I spent nearly an hour wrapping each segment of my camera carefully in calico rags. This is to be the longest trip I will ever take with my camera, and I want to be certain that it will survive the journey. My lens plates were polished to a golden brass shine, each piece carefully cleaned and packaged. My tripod stood dutifully, folded and leaning against the edge of the bed, awaiting its fate as I carefully placed a lone stack of glass plates, themselves carefully cleaned and wrapped, into my case.
My name, for the curious, is Irene Lennox, it is April, 1885, and I am 22 years old. I am the eldest of four, my sisters Lily and Rose, and my brother Charlie. I have, until this time, lived on a small estate in the English countryside. And this is the book in which I will record my adventures.
Irene closed the book with a quiet thump. It too was destined for her traveling case. She surveyed her things with the slightest hint of dismay. She knew, inwardly, that bringing her camera with her would take up too much space, but this was to be her great escape, her last hurrah, and she would be damned before she left the thing behind in the provincial English countryside while she was whisked away to Paris.
Before she could unceremoniously toss the leather-bound journal into her case, there was a soft knock on the bedroom door.
"Come in."
It was her father. Tall, handsome, with a still-boyish face framed by weathered, greying hair, he stood in the doorway, also surveying Irene's packing.
"Your aunt is not going to be pleased with you."
"Auntie would not be pleased with me regardless, Father. She gets on much better with Lily."
"Lily has been ducking her French lessons for six months now, Irene. But then, you are more likely to end up lost, or under the wheels of a streetcar. Perhaps Bess believes that you, at least, will be able to ask for help once the inevitable happens?"
At this, his face broke into a smile, and Irene crossed the room to fling her arms around him.
"I will miss you in Paris, Father." She murmured into his jacket. "I'm bringing my camera, and I will have a whole album of photographs for you when I come back. It will be like you were there with us the whole time."
"As long as you don't abandon your Aunt for too long."
"She lived in Paris for years, Father. I don't understand why she would even need a traveling companion."
"Are you questioning your fortune, my daughter? I am certain she would be more than happy to-"
"No." Irene broke in, finally tossing her journal into the case.
A long silence permeated the room, and Irene moved to sit on the edge of the bed.
"You are going on an adventure. One I have long dreamed of. What could be the trouble of my pretty eldest daughter?"
"Father…" she protested.
"Does the journey concern you? Are you worried about your plates? I'm certain you can find them in Paris…"
"It's not the journey I am concerned about, Father. It's… coming home."
"You will be gone six months, child. Coming home is a concern for the far-flung future. I am certain you will be much less uneasy about your life then."
"Perhaps you are right." She replied, knowing full well nothing would change. Silently, knowingly, her father nodded, then retreated from the room.
It was so strange, this feeling of going away. The room she grew up in, the one she shared with her two younger sisters, was suddenly stripped bare of any evidence of her existence. Clothes, gloves, shoes and personal items filled one case. A valise held the things she would need on the train. Another case now held her meticulously packed camera, plates, and tripod. Chemicals would be waiting for her in Paris, as she did not trust them to not leak in her case and damage everything.
She felt almost as she had the night before her brother Charlie was married. Married. At least she wouldn't be expected to unpack as soon as she returned.
"Irene." Her father's voice drifted in from the other side of the door once more. "We'll be having lunch with your Aunt and Mr. Leigh before you depart. I thought perhaps you would like to prepare…"
Irene did not answer him, but instead slumped as far as she could before the bones of her corset began digging into her ribs.
Lunch was a miserable affair. First, I had to hear from Mama AND Lily AND Rose how I was wearing the worst possible gown for the occasion, considering I would not be seeing Mr. Leigh for another six months. Nevermind the fact that no one had seen fit to inform me of his call, coupled with the fact that I had expressly dressed for traveling, and that I was certain Auntie would not be pleased should I have to hold everyone up to change.
I had nothing to say, and I felt like a trained pony, having to pretend to be dreadfully sorry that I would be away for so long. Secretly, I wished he would grow tired of waiting for me and ask for one of my sisters instead. But then…
The table had not yet been cleared when Edmund Leigh requested a moment alone with Irene. Her sisters giggled identical, bubbling giggles and tore out of the room. Her mother attempted vainly to smooth the creases in one of Irene's sleeves before sighing and retreating. Only her father hesitated at the door, looking torn for the slightest moment, before leaving them alone.
"Miss Lennox…" Edmund began, clearing his throat for the thousandth time.
He was not a bad-looking man, Irene thought, as she often did. She searched her mind, as on every previous occasion, vainly looking for whatever it was that was wrong with her to not want this pairing. Again, she came up empty. It seemed to her that her only reasoning was that he had such a dreadfully restricted worldview. She hated that. If only there was something wrong with her. Then, at least, she would be permitted to delve into a spiral of self-loathing and destructive behavior. Instead, she had to sit, stupid benign smile plastered on her face, as he talked about how many more awards for livestock his estate would hold by the time she returned.
At length, he stood and actually approached her, something of a rarity. She shook herself out of her headspace and stood to join him.
"No…" He began, urging her to remain seated.
"Miss Lennox, I would very much like to announce our engagement."
"Why?" It burst from her lips before any sense of carefully ingrained propriety could silence it.
Edmund blinked several times in stunned silence.
"What I mean to say is… What are people going to say if you announce our engagement on the eve of my running off to another country for half the year?" Irene covered quickly. He sighed in visible relief.
"I thought perhaps…"
"You thought perhaps you'd lay official claim to me before I had any chance to escape." Irene thought darkly.
