The Sinister Mystery of the Mesmerizing Girl

by Theodora Goss

  “And you’ll keep me apprised of what’s going on?” asked Watson anxiously. “I shall worry about you all.”

  “I promise.” Mary gathered her purse. She would leave the bag of biscuits to be shared between Watson and Charlie—and Buster when he woke up. “Also”—she put her hand on his, giving it what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze—“we will rescue Mr. Holmes. I promise.”

  DIANA: Why wouldn’t you let me have any of the biscuits?

  MARY: Because they were for the invalids, not for you! Have you no sense of sympathy for those who are worse off than yourself?

  DIANA: Not really. Anyway, Mrs. Poole could have made more of them. It’s not as though they were the last biscuits on Earth.

  The Trelawny Exhibit was closed. Mary could have kicked herself—of course it would be closed! Its central attraction had been stolen the night before. Outside the museum, the newsboys had been hawking the latest edition of the Herald, shouting, “Spectacular mummy robbery! Mummy stolen from British Museum! Read all about it!”

  Mary had been hoping to take another look at the exhibit room. Would it look the way it had last night? Were there still small piles of ash beside the seven pillars, with their seven lamps—the remains of Moriarty, Godalming, Seward, Raymond, Morris, Harker, and Moran? Or had that strange energic wind blown them all away? But the doors to the exhibit room were shut, and there was a rope in front of it with a sign: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

  “Well, that’s it, I guess,” she said. “I was hoping we would find more information somewhere in the room itself. But we can’t get in.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?” said Diana. “I can pick that lock, easy peasy. And then we can just sneak in.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mary. “There are guards walking around—there’s one, and there’s another one. We would get caught, and what good would we be to Alice and Mr. Holmes in prison?”

  “I could get us out of prison, easy peasy.”

  Mary just shook her head.

  “You never want to do anything fun,” said Diana petulantly. “You are the most boring sister on the face of the Earth. If we can’t do anything here, can we get something to eat? I’m hungry.”

  “There has to be somewhere else we can find information on the exhibit,” said Mary. “Wait—the Reading Room! There must be a—I don’t know, a pamphlet or something? Come on!”

  She grabbed Diana’s hand and walked out through the great front doors of the museum, then made her way across the courtyard to the circular Reading Room at its center. By the time she reached it, she could not stand Diana’s complaints any longer. “Here,” she said, giving her two shillings. “Go buy yourself something, and be back here in an hour. Do you have a watch on?”

  “No,” said Diana. “Ta, sister!” Then she skipped across the courtyard—heading where, Mary had no idea. Well, if anyone could take care of themselves in London, Diana could! Mary refused to worry about her. Anyway, not having her around would make Mary’s task easier. She turned and entered the Reading Room.

  At the circular central desk, one of the clerks, a supercilious young man with spectacles perched on his nose, said, “Do you have a ticket? You need a ticket, you know.” He had sparse blond hair slicked back with too much macassar oil.

  “Yes, in my purse,” said Mary. “I’m so sorry, I should have had it ready for you.” Dear God, please forgive me for the lies I’m about to tell, she thought. I promise they’re for a good purpose. She rummaged around in her purse, then looked at the clerk, aghast. “Oh my goodness, I can’t find it anywhere. I must have left it back at 221B Baker Street. You see, I work for Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I’m a sort of secretary—I do his filing and type up his cases. He specifically asked me to research the Trelawny Exhibit for him, and said he needed the information today. I believe he’s interested in”—she leaned forward and lowered her voice, as though confiding in the clerk, whose eyes had been widening behind his spectacles ever since she had mentioned 221B—“the mysterious death of Professor Trelawny! I wrote ahead for an appointment and received my ticket by post. But I must have left it on the mantelpiece, right below the bullet holes Mr. Holmes makes during target practice. Oh, what ever will I do? Mr. Holmes will be so angry.” She took a handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed her eyes.

  “Do you really work for Mr. Holmes?” asked the clerk, with barely concealed excitement. All his superciliousness was gone. “What is he like? Does he really deduce things like it says in Dr. Watson’s stories?”

