The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain
by Lady Norbert
14 September 1899
This is the first day I have felt well enough to write in my diary since the adventures of several nights ago. Mina was kind enough to bring it to me here in the infirmary, where I have been resting.
That I am alive at all surprises me, and I owe it entirely to the valour of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. But perhaps I should begin this story where I last stopped writing it.
Skinner, as I supposed, agreed to accompany me to the cathedral on the night of the ninth. The streets of any city at night are not the safest place for a woman alone, but I tried not to be nervous; after all, I was not really alone.
We reached the cathedral and, for reasons beyond my own comprehension, decided to enter by means of the Porte Rouge. I suppose I was just being absurd, remembering my earlier error, but it is a door as good as any other. In any case, we were surprised to find that it was unlocked. Surely a cathedral so filled with valuable treasures would be locked after nightfall! This more than anything else cemented my belief that it had all been a trap, and that I was close to identifying the one who was behind all the trouble.
I entered as quietly as possible, certain Skinner was behind me. A faint trickle of moonlight was sparkling through one of the massive rose windows, but otherwise, the cathedral was dark and still. I had gone perhaps five paces when something hard and heavy struck me from behind, and I knew nothing more.
How long I was unconscious, I do not know. When I regained my senses, I was no longer within the sanctity of Notre Dame, but sprawled in a most undignified manner across the filthy floor of what seemed to be a warehouse. I could hear the low groans of a tugboat's whistle and presumed myself near the water. My head ached like thunder, and when I reached up to touch my hair, I felt my own sticky blood.
Then came the voice, so terrible and menacing; its like I have never heard in my life.
"Elizabeth...Quatermain."
I felt almost drunk with the pain and confusion. I forced myself up on my knees and looked around, but could see no one. "You have the advantage of me, sir," I said. "You seem to know who I am, but I have yet to learn your name."
There was a snort of derisive laughter from one of the shadows, and then a man -- a perfectly ordinary-looking man -- moved into one of the few patches of light which covered the floor. Our surroundings were too dim for me to view him properly, but as far as I could see, he was tall and thin, with shaggy dark hair and an unpleasant leer on his face.
"I suppose," he said in the same cold, hard voice, "you are entitled to know a few things before you die. Very well. My name is Sebastian de Gaulle." He had a strong French accent, but his English was perfectly clear.
"Monsieur de Gaulle, why am I here? What is the meaning of all of this?"
"You are here because I made a vow, years ago, and I mean to conclude the last portion of that vow." He made it sound so obvious, like it was something I should have divined long since. "Moriarty fulfilled part of it for me already."
"Moriarty?"
"My...associate, shall we say? Once, long ago, I helped the so-called Napoleon of crime escape his own death. Everyone believed him dead, but it was I to whom he owed his life. I put a simple price upon my assistance: I wanted his assurance that Allan Quatermain and his daughter would die. The bargain is half-fulfilled."
"You are well informed, monsieur," I said, getting unsteadily to my feet. "Few people are aware of my father's passing."
"You are a stupid child. The confederacy of thieves has spies on every continent. I have known of Quatermain's death from the moment his body was returned to Kenya. I was a little disappointed, to tell you the truth, for I hoped there would be nothing left to bury."
The room was starting to rotate slightly. A wooden post stood to my left, and I moved to lean against it for support. "I am afraid, monsieur, that I still do not understand why I am here."
"You are here in Paris to find a key, non?" He laughed bitterly. "I wrote that letter. I knew that as soon as you found out your father was dead, you would come running. I admit, I did not foresee the League accompanying you, but no matter. I will deal with them; I have already begun."
"It was you," I said. The room was spinning harder; I suppose I had lost quite a bit of blood. "You were the one...?"
"Well, not me directly," he admitted. "One of Moriarty's henchmen escaped from Mongolia with a dose of that invisibility serum. He hid aboard the Nautilus and, once you had moved onto the ship, he set into motion a series of events designed to ultimately conclude the bargain we had struck."
"The invisible assassin," I said thickly.