"Edmund, you are proposing to me, for heaven's sake, call me by my name. And I think the neighbors would have an awful lot to say about my trip to Paris, should you announce your engagement while I'm on a cross-country train. Wouldn't you rather wait, so that we may celebrate together?" She was choosing her words most carefully now.
"Does this mean you accept my proposal?" Edmund asked, looking hopelessly confused.
"I'm suggesting you reserve even asking me for my hand until I return." She said.
"If I return…" the thought fluttered briefly around the edges of her consciousness.
"Right. Um. Right."
"I really must take my leave, as regrettably as that thought may be. I wouldn't want to upset Auntie by being late." Irene dipped her head slightly, cheeks burning hot.
"Of course. I will, of course, write you."
"I look forward to it."
"Goodbye, Irene."
She looked up, surprised. Despite her frequent insistence of the use of her given name, he had never actually used it.
"…Goodbye, Edmund."
So far, so good. Checked my cases once we landed in France, and everything seems intact. Auntie hasn't said two words to me this whole trip. Our connecting train to Paris is going to be quite an adventure if we cannot come up with something to say to each other.
I think, perhaps, she may have been listening in on my conversation with Edmund. Mama certainly was, and I'm certain she was not happy with me. I know how much Mama wants to see me comfortable and married off, but…
I don't understand why he can't just ask Rose instead. She'll be twenty in two months, and they have much more in common with each other than he and I. I'm an educated woman, after all. I went to trade school in the city, I have a whole career ahead of me if I want it. It's not as if I need to depend upon anyone for my existence.
Father sympathizes, I think, but he still gave his permission to see me married.
It's just… I look at Edmund, and I see that his entire existence ends at the property line of his estate. He has fine horses and beautiful gardens and that's all that exists in his entire universe. I've lived in a city, and now I'm traveling the world, and I cannot possibly imagine coming home in six months with an album full of photos from France and contenting myself to keep house and play the harpsichord and take photographs of nothing but vases of tulips and my fifteen children. That's a fine life for some ladies, but it's not what I want, and, one way or another, I will manage to convince someone of that fact before I must return to England. All I need is one ally…
Irene hastily stashed her journal in her valise as her Aunt returned, sliding their compartment door shut behind her with a snap. The clatter of the train temporarily began to crescendo, before falling suddenly into the background once more. She still wasn't certain what her aunt would make of her continual, largely meaningless scribbles. She had spent considerable time in the company of her spinster aunt. Her mother's second-eldest sister, Auntie Bess had lived in Paris for a few years, including time she spent trapped within the city's walls during the Franco-Prussian war. Why she would so wish to return to a place with such heavy memories, Irene wasn't sure, but perhaps that was why she requested a traveling companion.
It still baffled Irene, as she sat in silence, why she would not rather have taken Lily with her. Though Lily had done everything in her power to avoid learning the French language, it seemed to Irene that her Auntie Bess enjoyed her company considerably more. And, it was true, despite the fact that Lily was only 16, she could out-cook, out-charm, and out-entertain Irene in just about all subjects. And, as the youngest daughter, it would have made sense to send her off to France, in the hopes of attracting some unwitting soldier or nobleman's son to take her hand.
On the other hand, Irene was educated, she was well-spoken in French, she had artistic sensibilities which would appreciate a trip to a city like Paris. She might not come home on the arm of a French noble, but she certainly would not embarrass herself while she was on the trip. And perhaps that was what Auntie Bess was looking for after all, someone who could be sent on her own for baguettes or milk without ending up hopelessly lost.
All the same, as the pair eyed each other skeptically from opposite sides of the compartment, Irene couldn't help but think this was going to be a LONG journey.
The final trip into Paris was uneventful and, as Irene had predicted, silent. The pair preferred to gaze out the soot-grimed windows at the passing of the countryside, each lost in their own tangle of thoughts. As neatly compartmentalized farmland gave way to village, then, eventually city, Irene felt an unfamiliar tingle running through her every nerve. This. This must be what freedom feels like. Her heart began to beat just a little faster, now that she was finally here.
Almost an afterthought, Irene remembered her camera. She hoped that her equipment made the journey unharmed, because she wanted to capture everything, as soon as possible. Her aunt had not mentioned where they would be living for the next six months, but Irene was certain she'd be bringing home a photograph of it.
"Irene? Irene, please do pay attention." Auntie Bess was waving at her from halfway down the train platform. Irene snapped back to reality. Turning furiously pink, she hitched up her skirt and began trotting after her aunt. She was not off to the most marvelous of starts.
Finally, after a carriage ride, a train, a ship, another train, and finally another carriage, Irene was standing on the steps of a beautiful Parisian two-flat. The tenants were friends of Aunt Bess, and had arranged for the upper flat to be available for them for the remainder of the year. Irene watched, detached, as Aunt Bess was tearfully greeted by this stranger and her husband, tongues flying at a much faster pace than her French lessons had prepared her for. She was suddenly conscious of how exhausted she was, after the journey.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the pair were led up the dim staircase into what would be a sun-soaked flat come morning. It was only then that Aunt Bess saw fit to address Irene again.
"You must be exhausted." She said simply. "I certainly am. Get off to bed, I expect you to be up quite early in the morning, as we have much to do."
"Yes, Aunt Bess." Irene bobbed her head and turned to retreat to her room.
"Irene."
She stopped, looking back.
"I think you are going to enjoy what I've planned for us tomorrow." Her aunt was smiling, most peculiarly. Irene couldn't remember the last time she had seen her aunt smile. She wasn't sure this was going to be as enjoyable an experience as she was being led to believe.
"I look forward to it." She smiled in return, albeit nervously.