The Huxley Letters: Part 4 - When in Rome...

5th May 1888

Molo di Dirigibili Leonardo da Vinci, Rome, Italy

Ciao, Rachel!

Many thanks for permitting me to call you by your Christian name. This week, the Aurora landed in Rome. As we prepared for our first excursion. Huxley protested yet again, but this time I put my foot down and insisted he joined us. If he didn't want to see Europe, he should have stayed home. Fiona, Kit, Pippin and I had to put up with his constant prattling all the way around the Roman Forum... but when we reached the Colosseum, he fell silent – staring in awe at the majestic structure.

At the famous Trevi Fountain, Pippin got a little over-excited at throwing coins. With her pestering, I ended up tossing two coins in instead of one. I know one ensures a return to Rome – I hope the second has no side effect!

I sensed someone standing beside me. Taking it to be Lord Huxley, and feeling kind, I reached for his hand, I reached for his hand... but much to my shock, it was Kit! We both swiftly apologised and broke away, but I saw the shocked and upset look on my husband's face as he watched from afar.

At dinner, Kit and discussed our plans to build an automatic piloting device, whilst Pippin tried to speak to my husband, but he scolded her, saying children should be seen and not heard. The meal continued in a weighted silence – but later, as we walked back to the Aurora, a remorseful Huxley bought Pippin some gelato to apologise... and uncharacteristically, smiled.

I was most perplexed to learn that you've started wearing "Southern necessities" as opposed to skirts whilst doing the gardening – what a radical idea! It would never be permitted in my British, well-to-do society: why, even saying the true name of them, "tr****rs", is incredibly scandalous! I'll confess, your American term for them confused me slightly: I can't recall it, but it began with a "P". I had to consult a dictionary from the USA that I keep in the Aurora's library.

Still, as radical as the action may be, it has set me thinking. In public, even abroad, I always dress impeccably, as even on the streets of Rome or Paris, there is the chance of meeting a high-born acquaintance. Yet when I am assisting Kit in the workshop or Engine Room, "Southern necessities" may prove more practical.

A common fashion for men at the moment is to decorate their coat sleeves with cogs of coppers of gold. They remind me somewhat of my brother's prosthetics, which, sadly, he has to wear for necessity rather than style. I remember when he was invalided and sent home from Lahore – he spent a significant amount of time convalescing in St. Bartholomew's Hospital, London. I went to visit him there: I saw the bandaged stumps beneath his new arm and leg, which a doctor had removed in order to examine his wounds. Another sheet of bronze showed through the buttons of his nightshirt, where it replaced the section of torso he also lost.

Poor, dear Montague: it was shortly after that he returned to Dawsbury Manor, never to show his face in society since. I send him letters and postcards often, but he has never replied.

Our next stop is Switzerland, with its stunning lakes and mountains. Pippin has high hopes of building a snowman: I haven't the heart to tell her that the snowy tundras will have melted by the time we arrive. I swear I caught my husband smiling again when I announced the destination yesterday, but the moment he caught me looking at him, it vanished as quickly as it came. I shall be sure to send you another card!

Warmest wishes,

Clara

PS: Well, speak of the devil and he doth appear. It seems the winds of fate have changed our course. I had just signed off this letter when Kit rushed in with a urgent cableless telegram from the Comms room. It was from Mrs. Chattoway, requesting my immediate presence: Montague's melancholy has grown substantially, and she fears for his life.

Switzerland will have to wait. For now, familial love and duty are calling me home.