MARY: Mrs. Poole, do you realize that you’re always coming in with tea?
MRS. POOLE: It’s a good thing I am, or you girls would never eat, with all the gallivanting you do.
Alice followed carrying the tea tray, with cups and saucers and all the usual implements. She arranged the cups and saucers on the table, and Mrs. Poole poured out a cup of tea for each of them.
“Mrs. Poole, would you please sit down for a moment?” said Mary. “You too, Alice, and take my tea, won’t you? I’ll get myself another cup in a moment. I need to ask you both a question.”
Mrs. Poole sat down in an empty armchair. Alice took Mary’s teacup with visible reluctance, as though it were one of Beatrice’s poisons.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, do sit, Alice, or you’ll spill your tea,” said Mrs. Poole. “I can see that we’re going to be thoroughly modern in this house. What Mrs. Jekyll would think of it, I don’t know. She had such strict notions of order and propriety. Well, at least you’re all here safe and sound for one night.”
Alice sat down on the carpet by Mrs. Poole’s chair and drank her tea in small sips.
“That’s what I want to ask you about,” said Mary. “What if all of us were to live here together? I’ve asked Diana, Beatrice, Catherine, and Justine to stay. And I’d like to ask Alice as well. But Mrs. Poole, this is as much your home as mine. You’ve lived in it longer than I have. What do you say?”
Mrs. Poole looked at them all appraisingly and shook her head. “You girls will be a lot of trouble, no doubt. Especially that one.” She nodded at Diana, who had just taken two sandwiches at once. “But I think you belong here, together. All I ask is that you let me know what you’re doing, so I don’t worry that you’ve been kidnapped or murdered!”
“And we’ll help with the housework, Mrs. Poole,” said Beatrice. “And do have some cake. I’m sure it’s delicious.”
“How would you know?” said Diana. “You don’t even eat.”
“Well, I’ll believe that about the housework when I see it. But I don’t mind if I have a slice. Getting that oven to make cake was a triumph of mind over metal. It just goes to show that even at my time of life, you can learn new tricks!” Mrs. Poole cut herself a generous slice of cake.
“And Alice?” said Mary. “Will you stay? Not just until you find a new situation, but for as long as you wish.”
Alice nodded. “Aye, miss. So long as I don’t have to go on adventures. Or, you know, die.”
Mary smiled. “Our first adventure, I think, will be finding a way to support ourselves. We’re going to run out of money quickly if we don’t find work of some sort.”
Beatrice drank the last of her sludge. “Thank you, Mrs. Poole. That was very refreshing. As I was saying before Mary came down, we should find work that suits our various talents and capacities. If you allow me, I will grow medicinal herbs. The laboratory, with its skylight, is a perfect environment for them. I noticed what a limited pharmacopeia the Royal Hospital has. Even the Royal College of Surgeons lacks some of the medicines my father was able to develop from his plants. I believe if we all gave it some thought, we could find ways to earn our keep, to pay for this house and our living expenses.”
MARY: And so we have. Beatrice’s medicines sell consistently, and your books bring in royalties, Catherine. Justine’s paintings are increasingly popular. The one of the girl with the lilacs is going to pay the water rates.
DIANA: Lilac Time. What an absolutely rotten name.
JUSTINE: But people like it. They like to see things that are happy. And I am good at flowers. . . .
CATHERINE: Leave Justine alone. She can paint whatever she wants, and she brings in more money than you, anyhow.
DIANA: Once I’m a famous actress, I’ll bring in more than the lot of you. You’ll see!
MARY: Well, for now you’re just in the variety show, so don’t get too high and mighty. And I’m not sure you should be in that! It’s barely respectable, and you really should be in school.
DIANA: Respectable my arse! And as for school . . .
CATHERINE: Here I interrupt my narrative, and Diana’s subsequent diatribe, to inform my readers that my first two novels, The Mysteries of Astarte and The Adventures of Rick Chambers, are available for sale in bookstores and train stations for only a shilling. The third novel in the series, Rick Chambers and Astarte, will be appearing for the Christmas season, followed by Rick Chambers on Venus, unless the publisher calls it Rick Chambers and the Caverns of Doom, or something else entirely. I’m currently working on the fifth novel, and it would go much more quickly if this monster of a narrative didn’t take up so much of my time!
MARY: I don’t think your readers want an advertisement in the middle of the story.
CATHERINE: My readers appreciate hearing about my forthcoming publications, thank you very much.
That was the first meeting of the Athena Club. Oh, we didn’t call it that, not then. Not until several months later, when Justine suggested the name. Readers who remember their classical mythology will immediately realize its significance: Athena, born from the head of her father, Zeus. We do not claim the wisdom of Athena, but we identify with her dubious parentage.
