The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America
by Lady Norbert

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to to Tobias, my dear werewolf artist!

26 April 1900

We have been in St. Petersburg a week now, and if it weren't for Tom's evident joy at being home, I would be more than ready to leave.

Gossip-mongers.

I suppose you find them wherever you go, and I won't deny having indulged in such behaviour myself on occasion in the past, but these American women are not exactly discreet. You'd think they would realise that merely covering their mouths with their fans is not nearly enough to block the sounds of their voices.

I was out alone this afternoon, for a change. I decided to go for a bit of a walk, just to wander past the different shop windows and view the wares; I have been to the bank and exchanged some of my English money for the American currency, but have not yet found anything I felt compelled to purchase. Still, "window shopping" is a pleasant enough pastime, in an idle moment.

I was standing near the open door of the dry goods establishment, which is next to the bookstore; it was the bookstore's window that I was viewing, and debating whether I wished to go inside. Suddenly, a voice came out of the other store - not a loud voice, but loud enough.

"Oh, yes, that's Tom Sawyer's friend. I hear our Mr. Everett is quite taken with her!" I felt myself redden.

"That's what I heard too," said another voice. "I heard he goes to the hotel every day to see her."

"Pretty enough, I suppose, but so pale. English, isn't she?"

"I believe so. She has that accent, I heard her speak."

"Is she encouraging the suit, do you think?"

"I can't imagine why she wouldn't, but then again, she's always with those other men. Not just Tom - there's the dark-skinned older fellow in their company, and that odd-looking bald one."

"Oh, did you get a look at him! I never saw anyone so white in my life! I heard it's actually make-up, that he does it on purpose."

"Why would anyone want to look like that? He's positively frightening!" This followed by a great many giggles from both parties.

At this point, it may well be imagined, my blood was approaching the boiling point. While I have begun to accept and even allow myself to be flattered by Mr. Everett's attentions, it was agitating to find they have become public knowledge; it was even more annoying that I would be discussed in such a manner by people who do not know me. But that they would say anything so rude and horrible about one of my family - about the dearest person in the world to me - made me so angry I very nearly snapped the handle of the parasol I carried.

Rather than say something no less rude than what I was overhearing, I turned and made my way back to the hotel, where I found the "odd-looking bald one" on the porch with Tom. I don't know what they were discussing, but it did me quite a bit of good just to see the pair of them being so companionable and relaxed. They greeted me as I approached, and I felt myself growing calmer.

"Where've you been, Bess?"

I could not, of course, tell him what I'd just heard. "Just out for a walk," I replied. "It's a bit dull, though, walking by yourself."

"So why didn't you come get one of us? We'd have gone with you," said Tom languidly. He was leaning against the porch rail, chewing on a long blade of grass in a manner I found both vulgar and perfectly natural.

"Oh, I don't know," I said lightly. "I didn't want to disturb you, I suppose."

"You never disturb us - does she, Skinner?"

"Never."

Somehow, that little exchange made me feel a great deal better. The three of us sat together, talking and laughing as we often do, until teatime.

I still would not object, however, to an early departure.

27 April 1900

All right, I confess it. I do, a bit, like this Mr. Everett.

He joined us for dinner (yet again), and afterwards, he invited me for a walk. As it was still reasonably light outside, I acquiesced, feeling that there was no particular harm in doing so. I did notice that Skinner, who sat opposite me at the table, suddenly developed a rather firm grip on his napkin, and I thought perhaps he was concerned about the safety of my being alone with this man whom, quite honestly, none of my friends particularly like. Or perhaps it was something else entirely, but I am not going to entertain the notion, as pleasant a notion as it is.

We strolled down the main street, he pausing quite often to lift his hat to a passing lady or acknowledge a greeting from someone he knew. In between he talked to me - about St. Petersburg and how he had come to live here, and was I enjoying my stay so far, and were the hotel accommodations suitable, and were my friends enjoying themselves?

"Your friends are really quite singular," he commented. "I believe the older gentleman - Nemo, was that his name? - is creating a bit of a stir in town. No one has ever seen anyone like him."

"There is no one in the world like the captain," I said truthfully.

"Dr. and Mrs. Jekyll are a most engaging couple," he continued. "And of course, Tom is a hero in St. Petersburg from some time back; it seems everyone is very pleased to have him home."

"I know he is pleased to be here."

"The other one, though...your friend, Mr. Skinner...he is extremely unusual, isn't he? Even for an Englishman, he's uncommonly pale. I hope he is well?" He looked merely curious.

"He has a very distinct condition," I said carefully. "He is quite well, however. I'm sure he would be pleased to know of your concern."

"You and he are quite close, are you not?"

I was not certain, in truth, how to interpret the question. Was it merely conversational? Or does he in fact have an inclination to press a more serious suit, the way people in town seem to think, and wishes to be certain that I am unattached? "I am no less close to Mr. Skinner than I am to Mr. Sawyer," I said at length. This is, of course, an honest answer, though the reverse is not entirely so. "We are all very dear friends."

"How is it," he inquired, "that you came to be part of such a remarkable company? That's not to say you yourself are unremarkable, of course."

"They were friends of my father's," I replied. "After his death, Nemo very graciously assumed the role of my guardian and has looked after me ever since."

"Ah," he said faintly. "And you all live on...a submarine? That must be an unusual lifestyle, I am sure."