  “Oh yes!” said Mary. “He is exactly like that. And he looks at you with such steely gray eyes—it’s as though he sees through to your soul. No one can fool Mr. Holmes. Why, he would know everything about you at once, if he saw you for only half a moment!”

  “Really!” said the clerk, looking at her with undisguised pleasure. He reminded her of a little boy in a candy shop. “Do you think you could get me his autograph?”

  “Of course!” said Mary. “That is, if he doesn’t fire me. And he just might, if I don’t get this information for him.”

  “Tell me what you want,” said the clerk. “I’ll find it for you myself.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Mary was sitting at one of the semicircular tables, reading The Tomb of Queen Tera: A Guide to the Trelawny Excavation and Exhibition, published by the British Archaeological Association. Half an hour later, she had what she needed. When she returned the pamphlet to the clerk, she said, “Thank you ever so much. If you could write down your name and address for me, I’ll make sure to send you Mr. Holmes’s autograph.” Of course, she would have to rescue him from Mrs. Raymond and Queen Tera first! She very much hoped he was not already a pile of ash, blowing through the London streets.

  Diana was waiting outside for her, eating a toffee apple on a stick. “See? I didn’t need a watch. I had a cream tea at the Aerated Bread Company. Well, two cream teas, but I was especially hungry, on account of you not letting me have any biscuits earlier. And then I got this. Want a bite?” She held out the apple.

  Mary stepped back to make sure she didn’t get toffee on her dress. “Absolutely not. I don’t know how you can eat such things without becoming sick!”

  “All the more for me! Did you find out anything?” Diana took another bite of the apple. She had toffee all around her mouth.

  “The Trelawny Exhibit only includes about a third of the artifacts from Queen Tera’s tomb,” said Mary.

  “So?” Diana kicked at a pigeon that had walked up to her and was looking at her apple expectantly. “I don’t have anything for you. This is mine. Go away!”

  “So the rest of the artifacts are still at Professor Trelawny’s house in Cornwall—Kyllion Keep, it’s called. And it’s near Marazion, just a short walk along the cliffs. That must be where Margaret Trelawny is taking Queen Tera. Don’t you see, it all fits together now, like the pieces of a puzzle. They’ll stay in Kyllion, preparing for Her Majesty’s arrival, and sometime during her tour of St. Michael’s Mount, they’ll carry out their plan.”

  “Which is what?” asked Diana. She kicked at the pigeon again. “Shoo! I said shoo! Oh, all right, but only a little.” She bit off a piece of the toffee apple and spit it at the pigeon, which fluttered up for a moment, then settled down next to it and began pecking at the toffee.

  “I don’t know exactly. But whatever they’re going to do, we’ve got to stop them. Come on, we’ve done as much as we can. I need to check on Justine. If she still hasn’t regained consciousness, I’m going to send for Dr. Radko.”

  But when they got back to 11 Park Terrace, there was no need to send for the doctor after all.

  “Justine is awake!” said Mrs. Poole as soon as they entered the Athena Club. “And look who’s home!”

  Catherine poked her head out of the parlor. “Us, that’s who. Or whom, I can never remember which. We arrived at Charing Cross an hour ago and took a cab home. Just in time to join the fun, it seems. So we’re going to Cornwall? Before we leave, we have to telegra
ph Ayesha.”

  “Why in the world?” said Mary, taking off her hat. “Welcome home, and it’s lovely to see you too! How is Justine? Is she doing all right?”

  “What? Oh, politeness. Yes, it’s very nice to see the both of you and all that. Because Queen Tera was the High Priestess of the temple of Isis where Ayesha was trained to use energic powers—if anyone knows how to defeat her, Ayesha will. We do need to defeat her, right? Mrs. Poole’s account was a little garbled, but I understand that she reduced Dr. Seward and six other men to a sort of white powder. I wish I could have seen that! Come upstairs—Justine is awake. Beatrice pushed on her chest and then gave her something—some of her goop. I’ll have to stop teasing her about it—after all, it did bring Justine back to consciousness.”

  BEATRICE: You tease me about that goop all the time.

  CATHERINE: I’ll stop. I mean, when I remember…

  Justine was sitting up in bed, drinking some sort of green concoction, and Beatrice was sitting by her side, saying, “Just a little more. It will do you good, you’ll see.”