"Quite. First he tried throwing you overboard, as you recall. That would have solved the problem so neatly -- everyone would assume you had fallen into the water. He didn't count on the American's devotion to Quatermain. Then, when the vampire promised to teach you chemistry, he planted the explosive powder in the cathedral. We were so sure she would have you assisting her when she analysed it; I didn't expect it to kill her, but you would certainly have died had you been in the room. I must say, you did inherit the Quatermain luck."
"And at Notre Dame? Was he the one who pushed...?"
"Of course. The fool American was put in charge of protecting you; it seemed logical to get him out of the way. Not as good as pushing you over the railing, I admit, but one must take advantage of the opportunities presented to oneself. When he heard the League intended to give up on the quest, he tried to lure you here and damaged the solar panels so that you could not escape."
"Yes...it makes so much sense," I muttered insensibly. "But I still don't understand why you wanted my father dead. Or me."
"Simple," he replied, and he came closer, letting me see more clearly the cruel expression twisted on his face. "I hated my father."
I stared at him, not understanding. "Who was your father?"
"Allan Quatermain."
later
I could not continue writing just then, for my head ached too fiercely as I recalled the events. Henry heard me groaning, and he came and gave me something to make me fall asleep. The pain has eased, and I can continue my story.
"That's not possible," I said. The shock had forced me out of some of my incoherence. "My father had only two children."
"He had only two wives. He took a number of lovers in his life, including one Antoinette de Gaulle -- my mother. He broke her heart when he left her, and she died when she had me. Not unlike your own mother, oui, my sister?" He spat the word "sister" at me like it was some sort of curse. "The bastard didn't even give me his name. You, though, you have legitimacy. Mademoiselle Quatermain, daughter of the great white hunter, the pride of England's heart." He laughed unpleasantly. "Mademoiselle Quatermain, who will die tonight like a common whore in the street."
I heard movement around me then, and for a moment I thought it was Skinner. My heart failed me, however, as additional black shapes moved into view, and I realized we were far from alone.
"I owe favours to a few of my friends," said de Gaulle carelessly, "and before you die, ma petit, you will help me settle the score, non?"
I understood then exactly what he intended to have done to me, and I will not pretend now that I was not shaking with terror and a violent nausea. I reached for my boot, where I had concealed the small pistol which was my only protection, but it was gone. It must have been taken from me when I was brought to this place.
An unfamiliar voice said something in French, and de Gaulle replied, "Oui, oui, a bargain is a bargain." To me he said, "My invisible associate has been waiting these many weeks for payment for his services. Have you thought you were alone in the darkness of your room, little sister? Did you believe you were safe?" He laughed. I felt a hand close on my arm. Hot breath swept across my cheek, and I was very nearly sick. "She is yours, mon ami, yours for the first."
I was close to fainting, but had I done so, his task would have been far easier. Perhaps it was this knowledge which kept me upright. As de Gaulle watched, I was drawn closer to the invisible one who gripped my arm, and I could feel that which I could not see. Cold beads of sweat slipped down my back as I shook with fear of what was to come.
Suddenly there was a rush of air, or so it seemed, as my invisible attacker lost his hold on my arm. There came the sound of two bodies falling to the floor in front of me, and I heard Skinner shout, "Run, Bess!"
"Shoot him!" de Gaulle bellowed. How he expected any of his men to accomplish this, I cannot imagine, nor did I have the time to try just then. I attempted to obey his order to run, but I could see some of the other men closing in around me. Even if I had known where the exit was, I could not get away from them to find it.
All at once, the air came alive with the screeching and fluttering of bats. A heavy smashing sound from one end of the room sent clouds of dust rising to the ceiling, and through the haze a massive figure was just visible. Over everything, I heard a familiar voice.
"As we say in America, the cavalry has arrived!"
The gunshots sang through the air as de Gaulle's men tried to defend themselves from the onslaught of bats, Indian soldiers, and Hyde. I was registering everything only very dimly; I was relieved that my friends were with me, but my concern was for the one I could not see.
Tom, his modified Winchester rifle smoking in his hands, fought his way to my side. "Where is Skinner?" he yelled above the din.
"I'm here!" shouted Skinner's voice, some eight feet away. The dirt and dust from the floor had coated the two invisible men in a thin layer of grime, making them look like a pair of wrestling shadows, but they were so similar in height and build that it was nearly impossible to tell which was which amid all the confusion.
"Shoot the bastard, Tom!"
