She put the blanket around her shoulders so she would not get scratched. Yesterday, her neck and arms had gotten scratched quite badly when she had squeezed herself between the shrubbery and the wall. Now, she pushed herself carefully through the thorny branches until she could crouch by the window.
“Mr. Holmes!” she called. “Mr. Holmes, can you hear me?”
She heard a faint groan in response.
“Mr. Holmes, it’s Alice! I’ve brought some more food for you.”
The only light in the ancient dungeon came from that window. After they had arrived, Margaret had led Mr. Holmes away from her down a dark corridor, followed by Queen Tera. When she had asked her mother where they were taking him, Helen had said that was no concern of hers, that he would be someplace he could not get out of. Of course Alice had known that meant the dungeon. In the sorts of books she read, prisoners in ancient castles were always kept in dungeons. That was—well, simply how it was done. It was only in London that one had to resort to coal cellars.
By the time her mother had taken her to a small bedroom, it had been too dark to explore the keep. But the next morning, when she realized no one was going to watch over her, or even ask her where she was going, she went down that dark corridor. It led to the kitchen and Mrs. Polgarth. Clearly that was not where they were keeping Mr. Holmes, so there must be a secret door somewhere? She had gone back down the corridor, but been unable to find it. If only Diana were here, she thought. She can tease me all she wants, if only she finds that secret corridor. Diana’s good at doing things like that.
DIANA: Did you really think that? Did you really wish I was there?
ALICE: I did. You would have gotten into that dungeon—easy peasy, right?
DIANA: Of course I would have. I won’t tease you anymore. I mean, not for a while, anyway. Not for the rest of the day, at least.
However, even a dungeon must have some sort of window, probably high up, covered with bars? That’s how it worked in the books, as though every dungeon had been designed by the same firm of not very imaginative architects: stone walls dripping with moisture, small window high up to give the prisoner a glimpse of the outer world, and plenty of rats. Anyway, there had been nothing to do indoors, and no one to talk to other than Mrs. Polgarth. Margaret had barely talked to her at breakfast that morning, focusing instead on making sure that Queen Tera had all she needed—she was already a loyal subject of the future Empress of the World. And Helen had listened carefully to all they were saying, paying attention to Alice only to ask if she needed anything—more porridge? Another cup of tea? Incongruously for an English breakfast table, Queen Tera had been dressed in a linen robe that she must have found in one of the boxes from her tomb. No doubt it had once been white, but it was now the color of old parchment. The scarab necklace blazed around her neck. On her head she had placed a net of gold beads that hung down to little points, each of which had a bell on it. They tinkled when she moved her head. There were gold bracelets on her wrists and upper arms. Her eyes were heavily outlined with kohl. Alice kept stealing glances at her. She did, indeed, look like an Egyptian queen, both fascinating and frightening.
After breakfast, Alice had been more or less dismissed. Evidently, Queen Tera, Margaret, and her mother did not need her. That was good, of course, but she felt lost and alone. She missed her friends! She was only the kitchen maid, but she had felt, in some small way, as though she too were part of the Athena Club. After all, she had been present at the battle in the warehouse, and she had gone with Catherine to spy on the members of the Alchemical Society in Soho. Would Mary and the others think she had betrayed them? Or would they understand that she could have done nothing to help them, and accept her back as one of themselves—if and when they managed to stop Queen Tera? She hoped they were all right, particularly Justine, who had been hit by the strongest wave of energic force that Alice had ever witnessed. She was terribly worried about Justine. Could even the Giantess have survived such a blow?
But there was no time to worry, not when she needed to figure out how to help Mr. Holmes. Sure enough, walking slowly around the keep yesterday morning, she had spotted the window. And there, in the dungeon, had been the detective, lying on a stone ledge that formed a sort of narrow bed, looking as wretched as she had ever seen him. She hoped he would look, and of course feel, better today.
“Alice, is that you?” Mr. Holmes staggered into the light coming through the small window. He did look a little better, but she could tell that he was pale and drawn, and that his face was damp with sweat.
