The Huxley Letters: Part 7 - Not So Grim Up North

10th September 1888

Aboard the Aurora, above Dawsbury, England
 

My dearest Rachel,

I may not have travelled overseas for my latest excursion, but my, what a fascinating trip!

Kit and I flew the Aurora up north to Saltaire – landing in the park, and swiftly being surrounded by a crowd of awed mill workers. As Kit emerged and saw them, he grabbed my hand excitedly and pulled me towards an older woman, whom he introduced as his mother, Rosie. After her son explained who I was, Rosie rather flatly dismissed all protocol, and embraced me warmly, leading me to the small terraced house in which the Morlands lived.

The reception from Kit's father, Jim, was rather less enthusiastic. He appears to be your typical gruff, tough, working-class Yorkshireman, who sees us nobles as nothing but a set of idle layabouts. He is civil enough, but I can tell he resents my presence. True, I have never gone hungry, nor had to do work beyond the maintenance of my airship... but with my disastrous arranged marriage, have I not suffered in my own way? Still, Rosie's kind – almost motherly – care of me made up for Mr. Morland's coldness. She reminds me rather of dear Mrs. Chattoway.

Rosie offered me Kit's room and bed to sleep in during my stay, with Kit agreeing to sleep on the front room sofa. I tried to politely decline – explaining that I would be quite happy sleeping aboard the Aurora, and that I didn't wish to inconvenience them – but they insisted, and so, that's how it was.

In the days that followed, I ate meals with Kit's family – simpler fare than what I'm familiar with, but Rosie is an excellent cook – and was taken on various ventures, such as being given a tour of Salt's Mill, a trip into nearby Bradford, and even a boat ride along the River Aire. It was fascinating to see "how the other half live", as they say. At times when Mr. and Mrs. Morland had to work, Kit and I went to the Aurora to build our long-planned autopilot device, which we intended to test during our return to Dawsbury Manor.

All went swimmingly, until I made a faux pas on the penultimate day. Knowing that they had had to buy extra food for me, and to compensate them for any pains they had taken to house me, I offered Kit's parents some money... which Jim took as a great insult. Rosie also declined, albeit more politely, but in the end, she consented to me taking her for supper in an elegant tea room, which was rather a treat for her.

Jim took Kit for a pint on his last night at home, having again to go into Bradford as Mr. Salt forbids pubs or gin shops anywhere within Saltaire. They came home in the early hours of the morning – the noise rousing me out of sleep. As I lay there in bed, I could hear Jim admonishing his son for "frolicking about with a stuck-up lass like that", claiming that I would "never see [Kit] as an equal", and that he should stop "p**sing about with airships and get back to doing proper work" (pray pardon the crass expression).

I was humbled greatly as I heard Kit defend me, saying I was "rich in kindness as well as money", that his Aurora adventures gave him "summat the mill couldn't – some bl**dy excitement" (pardon again) and that, when he was around me, he felt like "a prince, not a skivvy".

Before Jim could reply, I heard a disgruntled Rosie step out onto the landing, yelling at both men to go to sleep, and calling her husband "a miserable old (no, I draw the line – that word, I will not repeat.)"

After saying goodbyes the next morning, we set off back towards my family home: the autopilot working extremely well... until we had been flying for just under an hour, and it began to malfunction – the engines also losing power at an alarming rate. As I rushed to the cockpit to regain control, Kit fled to the Engine Room to hastily stoke up the coal burners, knowing we needed as much steam power as possible to get things running smoothly.

After ten terrifying, heart-wrenching minutes, the Aurora stabilised, and the autopilot resumed its function. Relieved, I ventured into the Engine Room to check on Kit... and what I saw, my friend, I must confess, has set my dreams aflame from that day to this.

Due to the intense heat from the coal burners, Kit had stripped to the waist: sweat glistening on the slender, toned frame of his torso, his muscles twitching, his hair wild as always, and his blue eyes blazing like sapphires from within his ash and dust drenched face. In the low orange light, he seemed more a work of art than a man, and his beauty left me speechless. Perhaps it was merely the heat upon the metal, but I swear I felt my wedding ring burning around my finger.

Seeing me, Kit was most embarrassed: he apologised profusely, and dashed into the washroom to clean up and re-dress. From then on, I have acted as if I saw nothing, treating Kit the same as always – but in the night, I am plagued with sweet, sinful thoughts.

I have mentioned this to no-one except yourself. I have no intention of betraying my husband – bound as we are by God, and as loveless as our union is – but, when all is said and done, I am still a woman. Pray, tell me this: my feelings following this incident... do they make me – wicked?

Still, I am far too busy to dwell on such grave matters of morality: I have been helping Montague plan a grand ball. You see, as Kit and I returned, we were given wonderful news. In three weeks, our ship doctor is to become Lady Fiona Levick – Countess of Dawsbury!
 

Warmest wishes,

Clara