The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain
by Lady Norbert


1 September 1899

Heaven be praised, Tom is better today! He still does not remain awake for long periods of time, but Henry seems most encouraged by his progress. We have all been extremely worried, so this news has been like a long-awaited dawn after a terrible night.

The other members of the League are still strongly in favour of abandoning this quest; however, they have agreed that no action will be taken until Tom is well enough to offer his input. It occurred to me for the first time that there is no real leader of this group, and I asked Nemo about this.

"Your father was our leader," he explained. "It was in that capacity that he was recruited by Moriarty, then known to us as simply M. Since his death, we have decided to have no formal leader. All our decisions are made by mutual agreement or, when necessary, put to a vote. Each of us leads in his or her own fashion, when we are called on to do so, and no one is expected to go farther than he or she will with the League. Sawyer calls it a -- how did he say it? A miniature democracy."

I rather like this idea. I have little doubt, however, that once Tom has recovered sufficiently to cast his vote on the matter, he too will agree that we should leave Paris. The question remaining to me, then, is what will I do once I am no longer part of this company? I can hardly stand to think of it, and yet it is something I must consider swiftly. With any luck, an opportunity will present itself that will take the decision out of my hands. I readily admit that I have no desire to take my leave of the Nautilus or her passengers, who have become so dear to my heart; yet I have no wish to impose upon their goodwill, or upon Nemo's generosity. For my father's sake they have been good to me, and I am deeply grateful, but I cannot ride upon his coattails (as the saying goes) forever.


5 September 1899

Tom continues to improve, and is in more stable condition than previously. I have attempted to purge my guilty conscience by spending a great deal of time in the infirmary; Henry says he may not get up as yet, so I have been trying to keep him amused. Often I read to him, which I should think he would find tedious after a while, but he has offered no complaints. The only thing I will not read to him, of course, is The Hunchback of Notre Dame. We have both seen quite enough of that book for some time.

When I am not reading, we talk. He has been telling me more of his youth in Missouri, where he got into a series of many wild adventures with that curiously-named friend of his, Huck. He had me laughing nearly to tears when he recounted an incident in which he convinced several of his boyhood friends that painting his aunt's fence was a great deal of fun, and they actually paid him for the privilege! What a little scoundrel he must have been, and I told him so.

"Yeah, you could say that," he admitted, without a trace of apology or embarrassment. "I gave my poor Aunt Polly absolute fits. She really earned a place in heaven, raising me."

I like the way his expression grows fond when he speaks of his aunt, or of Huck. His eyes are extremely green, and convey great emotion.


6 September 1899

Today was my twentieth birthday. My friends have not been made aware of the fact, and we have all been too preoccupied with Tom's recovery to be inclined toward anything celebratory, so I had no expectation of their taking any notice. I don't mind, truly. The only reason I note it at all is that my birthday marks the anniversary of the last time I ever saw Father; I visited him in Kenya for the month of my eighteenth. Had I known then that it would be our last time together...but I suppose there is no point in dwelling on what might have been.

Today Tom asked me to tell him something of my history, since (he says) he has been doing most of the talking. My life has not been precisely interesting, so for lack of any better ideas I told him how I came to be educated in the application of herbs for various purposes, under the tutelage of my mother's late sister Adelaide.

"My mother died at my birth," I explained, "so until her death, my aunt was put in charge of my upbringing. I only began to live at Solomon Manor after she died; before that I lived with Aunt Adelaide at her home in Devonshire. She had a massive garden, and from the time I was very small, she began to teach me how to make use of the plants which grew there. I remember the first thing I learned was about the use of aloe. I was in the flower garden, roaming, and I was stung by a bee. Aunt Adelaide seized the plant and tore off a piece; the juice is inside the leaves, you know, and she rubbed it on my wound. After that I just wanted to learn everything she would teach me."

Later, after luncheon, I read to him from Leaves of Grass, the poetry book I'd found in the library the day before his unfortunate incident. I was reading quite steadily until I reached that poem I liked so much. For some reason, I found it terribly difficult to read that one to Tom, something which did not fail to attract his attention. I think I covered well, saying that I needed a drink of water, and after so refreshing myself I concluded the poem. The last line -- "Little you know the subtle electric fire which for your sake is playing within me" -- gave me a little trouble, but he did not comment on it. After that we abandoned poetry for more talk.