"Unusual, but thoroughly delightful," I assured him. "I would not desire to give up life aboard the Nautilus for anything in the world."

"But surely you have aspirations," he countered. "A life of your own, a home, a family?"

Now, really, this was a bit impertinent.

"I have a family," I replied, and even I could hear the edge in my voice. "They are at the Singers' hotel, and probably wondering why I have not returned, as it is starting to grow dark. If you wouldn't mind, Mr. Everett, I think I should be getting back."

"Yes, of course, Miss Quatermain," he said, steering me in that direction. "I hope I've not offended you with my inquiries. I only wished to know a bit more about you, you understand."

I promised him that I was not offended. We reached the hotel porch and I thanked him for the walk.

"On the contrary, it is I who thank you for the pleasure of your company," he said. I extended my hand courteously, and he was about to kiss it when he was interrupted by Tom, who came out onto the porch.

"Oh, you're back," he said innocently. "Everyone's in the back parlour - evening cup of tea before bed, they were hoping I'd spot you if I came outside."

"Ah, sounds like just the thing," I replied. "Well, good night, Mr. Everett." He looked disappointed, probably expecting to be invited to join us, but I left him and made my way to the parlour, Tom following. To judge by the looks I received, the others were relieved that I had not brought him with me.

"Did you have a good time?" asked Mina, handing a cup of tea to her husband.

"I suppose so. It's a lovely evening."

She poured another cup and passed it to me. "I daresay he rather likes you, Elizabeth."

I hope I didn't look too pleased by this. "He is a well-spoken gentleman, I will say that for him. Very solicitous."

"Mrs. Singer is of the opinion," she said conspiratorially, "that Mr. Everett has been looking to settle down."

"Indeed?" The men were being so quiet that, for a moment, I forgot they were there, and I continued speaking only to Mina. "That could explain why he was inquiring whether I was inclined to want a home and family of my own."

There was a small crash, and everyone jumped. I looked around and saw that one of the teacups had smashed on the floor.

"Bugger," Skinner muttered. "Didn't get a firm grip." He dropped to his knees, picking up the pieces of shattered ceramic. Mrs Singer came bustling in with broom and dustpan, shooing him away from the mess. We finished our tea in relative silence, and I came up here to bed.

Settle down? With him? I admit it's not something I've been considering - not that I wouldn't like to settle down. It's just that...well...I've been hoping to do it with someone else. But I may be an overly romantic fool who has completely misread the intentions of her dearest friend. Mr. Everett is not my first choice, of course, but I could not say he is my last choice either. Perhaps I should simply see where this goes.

28 April 1900

I think Mr. Everett was afraid that he really did offend me last night with his questions, for at the breakfast table this morning, Mrs. Singer handed me a little bouquet of wildflowers. "Your young man brought these by for you while you were upstairs, Miss," she said. She actually sounded more excited than I felt. "Charming fellow, that Mr. Everett!"

I thanked her for passing them on. I did not fail to notice the glances exchanged by my friends, but did not comment. I am well aware that they do not approve of the gentleman or his interest in me, but I really cannot say why. Tom sometimes looks like he would like to hit Mr. Everett - I suppose he is just being my protective "big brother." No one ever comes out and says anything against him, however; perhaps they cannot find precise justification for their dislike of him.

30 April 1900

All of St. Petersburg is buzzing with excitement just now, for in two days' time, there is to be a public ball in the town's dance hall. I am told that they hold such festive events periodically throughout the warmer months, and this is to be the first ball since last November, so everyone is quite looking forward to it. We - that is to say, my friends and I - have discussed it and are all of a mind to attend. Except for the lively amusements we had at Christmastime, I've not had much opportunity for dancing in a good two years, so I confess myself rather anticipating it.

Skinner is behaving oddly. I realise this is something of a redundant statement, because the man is rather odd in general. (I can say such things about him, unlike the gossipy women I overheard earlier in the week. They don't know him at all, while I - well, I have already made it plain how highly I regard him.) But even by his usual standards, he is acting rather strange. He seems somehow nervous, for reasons I have not managed to determine. I inquired with Tom about it, but he dismissed my concerns, saying that Skinner is fine and I should not worry about him.

1 May 1900

I have seen nothing of Mr. Everett in the last two days. Apparently he has been extremely busy, though with what I have no idea.

I went to the bookstore today for something new to read, as I've worked my way through the books I brought with me. I came away with a copy of Dickens's Nicholas Nickleby, which I've never read, then went into the dry goods store for some new gloves. My best gloves, which I wore for Mina and Henry's wedding, are back on the ship, and I thought the occasion merited a new pair.

From what I overheard, all anyone in town can talk about is tomorrow evening's ball. There was much discussion around me about who is going with whom and what they will wear. It was the usual sort of conversation I remembered from my school days, but after so many months on the Nautilus, I found it quite tedious and felt glad not to be a part of it.

For my own attire, I have little option. I only brought one dress which could be considered appropriate for a ball, and I am grateful for having had that much foresight. It is the plainest of all my formal dresses, but I am fond of it - a rose-coloured poplin gown, trimmed in white lace. The sleeves are shorter than I normally wear, and the neckline drops a bit lower than on any of my other dresses, both attributes making it more suitable for a ball than most of my clothing. One does grow quite warm when dancing.

I am surmising that Tom was right about Skinner, for he seems much less agitated today than he did yesterday. Perhaps it was merely something he ate or drank which disagreed with him.