"I don't know which one is you!" Tom sounded utterly perplexed.
"Then shoot us both, you fool!"
I could see Tom's hands trembling as he raised his rifle. He took careful aim and fired once, then twice. The struggling bodies on the floor lay still.
I heard myself screaming. Tom was very white. He dropped his rifle and ran to the two figures in the dust. One was wheezing; the other moved not at all. Around me I could hear shouts as Nemo's men drove their swords home and Mina fed. Hyde was knocking de Gaulle's men aside left and right as he worked his way to the centre of the room. I sank back down to my knees, my head ringing.
Tom was still crouched beside the bodies on the floor, apparently speaking; I could not hear him. My eyes were losing their focus. A figure was moving just beyond Tom, growing steadily nearer. I saw a glint of metal as de Gaulle raised a gun.
Then my vision cleared, and I was looking not at a dark warehouse but a sunny African plain. My father was teaching me to shoot a rifle.
"Now," he said in his thick Scotch accent, "line up your shot." He took my hands and closed the fingers around the gun. It felt warm and solid. "Get the target in your sight...don't shoot until you feel it. Take your time; you have all the time in the world."
There were perhaps a dozen things wrong with what I was seeing and doing and feeling, but I found I didn't care much. All I cared about was making this shot to Father's satisfaction. I closed one eye, sighting along the barrel of the gun, aligning my shot with the target he had pinned to a tree some forty yards away.
And I fired.
"Good shot, my girl!"
Africa vanished, as did my father. I was on my knees in the warehouse, Tom's Winchester clutched tight in my grip. Across the room, de Gaulle lay still and silent. I dropped the firearm and knew nothing more.
later still
There. I have finished telling this diary my version of the events. Henry said it would be good to get it out of my system, and I must admit, it does feel somewhat better. Not entirely, but it is a start.
No one would tell me anything for the first few days after I awoke on the Nautilus. The pain in my head has been terrible, and in those first days Henry kept slipping me something to make me sleep. I could not keep food in my stomach for a time, because whenever I recalled the events at the warehouse I would become violently ill. Gradually, this subsided.
Once the worst of my nausea had passed, Henry permitted me to have visitors. This had a better effect than a dozen restorative draughts, for my first visitor was the very one for whom I had worried so. I had just awakened from a brief nap when he came in.
"Skinner?"
"In the flesh!"
I held out a hand, which he took in his own. He was not wearing his black leather gloves, so it looked like mine was curled around nothing at all. "How are you, Bessie?" he asked seriously.
"I feel ten times better now that I know you're alive." This was the absolute truth. I owe my life to all of my friends, but it was Skinner who saved my virtue, and if he had not survived the battle I do not know what I would have done. "Did...did Tom shoot you?" I whispered.
"Nah. He did just what I thought he'd do -- he realized which one was the real me, and shot the other one. Nice clean shots, too. But he thought he hit me, scared the tar out of him."
"And me."
16 September 1899
Henry says I am doing well. My head still aches quite often, but he thinks I will suffer no lasting harm from the ordeal.
Last night after the evening meal, all five of my friends gathered here in the infirmary and, at last, I was able to tell them my version of the events of that night. The only part they have a hard time understanding is the part when I was shooting in Africa with my father. I cannot blame them, as I have no understanding of what happened then either. According to Tom, I picked up his rifle and very calmly put a bullet in de Gaulle's head. It is all quite mysterious, and rather sickening. I have taken a man's life -- the life of my own half-brother -- and if my senses are to be at all believed, it was my father who helped me to do it.
To change the subject, which I think they sensed was troubling me, I was then told how Skinner had notified Nemo of what I was plotting. Nemo then tracked Skinner's movements through the city; when I was attacked and taken from the cathedral, Skinner followed my abductor to the warehouse. Once the others had a definite location, they hastened to join us and put an end to all the madness. I am afraid that my head is still bothering me sufficiently that I am not comprehending all of the details, but it is enough for me to know that they did what they have done, without understanding exactly how.
