Bethan
Prologue
I have been here for some time now, and having assimilated quite successfully to my new surroundings, I have taken the decision to begin a journal, which I shall endeavour to update regularly in an attempt to chronicle the most extraordinary events that have occurred to me. It is my fond hope that they shall one day be published so that future generations may learn from these pages.
Welcome, gentle reader, my name is Miss Honoria Kincaid. What follows may seem extraordinary to you, but please believe me when I assure you that every word is true.
It is my intent to relate my adventures from my previous life, but I feel it incumbent upon me to first explain a little of myself and how I came to be at this time and place. I’m afraid the specifics of why and how are currently an enigma to me, though I am working hard to rectify that. But I am able to provide a detailed account of the events immediately prior to my arrival here and my background.
I was born in 1870, the daughter of Sir Reginald and Lady Agatha Kincaid. My father, who is all but forgotten now, was a great and famous explorer in my original time. Indeed it was he who first captured a living jubjub bird, that now-common domestic fowl. As his only child he would regale me with his tales of far-off lands and tribes of noble savages, instilling in me a spirit of adventure that was perhaps a little unbecoming in a lady.
Any potential suitors certainly seemed to think so and so it was that at age 22 I found myself still unwed when my mother and father were tragically killed in a misunderstanding with some angry natives.
As the sole surviving member of the Kincaid family I inherited everything, including my father’s unique airship, which he had designed himself and named Amelia for my grandmother. I became something of an adventuress then, exploring the uncharted parts of the globe and pitting my wits against various threats to the Empire, all of which I shall relate at a later date, but for now I shall keep my focus on the events that led to me arriving in the 21st century.
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It was the 21st of March 1898. There is nothing particularly significant about that date; I simply prefer to be precise about such things. I had completed exploration of a small Polynesian atoll, which now seems vanished beneath the waves, and was making my return journey to England when I flew into that region that is now commonly referred to as the Bermuda Triangle.
Initially, all seemed well, the sky was clear and we were making good progress, when my first mate, O’Brien, pointed out that the sun’s position did not correlate with the heading indicated on our instruments.
Just then, a terrible storm came upon us, as if from nowhere, and my poor dirigible was tossed from side to side as we desperately tried to gain altitude and get above the storm.
There was an almighty crack, as of a whip, and I realised with dismay that the primary cable attached to the rudder had come untethered. Without it we were unable to steer, so there was nothing for it but for one of us to climb out and reattach the cable. I was more than willing to do so, but dear, sweet, Mr. O’Brien insisted that he go instead.
Despite the violent turbulence, O’Brien made good time in climbing the rope ladder attached to the balloon. Once he vanished around the curve of the balloon, I was left with nothing to do but wait. Anxious minutes ticked by but it was not long before there was a sharp turn on the wheel, indicating that O’Brien had succeeded. I was overjoyed and sounded the fog bell in answer, but my happiness was to be short-lived.
A sudden gust of wind rocked the Amelia, sending me falling onto the controls. The ship was tossed hard a starboard, causing her to tilt to an alarming angle. There came a dreadful cry from outside, and I rushed to the door to offer aid to O’Brien, but I was too late and could only watch as the poor soul hurtled toward the crashing waves below.
I had no time to spare for tears, for I too was still in mortal peril if I could not gain control of the Amelia and get above the storm. I spotted a patch of brighter sky to port, which I thought to be the end of the storm. I turned the Amelia in that direction and made for the light with all possible haste.
As I flew forward the light grew, but the storm did not abate; in fact it seemed to be getting worse. What was more, the colour of the light was wrong; it cast a ghastly yellow pallor over everything.
All at once there was a blinding flash that engulfed the ship and then was gone, taking the storm with it. The air around me was clear as far as the eye could see and the blue ocean below was as calm as a mill pond. It was as if the storm had never existed.
I had no way of knowing how badly the Amelia had been damaged by that uncanny storm, nor the faintest conception of my location; my navigational equipment being still completely inoperative. Fortune seemed to smile on me, however, as I espied an island close by that was suitable to set down upon. I lowered the Amelia’s altitude until I was able to drop anchor in order to make a proper assessment of the damage and undertake any repairs necessary.
In short order I had inspected my ship and discovered she was relatively unscathed; there was a small repair needed to the rudder where it had already once come away, but everything else seemed airworthy enough to get me home. I had not been at my repairs for long when a roar above me caught my attention. Gazing up, I espied what I at first mistook for a bird, but I soon realised that it was much higher up and moving too quickly to be anything natural. I assumed it to be a flying machine, but one unlike anything I had previously encountered. Curious as to this development, I hastened my repairs and resolved to fly home immediately to investigate.
My journey home was long but uneventful so it need not be related here. Suffice to say, two days later I saw the heartwarming sight of the familiar cliffs of the south coast of England arise on the horizon. Although I had only been away for a few months, it felt like a lifetime since I had seen them last and the queer events in the Bermuda Triangle had left me in such a fell mood that I was beyond relieved to once more touch down upon the grounds of my beloved ancestral home The Vyne.
