, but in patience.

I am currently on the hunt for a replacement bulb for my camera, and as such, I have not yet had an opportunity to photograph my crew all together. Perhaps, for now, it will suffice if I were to describe them to you, for you to envision in your mind's eye?

Fiona's hair is a mane of pulled-back fiery curls, and her pinny, often worn over a tartan or checked dress, holds many useful tools – spectacles resting lightly on her nose.

Kit's wild raven locks are unkempt, and defy all laws of physics. His tall slender frame, clad in ragged garments, is often stained with oil and soot from his work in the Engine Room. Still, beneath this dirt, he has a certain charm and handsomeness to him, enhanced even more so by his kind and loving heart. He has proved himself excellent company.

(Before I continue, Mrs. Fairfax, I must tell you solemnly– do not speculate about our honest and professional friendship. I may not feel love for my husband, but the sanctity of our binding union is something that I treat with the utmost respect... for better, or for worse.)

The bath revealed Pippin has flowing golden curls, and in her new elegant dresses, she looks quite angelic. As for Lord Huxley, he is utterly bald, bar a few chin-length strands of icicle-like silver hair, and he is forever stony-faced and sombrely dressed.

Until Italy, my dear friend... á bientôt!

Yours, with all best wishes,

Lady Clara Huxley