The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain
by Lady Norbert


19 August 1899

Life has been a whirlwind of activity in these last few days, as final preparations are made for my departure from Solomon Manor. Those servants who are not expected to remain at the manor to assist the new residents have already been dismissed with severance; after careful consultation of the list of items sent to me by the Prime Minister, I was able to pawn some of those more valuable pieces not considered manor property. Happily, one of the tapestries I was allowed to sell brought in enough money that I have not had to part with my mother's jewels after all.

I expected things to become more difficult after so many servants had left -- there are only seven who are staying to work for whoever occupies the manor after myself -- but I had not counted on Nemo's generosity. He summoned several members of his crew from the Nautilus to come and assist us in the last days, including his personal cook. I am developing something of a taste for Indian cuisine, though many of the dishes are far too spicy for my palate. A few of his men have taken over the details of transplanting my herbs, and have already relocated most of them to the ship. Nemo tells me that the ship is powered largely by the sun, that huge panels absorb energy from the sun's light and store it for use when the Nautilus is submerged, and so has assured me that my plants will have all the sunlight they need to grow. I do not know exactly how this is accomplished, but I am impressed.

With the garden thus tended, I have been able to turn my attention to more domestic matters, chiefly the subject of packing my wardrobe and other personal effects. Most of it is much too dreary to address here, being mainly tasks of cleaning, mending, and storing my garments; dull work, to be sure. There are also several books of Father's which I am removing from the manor library and, out of gratitude for Nemo's kindnesses, contributing to the library of the submarine. These are mostly tomes of history and geography, which may prove useful on future exploits. Nemo has placed two of his men at my personal command, instructing them to assist me however I require, and they have spent much of their time ferrying boxes and trunks from the manor to where the Nautilus awaits us in port. This is made easier on them by the use of a curious contraption which Nemo calls an "automobile," some form of carriage not requiring a horse. It goes dreadfully fast and seems to me to be quite dangerous, though I am told that no harm has come to any of its passengers as yet.

My friends have managed to find various pursuits to keep themselves amused during these last days at the manor. Mrs. Harker spends most of her afternoons in the library, absorbed in one book or another. Dr. Jekyll can sometimes be found there as well, though he and Skinner have made great use of Father's game room, where they entertain themselves by playing billiards, chess, or cards as the mood strikes them. Sometimes Nemo joins them; he has also made a number of trips back to his lady, as he calls the ship, to oversee the various activities of her crew. Agent Sawyer can sometimes be persuaded to join the others in a game of cards as well, but has spent many hours examining the relics in Father's trophy hall.

Speaking of the trophy hall, I am suddenly reminded that there are a few rifles and such stored in there which are not on the Prime Minister's list. They are of little use to me, of course, but I believe at supper tonight, I will invite my friends to take them.

I have amused myself, at odd moments, by continuing to observe my friends and make deductions about their natures. I believe Agent Sawyer is nursing some sort of attraction to Mrs. Harker, as is Dr. Jekyll. For her part, she seems to be neither encouraging nor discouraging either gentleman in his interest; it is my private opinion that she feels nothing for either one except friendship and respect, though I could well be wrong. She is very difficult to read. Nemo, for his part, seems to nurture a love for no lady but his ship, while Skinner, the cad, has been caught in flirtations with more than one of the maidservants.

I expect to have everything finished and ready for departure within the next five days, and do not expect to write again before then. Most probably, I will be aboard the Nautilus the next time I write in this diary.


23 August 1899

As I expected, I am writing from my stateroom aboard Nemo's ship. The Nautilus is ill served by the legends which have spread about her; this vessel is a floating fortress, a sea palace, and I have found it difficult to adequately express my admiration for her. From the outside, the "sword of the ocean" appears an impenetrable citadel, larger than any ship I have ever seen. Yet inside, everything is as magnificent as one might see on any of the great ocean liners. I have yet to encounter anything which is not exceptionally beautiful, and I believe Nemo has been quite gratified by my appreciation for his dream.

