Dawn of Steam: First Light Page 4

  The newspaper sent contact eventually, a man who seemed quite amazed at the images I'd produced with this invention, and they offered me a supplement to my war income in order to continue to use this wondrous device and put words to the images it produced. And through this succession of small miracles, I came into possession of the camera and the station of war reporter alongside my duties as an aide to some of our highest officers. While I tried desperately to return the camera upon my return, not wanting to be responsible for a device of such value, as I could surely never replace it, instead they insisted that I keep it and signed me on to continue to work for them should work worthy of my record arise. Before this mission, it had not, owing to most people being more interested in the society pages and gambling, neither my expertise.

  Beyond this unusual turn of events, I am otherwise an ordinary man by most accounts. I was born into unfortunate circumstance, the 'poor Irish cousin’ due to unfortunate intermarriage. When my mother fell to consumption, I was adopted by relatives with some title and land but limited resources, the very definition of outcasts to the high ends of society, with the background such they could not be entirely excluded from consideration, but having squandered most of their connection and goodwill to time or ill luck or frivolous spending. Such families as these dot both the country and city, hanging on wherever they can.

  However, the one place where they have some esteem is with the new money, such as was the case with Captain Bentham. A career navy man, his tactical brilliance and capability had led to him turning in multiple captured enemy ships for salvage and refitting, making him quite a considerable sum. However, having come from more common roots, long on courage and military tradition but short on coin, they had no particular prestige or title to call on to afford them better accommodation. Thus it was that I, the ward of my family with prestige of one sort, came into contact with Cordelia Bentham, whose family had much that mine did not, but needed connection and people of proper station to invite to dinner. The two of us grew up together, though my poor Cordelia was always a frail child and oftentimes was kept to her bedroom while she recovered from one childhood malady after another. Despite this, she was both my best friend as a small child, and when I became aware of such things, we made a compact on some romantic whim as are given to young girls that one day we should marry. Indeed, the older I grew, the more I was certain I desired nothing else.

  However, when I broached such a topic, her father would have none of it. Not that he objected to me as a person – indeed, he has often purported to being quite fond of me, more so than the empty-headed dandies who have never had to work a proper day in their lives and only wanted his daughter's money, not his daughter. However, he was quite insistent that his daughter, only child, and only one he would have following the tragic death of his beloved wife when Cordelia was quite small, would not ever fall into hard circumstance with relatives asking and begging after pieces of her dowry to satisfy their debts. As such I would have to prove I could provide for her in the manner to which she was accustomed and earn such prestige as I could stand on my own as a man of good repute, for he would not have her slandered with my being nothing but cousin to someone who long ago had important relatives. I have no wish to try to rejoin the army and climb its ranks, even if its ranks were not currently swollen beyond need. Thus it is that I find myself so enamored of the bet placed before me, for while I have some acclaim in small circles due to my skills as a photographer and writer of things related to war, the past war is not enough, and I understand there are more of these cameras being made, and they will come into the hands of those more accustomed to photographing racehorses and flowers than I.

  To fill in more concrete detail, for those few who might care, in build I am tall, and reasonably fit enough to have been sent to the front, but never a champion athlete. Despite the assurances of my stockier relatives, I never quite grew into my height, no matter how much I ate, my frame insistent on being simply tall, but at least I did outgrow the awkwardness of youth that seemed to cling to me some time past what is generally considered youth, proper. I have ruddy brown hair, and have tried several times to grow beard or mustache to try to help give my face some appearance of breadth, but they are consistently too stringy and faint to achieve this aim, so I go clean shaven. My ears are rather too prominent, another favorite target of childhood bullies looking for something to mock, but apparently their size has come with being sharp enough that I became well known on the front, eventually, for never missing a word. There was some teasing as well, as is so common among fellows put under difficult circumstance together, but it was always good-natured. Indeed, since reaching some semblance of adulthood, enough to join our armies, I have often been called one of the most agreeable fellows those of my acquaintance has met. Never much of a fighter, and only a passable shot, I found it easier, when combined with some degree of education and an intense interest in the spoken word, accompanied by a fair memory for detail, in finding other means to settle my disputes. I fear that I did disappoint those who first tried to make a soldier of me, for I am poor material for soldiering, though they seemed to let me pass when they discovered it was some instinct and capacity for aggression that was missing, and not will, courage or determination, for those I have in occasionally too much excess. Particularly so when my curiosity gets the better of me.

  While I am certain if questioned, I would have more to say, in general, I am a normal young man who has been put to extraordinary circumstance, rather than anything unusual in my own right. I do hope that I am up to the task put before me, however, for the only thing which truly matters to me now – and for which I have already quite willingly risked my life – still lies ahead of me, and depends upon making something of myself, as this trip is certain to do.

