A Letter to Rathbone Mayhem To London!

February 1, 1895 ·

Sir,

My warmest congratulations on the Snowdonian Project. I knew it was simply a matter of time before the mighty Caledonian Bronze and Steam extended across the border and proved itself as one of the big players. How I wish I could have been present for your coup de grace but, as you know it simply would not have been the done thing, I had to be publicly present at the merger as part of my apprenticeship.

I cannot begin to tell you how much of a stir we caused, the Edinburgh coffee houses were set all a twitter over the aquisition, after all its not everyday a promising mining operation falls into one’s folio for a song. I daresay now perhaps the idea of Alisdair Stevenson naming his daughter as successor to the CBS chair will not seem as abhorrent.

Now onto more exciting and profitable horizons.

You may have already learned that I have been in conversation with Father for quite sometime now over the Long Dark Winter, the Fog and, naturally, his obsession with carrying out his own Clock research. I believe infact that he has tasked Division M with an Errand Run to the capital with a view to gathering intelligence pertaining to the latter. It is my happy duty to inform you that Father dearest has finally indulged my instinct that The Fog is worthy of equal investigation.

For some time I have not been able to shake the notion, that those yellow billowing clouds above are begging to be farmed, their acid rains harnessed in some way though I have yet to discover how and to what purpose; I have some thoughts on the matter so far but I would need to engage a chemist or two, preferably without many scruples before I set them before Father. Long story short I am back with Division M and The Network, naturally, for the foreseeable future.

Unfortunately I jokingly mentioned to Father that perhaps a well placed fiance would be a useful asset in circumstances such as this. Infact I felt so sure of myself that I offered to be married off should our endoeavours prove fruitless. Well blow me if the Old Boy didn’t let slip to Ma that I might be ready for marriage… she’s written to the family of every eligible bachelor south of Watford. Nothing like being put to the test by the man who made you.

Looming courstship and Killer Fog not withstanding, I have to say I’m rather looking forward to London. I hear that most of the shops, theatres, galleries and coffee houses are still crippled and struggling, even after the introduction of portable respirators. And yet…. the brothels, bordellos, supper clubs and card dens are busier than ever. The Network is going to positively thrive, setting ears and eyes in every dark place and we shall wreak merry hell from the bottom up.

I can’t wait.

In Anticipation.

Ella Mayhem

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