Later, Mina came by to check on him. I was a bit rattled to notice that his eyes were on her every second she was in the room. He has not begun to "get over" her at all, but rather has been keeping his feelings under a tighter rein. It troubles me to realize that, should Mina decide to reorient her interest in his direction, she could still have Tom. Worse, I believe she realizes it herself, and I suspect her of enjoying the knowledge. But then, I suppose any woman would enjoy the prospect of a choice between lovers. I wish she would make a definitive selection, however; I am fond of them both, and the longer she refrains from voicing a decision between them, the greater the pain will be for the one she does not choose.


7 September 1899

I hadn't meant to do it, but during this morning's discourse, the conversation got around to birthdays, and I ended up admitting to Tom that yesterday was mine. He must have told Henry when I left the room so the good doctor could examine his patient, for tonight's evening meal was ended with a delectable, exotic cake garnished with fruits and bearing my name. All my friends wished me well, and it was difficult not to shed tears at their kindness, especially knowing that my time in their gracious company will soon draw to a close.

The better present, however, was that after the examination for which I left the infirmary, Henry pronounced Tom recovered from his injuries. "There may still be some pain now and then," he advised, "but on the whole you have mended quite well." The look of friendly gratitude with which Tom favoured Henry told me that whatever antipathy he had borne over Mina's potential decision has faded, and for Tom's sake I am very pleased. I know from experience how difficult it is to feel such resentment toward one who is considered a friend.

However, given what I observed yesterday during Mina's visit, I wonder how long the cordiality will remain in place after she ultimately makes her choice -- especially if she does choose Henry. In perfect honesty, I believe she should choose Henry. Tom is too young, too...there is a word I want to describe what I am thinking, and I cannot call it to mind. It is just my private opinion that Tom is not right for Mina. Or should I say instead that Mina is not right for Tom?

As I expected he would be, Tom is in agreement with the others about ceasing our efforts to search for Father's mysterious key. Apparently, prior to their coming to find me, the League had planned on making something of a world tour, and they wish to resume that plan; however, there is the matter of what I am to do now. Though I have not said anything about it to any of them as yet, I expect I will return to England in the near future. Perhaps I should just move ashore here in Paris and make my way there on my own.


later

How really very curious!

I was just unpinning my hair when I heard a sound in the hallway. A letter suddenly slid under my door. I opened the door and looked out at once, but saw no one. Making matters even more surprising, the note appears to be from Tom.

Elizabeth,

Let's not give up just yet! I think if we give it one more try, we can solve this mystery. Come to the cathedral tonight; we can search while no one is there.

Tom

Now, I really am perplexed. This is completely contradictory of what he said tonight. More than that, why would we go by ourselves, rather than with the entire League?

Something very funny is going on here.


8 September 1899

Funny is hardly the word for what was going on last night.

I decided to go and find Tom, to see whether it wouldn't be wise to take more people along with us. I dressed again, though I left my hair down -- putting up can be so tedious -- and left my room. Tom's chambers are two corridors away from mine, so I headed in that direction.

Then everything went black. I mean that literally; the lights went out all over the ship. I could hear people shouting, and after my previous experiences with trouble on this ship, I could think of only one thing: to get back in my quarters and lock the door.

I pushed the door shut, and it collided with something. I heard a very sharp "Ow!" of pain, in a voice I recognized, and I reopened the door and pulled Skinner inside. "Are you all right?"

"Ordinarily I'd say watch where you're shoving that door, but under the circumstances I'll make an exception," he muttered. I rummaged around in the darkness, trying to find a candle and match. "What happened to the lights?"

"I have no idea. I thought the solar panels meant that we had light all the time."

"That's what they're supposed to mean, yeah. Makes no sense."

I managed to light a candle and put it on my dressing table. "Not much, but it's the best we have right now, I'm afraid," I said. "What were you doing outside my door, anyway?"

"Call it a thief's instinct, but when the power went out, I thought I'd better make sure nobody was trying to drown you again."