My own quarters are actually comprised of three adjacent rooms, not far from those of Mrs. Harker. One room is for sleeping, one for bathing and personal toilet, and the third room -- to my great delight -- has become my herbarium. All of my herbs are arranged neatly, sorted by family, clearly labelled. I have been provided with all the tools of the herbalist's trade -- mortar and pestle, drying racks, ad infinitum. Nemo's generosity borders on extravagance, and I have thanked him profusely many times. He seems almost amused by my thankfulness; perhaps he, like Agent Sawyer, is looking out for me as a means of repaying my father for something.

Tonight we are to stay in port for one last evening, and then tomorrow we set sail for Paris.


25 August 1899

All is not well aboard the Nautilus. It would appear there is a traitor in our midst, though their identity remains hidden.

Yesterday morning, I joined the members of the League on the deck of the ship as we sailed out of port. It was a bittersweet moment for me, as I have never known any home but England and I have no idea when I shall see her again. I stood at the rail and watched as London faded into the distance, while my friends, to whom this is not such a new sight, went back inside the ship. The Nautilus simply glides through the water as a knife's blade may slip through butter, almost without sound.

I heard the door behind me open again, and I turned to see who had decided to rejoin me. But I never caught sight of the individual, for the instant I turned, a large piece of fabric -- a cloth sack, I believe -- was rammed over my head and I could see nothing. I screamed as loudly as I could, and my unseen attacker struck me full in the face. As I struggled blindly, I felt arms lifting me.

Suddenly, I was released. There was nothing, no sensation at all except that of air rushing past me. I had been dropped over the guardrail and was hurtling toward the ocean below. I fell, like a stone, into the foam trail generated by the ship and sank. The water closed around me. Panicked, I fought against my cloth prison, and kicked violently to propel myself in a direction I could only pray was up. My heart was hammering, my lungs filled with a stabbing pain as they begged for air.

Exhausted from my labours, I started to relax, ready for the darkness to claim me. But then for the second time, I sensed arms catching me about the waist. Within an instant, I felt myself break through the surface of the water, but I still could not breathe; the soaked fabric clung to my nose and mouth, suffocating me. I heard a ripping sound, and the cloth was torn away from my face. I sucked greedily at the free air, savouring life. Someone kept repeating my name.

How exactly I was fished out of the sea I am not certain. The next several minutes are at best a blur. I registered the faces of the League members as I was brought aboard once again. I have a vague memory of Mrs. Harker, as the only other woman aboard, helping me to remove my waterlogged clothing and dry my person before taking me to the infirmary. She must have dressed me in my nightclothes, for I was wearing them when I next became properly aware of my surroundings.

As best I have been able to understand, Dr. Jekyll has been attending to both myself and Agent Sawyer since the incident. It was the agent who jumped into the water and saved me from drowning. The good doctor has been monitoring us for signs of pneumonia from our time in the icy water, but it would seem that we are both recovered from the incident. No lasting physical harm has come to either of us as a result of the attempt on my life, but now that I am in the sanctity of my own room again, I confess my terror.

Who on this ship could wish me dead? I have yet to meet with anyone who has not been kind or, at the very least, polite. A stowaway aboard Nemo's vessel is unlikely at best, and I cannot believe that one of his men could be responsible. Their loyalty to their captain is absolute; they would rather die than defy him. Not only am I troubled by "who," but also "why." What could possibly be gained from my destruction?

Someone is knocking at my door.


later

My visitor was none other than Agent Sawyer. I was pleased to see him, as I had not had opportunity to thank him for saving my life, and to tell him that whatever debt he owed to my father has surely been repaid by his act of bravery. Then I asked, for I had been wildly curious to know, how he had managed to come to my aid so swiftly following the attack. He said that as soon as he realized I had not come below with the others, he had come back to the deck, and arrived just in time to hear the splash as I hit the water. This worries me, for he saw no one, and yet in so short a space of time he should have been able to see my attacker -- unless the would-be killer jumped into the water too, which I surmise is a possibility.