“Yes, it’s me. Here, I’m going to lower this bag of food.”
She untied the sash of her dress from around her waist, then tied one end to the marketing bag and squeezed it between the bars on the window. She lowered it as far as she could. Dresses with sashes were for the likes of Lydia Raymond, not Alice the kitchen maid. Nevertheless, she was grateful for the frivolous thing. Even a frippery could be useful sometimes.
Below her, Mr. Holmes reached up—it was a bit of a stretch, even for him. He took out the contents of the bag. There was no furniture in the dungeon—he had evidently slept on the stone ledge, without a pillow or blanket. It reminded Alice of the coal cellar where she had been imprisoned, although she had at least been given a mattress. She remembered what it had felt like, being imprisoned there. Mr. Holmes must be feeling the same sense of despair, as though he might never get out of this place alive. Well, she would make sure he did—somehow.
“I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you to drink,” said Alice as he unloaded the bag onto the floor. Mrs. Polgarth had added thick slices of ham to the sandwich, then wrapped it in waxed paper. He spread the paper out and put the food on it, then began to eat, as politely as possible for a man who was ravenously hungry.
“I have enough water, thank you,” he said, nodding toward a tin pitcher on the ledge. Both hands were holding the sandwich. “It’s the one thing they seem to have given me. And if I were to run out, there is moisture on these walls. I believe it seeps in from the former moat you described. You have done—well, you have done a great deal, Alice. Henceforward, I shall never discount the ingenuity of kitchen maids.”
“We know what’s what, sir,” she said. “Is there anything else I can get you? You still don’t seem quite yourself, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“No, thank you,” he said. “I don’t want you to endanger yourself any more than is necessary. And the symptoms will pass. Moriarty must have kept me drugged—two weeks? I lost track of the days. That was a clever trick of yours, Alice—substituting the salt. If it were not for that, I believe I would have been in an even worse state. I hoped, in the British Museum, that I might be able to fight against whatever fate Moriarty had in mind for me. Then when I saw Queen Tera rise from her tomb, I thought that I must still be under the influence of the drug, that it must be a hallucination. But I could tell you were seeing what I was seeing. Did Queen Tera truly kill all those men, Alice? These energic powers—are they real? I would not have believed in them if I had not seen them for myself. But when you eliminate the impossible, what remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
“Well, it depends,” said Alice. “I could show you the parlor back in Baker Street—” She waved her hand. It was not necessary, of course—her mind did all the work. But Marvelous Martin had taught her to be theatrical, and she found that physical movements often helped her focus. At her gesture, the comfortable, shabby parlor, with its books and scientific instruments, rose around Holmes, replacing the gray dungeon walls. He looked about him, startled. “But it’s just an illusion, you see.” She waved her hand again, and it all seemed to melt—the bookshelves with their unsorted stacks, the comfortable armchairs, the table with its cigarette and pipe burns. The dungeon looked like its bleak self again. “I could not kill anyone, not for real. Only Queen Tera can do that. It was no illusion, Mr. Holmes. I saw them turn to dust, same as you did.”
Holmes shook his hea
d. “It’s a fearsome power, Alice.”
“It is, sir, and I’m afraid of it myself. I must go now. They haven’t forbidden me from wandering about, but my mother does check on me once in a while. I don’t want her to find me gone and ask where I was. She could tell in a wink if I was lying. Will you be all right?”
“I should, with time and nourishment, which you have brought me. Heroin is a terrible drug, Alice. I did not realize how terrible until now. I think, in future, that I will avoid… Well, no need to go into that. Its aftereffects should wear off soon enough, if I am left to myself. But will I be? I don’t know why Tera did not kill me outright. It would have been simpler and more efficient, and I believe our resurrected Egyptian queen is a practical woman. It can only be because I may still be of some use to her, perhaps as hostage. Or perhaps she hopes to make me perform some action under her mesmeric spell? Well, it is useless to speculate on the basis of insufficient information. For now, at least, I am alive and capable of ratiocination, if not of action. How long do we have until the kidnapping attempt?”