  As they all scattered themselves around Justine’s bedroom, Catherine and Diana on the bed, Mary in a desk chair she had pulled up, she thought of how nice it was to have all of them at 11 Park Terrace again. The Athena Club was once more together—except for its most recent member, of course. She hoped Lucinda Van Helsing was regaining her health and sanity in Styria. Thank goodness Lucinda was out of this particular fray!

  But of course another member of their household was missing. When Mrs. Poole came up with a plate of sandwiches—cucumber and cress, egg salad, and potted ham—Mary thought of Alice, who would ordinarily have performed such a task.

  “We have to get Alice back,” said Catherine, as though she had divined Mary’s thoughts. “Bea, I think we should telegraph Ayesha. You remember her story about Queen Tera, don’t you?”

  “Yes, we should certainly contact her,” said Beatrice. “This Queen Tera sounds very powerful. What will my poison, or Justine’s strength, or Catherine’s teeth do against a woman who can wield lightning as her weapon? Justine, may I show them?”

  Justine nodded and unbuttoned her shirt—Mrs. Poole had not tried to change her out of her male attire. It would have been difficult to put the unconscious Giantess in a nightgown! Beatrice pulled back the side with the buttonholes. There, on Justine’s chest, was a red mark that resembled the burn marks Mary had seen on vampires killed by Ayesha.

  “You see?” said Beatrice. “If Justine had been as other women are, I believe such a blow would have stopped her heart. Ayesha understands these powers. She will be able to tell us what to do. Perhaps we can build some sort of weapon that will replicate what Queen Tera is capable of doing—or at least some sort of defensive mechanism, a shield of some sort. If Ayesha can send us instructions on how to fight her…”

  “Mrs. Poole, do you have a telegram form?” asked Catherine. “We’ll have to send it to—the Hungarian Academy of Sciences? Where does Ayesha actually live? Do any of us know her address? Beatrice, do you?”

  “Alas, I do not,” said Beatrice. “But remember, Jimmy Bucket sent her a telegram once before. He will know how to contact her.”

  “That traitor?” said Diana, through a mouthful of potted ham. “If I ever see him again, I’ll kick him so hard—”

  “No, you won’t,” said Mary, “because we need his help. But does anyone know where to find him? Remember, he was court-martialed by the Baker Street Irregulars. I haven’t seen him around since we returned.”

  “His mother lives in Camden Town,” said Mrs. Poole. “She takes in washing and mending, including some of ours. I believe she has a basement flat on Hawley Street. Two rooms, for herself and three children, one of them sick with consumption. I don’t know how she does it, truly I don’t.”

  “I’ll go,” said Diana. “I know where that is.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Catherine. “To prevent you from kicking the one person who knows where to send this telegram, among other things! ‘Queen Tera risen from dead how do we defeat her please advise’ should do it, I think. And after we send this telegram—then what?”

  “First of all, I’m going to be the one who fills out that telegram form,” said Mary. “For goodness’ sake, could you be any more cryptic? And, Mrs. Poole, do you have two forms? Before we leave, I have to tell Mina what happened to Mr. Harker. She needs to know that her husband is dead. Second of all—well, second we go to Cornwall. Did you find out about the trains, Mrs. Poole?”

  “There’s a train direct to Marazion, but you won’t catch it today if you still have to send a telegram and then pack your things,” said Mrs. Poole. “You’ll have to leave tomorrow morning from Paddington Station.”

  “Then let’s start packing,” said Mary. “There should be an inn or hotel of some sort in Marazion. After all, it’s by the seaside. I’m sure it gets bathers on holiday, although probably not at this time of year. And I think Isaac Mandelbaum mentioned something of the sort.… Mrs. Poole, I’ll send you the address where we are staying as soon as we get there. Whatever Ayesha replies, assuming she replies, send it straight on to us. I don’t know if the high and mighty President of the Alchemical Society will have time to help the Athena Club—she was not particularly helpful the last time I spoke with her. In the meantime, we must do the best we can to save Alice, Mr. Holmes, and the Queen. Catherine, you’ll come of course, and Beatrice?”