  Hereafter, I shall attempt to be a better narrator for the tale to be told, and keep as much of myself from my text as I reasonably may, but felt that some might have some curiosity as to the chronicler of events. I thank you for your patience in this regard.

  Yours,

  Gregory Conan Watts

  (4) This is recognizable as the predecessor to the modern, crank-powered camera carried by reporters and photographic enthusiasts. As you will have noted from Gregory's known pictures, his only used a single lens, since stereographic cameras were not common until 1843 in London, and not portable until 1847. – C B-W.

  February 19th, 1815

  Coltrane Estate

  My Dearest Cordelia,

  Even in the early days of the war, when I was sent across the waters into France with the infantry, I have never felt so far from you as I do today. Unable to acceptably communicate with you further until I am suitable to propose to you with your father's approval, I will continue to pen these notes in hopes that something will arise, and you might have some understanding of the undertakings of this quest I have agreed to that you and I might be together. Previous to today, even when leaving the country, I had Britain close to my heart, for I left our shores as a soldier in our armies, even if I did not leave the service in quite that intended role, as you well know. This time, while still an Englishman, I go out for my own gain and reputation, and leave the shores on that personal crusade, and inspired not by national pride, but by a wager between gentlemen of wealth and station.

  I have previously given you some of the particulars of the details of the wager, so I will trouble you no further with it. However, I thought you might be curious to know some of the details of my most unusual hosts. I have had the unique opportunity to stay a few days with one of England's most fabled sons, Sir James Coltrane. He lives here with his sister and their cousin. They have been far better company, I assure you, than Mr. Toomes.

  Sir James is everything the stories have claimed of him. Though he is not quite so tall as I am, he is more sturdily built. Very much the dashing, picturesque individual the newspapers describe. I am including a photograph he was kind enough to pose for, though I can only hope that in receiving it, you d
o not forget about me entirely. Though well educated and conversant on many subjects, he takes time especially to talk of our shared experience, the Napoleonic Wars. Though he has more tales in all, and certainly more gripping ones than my own, he has insisted that for each story of his exploits he agrees to share, I must tell a story of my own or he will not continue. He has likewise engaged Mr. Toomes in a similar arrangement, and seems quite interested in Toomes's stories of his own service during the Colonial conflicts of the late 1700s.

  Sir James also has quite a fascination with card games. Each evening, when supper is past, he retires to his study with the other men about to play at cards, drink and share stories. Notably, while this includes Mr. Toomes and myself, Sir James does not restrict these gatherings to gentlemen. Each evening, there are at least a couple of servants about. The Coltranes do not have many servants, but those they do have seem extremely fond of their employers. Given this unusual treatment, I can see why. Many are of somewhat rough character and uneducated backgrounds, but at least over card games, Sir James speaks to them less as his servants, and more as men about a game. I have also noticed that despite his fondness for these games, Sir James is either not very good at the games, or has terrible luck, for he seems every night to leave the table with a few less coins than he arrived with. A habit which also has further endeared him to his men, and left me with a couple shillings more than I first arrived with. Sir James's humor is never at all lessened by his losing streaks, being far more intent upon the exchange of stories, even the mundane ones of his workers, and the goodwill he can generate among them.

  Miss Jillian Coltrane is an impressive woman in her own right. Though she is often out of sight, when I have encountered her, she has always been the epitome of grace and manners. She is most often attended by her cousin and lady's companion, Miss Harriet Wright. The pair make for quite the contrast, though they are obviously quite fond of one another. Miss Coltrane clearly has a knack for saying and doing the right thing, so much so that everyone but her brother seems to me to be somewhat rough and uncultured by comparison. Her cousin suffers more than most. It has become clear that Miss Wright very much would like to be just like her cousin, and if effort alone were enough to make a fine young woman, she would be one of the finest. Sadly, she has a knack for missing cues, trailing her sleeves through butter or jam at the table, mismatching clothing – particularly shoes – and so on.

  Worse, the more minor mistakes she makes, any one of them easily overlooked, the more tense and prone to misstep she becomes. At the very least, she is genuinely friendly, and I have enjoyed speaking with her when we've had the opportunity. Likewise, in some ways, it's a comfort to have someone even more ill at ease with these surroundings than myself, even if I cannot help but feel for her. I have also included a picture of Miss Coltrane and Miss Wright with this letter.

