by Jeffrey Cook
While friendly enough, sir, I can but imagine that they feel that their own impressive and heroic exploits during the war have been overlooked by the English media, and some resent this. I am certain that in including such a man as Mr. McBride on your list of people to recruit for this mission, you are well aware of the situations and problems facing the soldiers of the Scotsmen. Nevertheless I have sworn to officially request that if you have some ears still within our government, they be bent in the direction of our Scottish neighbors for their service. Doubtless you have already been doing so in thanks for such meritorious service, and surely it is simply the slow wheels of bureaucracy limiting England's response and expression of gratitude for their service. In any case, I am pleased to report that their patrols do continue, and they have seen to caring for their returning wounded as best they are able.
Now, having made the entreaties I have promised these brave men, I can now report that in exchange for this service, noting down their tales to be passed on (you will find these accounts enclosed with this letter, for distribution as you see them meriting) we have successfully recruited Mr. McBride to our company in addition to Sir James Coltrane. We will be returning with Mr. McBride to the Coltrane estate at the first light of morning, and from there we will begin the longest and most perilous stretch of this first piece of the journey before us, though I will be staying a short time with the Coltranes while Mr. Toomes reports to you and makes certain that the information he was last given remains accurate, for news travels slowly from the Americas.
Yours,
Gregory Conan Watts
P.S. I ask that you forgive my informality in the future, sir. For as of this morning, when discovering me preparing the letters, both a copy for my own records, and the originals to send to you, Eddy discovered that while I had honored his request when speaking, I had been penning his name as Mr. McBride. He grew quite upset with me, and from now on, I am strictly to refer to him as Eddy and nothing else. He will let me know if this situation changes. While I am unaccustomed to such odd and familiar requests, I think it wisest to honor this one. He was most specific.
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts
March 9th, 1815
Coltrane Estate
During our return trip, Eddy received a great deal of attention, of course. Many people on our route back from Scotland recognized him, and even for those who didn't, he cuts an impressive figure. He bore it well enough, gracious, if a bit distant most of the time. Despite this, I get the impression that he hasn't adapted as well as Sir James to the effects of his fame. He is easygoing enough still, but keeps most people at arm's length, and does not soften his demeanor, nor humor, when in the presence of women and children. I get the impression that while he is interested in the voyage, he is already looking forward to being away.
Before meeting Eddy, I had gotten somewhat used to traveling with a degree of anonymity. During the trip, at least Eddy received most of the attention. Upon our return there was enough to go around. Apparently the Coltranes had been busy in the short time we were away, and do few things in a small way. Imagine my surprise to not only find a very enthusiastic crowd awaiting our return, but invitations to a ball in our honor, which will be attended by no less than the King and Queen.
I am most thankful that Sir James is seeing to helping me prepare for the occasion, for though I've attended a few banquets full of distinguished military men since the end of the war, this is a fancier thing by far. Much as I hate to admit it, it also may help some small amount that Harriet seems just as nervous as I am about an event of such state.
March 18th, 1815
London, England
My Dearest Cordelia,
I am certain that you have read the news of the event held last night. I am very sorry your health prevented you from attending, though I was most thankful for the well wishes from your good father and yourself. His acknowledgment of our impending deeds is, hopefully, a promising sign.
I thought of you often last night amidst the socializing and merriment. Though I was invited to dance a number of times, owing to being one of the guests of honor, I could not bring myself to dance with another. I am certain that you would not only have forgiven me, but chided me for so keeping to myself at a party, but you need not have worried. Each time I refused a dance, upon informing the women of the event that I was very much spoken for, they always asked more about you. I spent much of the evening when I was not quietly people-watching retelling tales of our youth together and enumerating your many charms and virtues. Apparently my tellings were romantic enough that I developed quite a significant crowd of listeners. Even absent, apparently you're quite good at causing a scene.
I also had occasion to take a few pictures at the ball. I could not pass up the opportunity, and our hosts were only too glad to allow me to enter with the camera. Some people were uncertain at first about allowing their picture to be taken, but for the most part it went very well. I had to give a few of the resulting pictures to our hosts, of course, but I was able to keep several, including one of the King and Queen. You should find prints of a few of these, including one of the royal couple and a handful of prints of my companions, enclosed with this letter.
The others of our small company seemed to mostly have an easier time of it than I. Mr. Toomes quickly found a small knot of older military men, mostly retired officers, and stuck with them throughout the event. I am certain such men would have many tales to tell, but even more certain they all left the party knowing something more about tobacco and calabashes than when they arrived.
Eddy took a short time to grow used to the atmosphere, though I am uncertain if it was more a matter that he was unsure of London's social elite, or that they were unsure of him. He stood out even more here than previous, both with his physical stature, rough manner, and the fact he had insisted on Scottish formal wear, kilt and all. Still, once people warmed up to him he fell in readily enough. More than a few of the women tried to catch his eye, though no few of those also found themselves retreating, politely, of course. He has manners enough to get by in such situations, but his manner remains rough enough that he isn't for everyone. I'm just grateful no one fainted.
