European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman

by Theodora Goss

  “And here’s a pantry,” said Catherine, opening the only other door in the kitchen. “If anyone comes down, we could hide in here. Let’s put the frames in here so no one notices. Fifteen minutes until their meeting time!”

  They stationed themselves by the dumbwaiters, which were on opposite ends of the kitchen, and waited for Seward and Prendick to arrive.

  MARY: I really think Alice should get a great deal of credit for thinking of the dumbwaiters!

  ALICE: I’m sure anyone would have noticed them, if they’d been looking. As soon as I walked into those rooms, I wondered how they would manage the food service, you see. So in a sense I was looking for dumbwaiters even before I saw them.

  MRS. POOLE: Don’t be too modest, missy. You have a trained eye, and I know, as I was the one who trained it!

  ALICE: And an excellent training it was, too, Mrs. Poole.

  They did not have to wait long. On her pocket watch, 5:00 p.m. passed, and Catherine wondered once again if she could have been mistaken—about the time, perhaps? Or the day? But no, at 5:15 p.m. she heard the unmistakable stomp of men’s boots overhead. She looked over at Alice—but the kitchen maid was listening intently at her own dumbwaiter. There were voices above, but she could not hear what they were saying. What if she and Alice were wrong, and the two men went into another room altogether? All their preparations would be wasted. . . . But the voices were clearer now. They must be in the office, as she had predicted. She put her head inside the shaft to hear better. Yes, that was it! Their voices were echoing down. She waved frantically to Alice, motioning her to come over.

  “What in the world possessed you to do such a thing?” That was Seward—at least, she thought she recognized his voice from the asylum. She had not heard him say much, but he had said it loudly enough at the time!

  “Nothing. I mean, it was just an experiment,” said another voice sullenly. Ah, that was Prendick. She would know his voice anywhere. She had heard it often enough on Moreau’s island. If only she could forget it! But she knew that if they met a century from now, not having seen each other once in the interim, she would recognize it from a single syllable.

  “And there was no one helping you, no one acting with you?” That was a third voice, one she did not recognize. How many of them were there? She had assumed it would be just Seward and Prendick.

  “No, of course not,” said Prendick. His voice was resentful, but she could detect an undertone of fear. Could Seward hear it as well? Perhaps, although her sensitive feline ears could detect what most humans could not. Remembering that, she moved a little, allowing Alice to lean in closer to the shaft. Alice would not be able to hear as clearly as she could.

  DIANA: My ears can hear as well as yours. Well, almost.

  CATHERINE: Who said you were human? Ow! Stop it. I meant that as a compliment, but I take it back. You are completely and entirely human. An animal would never be so annoying.

  “So you just found the creature and—transformed it?” asked the third voice.

  Creature? What in the world were they talking about?

  “I bought it off a sailor whose ship was departing on the next tide, to Cape Breton or the Cape of Good Hope, something like that. I don’t remember exactly,” said Prendick. “Why does it matter? Anyway, who would help me? It’s not as though any other members of the society are left in London.”

  “It matters because I don’t want Beast Men running around London!” said Seward. “Luckily, this one happened to show up at Lord Avebury’s menagerie, and he assumed it was a rare species of ape. I happened to see an article he published about it in the Purfleet Gazette, or I would have known nothing about it myself. Quite proud of it he was. Well, he still has a photograph to remember it by, but I removed the creature myself, in the dead of night. And ruined a pair of trousers by doing so! Raymond, you can see that I had nothing to do with this matter, can’t you? It was Prendick’s doing entirely. I reported it to you as soon as I learned of the matter myself.”

  “I believe you,” said the third voice—that must be Raymond, whoever he was. “But that does not explain why you summoned me here, at this inconvenient hour.”

