March 8th 1872
FRANKIE DEVEREAUX
Five days before the fire.
I say this without any trance of irony; what I have created, and what I am creating, could truly alter the course of history.
People have called me crazy before, and I am used to that. It is fine. Crazy is just a word people use for a kind of intelligence that they themselves cannot quite grasp. When I tell people what I am attempting, they call me crazy, they call me delusional. That is fine by me.
Nothing will stop me in my pursuit of knowledge. It is as if there is just this drive within me, this insane urge to make the impossible possible. And I know I will not stop until I have achieved what I set out to do, until I have completed my purpose, until I have finished the device.
I have already had to use the device, once, but what I used was the incomplete product. It was in a moment of desperation, when I had no other option, and as a result the only prototype I had of the device was destroyed. Now, I am trying once again desperately to rebuild the device, but for a very different reason this time. When I invented the device, it was purely for science and science alone, but now, the device could be the key to saving my son's life.
Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I sighed. At the present moment I was staring at some of the most complex mathematical equations that I had ever seen. It is frustratingly difficult, yes, but I enjoy a challenge. Many people disagree when I say that mathematics can be beautiful, but it can. Numbers and patterns are in everything around us, in nature, in music. Mathematics and science are truly art forms.
I tucked my notepad under my arm and headed up to the small attic apartment that my family was given to house all four of us. Charles Chapworth's personal quarters are easily four times the size of the tiny rooms we share, but I don't mind so much. As long as I am with my family, with my wife and children that I love so dearly, then I don't mind.
But I know that it gets to my wife, the injustice of our situation eats away at her. Elizabeth is an extremely proud woman, maybe that just comes from being a Chapworth, but it tears her apart that we have sunk so low as to be living in these tiny rooms that are just a fraction of the house that she should have equal claim to.
Clara and Joshua are both asleep when I arrive back at our apartment. It is quite late, after all. Elizabeth wasn't though, she was waiting up for me to arrive, and I braced myself for what I would find when I entered. My wife, when she was angry, was a hurricane.
She was chopping vegetables at the main table in the centre of the room. Even though the manor had a fully functioning kitchen that was more than capable of producing enough food for us, we were expected to make our own. Chapworth wouldn't waste a single penny on us. As she chopped vegetables, the sound of the knife hitting the wooden cutting board as I approached betrayed her anger. I was late coming home, again. I failed to bring home any money or food, again. And once again, I had failed today to provide for my family. I deserved every bit of her anger.
She didn't understand. I loved my wife, Elizabeth. She was my all, my reason for living. She gave up everything to be with me, and I would give anything for her. But for all that I loved her, she didn't understand what I did or why I did it. For her, the pursuit of scientific knowledge was no more than a pastime, something to be indulged in of one has the money and resources. She does not comprehend that it is so much more than that to me, it is my life. Without it, I would cease to be. It runs through my veins. And she does not understand that the reason I am doing this is for Joshua, for our family. I would tell her, but I can't without telling her the truth about where I am from.
I entered the room. "You're late," was all she said, without looking up, but those two words and her controlled tone of voice spoke volumes.
"I know, Beth, I'm sorry," I began, but she cut me off.
"Frankie," she said, angrily but calmly, "I didn't marry you thinking that we would live in a mansion, or eat ten-course meals every night. I gave that up for you. But I did expect you to at least be able to provide for this family."
I hung my head. "I know."
She sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue with me. I never put up a fight, so there was no point in her starting one. Instead, she just shook her head, now more disappointed that upset. "I'm going to bed," she said, walking out of the room.
I didn't follow her. Instead, I just collapsed on one of the kitchen chairs and put my head in my hands. I wanted to tell her that I was trying, trying so hard, but it wouldn't do any good. Even if I am able to use the device to cure my son's sickness, what good would it be after that? I refuse to sell my invention to big companies, they would only use it for their own selfish gain. And so once I have completed the device, and cured Joshua, we will once again be left with nothing.
I am nothing but a failure. I am failing my wife and failing my children, forcing them to live like this and be treated like dirt. It has gotten so bad that my children decided that they would prefer to run away and live as orphans than stay here. And it's all my fault, because I am a failure of a husband, and a failure of a father.
But even as much of a failure as I am, I can still do this one thing for my son. I can help him, cure him, I know I can. Just as soon as the device is completed. It is all I can do for him.
