Possibly May 26, 1883
Aboard the Nautilus
Actual location unknown
In what she presumed was the morning, Lettie awoke in another room. She’d been moved during the night. The oilskin coat was draped neatly across a carved, padded chair. Her valise was set on a desk, open. One of her travel trunks was situated in the corner with the lid raised. Her boots had been removed and set near a heat source to dry. Her collar had been unbuttoned only two places down to give her some comfort in breathing, but otherwise she was fully clothed and ‘reasonably’ untouched.
Nemo? In Monsieur Verne’s biography he’d described such a drug being used on the harmless Pierre Aronnax and his companions. They too had found themselves missing an evening’s worth of memories, yet alive and well. And, as she’d read of Monsieur Aronnax’s experience, she too was feeling rather refreshed. The fact that she had been moved did not sit well with her, but her new surroundings were much better. Besides the addition of the writing desk and chair, and the recovery of some of her belongings, she had a bed of a regular sort. And the room was far more pleasant, decorated with a hint of Indian style. It was considerably more practical and gentler to the eyes. Yet, why would they insist on rendering her unconscious? Surely she had been calm in her demeanor - well, calm enough under the circumstances.
Lettie walked over to her trunk on somewhat unsteady legs. Resting her hands on the rim and trying not to support her weight on them, she looked for a change of clothing. Her travel suit was stale from being wet and contained under the oilskin coat. She needed to refresh herself and to be attired in a much more sensible way. For all practical purposes, she was now in the field.
At that moment she realized that her belongings had been searched. Nothing was where she had packed it. It was her habit to always set her shoes on the right side as it was often the end that her trunk was turned on when being stored on its side. Lighter or more delicate items went toward the middle and those belongings she might need to find in a hurry were placed on the left. This was not how her trunk was arranged now. Everything was in excellent condition, folded or wrapped, but not where she had left them.
She rushed to her valise and pulled the stiff sides open. Her loose papers and personal effects were there, including the scandalous romantic novel, but not her private letters. She searched twice, dumping the contents on the bed the second time. The letters were missing, as was her journal of notations. They had been taken.
Lettie wanted to hit something, Wickham. He was behind this theft - this violation.