The Huxley Letters: Part 2 - Snowstorms in London

28th February 1888

Canary Wharf Airship Dock, East London, England

Dear Mrs. Fairfax,

I was most saddened to hear of the unexpected snowstorm that struck your county. One must assume that your petunia garden did not come through unscathed?

I confess that, when I first read about your daily outgoings in new-found frozen climbs, I could not truly relate to it. However, it appears that your bothersome blizzard has since ventured to my side of the globe. The Aurora is currently docked in Canary Wharf, London, and has been forbidden to fly... which means one has to almost constantly search for amusement to alleviate the overbearing boredom of being stranded.

Childish though it may be, I admit that I have donned my heavy overcoat, scarf and hat to venture out and leave bootprints on the virginal white terrain during brief breaks between snowy showers. Lord Huxley scoffed, choosing instead to sulk in his cabin and cocoon himself in several bedsheets... like the cowardly old maggot that he is, I dare say. Still, as Kit ventured back to the dock following a provisions run to Camden Market, he spotted me in the airship yard and jovially tossed a snowball towards me: an act of war that I gladly met with equal measure...

Ah – I have got ahead of myself! You see, the reason for me being in London is that it is to be the starting point for the Aurora's first real voyage... a short tour of Europe! After placing another advertisement in the press for paid help, a couple of brave souls have ventured towards me, forming a humble makeshift crew.

The first was Doctor Fiona MacDearmid of Edinburgh, aged thirty-three: one of the recent and first graduates of the London School of Medicine for Women. She has a thirst for travel, and possesses a strong Christian faith, though this little dampens her trust in logic and science. Rather, it strengthens her will to help others, and she hopes the Aurora will allow her to aid the ill and needy in other nations. She will also care for us aboard if needed, and will likely have to deal with Lord Huxley's various maladies: several of which I suspect to be imagined.

Huxley was utterly horrified that a woman is permitted to practice medicine, believing the fairer sex is "fit only for breeding and housework". He has trouble enough with my travelling plans, especially given that I will be piloting the Aurora myself. I told him frankly that he could remain in Monsmere if he wished, but he insisted on coming with me, as it is apparently "improper for a married woman to travel without her husband".

During the flight to London, he glared at me for the duration in mistrust – most irritating! - and has since spent most of the time here in his cabin, as I mentioned before. I do not think it is solely my piloting that makes him fear travelling in the Aurora. He has great disdain for modern technology: which, from my observations, seems to cover anything from the Battle of Hastings onwards.

Anyway, onto the second crew member. He is Christopher Morland, known as "Kit" - aged twenty-nine. He is a working-class gentleman from Saltaire, near Bradford. After a very brief education at the local parish school, he joined his parents in working at the town mill. There, he developed an unexpected aptitude for mechanics, often repairing broken machines. After being told of my advertisement, he wrote me a most polite letter (in spite of, I'm sorry to say, his sub-standard spelling and grammar) offering his services, saying an adventure was far preferable to a life of mill work, with little prospects or hope for a better life.

Touched by his words, I chose to hire him, which has proved a wise move. In mere days, he has shown great skill in maintaining the Aurora, and has taken the opportunity during our grounding to study under the local airship mechanics in between acquiring parts and provisions. Further, he is kind and respectful: it took three days, and my express wishes, for him not to call me "Lady Monsmere" - my legal title. He felt ill-at-ease calling me by my first name alone, so we settled on "Lady Clara" as a compromise. He still calls me this, though he now seems more relaxed in my presence... hence our aforementioned, and much enjoyed, snowball fight.

There is also a fifth person with us, who returned with Kit from Camden Market. Whilst he was there, he caught a rag-clad, unclean young girl – around six years of age, we believe – picking his pocket. Giving chase, he swiftly caught her, and she panicked and sobbed wildly. She revealed that she was an orphan, taken in by callous thieves who treated her like a dog: beating her if she returned empty-handed, and denying her even the simple decency of being called by a name. Bruises and cuts upon her body confirmed the truth in her words.

Taking pity on her, Kit brought her back to me, paying for them to ride on the City's subterranean railway with a few pennies from the provision fund. It was the first such ride for both of them, and it filled them both with excitement and awe. (Underground trains! A true marvel!)

When I learned of the child's circumstances, I allowed her to bathe in the private washroom of my Aurora cabin - which proved a palaver, as the poor dear, having never bathed, believed it was an attempt to drown her at first. Dr. Fiona, meanwhile, ventured out to find a dress and other clothing for her. The only item on her person was the long-rotted core of a Cox's Pippin apple, and so, in the absence of a birth name, we are now referring to the child as "Pippin Cox", which she rather likes.

With the frequent snowstorms making travel ever more difficult, we are allowing Pippin to stay aboard the Aurora until we can transfer her to the safety of one of Dr. Barnardo's orphanages, where she will be properly cared for. She is a cheerful and playful little girl - and I must admit, I shall be sorry to see her go.

I must end my letter here, as Kit needs to confer with me about new engine parts, and then Dr. Fiona asked that I chaperone Pippin as she examines her, to determine her state of health and tend to her wounds. The little dear is naturally nervous, as a doctor's examination is another new experience for her. Hopefully, the boiled sweets Kit purchased for her from the dock's grocer earlier will lift her spirits... even if he was only sent there to get more bread and milk for the Aurora's pantry!

Warmest regards,

Lady Clara Huxley