26 January, 1895
From the Journal of Laszlo Camden, Lord Wivenhoe:
Arrived at Detling outside of London around 9:30. Nothing to declare and far too late for supper. We obtained three private rooms at Guy Fawkes Inn in Covington Gardens. A telegraph from the enigmatic Watchers Council was awaiting Dr Nachten Trevelyn before our return, stating thus: "Salute your success. Purchase tickets for Sunday 28 January for Plymouth. Take carriage to Bleakhouse, Cornwall." That was all the good Welsh Dr Trevelyn was willing to impart upon the rest of us, beside his beloved ward (and oft neglected) Kat. Very exhausted from landing, had a dram and slept.
From the Journal of Mr. Thomas Trowley:
Beard sufficiently long and ragged for entry into England. How good (if anxiety-producing!) to be home! Maintained self-control sufficiently not to stare at peelers. Unpacked at Guy Fawkes Inn; dressing for dinner best left undescribed. An inexpensive, albeit foul, habitation. No chutney to be had, even for ready money.
27 January, 1895
From the Journal of Laszlo Camden, Lord Wivenhoe:
Recovered from hangover. Refreshed ourselves while Dr Wilhelm and Dr Trevelyn deciphered more on the book at the London National Archives. Nothing happened today, and I did my best to avoid the chill, which ached my leg sorely.
28 January, 1895
From the Journal of Laszlo Camden, Lord Wivenhoe:
Purchased train tickets, which I understand were to be reimbursed by our patron, Dr Hawethorne upon our arrival at Bleakhouse. Departure wasn't until 1:25 that afternoon, so we sat outside Dingley Café in Victoria Station drinking coffee until the linemaster would have us. Dr Trevelyn and cynic Mr Trowley debated the fundamentals of a seance, Trowley constantly trying to point out the absurdity of the issue and tried to shift the subject to politics in South Africa. Dr Wilhelm quietly fussed over his notebook, which I thought him trying to perfect his serum. Artur and I discussed my primary schooling at Rugby while he mentioned his performances with his acting troupe in Paris. He still remains an enigma. All the while, Kat sat demurely, fidgeting constantly with her tea and a book she had been reading, watching all who passed us doe-eyed. Poor girl. In spite of all Trevelyn's and Trowley's best efforts to ingratiate her into the gentry, the young amazon still seems out of sorts.
We arrived at Plymouth around 9:50 that night and took to our rooms.
From the Journal of Mr. Thomas Trowley:
Waited hours outside station for departure for West Country. Dr. Trevelyan, bless his heart, has this quaint belief in the supernatural; I tried to correct him subtly but (I fear) to no avail. Ah well; the good servant respects the idiosyncrasies of the master. I am growing more concerned about the reputation of the Master and his ward; she remains resolutely declasse and I despair of getting her into appropriate society. A word to the wise, however, may have persuaded the master that their reputations might best be served by the acquisition of an appropriate older woman to be Miss Fairfax's companion. I had so hoped that she would make a good marriage; I now think I had best readjust my expectations. Perhaps a not-overly-discriminating rural vicar.