If Eddy got by, Sir James reveled in the attention. From the moment we entered he had the ear of anyone he wished, and a large knot of admirers. There seemed to be no one he could not dazzle. Military officers, scholars, diplomats... to say nothing of the women. He did not spend overlong talking with any one person or even group, instead handling a great deal of the duties of the guests of honor for the rest of us, seamlessly moving from one group to another to give our regards and accept wishes of luck. No matter to whom he spoke, he seemed to be having a great time of it.
The real marvel, and real horror, however, I must give to Miss Coltrane and Miss Wright. Jillian Coltrane was more reserved than her brother, befitting a young lady of means, but handled those who spoke with her no less ably. Even in times of such chaos, I noticed the siblings looking one another's way more than once. They never said a word to one another, often widely separated, but I don't think they needed to say much to communicate quite well. What truly impressed me in this, however, was quite similar to the statements about skilled dancers. The woman must not only do the same dance, but backwards and in formal shoes. In this case, Miss Coltrane was as impressive as her sibling in dealing with the men and women of wealth and station, but did so while dealing with poor Harriet.
It's not that Miss Wright didn't try. Indeed, she was quite enthusiastic to be attending such an event. From the beginning it became clear she wanted to speak with everyone, though most especially the young gentlemen present. It just as clearly vexed her that she was nearly invisible next to her cousin, who was getting all of the attention from the rich and handsome young men of England that Miss Wright coveted. Despite many of these young men being of impressive pedigrees, Jillian did not ever linger long in talks with any of them. A few were persistent enough that Sir James excused himsel
f from conversation a time or two when Jillian's fan moved just so, effecting a rescue when potential suitors just did not get the hint.
At least one of these, meanwhile, then had to be rescued from Harriet. I had noticed him a few times, trying to catch Miss Coltrane's eye. I have seen enough military men to judge him an officer, though a very young one. Dark haired and dashing, he had quite a lot of attention of his own, but kept dismissing it to try to speak with Jillian. She was, as ever, polite, but no more, and rebuffed his repeated efforts. Miss Wright was only too eager to step into the void, trying in her turn to catch the young man's eye. I know only what you taught me about fan language, love, but knew enough that she was sending as clear a signal of interest as she could. I am not certain he even saw her, trying to pursue her cousin still. Eventually, her efforts grew frantic enough that Harriet somehow ended up launching her fan at him, striking him squarely in the forehead. Thankfully it did no harm, aside from the embarrassment and sinking her reputation further. For Jillian, at least, it served its purpose. After rescuing Miss Wright's fan for her, the young officer retreated from both of them, and for the rest of the night I saw him only from a distance – usually when following Miss Wright's gaze.
Other than this event, the ball went without incident. The royals were present only for a short time, but even that left quite an impression. Before, I had thought of this something like another military venture. A mission to be undertaken for a greater good. After hearing the King praising us and speaking of our efforts in the boldest of terms I can no longer doubt that all of England is watching us.
I was curious, however, to find that there was barely mention of the rival mission hired by Lord Donovan's fellow. I could not learn the names of anyone involved. Though they technically have the same goals and destinations we do, they also admittedly don't have Sir James Coltrane along, which seems to so far make all the difference.
I only wish you could have been there, my love. I know you would have loved to witness the grandeur of a royal ball, and to have seen the King and Queen up close. Despite all of the splendor already there, having you there by my side would have made it truly perfect. Perhaps there will be another opportunity on our return.
My love, always,
Gregory Conan Watts
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,
March 21st, 1815
----shire, Southern England
I could not possibly have imagined how truly exciting my first venture into the skies would be. Stationed in France, I saw many of the military's dirigibles overhead, bringing the troops trained and equipped for such rapid deployment, as well as the runs used to scout out enemy movements. I marveled at the bravery of the men aboard, particularly the captains of those vessels. To fly amidst the enemy's makeshift rockets, I had always imagined, must take a heart of stone and nerves of steel. I had long envisioned what such men must look like, and what that experience must have been like. There were no rockets firing today, but either way, I find myself rather perplexed at what I have found.
Our return to the Coltrane estate was met with a warmer welcome this time, perhaps now that Sir James had taken our measure. There was also his greeting for Eddy, which was friendly in the manner of two soldiers who have faced the horrors of battle together, seen the worst an enemy could throw at them, and survived. I have seen it many times, and it is a bond of friendship like perhaps no other in this world. Clearly the pair knew each other well. They began to speak in clipped sentences and references without providing full detail, to be met with agreements and grins. I could scarce follow any idea of where they may have met and encountered one another so, but quite apparently, these two heroes were well acquainted.
The pair of them, after these pleasantries, invited me for a round of cards. It was just the same as I had previously learned of Sir James. Cards may, in most places, be a diversion for the wealthy and a way to gain some bragging rights over their fellows or find a way to lighten their pockets when they find them too full of coin. For Sir James, they are a prop to aid in talking when not drinking. Mr. Toomes even sat in on several rounds of this game, listening acutely to what was said. It seems that even my dour-faced companion, who seems less and less threatening the longer I have lived with his disapproval – and in the company of heroes – sat in and played some hands with the three of us.