I think I fell into a light doze toward the end of this discussion, for the conversation went on without me. I could hear what they were saying, but could not muster the energy or inclination to take part in the talk. Mina inquired as to what de Gaulle's motives had been, and Skinner related to them all his bizarre tale -- how he claimed to be my father's son, how he had aided Moriarty in exchange for our deaths, and what he intended to have done with me. It seems to be the general feeling among the League that de Gaulle was either insane or lying, or both; none of them believes that he really was my brother.
I find that slightly comforting, though it does not change the fact that I killed a man in cold blood.
18 September 1899
Tom has been to sit with me every day as I recover. As I did when he was the one suffering from a head injury, he reads to me or talks with me to keep me amused. I like to listen to him read; he has a pleasant voice. When we talk, it is of the past and of the future, but never of the present. He tells me more of his America, and I tell him more of my England, and I think the truth is that to a small degree, we are each homesick.
Only once have we touched on the events of late. He brought me a copy of Le Monde, the Paris newspaper, from the day after the incident. The police discovered a number of bodies in a warehouse near the river; all of the dead men are known criminals, and the officials seem to be of the opinion that it was a fight to the death among rival thugs. Among the dead was one Sebastian de Gaulle, believed to be the perpetrator in a series of murders near the Rue Morgue.
"He wasn't your brother, Elizabeth," said Tom. "You know that, don't you?"
"I don't know anything," I replied very quietly, "except that I killed a man."
"You saved me in the process. And you saved Skinner. I know you'd give your life for Skinner, same as he'd give his life for you."
I looked at him then, surprised. I am of course aware that this is true, but I didn't realize that it was so apparent to anyone else. Tom looked extremely serious, and a little troubled, which I do not understand.
"Skinner would give his life for any of you," I reminded him. "And so would I, if it came to that."
He smiled briefly. "All right. Just...don't hate yourself for this, Elizabeth. You did what you had to do." He paused, and then he added, "You did what your father would have done."
I held out my hand, and he took it. "Thank you, Tom."
I believe I fell asleep soon after that, but when I woke, he was still sitting there with me.
19 September 1899
Mina tells me the solar panels have been repaired, and that Henry now says I am well enough to travel, which means that the Nautilus will leave Paris upon the morrow. The destination is not yet decided.
later
I am inexpressibly happy at this moment!
Tom was just reading to me from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales (which, I must note in passing, he finds quite amusing) when the other members of the League came into the infirmary.
"Egypt," Nemo said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"We are making the decision about our next port of call," he explained, "and I suggest Egypt. It is a fair land, rich in history and culture."
"And pyramids," said Skinner.
I listened, only half paying attention, as they debated the merits of Egypt over those of America, which Tom had apparently suggested last night. It went on for several minutes, but it was finally agreed that, as we are presently closer to Egypt than to the Americas, the crew will sail first for Cairo.
Henry came over to check the bandages on my head.
"What do you think, Elizabeth?" he asked casually, parting my hair in different places to examine the bruised scalp.
"About what?"
There was a silence.
"About Egypt?" Henry prompted.
"Er...me?"
"As I believe I have told you before," said Nemo, smiling slightly, "no important decisions are made until each member of the League has had a say in the matter. We have all made our views heard. Does Egypt agree with you?"
I could not believe my ears, and looked from one face to the next in complete astonishment. "You mean...you want me to stay on the ship?" I could hear my voice crack with emotion, and felt terribly silly.
"Well, what did you think? That we'd toss you overboard?" Skinner was grinning openly.
"In a manner of speaking, yes," I admitted. "I've been trying to decide what to do once I return to England, because I didn't expect to be remaining with all of you."
"If you wish to return to England, we can accommodate you," Nemo began.
"No!" I exclaimed, and they all laughed. "I mean," I continued hastily, "I would be honoured to remain on the Nautilus. I just didn't want to overstay my welcome."
They all looked at each other. Mina looked like she wanted to laugh again; if the gentlemen had a similar inclination, they did a better job of concealing it.
"Tell you what, Bessie," said Skinner at length. "If you overstay your welcome, we'll let you know. All right?"
I nodded. There was a great thick lump in my throat, and I swallowed hard to dislodge it.
"So -- all for Egypt?" asked Nemo.
"Aye!" replied five voices.
Here ends the first stage of Miss Elizabeth Quatermain's adventures with the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Look for further intrigue and danger in volume two, "The Egypt Chronicle. "