  “And me,” said Diana. “You are not leaving me behind. Not that it ever works, anyway.”

  “And me,” said Justine. It was the first time she had spoken since Mary had entered the room. She sounded tired, but determined. “Do not tell me that I’m not well enough. I too shall fight Queen Tera, who has given me this scar.” She put her hand on her chest. “Her plan, as I understand it, is not only to become Queen of England, but to re-create a Roman Empire in the modern world. We cannot allow that. It would be worse even than the British Empire. Forgive me, Mary, but I am Swiss—I do not believe in empires. They are always systems of tyranny over subject peoples. Tera would spread this tyranny over the Earth. She must be stopped.”

  Mary shook her head, but did not reply. She could not agree with Justine about the British Empire. Surely it had brought medicines, and education, and the benefits of religion to the colonies? Yes, there had been cruelties and oppression, but surely the Empire did some good as well? However, Justine was right—they must stop the Egyptian Queen. The question was—how?

  CHAPTER XII

  Morning in Marazion

  There was a scratching at Alice’s door. That would not be Mrs. Polgarth—housekeepers did not scratch at one’s door. Although Mrs. Polgarth was not quite a housekeeper. For one thing, this was not quite a house. Alice had been startled to see it when they arrived, two days ago.

  After the fire and fury at the British Museum, they had slipped out the back and returned to the house in Soho, with Mr. Holmes stumbling ahead of them. Helen had led Alice firmly by the hand, saying, “Come on, Lydia. Don’t dawdle. We have a train to catch.” Queen Tera had walked along behind them, beside Margaret, with Margaret’s coat on. After all, one could not have a newly resurrected Egyptian Queen walking through Bloomsbury naked! Queen Tera was talking to Margaret in a strange language. “Is that Egyptian?” asked Alice.

  Helen had answered, “It’s Greek. Tera was a queen in Alexandria, the capital of Ptolemaic Egypt. She speaks Greek as well as Egyptian.”

  Alice had felt a sudden, ridiculous urge to say, Well, it’s all Greek to me! But of course this was no joke. Seven men dead—if she closed her eyes, she could still see the flames curling around them, as though in an embrace. She could not forget the startled and then agonized looks on their faces, or the horror of flesh burning in an impossible fire. Then Justine had been wounded. Could she have helped Justine in some way? She had tried to help Mr. Holmes, but to no avail. He was still too sick to help himself, or anyone else. And she had once again lost Mary. She had tri
ed, as her mother pulled her out of the room, to look back and see whether Mary and Diana were all right, but the room had been filled with energic waves. She had never seen them like that, shimmering and sparking so they were visible to anyone, mesmerist or not. So this was Tera’s power! She knew that she should be terrified, but she was just so tired. She had not slept all night.

  As they had walked along the deserted streets, dawn was breaking over the tenements of London. When they arrived back at the house in Soho, Margaret had told her, “Lydia, dear, I need you to get packed. We are going to my house in Cornwall. I would ask Gitla to help you, but I can’t find the Mandelbaums anywhere. I guess when the cat’s away, the mice will play! I always thought of them as such reliable servants, but I suppose they saw our absence as an excuse to take a day off. At any rate, make sure you pack warmly. We will be by the ocean, and it can be cold at night.” Alice had chosen three of the plainest dresses she could find in the wardrobe—no more of those silly fripperies for her!—as well as a warm shawl. Had Margaret noticed when she had tried to help Mr. Holmes? Had her mother noticed? Neither of them were treating her any differently. She was glad they still seemed to trust her. If she was to help Mr. Holmes and save the Queen, she must make them believe she was on their side.

  An hour and a half later, they had been at Paddington Station, boarding a train to Penzance. Once they were seated in their first-class compartment, Queen Tera had looked at Mr. Holmes and said, “You are the detective, are you not?” When he nodded, looking particularly pale, she had continued, “You were sent by your Queen’s government to stop Moriarty. But you will not stop us. If you attempt to escape, I will electrocute you, as I did that man in the temple. Do you understand?” He had simply nodded again, then leaned his head back on the headboard, looking as though he were going to throw up. Alice wished she could have helped him in some way—at least wiped the sweat off his face. It was evident that he was very sick indeed.