It is not a particularly large house, having only eight bedrooms and various public rooms and servant quarters, but it lay in 800 acres of Devon countryside, which my father had retasked to his own purpose; various outbuildings housed his workshops and laboratories, there was a small menagerie where we kept the animals that he and mama had collected on their travels, and of course there was the landing site and mooring for the Amelia set about 200yds from the house.
The big house was approached from the landing site by a gravel path and as I rounded it on foot, the front portico came into view and with it the ancient Kincaid family motto tenax propositi, ‘tenacious of purpose’, which had been carved there since my great grandfather added the porch to the front of the house. Waiting for me at the front door were two gentlemen. One was quite tall and dashing, with the kind of chisel-jaw features and dark hair befitting a penny-dreadful hero; I shall return to him momentarily. Stood beside him was an altogether more mundane chap, standing maybe five foot five, rather slight of frame and wearing a dishevelled looking suit and spectacles. This man was a representative of the firm of solicitors Starkey, Lennon, Harris & Son and the other claimed to be a representative of an agency tangentially linked to Her Majesty’s Government that was well accustomed to dealing with matters of the paranormal and, more specifically, time travel.
It transpired that I had left strict instructions with said solicitors to ensure the upkeep of my home and for a representative to be present at that specific date and time in order to greet me and pass the property back into my keeping.
This filled me with great hope as it leaves me certain in the knowledge that I shall one day return to my own time and set these events in motion. It does, however, also leave me with the small consternation that I might miss my window of opportunity to return to the past and in doing so create a universe destroying paradox. One hopes fervently this does not occur.
My past/future self had also been in contact with the aforementioned governmental agency, who must remain nameless as a matter of National Security. They had ensured my flight home was not intercepted by any power, allied or otherwise, so that I might be in the secure and familiar surroundings of my family home before I discovered the shocking truth of my transportation through time.
I have not delved too deeply into my association with this agency since it would reveal too much about my future but it became obvious to me that I am destined to collaborate with them in some manner that left them indebted to me and willing to undertake the services they had rendered me. I cannot go into much detail, again for security reasons, but I’d like to take this opportunity to apologise for any disruption that may have been caused in grounding air traffic, especially to the people of Iceland.
It took me a little while to adapt to my new surroundings. The pace of life in the twenty first century very nearly took my breath away at first. I, who have faced down a ravenous pack of thrall-beasts and who confronted a vengeful Santeria Orisha, found myself feeling lost and not a little afraid. Everything and everyone I had ever known was lost to the sands of time, and despite my being one who has always prided myself on my independent nature, I must admit to feeling a terrible despair and loneliness in those first few weeks.
Goodness. That was beginning to sound a little maudlin, and I have never been one to wallow in self-pity!
The gentleman from the government who had greeted me on arrival stayed in the house to help me adjust and I found him a boon. He was always available with a friendly ear and a sage word, and he taught me much about the advances of the twentieth century that I had missed. He never overstepped the bounds of decency, and he was not overfamiliar with me; indeed I sensed a reticence in him, as though he were afraid to say too much to me. I suppose this must come from whatever dossier his agency may have on me and my exploits; it must be a strain on him to know so much about me that I do not know and be unable to tell me for fear of tampering with the timeline.
My new friend... let us call him Mr. Smith, although that is not his name, introduced me to television and provided me with several DVDs of important historical events that I would need to be aware of to navigate this period. He also provided reading material on motor cars, computers, and all manner of modern marvels that you, my friends, probably all take for granted. Take electricity, for just one example. In my time, mankind was taking its first steps towards harnessing this mighty power, but you all use it every day, without a second thought on its ingenuity, and without it all of your other devices would not function.
In short order I was up to speed, to use the modern parlance. Whilst there was much that was still strange to me, I felt sufficiently prepared reacquaint myself with the world and begin anew my life.
Mr. Smith was not alone in providing me with company in those first weeks; my solicitors had retained a modest staff to maintain the house in my absence and to work for me now I am returned.
There was Harforth, the butler, whose family had been in service to mine for as long as there have been Harforths and Kincaids. It may be a relationship that goes farther back than that; family legend tells of our ancestors and theirs being cited in the Domesday Book. His wife, Mrs Harforth unsurprisingly, was both Housekeeper and Cook, there being little need for both during my absence and little more requirement now, since I do not entertain. There is also a maid, Anna, who performs any task required by Mrs Harforth in the running of the house. Finally there is a gardener of Eastern European extraction, possibly Bohemian, named Josef who is young and attractive and I think rather taken with Anna.
But I have bored you enough with the ephemera of the domestic, I’m sure you did not begin reading this to learn of the intricacies of my household. Tomorrow I shall begin recounting some of my earlier adventures.