“Today is Tuesday. The Queen is visiting St. Michael’s Mount on Thursday. At least, that’s what I overheard when I listened at the door. I know it’s wrong to listen at doors, and Mrs. Poole would be shocked, but I thought under the circumstances…”
“You were quite justified in your actions, and I’m sure Mrs. Poole would agree with me.”
MRS. POOLE: And so she would. You were very clever throughout, my dear.
ALICE: Thank you, Mrs. Poole. That means a great deal to me.
DIANA: How come you never tell me how clever I am?
“Well, then we shall have to try to escape tomorrow,” said Holmes. “I have no plan as yet, but as I have no other matter of pressing concern, I shall be able to devote my entire attention to developing one.” He smiled up at her. It was a tired but somehow charming smile. Alice could see why Mary felt a certain tenderness toward him. In the past, she had always found him daunting, but it was hard to find a man daunting when he was in a dungeon, dependent on you for food and information! “You’ll help me, won’t you, Alice?”
“Of course, sir. Mary would.”
“Yes, she would. Mary is… well. I have a great deal of respect for Miss Jekyll. A great deal. Let me rest and try to come up with a plan of action. Meanwhile, if you hear any other news…”
“I will report it to you, sir. I’ll be like one of your Baker Street boys, since you don’t have those here in Cornwall.”
“You’ve certainly proven yourself as resourceful as Charlie or Dennys! But try not to put yourself in any more danger. You are already doing enough to make Queen Tera angry, and the anger of that particular lady has deadly consequences.” He had finished the sandwich and bun, and was taking a final bite of the apple, which he had eaten close to the core. He wrapped the core in the waxed paper, put them both in the marketing bag, and reached up to tie the bag to the ribbon. Alice could tell that it took an effort on his part. Would he be strong enough to escape from the dungeon tomorrow? She had no idea.
“Yes, sir,” she replied. She was already in danger, and she would put herself in more danger, because she needed to find out as much about Queen Tera’s plans as she could, and then figure out how to rescue Mr. Holmes. She must search again for the secret entrance. That was what Mary would have done. She was not Mary—she could not be as cool and decisive in a crisis. But she would do her best.
MARY: I think you were quite as cool and decisive as I would have been. And thank you, Alice. You know, for taking care of him.
ALICE: I only did what you would have done. I knew you would have been brave, no matter what the circumstances.
DIANA: Are the two of you done praising each other yet? Because it’s perfectly sickening.
It was afternoon by the time the members of the Athena Club arrived in Marazion, after a train ride of seven hours during which Diana had asked, over and over again, when they would arrive. Mary had been worried about where they would stay, but the proprietress of the inn at the center of town, called simply the Marazion Inn, told her that a large party—seven gentlemen and two ladies—who had reserved rooms had never arrived, so there were plenty of rooms available. They only needed two: to save on expenses, they had all dressed in feminine attire so they could travel and lodge together. Mary shared one room with Catherine and Diana, while Justine shared with Beatrice. Even in her weakened state, she was not affected by Beatrice’s poison, and the Poisonous Girl wanted to keep an eye on Justine’s symptoms.
After they had finished unpacking, she, Catherine, and Diana went down to the parlor of the inn, where tea was already set out. Beatrice had told them that Justine needed to rest, and she herself was not hungry—if they could bring her up some mint tea afterward, cold, no sugar, she would have everything she needed.
The parlor was across the hall from a dining room, which was mostly empty at that hour—one elderly couple, who had brought their teacups to a table, sat in a corner, conversing in quiet tones.