Agent Sawyer then asked me to accompany him to the main chamber, where the League is in the habit of assembling to take meals and discuss plans. The other members were already there, and I thanked them all for their assistance during the terrible incident. Their faces were grave and troubled; they too had been contemplating who could possibly be responsible for the attack.

I am so tired that I have little desire to record the details of this meeting. But this much was decided -- at Nemo's insistence, Agent Sawyer is now my personal bodyguard, and except for times such as this, he is not to allow me out of his sight for an instant. (I would not be terribly surprised if I were to open my door and discover him sleeping in the hallway outside my quarters. This is hardly necessary, I should think, but he is taking the situation that seriously.) I have also agreed, reluctantly, to bear arms at all times, and will henceforth be carrying a small pistol on my person.

I wonder if he is outside the door.


27 August 1899

We reached Paris this morning, but because of the highly eventful nature of our voyage, Nemo felt it prudent to wait aboard the ship for an extra day before entering the city proper. We are presently docked about one and one-half miles downriver, with the ship submerged to avoid attention. The river is evidently deeper than it looks.

Yesterday held a curious event for me. If there is one member of the League with whom I have not felt entirely comfortable, it is Mrs. Harker. I have not been able to determine precisely why this is, and in all the activity of the past few weeks, I have not truly had much time to contemplate the reasons. In any case, I was surprised when she invited me to her quarters (Agent Sawyer in attendance, of course). Her chambers are nearly identical to my own, except that where I have my herbarium, she has a full chemistry laboratory.

To make what might otherwise be a rather long story short, Mrs. Harker -- no, Mina, for that is what she has asked me to call her -- has offered me an interesting exchange. She will show me some of the basic principles of chemistry if I will teach her some of what I know of the herbalist's lore. I am slightly hesitant to accept the offer; though I am interested to learn what she can show me, and pleased to have this opportunity to improve our acquaintance, I do not expect to be among the League for very long. My usefulness is limited, as I have pointed out to them, and once the current expedition has concluded, I anticipate bidding them all a very fond farewell as they sail off in search of other adventures. How much Mina and I can teach one another in so short a space of time, I cannot fathom.

I must get used to calling her that. The others are starting to insist that I address them less formally as well. I have always done so with Skinner, of course, because of his very nature. I must remember -- Mina, Henry, and Tom, not Mrs. Harker, Dr. Jekyll, and Agent Sawyer.

I must also, at least in the short term, get used to having a shadow. I understand Nemo's purpose in placing me under constant surveillance, as I've no wish to taste the ocean again anytime soon. I can also appreciate his logic in assigning Tom to the task. Nemo is too busy running his ship, and Henry and Mina are engrossed in their respective fields of expertise; Henry is the chief medical officer of the Nautilus, and he and Mina have apparently been working (together and separately) to find a cure for Skinner. This most likely requires Skinner's presence more often than not, since I imagine he otherwise would have been a suitable candidate for bodyguard. Tom is the only League member with the time to devote to monitoring my personal safety.

He really is a perfectly acceptable companion, but he takes his duties very seriously. It would seem he has not been sleeping outside my door -- at least, I have found no evidence of this -- but if my attacker is not soon found out he may just take that next step. The seriousness has taken over his demeanour as well. I think I have seen him smile perhaps twice since my attack, both times at Mina. I'm quite convinced that my earlier observation about Tom and Henry was accurate; they are enamoured with the lady, though Henry seems to have the stronger feeling. She is an exceptionally lovely woman, and I cannot fault the attraction by either gentleman.

From Mina, however, I still detect no interest in either of them. She strikes me as one who still bears the scars of a love now lost to her. Possibly she still mourns her departed husband, Jonathan; I am uncertain as to just how long she has been a widow, though she did mention in passing that her husband died "years ago." I find this baffling, for she does not appear old enough for such a proclamation. Neither Henry nor Tom seems the slightest bit discouraged by her lingering grief, nor unwilling to wait until it has passed. Perhaps eventually, she will find it in herself to return the affections of one or the other.