  The Coltranes keep the oddest schedule. They seemed at first hesitant to offer us hospitality, but beyond this brief hesitation, they have been most gracious hosts. Behind their primary home, they have a reinforced structure Sir James calls the workshop. Doubtless where he built, and now maintains his wondrous mechanical suit. I do not know how Sir James maintains his schedule. No matter how late into the evening we play cards, shortly after we are abed, a racket rises from the workshop, and great billows of steam can be seen rising from open windows and under the doorways. Red and blue light emits inconsistently from within, and the sound of metal scraping on metal continues throughout much of the night. I can but imagine he has been setting himself to repairing the damage sustained during his already famed battle not long past with the criminals trying to steal the dirigible.

  Despite this, he is always already awake and at breakfast when we rise, even at the hours at which Mr. Toomes has accustomed me to rising. Even if Mr. Toomes himself insists on limiting himself to strong tea and his customary biscuit, for everyone else, much to my pleasure, breakfast around here is always a hearty meal. Sir James is not so talkative over breakfast as he becomes late in the evening, but he continues to press for details, and each morning, shows signs of having read some further piece of Dr. Bowe's journals or the instructions our employer sent with us, and questions Mr. Toomes about the new information at length while we eat. After breakfast, he and his sister both retire to the library. The doors are open to anyone, but the two of them keep to a strict schedule which includes time in the day for reading, and particularly for correspondence. I have come to learn that Jillian, in particular, is a woman of letters who corresponds with women of station in our own country, among the Dutch, and with other well educated ladies as far away as the Colonies and India.

  While we have been waiting here, I also have learned precisely what it is that we are now waiting on. Apparently, now that we have gained Sir James's certain assistance, arrangements are in progress to send myself and Mr. Toomes to Scotland to recruit another war hero, the rifleman Edward McBride. Sir James has given me a letter to pass to Mr. McBride, for apparently the two are somewhat acquainted with one another.

  I will write more as I have occasion, for surely if this past day has been any indication, there will be a great deal more worthy of note in the times ahead, even before our true adventure begins.

  Love,

  Gregory Conan Watts

  From the diaries of Jillian Coltrane (Translated from Greek)

  February 24th, 1815

  James, I know you shared some of my misgivings regarding this mission, though it is almost precisely the sort of opportunity we have been hoping for. I assure you that I am making some discreet inquiries into Elliott Toomes, per your request. His name is not entirely unknown to me, and my limited research with the resources present here within the house indicates that he served with distinction during the Colonial conflict, and was not unknown to our father. Likewise, he has some presence in the Royal Explorers Society. Although all seems in order, he is quite difficult to read. I certainly did not care for the way he was looking at me and was grateful for at least the efficiency of lemon juice and the distraction of Harriet. I do not trust him, nor should you, though I believe that was abundantly clear. Pray, entertain him with drink and cards and see what more he might let slip in less guarded moments in the coming days.

  Mr. Watts is entirely what he seems. I know you are passingly familiar with his work from his writings during the war. I have found numerous of his articles, and verification of his story regarding how he came into possession of the camera device. If there is something more to this offer than it first appears, I do not believe he is any more a party to it than we ourselves.

  Whatever my concerns, I still believe this venture into the unknown is well worth it. Only a short time returned from the war, and already I have begun to find the court scene tedious. This should also allow me to further delay our search for suitable candidates for marriage a time longer. I will continue to keep in touch with numerous hopeful mothers, of course, in case something should catch your fancy.

  The funding for the venture is secure, and I have already seen to making sure that our former staff are all available to continue in our service aboard the airship. I am certain the Fishers will resume their excellent works, and at least most of the engineering crew should still be available. Given how much we were forced to retrofit the dirigible to suit our needs, I would be loath to bring anyone new in now. I will be sure to let you know if there are any difficulties, though to be certain, you may want to pay some of the crew personal visits and make certain they know that their loyalty, and, of course, their discretion, will be well rewarded.

  The other names on the list Mr. Toomes presented us with are still unknowns, but I am doing what research I may while we have all the resources of our library and files at my disposal. I will let you know what I find out. In the meanwhile, as you are better able to travel in society circles without need for extraordinary circumstances, I strongly recommend you make some inquiries of your own into Giovanni Franzini. That we are asked to work with a European se
ems odd, though Mr. Toomes assures me that he has connections and friends in places few Englishmen would, and such we may need. This may be the case, but if I do not trust Mr. Toomes, I am certainly not going to trust anyone else on his say so alone.

  When all the research is done, be certain to pack well for the trip, and add a handful of concealed weapons to our list of supplies. If we are going to travel with so many unknowns with so many of our secrets close at hand, best we be prepared for any eventuality. Despite these cautions, I am quite excited to be involved. I remain entirely unready for our shared adventure to end just yet.

  From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

  February 28th, 1815

  ---- Base, Scotland