  Catherine could hear the steady thump of boots pacing above. Back and forth they went. “This matter of there not being members of the society in London. Van Helsing and I want to change that. He’s going to Budapest for the annual conference. I’m going with him, and Prendick, you’re coming as well. Ostensibly, we’ll be presenting papers on a more effective means of transfusing the blood, but his real goal is to convince the Alchemical Society to reopen the English chapter so it can continue what Van Helsing and I have begun. After all, it’s been fourteen years since our chapter was shut down so abruptly—and unjustly.”

  “What makes you think our esteemed Madam President will listen to you, or even Van Helsing?” Raymond’s voice was dry, dismissive. “She was adamant, after Jekyll almost exposed the society to public scrutiny, that all experiments in transmutation should be done only with her personal approval. When she finds out that Van Helsing has been continuing those experiments behind her back, she is likely to be, shall we say, displeased.”

  “It’s not up to her. He’s going to ask for a vote of the general membership, which she can’t override. Either the membership will be persuaded by our arguments and allow us to continue in this vein—excuse me, that was inadvertent. Or our resolution will be voted down and our experiments forbidden altogether. Van Helsing is prepared for that eventuality. Indeed, I think he would prefer it. He and Arminius Vámbéry, who is our primary contact in Budapest, have a faction of the society on their side, prepared to vote with us. Additionally, they’ve created—not an army precisely, but shall we say ground troops sufficient to make our argument by force, if it comes to that. Either a majority of the membership will side with Van Helsing, or there will be a bloodbath—and a change of regime. When he is president, we shall see some different policies in place, I assure you.”

  “Well,” said Raymond. “I won’t say I disagree with your assessment that a regime change would be helpful. She has held the office of president long enough. But I don’t like it when things are done behind my back, Seward. I don’t like it at all. What Hennessey described in his letter . . .”

  “Hennessey was a coward,” said Seward. His boots tapped out a steady rhythm on the floor above, like a drum. “Van Helsing should have known better than to write to him about our plans. What did he do? Sent a letter to her. Well, I intercepted that right enough. We’ve had him watched since he retired from the asylum. I knew even then that he was close to a breakdown. He went through too much, five years ago at Carfax. It’s left him—unreliable. But I didn’t know he’d written to you as well, until you summoned me last Monday. Inconveniently, I might add. Not that I’m questioning your right to do so, both as asylum trustee and as the last chairman of the English chapter before the Hyde debacle.”

  “In his letter, Hennessy said your recent experiments shocked the conscience,” said Raymond, accusingly.

  “Well, did they shock yours? I think not, or you would not have come here today. And how are they any worse than yours, forty years ago, when you created Helen?”

  “Well, we won’t speak of that,” said Raymond. “It’s scarcely relevant to the current situation. What do you want now?”

  “Your support,” said Seward promptly. The drumbeats stopped. “Your word that you will not alert her to what we’re doing. You’re still our chairman, after all. We’d like you to take that position up again, once the English chapter is restored.”

  There was a long silence.

  “And what’s in it for me if I do?”

  “Why, man!” said Seward. “Everything, that’s all. What do you think a race of immortal men could do? Men who never die, never grow old, are never afflicted by infectious diseases. Men on whom wounds close, and who have the power of the alchemical sciences at their fingertips. They would be a race of Supermen! They would rule the world!”
r />   “And if Lucinda dies, as Lucy did?” said Prendick quietly.

  “What does that matter if the experiment succeeds?” Seward sounded angry—he was almost shouting. “The principle is what matters—the principle and the serum. She is merely the experimental subject. After September, what does it matter whether she lives or dies? Sometimes lives must be sacrificed for the greater good. Moreau knew that, even if you don’t.”

  “Van Helsing would do that to his own daughter?” asked Prendick, but Catherine wondered if the two men above had even heard him. She had barely heard his words as they were whispered down the shaft.