“I’m sorry to lose the party of gentlemen, I won’t lie to you,” said the proprietress, when she brought them a plate of scones, with clotted cream and blackberry jam. “Autumn is always slow here. I think it’s the best time of year myself—you can walk along the shore without running into bathers and their huts! I like to see the leaves turning, and the hips on the roses. I make a jam out of them, too—this is from my own blackberries, that grow by the lane out back. It’s a beautiful time here, is autumn, but it’s not as busy as summer, with all the families coming for their holidays, so a little extra money is always welcome. A party of gentlemen generally want large meals and plenty of them—ladies aren’t so expensive in their habits. And gentlemen tip well. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m glad to have you young ladies here! You liven up the place, and I can recover some of the loss. I’m Mrs. Davies. You just tell me if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Davies,” said Mary. “We’ve heard so much about Cornwall, and we’re eager to see the sights. St. Michael’s Mount, for instance, and I hear there’s an interesting old place called Kyllion Keep that was part of a fifteenth-century castle. We’re only here for a few days, so we’d like to see as much as possible.”
“Ah, St. Michael’s Mount. You’ll have to wait until low tide to walk over the causeway, unless you want to hire a boat. There’s a low tide tonight, but I don’t advise you to walk it in the dark—you’ll miss your footing and end up in the ocean, like as not! Tomorrow morning, that’s when you want to go, just after breakfast, which I serve from six to eight. It’s a bit early for London folk, but we’re early risers in the country. As for Kyllion Keep, it’s not open to the public as a general matter, but the folks as live there are often away—Professor Trelawny died six months back, and his daughter, Miss Trelawny, has been in London since. You can ask Mrs. Polgarth, the daily woman who’s been taking care of the house while Miss Trelawny is away, if she’ll show you around. She comes by the inn whenever she’s in Marazion, for tea and gossip—she and I were at school together. Hard to imagine now that we were once Nancy and Judy! Ah well, how time does fly.…”
“Where is Kyllion Keep?” asked Catherine. “Could we just walk there ourselves and look around the outside?”
“You could—it’s about a mile and a half east of town, along the coast. If you keep following the coast path, you’ll see it. But not today.”
“Why not today?” asked Catherine. “There are a couple of hours of daylight left.” She ignored the scones and jam, but placed a large scoop of clotted cream on her plate and started eating it with a teaspoon. Diana took two scones, spread one thickly with jam, and bit into it. Mary sighed. It was always a trial to deal with the various nutritional peculiarities of the Athena Club. She assembled her scone properly, with jam and then a dab of clotted cream on top.
“Ah, you’re not familiar with our Cornish weather!” Mrs. Davies shook her head. “The fog’s rising. There, you see.…” She pointed toward the win
dow, which looked out into the principle street of the town, called Turnpike Road. Sure enough, Mary could see a gray haze hanging in the air. When they had walked to the inn from the train station, the sun was still shining. Now it was hidden by clouds. “In another hour, you won’t be able to tell the water from the land. I don’t want you young ladies walking off a cliff by accident! Better wait until tomorrow and see if it clears up. I have to warn you, though: There’s a storm coming—they do, this time of year. I hope you brought wellies!”
They had not, in fact, brought Wellington boots. They had not, Mary suddenly realized, brought most of the things they would need for rain in the country, which was so different from rain in the city, with its pavements. They had left so quickly that there had been almost no time to prepare. She was not even sure what Catherine, Beatrice, or Justine had packed. She had supervised Diana’s packing to a certain extent—one had to. But she had not checked to see if her suitcase contained a mackintosh or umbrella.
By the time she and Catherine finished their tea, rain was coming down outside in a steady drizzle. Diana, who had devoured two scones spread thickly with jam and then asked to use the loo, had disappeared somewhere. Damn her! She never did tell anyone where she was going.
“We need to purchase the proper clothes for this weather,” said Mary. “Mrs. Davies mentioned a general store on Turnpike Road. I don’t think umbrellas are going to help us in a Cornish storm, but we need mackintoshes, waterproof boots, and waterproof hats if we can find them. Surely they sell them around here for fishermen?”
The Sinister Mystery of the Mesmerizing Girl Page 27