The Huxley Letters: Part 6 - A Family Affair

11th August 1888

Dawsbury Manor, The Levick Estate, Dawsbury, England

Dear Rachel,

I am most frightfully sorry to hear about the bee infestation! Your idea of using a sieve and your evening gloves as a makeshift bee keeping set was most inspired. I'm glad the situation is back under control, and that the true hive owner gave you all of those jars of honey as compensation for your trouble. I agree that two hundred might have been a tad excessive, though. I'm sure Mrs. Chattoway could make use of some, since you so kindly offered.

I myself have some happy news to report. The transformation in my brother's character is near miraculous. Though Fiona is bound by professional confidentiality, Montague himself has discusses his treatment with me at length. It took several sessions for him to share his thoughts and feelings, considering it "unmasculine" to do so, but Fiona, in her wisdom, continued to probe and press until he succumbed to the pressure: the horrors of war he carries as a constant burden released in a torrent of frantic words and flowing tears. Though he dare not leave the room, he told me, until he had composed himself, he felt as though a great weight had been lifted, and from there, he has confided in Fiona more freely.

Yet, I think their bond has grown beyond sessions together in a locked parlour room. The pair now sit beside one another at dinner, and often go for walks together around the gardens. The other morning, I was most distressed when I heard strange groans coming from Montague's bedchamber. Later, he claimed Fiona, being most comfortable with my brother's prosthetics, removed his limbs to redress his "stumps", massaging them in the process to ease the ache and soothe the marks where the copper contraptions rub him so.

I let the matter lie, but I have my suspicions nonetheless. Still, in any case, knowing that a woman can still bear to touch him following his "transformation" must do wonders for his confidence.

Monty (as he has now decided he likes to be called, if you please!) has also taken a shine to Kit. They often play cards together in the evening, where ale presumably flows, and they converse on manly matters. I, of course, am not privy to these games... but nor, indeed, is Fiona. In essence, the games room is now a gentleman's club.

My brother even extended an olive branch to my husband in the form of an invitation, but has been snubbed, as Huxley resumes his aloof airs. He has been eating nothing but watery broths, and retires to bed early, claiming he has a stomach complaint. Fiona has been tending to him - yesterday, as she left his bedchamber, she looked grave-faced. Yet, when I approached her, she dredged up a smile from somewhere and said, "Oh, you know what he's like!" It seems I am surrounded by cliques and secret-keepers. It wounds me so.

Even little Pippin has turned her back on me. It began when I saw her in heaps of giggles in the parlour, as Montague bizarrely crawled on all fours before her, growling. When he realised I was watching him, he straightened up, embarrassed. It transpired that he was telling the tale of when a tiger entered the army camp back in the Raj. Pippin, naturally, had no idea what such a creature was, so my brother was merely... demonstrating.

This playful camaraderie lightened my heart to begin with, but now Pippin favours my brother in all things. At night, I offer to put her to bed, but she cries "No! I want Monty!". So, it is now Fiona who helps her pray, before Montague tucks her in and tells her more exciting stories.

Once she's asleep, Fiona attends to Huxley, whilst Kit is summoned for cards with my brother. I am left alone. It has come to the point where I can no longer stand to pass the night in the Manor. It has become too reminiscent of my miserable days at Huxley Hall. I instead retreat to the Aurora as it sits on the vast lawn – my crew in apparent mutiny – and sleep in my cabin there.

In truth, I truly am happy for them all. They have become a sort of family, caring and loving. Only I, the one that brought them together, have no place within it. That destroys me more than words can say. I only hope your ongoing friendship can be counted on, now that your life and the bees have both settled back down.

Yours in friendship,

Clara

PS: Perhaps I was mistaken. After finishing the letter, I broke down in tears in the Aurora study, my own dam of emotion now compromised. Hearing a knock, I looked up, and Kit was there – desperate to know what was wrong.

As I confessed all, he revealed that the new-found family atmosphere was affecting him also. There are, he chuckled, only so many times he can lose to my brother at cards. For a change, he had sought me out to discuss the building of the autopilot device, only to find me here weeping.

Further, he has begun to miss his own family up in Saltaire, and has suggested he and I could visit them – just the two of us, to get some space.

We leave tomorrow.