  “I’ve wired for two tickets to Vienna on the Orient Express. Prendick, you’ll meet me at Charing Cross Station at quarter to nine on Thursday morning. We’ll arrive in Vienna on Saturday night. Van Helsing will meet us at the station, and we’ll check on our patient on Sunday. She should be fully transformed by then. He had to sequester her—evidently, there was some attempt at interference by Mrs. Harker, who was involved in the Carfax affair, but she’s safe and . . . contained at the moment. We’ll take her with us to Budapest—as proof of concept, shall we say? First, we’ll meet with our supporters to show them what they can become if they stand with us. And then, we shall transform our moribund society! What will it feel like, gentlemen, to rule the world?”

  Raymond chuckled. At least, Catherine supposed it was Raymond. However she felt about Prendick, she did not believe him heartless enough to be chuckling now.

  “What about the poor creature I created?” Ah, that was Prendick right enough.

  “It’s in the coal cellar,” said Seward, “And there it will stay to ensure your loyalty, or at least obedience, until this affair is brought to a conclusion. What do you think our Madam President would say if she knew you had created a Beast Man in the middle of London? And that it had been featured in a newspaper, even one as obscure as the Purfleet Gazette?”

  “Well, I think that’s settled, then,” said Raymond. “I’ll stand with you and accept reinstatement as chairman of the English chapter—only don’t make me regret it! It’s a risky enterprise, but worth the risk if it gets her blasted bootheel off our necks. Now, I don’t know about you, Seward, but I would like my dinner. There’s a place Jekyll and I used to go, near Tottenham Court Road, when the society was still meeting here. It used to serve an exceptional kidney pie, as well as a good old-fashioned porter. I wonder if it’s still there?”

  Catherine could hear laughter, although she did not know whose, and then boots on the floor again. And then a distant thud, as though the front door had been shut rather hard.

  She and Alice both stayed perfectly still. Time passed: five minutes, ten. Finally, “I don’t think they’re coming back,” she said.

  Alice sighed, as though she had been holding her breath all this time.

  “How much of that could you hear?” asked Catherine. Could a human have heard everything she had?

  “Most of it,” said Alice in a low voice, as though still afraid to speak much above a whisper. “But I didn’t understand it at all. What was all that about, becoming immortal, invincible? It sounds ungodly, miss.”

  “I suppose you could call it that,” said Catherine. “Although in a way it was Moreau’s ambition too, really. He wanted to become a kind of god . . . well. This isn’t the time to talk about theology. I didn’t understand it all either, but there’s one thing I’m sure of.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s something—or someone—in the coal cellar.” It was a Beast Man. That much was clear from the conversation she had overheard. But which one? Could it be a new one created by Prendick? Perhaps, but it was more likely to be one that had escaped the conflagration at the warehouse. She vaguely remembered a short, stooping figure dodging around Holmes, out the door and into the night.

  “Alice, do you remember which of the Beast Men escaped, that night at the docks?”

  Alice shook her head. “I was too sick from Miss Beatrice’s poison to notice much.”

  “And I was too busy trying to save Justine from Adam’s wrath. I know Holmes mentioned which one, but I’ve forgotten.”

  “Do you think that’s what they were talking about?” Alice looked a little frightened. Of course, she’d been kidnapped by one of the Beast Men, acting under the direction of Hyde.

  “It’s all right. I don’t think it’s one of the large ones, the Bear or Boar Men. Here, hold my hand. I don’t want to get separated.” That was an excuse, of course. How likely were they to get separated in a straight hallway? But Alice seemed genuinely frightened. She clutched Catherine’s hand as though grateful for the contact.

  Together, they walked farther down the hall, where they had not yet ventured. Like the kitchen, it was lit by low half-moon windows that were boarded up, although some of the boards had long ago warped and fallen. It had several doors: the first led to what looked like the butler’s chambers, the second to what had once been a pantry, with wine racks and cabinets for silverware, now empty, around the walls. The third was the right one. Catherine knew as soon as she opened the door because they were greeted by a pitiful screech.

  There, lying on the floor, was the Orangutan Man. Yes, Catherine remembered now. He was the Beast Man who had disappeared down the back hallway, on the night of the fire.