Actually, that is not completely true. If I cannot provide for my family the right way, then I will do whatever I can to make them happy again, even if I have to sell my soul to do it. In a way, that's what I am doing. I do not approve of stealing and thievery by any means, and am only doing this out of desperation. When Felix St Luca first approached me, I was appalled by the idea, and rejected it on principle. But that was before we lost our house, and everything we owned, and I was forced to reconsider his offer. Pushing my morals aside, I decided that I had to do what was best for my family's future.
While he doesn't have much of a moral compass, Felix St Luca does have a flair for the dramatic, and likes to cast himself in a sort of 'Robin Hood' kind of role. He will only steal for those who have others' best interests at heart, and he will only steal from those who are greedy. Goddamnit, there is just something about him that makes him so damn likeable and trustworthy. And right now, I need all the help I can get. I need to bring my family's smiles back. I need to do whatever it takes.
Even if that means stealing from the Chapworths.
In fact, this opportunity has troubled my conscience the least out of all the jobs I have taken. The Chapworth family are a pack of greedy, selfish liars, the kind of people that the world would be better rid of. Elizabeth, too, thinks this, even though she once was one of them. She proudly calls herself a Devereaux now, not a Chapworth, but the name still hangs over her.
Charles Chapworth, her brother, is a vile, soulless bastard. I have never met anyone so cold and calculating, so heartless and cruel. So devoid of all empathy and so ignorant. And his wife is no better, she is, quite frankly, an idiot. A vain, self-absorbed idiot. Their daughter, Genevieve, is either truly her mother's daughter, or an extremely good actress. To me, she seems arrogant and cold. The only apparent exception to this rule is Nicholas, however it would not be a surprise to me to see him corrupted and changed by the power he will soon come to possess. He is the heir to the company and the Chapworth fortune, and it would sadden me to see him become greedy and power-hungry like his father. Elizabeth truly was different though.
When I first arrived in London, in the July of 1858, I felt lost, alone and bewildered. I had read books, and I knew what the city was meant to be like, but that didn't prepare me for the shock of entering into this brave new world. The sights, the sounds, the smells, they were all so different from what I was used to, different from home. And I had no way of getting home either.
It was Elizabeth who found me a few days after I first arrived. I had not eaten or slept for what seemed like an eternity, and I barely remember our first meeting. Elizabeth says that she found me wandering the streets, dressed in strange clothing, and that in my pockets I had no money or keepsakes of any kind, only a few torn notebook pages of diagrams, sketches and mathematical equations. The only surviving plans for the device.
Curious and intrigued by me, she bought me some food and helped me to find accommodation. She claims that she fell in love with me after she had known me for only a few hours, because I was the most interesting man she'd ever met. I fell in love with her the second I saw her, her fiery red hair and piercing blue eyes are the only thing that stuck in my memory during that hazy period. I just remember this beautiful young woman taking care of me, and I remember thinking that maybe London isn't such a terrifying place after all.
I love Elizabeth, so much. And yet I am lying to her, and lying to my children too. Lying to everyone, about who I am, my past, and where I come from. When I first met Elizabeth, I told her what I have told everyone else since. That I was born and raised in a small town a few hours carriage ride south of London, and I had no living relatives, as my family all died from an outbreak of disease that spread through my village. That I came to London in search of work in one of the many factories that have begun to spread across the country. I came to London with little knowledge of the city and I had no money. This is the exact same story that I have told everyone. And all of it is nothing but lies.
Well, maybe not all of it. It is true that I have no living relatives, but my family did not perish from an outbreak of disease. It was war that killed them, nasty, ruthless, blood-thirsty war. The war that would ravage this country in years to come.
I did not come to London seeking work. In fact, I didn't mean to come here at all, it was a pure accident. And the only knowledge I had of the city was what I had read in history books. Yes, history books. I have told Elizabeth none of this. I cannot tell anyone. My lies have almost been caught out a few times, and my incredibly unlikely knowledge of machines and mathematics does not help to prove my story.
It took me a long, long time to adjust to life here. Everything is so different, and I missed my home so greatly. But then I met Elizabeth, the love of my life, and we had our two precious children. Suddenly, I found that I didn't want to go home anymore. My home is here and now.
Because the truth is, I am not from this time.