The Huxley Letters: Part 5 - Home Sweet Home?

9th June 1888

Dawsbury Manor, The Levick Estate, Dawsbury, England

Dear Rachel,

Postponing our venture to Switzerland, we have instead returned to Dawsbury Manor in order to try and help my brother Montague. When we first arrived in the Aurora, much to our horror, we realised we were being fired upon! Rushing to a window, I saw my brother below shooting his rifle at us – Mrs. Chattoway trying in vain to restrain him. I called out to him, revealing myself and pleading with him to stop: saying there was a child, now terrified, aboard the aircraft. Recognising me, he stopped, greatly alarmed, and allowed us to land safely.

When I approached Montague, he was weeping and trembling, deeply apologetic. It transpired that, in some anguished delusion, he'd believed the Aurora was a Martian spacecraft. Thankfully, no-one was harmed, so I comforted him and introduced him to my crew, whilst Mrs. Chattoway offered to make tea.

We have now been here for ten days. Our host – since he feels like merely that, rather than my beloved brother – is not the Montague I so fondly remember. He is cold and distant, speaking to me bluntly when I attempt conversation at our collective dinners, and although he exchanges occasional pleasantries with the crew, he has made no effort to properly befriend them. He does seem pleased at my travels aboard the Aurora, but all in all, the Martians and their infernal invasion appear to have stolen not only Montague's limbs, but his hope and happiness, too.

He is equally coarse with Lord Huxley, although this surprises me less. I believe, had my father unfortunately passed away before my arranged nuptials, Montague would have cancelled it – seeing how unhappy the match made me, but feeling as I did, bound by family duty. Now, my brother is the Earl of Dawsbury, but it is too late to alter what has long been done before God. As such, he intensely dislikes my spouse, seeing in him a future robbed for me.

Mrs. Chattoway, like us, has been utterly charmed by Pippin – inviting the girl to bake pies and sing songs in the kitchen, just as she did with myself and Montague many years ago. She confessed to me that she misses having children around: she had hoped my brother would wed swiftly after his return home and bring the future Viscount Roewick into the world, but due to his hatred of his metal, mechanical form, he has shunned society and paid court to no-one. Curious, I asked Fiona her opinion of my brother's looks. With no small amount of flustering, she replied: "There is a great deal of handsomeness in his face and form – and even his scars and copper limbs are not wholly unbecoming."

Fiona wishes to attempt a talking cure with Montague: conversations with him, in utter privacy, where he can express his troubles and feelings without fear of judgement or embarrassment, thereby easing his burden. Rather defensively, I asked if he could not do this with me, his own dear sister, but she claims the process is easier with a neutral party, though it may take time to convince him to open up. I requested that she inform me of what my brother says, but she has refused, saying she cannot betray a patient's trust, and the right to disclose is Montague's alone. Though I have my reservations about such a treatment, I cannot bear to see my brother gripped by such melancholy, and have given Fiona my blessing to proceed.

It is the early hours as I write. I was woken by Montague's anguished cries as he is plagued by yet another nightmare. I only hope Pippin stays asleep: she, too, has been having nightmares ever since the rifle incident. We are all sleeping in guest bedrooms here at the Manor, and Kit and I take turns to read Pippin a bedtime story and tuck her in each night. I suppose I should check on her, so I shall leave this letter here.

Warmest wishes,

Clara

PS: A heartwarming scene!

As I entered Pippin's room, I flew into a panic when I found she was gone. Dashing through the halls, I saw that my brother's door was ajar. There within was Pippin, tucking a teddy bear Mrs. Chattoway had given her under Montague's arm, causing him to stir and awake.

"He keeps away nightmares," Pippin explained to him. "Now he can keep yours away, too."

Montague, a little stunned, thanked Pippin kindly – ruffling her curls as a soft, weak smile crossed his lips.

For one precious, fleeting moment... I had my happy brother back.