  The coal cellar had no windows; before they opened the door, it had been entirely dark. He stared at them, blinking his eyes in the light that came from the doorway. It was a dim light, but evidently more than he was accustomed to in his prison. And a prison it was. The Orangutan Man was naked, and there was an iron shackle around one of his ankles. A chain linked it to an iron ring in the wall from which a coal scuttle might once have hung.

  “Those bastards,” said Catherine. “Those bloody bastards.”

  The Orangutan Man put up one hand to protect his eyes. At the same time, he scurried backward, knocking over a tin pan that had probably once held water but was now dry. He was obviously terrified of them.

  “We’re going to get you out of here,” said Catherine, dropping Alice’s hand. She needed to get closer. “Do you understand me? I don’t know how much human speech he understands,” she said to Alice. “I’ll have to pick the lock on that shackle. Wait here.” But as soon as she started moving toward him, the Orangutan Man started screeching again. He bared his teeth and stood up to his full height, as though prepared to make a final stand.

  “Catherine, I think it’s too dangerous!” said Alice fearfully, still standing in the doorway.

  “There are times when you can’t think of the danger. But I don’t know if I can get close enough to him. He smells puma, that’s the problem. I can’t get to that lock unless he lets me.” His shrieks seemed to go straight through her sensitive cat ears, like sharp knives thrusting into her brain.

  “What’s that?” Suddenly, Alice darted forward and pulled Catherine back into the shadows in a corner of the room, where they would not be seen from the doorway. What in the world was Alice . . . but no, now Catherine could hear it as well, although the shrieks of the Orangutan Man were still ringing in her ears: footsteps coming down the stairs, and then down the hall. Suddenly, Edward Prendick was silhouetted in the doorway.

  He was dressed in the same shabby suit she had seen him in last time, in the warehouse. The light in the doorway shone on his gray hair, creating a halo. Saint Edward! There was irony for you.

  “You heard me coming, didn’t you?” he said to the Orangutan Man. “Quiet, boy. Calm down, I’m not here to hurt you. I’ve brought you an apple, see?” He pulled an apple out of his jacket pocket and threw it toward the Orangutan Man, who plucked it out of the air and began tearing into it ravenously, core and all. From another pocket, an interior one, he pulled a flask and poured its contents into the Orangutan Man’s dish. “There’s water for you. Seward realized too late that he’d forgotten to bring any and let me come back. Lucky I had that apple, eh?”

  The Orangutan Man drank th
e water up, then licked the tin plate with his thick tongue. It took only a moment, and when he had finished, he held out the ankle with the shackle on it. He looked at Prendick pleadingly. He still had half the apple in one hand.

  “I can’t,” said Prendick. “I would if I could, but Seward would have my hide for sure. I’m in enough trouble already. I’m sorry. This is a rotten place for you, isn’t it?” He looked around the coal cellar. Now, Catherine thought, he will see us. She glanced at Alice, who must be frightened, but the kitchen maid had her eyes closed, her hands clasped in front of her as though in prayer. Her mouth was moving—she seemed to be praying silently. Well, Alice could pray all she wanted, but Catherine was going to fight. She crouched down, preparing to spring at Prendick. If she killed him, well, he deserved it for all he had done—to her, to the other Beast Men. As soon as he noticed them, as soon as he noticed her, she would leap on him and tear his throat out. He would not have time to raise an alarm.

  But his glance slid right over them.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again to the Orangutan Man. “I never meant for you to end up like this, old fellow. I never meant for any of this to happen. At least he left the door open for you—you’ve got some light. I’ll leave it open as well, shall I? And I’ll make sure he sends someone to take care of you while we’re gone. Once we get back, he might let me take you away from here. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  He tried to pat the Orangutan Man on the head, but the creature bared his teeth and growled.

  “All right, then,” said Prendick as though embarrassed. “I’m off.”