I have no idea who won or lost, and not a coin was exchanged, but it was enthralling to vicariously live, for even a few hours, through the exploits of such heroes as these men have made themselves. Two men with a military style less alike you will not find, but each shows a keen respect for the other's effectiveness, and both seem to hold firmly in mind that half of winning a battle is convincing the enemy he has lost. I have heard similar sentiments, but these, if any can be said to be so, are the masters of this brand of warfare, each in the manner to which he is best suited, and when Sir James has donned that metal monster, I cannot imagine an army that would wish to stand against even the pair.
We played well into the night, pausing only when Sir James excused himself a time to speak with his sister. He was gone for some significant time, but we played on. Without Sir James's presence, Eddy's tone changed significantly, back to the near growl he so often adopts, and his humor, while pleasant, was more barbed. He has at least taken to trying to fish some reaction out of Mr. Toomes more often than he has tried to draw some blush from me any longer. I will tell you that our travel back from Scotland was a good deal more colorful than our trip there. Despite the fact he has not gotten much more than several of Mr. Toomes's long stares, he continues his efforts.
In time, James would return to tell us that news had come that the airship would be ready for boarding shortly after breakfast, and we would be airborne by lunch. I could barely contain my excitement even at that moment, and sleep was nearly out of the question – even had the workshop not been steaming and roaring so fiercely as to rattle the back windows of the house from shortly after we had turned in for the evening until only perhaps an hour before dawn. Just as well, for at least it gave me something to wonder at, imagining what new device or capability might be being added in preparation for the journey, or how Sir James might be laboring at his metal beast to prepare it for the travails to come and shine away any sign of past conflict.
Sleep did come at last, out of sheer exhaustion, but it seemed but moments before a servant awakened me for breakfast. It seemed I was not alone in this, for there were only three people at breakfast who did not seem bleary or discomfited in the least. Sir James himself was as spry and vibrant as ever, speaking excitedly about the adventures that lay ahead. His sister was quite alert, all the more contrasted by her cousin's weary attempts to copy her every motion and gesture (though at one point, this resulted, due to positioning of dishes, in Harriet depositing her hand firmly in the butter. I can only imagine that poor Harriet had only awareness enough to mind the table or her cousin, and chose the latter, to her dismay).
Then there was Eddy, of course, who looked as if he was about to head out for a hike, save that, as usual, he did not appear to have shaved. Indeed, in the time I have known him, I have yet to see him without the same customary scruff to him, and yet his beard never grows any further than that, almost as if he intentionally trims it that way. Simply an oddity which I am sure will continue to puzzle me for some time to come. Eddy, as he would announce to our company in response to Sir James's questioning had “slept like a baby.” Tired as I was, and musing upon such odd observances, I had to wonder if perhaps he had emerged into the world with that very half a day's beard. The lady of the house caught me appearing wearily amused and asked after it. The more awake and aware of the company seemed to take some amusement from my mumbling excuse to try to cover for my expression, while Harriet looked relieved that she was no longer any kind of center of attention and the butter seemed forgotten. Mr. Toomes, as is his wont, just scowled over his lone biscuit and jam.
It was certainly a more interesting breakfast
than most in recent memory, if only for the company in front of whom I seemed to make quite the fool of myself. I seem to have gained Harriet's sympathy in return for that which I offered her with small glances and shrugs (at least I can hope such things are universal enough to be clear to a Virginian). Breakfast was not, however, the highlight of even the morning.
Before that, however, I should note my observations of our Captain and the company of The Dame Fortuna for sake of having a record to reference for my later writings, and to check myself against my first opinions. The Captain himself is a fellow by the name of William Fisher. I understand that he was one of those rare individuals who had the honor of piloting the first dirigibles. This much Sir James himself verified for me before we left. He apparently has the absolute trust of the Coltranes and was handpicked to handle the piloting of their personal craft through wartime. He looks every year of his age. I imagine he may have been quite the dashing, if slender, figure back in his youth during the Colonial engagement of last century, but now he is more akin to a particularly reedy scarecrow, though a scarecrow who has somehow discovered the wonders of beard growth, if finding it an inexact science.
I am unsure how I can accurately describe this most prominent feature of the man beyond simply bushy, uneven, and disheveled. Long and sharpish whiskers grow from the right side of his face above what seems to be some kind of burn wound along his throat and jawline, and only a few prickly hairs grow from this region, yet that side bears the most impressive mutton chop. The left side of his face features a full and curly beard, obscuring his face somewhat, and making his words hard to follow if you try to follow any kind of facial clue for context, and a lip reader would be sorely out of luck. His hair, meanwhile, is worn short, perhaps to indicate that he does have some decorum after all, or perhaps that someone else tends his hair, while the shaving is left to the captain and his mirror. I can only guess.