There was a knock at the door. "Elizabeth?"

I opened the door to admit Mina this time. "Can you see in the dark?" I couldn't help asking.

"Better than most, yes. Actually, darkness is the best time to transform into bats, because of their excellent senses, but I was afraid I might increase the crew's panic." She moved farther into the room and caught sight of Skinner. "Have I come at a bad time?" she asked slyly.

"Don't be silly, Mina," he returned. "You know there'll never be anyone for me but you."

"How comforting."

"Listen, I'm glad you're both here," I interrupted. "I received a very strange message from Tom just before the lights went out, and I don't know what's happening." I read them the brief note, to which they responded with silence.

"I don't believe that was Tom who sent it," said Mina finally.

"I don't either," said Skinner. "Doesn't sound at all like him."

At that moment, the power came back on, so I blew out the candle. "I suggest," said Mina, "that we adjourn to the main conference chamber and discuss these peculiar events with the others. Something very strange is afoot here."

"There is treachery at work!" cried Nemo angrily, when the League and I had assembled.

It seems that someone (and we may well assume that it our invisible tormentor at work once more) has damaged the solar panels, which not only caused the temporary blackout but, for a time at least, will prevent them from collecting and storing any further energy for our use. An emergency backup system of some kind -- I confess I did not understand everything Nemo was telling us -- has gone into operation, which is what allowed the lights to resume working. But now, because of the damage to the panels, we must delay our departure from Paris.

When he finished breaking this news to us, I gave them mine. Everyone listened as I read the note, then turned to look at Tom. He appeared completely bewildered.

"I didn't write that," he said. "I swear to you, I didn't do it." He took the paper from me, examined it carefully, and shook his head. "The handwriting isn't anything like mine. Look." Borrowing a pen from Nemo, he copied the same words at the bottom of the page. The styles of script are extremely dissimilar. There was silence.

"It was a trap," I said hoarsely.

"So it would seem," said Nemo. He looked grave. "And the timing of the power failure so soon afterward is disturbing. I believe the one who sent the message was attempting to lure you from your quarters. It is fortunate that they were unsuccessful in their plans."

I nodded. I wanted to speak, but my throat was too tight.

"I believe," said Henry, "more than ever that we are right to abandon the quest for this key. The events of tonight have me wondering whether the letter you received was even from Allan."

"No, I know his writing," I insisted, finding my voice. "It was from him."

"A clever forgery, maybe," suggested Skinner.

"But -- none of this makes any sense," I said. "What would be the use in luring me to Paris?"

No one seemed to have an answer for that. Finally, Nemo said, "Perhaps you should answer the note."

"What?"

"Perhaps you should go to the cathedral. Draw out the one who is behind it all."

"And perhaps she could get herself killed in the process," said Mina sharply.

"I do not mean to say she should go alone," Nemo continued. "But we have a way to make it look as though she is alone -- do we not, Mr. Skinner?"

Skinner started, and looked up. "Oh...right," he said slowly.

"A good idea, with one problem." This from Tom. "If the person who's been pulling all this is invisible, how do we know they're not right here listening to the plan?"

We all looked around, suddenly unnerved by the thought of the spy right in our midst. "Best to forget about it for now," said Henry.

Only I haven't forgotten about it, even today. Perhaps Nemo is right; perhaps the only way this is ever going to end is if I go to the cathedral and find the person responsible for all these attacks on my friends and the ship.

I have the wretched pistol they've insisted I carry. Father did teach me to shoot, and I haven't forgotten (though I admit I've tried). I can, I think, protect myself at least long enough to escape.

The only hindrance I see to my intentions to go alone is the fact that I never am alone. After the events of last night, the League has resumed its insistence that I be accompanied at all times when I am not in my own quarters -- and Nemo has posted members of his crew to stand guard outside the room when I am in here.

I think my best chance is to follow Nemo's advice to the letter, and ask Skinner to accompany me. Of them all, he is least likely to be injured if something goes amiss, since he won't exactly be spotted by "the enemy." If I ask him here, in my own room, we stand little chance of being overheard. I am sure he will consent to it. We will go tonight.