But that night was when the club started, really. With all of us sitting in the parlor having tea, telling Mrs. Poole what had happened the night before, to her shocked horror. Discussing what we were going to do, how we were going to investigate the Alchemical Society. The next day, we would continue to talk about practicalities: how we were going to support ourselves and live together without Beatrice poisoning us all, or Mrs. Poole strangling Diana. But that was the moment when we knew, when it became real.
Now, when you approach the front door of 11 Park Terrace, you will see a brass plaque directly over the bell pull: THE ATHENA CLUB. That is what we are, a very exclusive club. For monsters.
MARY: Except we’re not monsters.
DIANA: Says you.
The next day was Sunday, so we all went to church except Catherine, who said religion was a fraud and a sham—we were all idiots for believing that God the Father lived up in the sky, and would bless us if we were good, punish us if were bad. Like Moreau in his compound.
“Why do I have to go if Catherine doesn’t?” said Diana.
“Because you’re still a child, and you need to be raised properly,” said Mrs. Poole, who was helping us with our gloves and hats. Mary had somehow found enough gloves and hats for everyone.
“But I’m fourteen, and she’s only ten,” said Diana. “I mean, from the time she became a human being.”
“You have to count in cat years,” said Catherine. “As a puma, I was already on my own and ready to mate.”
MARY: What about your human years? Do they count as human years? Will you age at a normal rate now? I mean for a woman?
CATHERINE: I don’t know. Pumas only live about fifteen years in the wild. It would be rather awful to die at fifteen, don’t you think? But I simply don’t know. I don’t think even Moreau knew—or cared about that effect of the humanizing process. He ignored his Beast Men after they were created. It was the act of creation itself that interested him. So I guess we shall simply have to see. No man knows how long he has to live anyway, right? Justine couldn’t have guessed she would live for almost a century. It’s just . . . the way things are, and one has to deal with it as best one can.
Mary, Diana, and Alice went to St. Marylebone Church. Beatrice and Justine, who were Catholic, went to St. James’s Church, across from Spanish Place. Mrs. Poole said she would go to an afternoon service. Catherine sat up in her room, opened a notebook, and started writing: “No man who has seen Astarte has lived to tell the tale but one: I, Rick Chambers, Englishman.” Yes, she thought. That sounds just right.
By the time Mary returned with Diana and Alice, and Beatrice and Justine returned together, Mrs. Poole had prepared Sunday lunch. So we all sat around the large table in the dining room, since the morning room table was too small. It would become our
room for club meetings and plotting strategy. But that day, we were eating creamed ham (Catherine and Diana), cauliflower soup (Justine and Mary), and something wilted (Beatrice). And we were making plans. How could we live together? What would we live on? We all thought of ways to make money: Beatrice would sell her medicines, Justine wanted to try painting, Catherine would write. Diana wanted to become an actress, but no, said Mary. Being an actress wasn’t respectable, and anyway she had to go to school. As did Alice. “I just want to be a housemaid, miss,” said Alice. “I almost died, remember? I would rather not almost die again, if you don’t mind.” Mary had insisted she eat with us rather than in the kitchen. (She was picking at the ham.)
“Well, we can’t afford school fees anyway, and I suspect that sending Diana to school would be a disaster,” said Mary. “So we can educate you both at home. Beatrice can teach you science, and Catherine can teach you literature, and Justine can teach you French and Latin. And I used to be rather good at history. But what can I do to bring in some money? I have no artistic talents. I could be a shop girl or typist, but I’ve already tried all the agencies . . .”
“How about becoming my assistant?”
We all looked up, startled to hear a masculine voice. There, in the doorway of the dining room, stood Sherlock Holmes.
“I’m sorry, miss,” said Mrs. Poole. “He didn’t wait for me to announce him. Just strode in here . . .”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Poole,” said Holmes. “I’m afraid I have rather urgent news. You see, Hyde has escaped.”
“From Newgate?” said Mary. She looked astonished, as well she might.
“From the depths of Newgate itself. And I assure you that he was well guarded. This morning, the warden found the lock picked and the prisoner gone. Has he tried to contact any of you?”
We all shook our heads.
“I don’t suppose Renfield has escaped as well?” asked Mary. “That would be a bit too much.”
“No,” said Holmes. “I telegraphed this morning, to make certain. He’s safely locked up, according to Joe Abernathy, who’s been rehired at the asylum. I suspect Dr. Seward heard of my visit to Joe and wants to keep an eye on him. The good doctor looked at the both of us suspiciously when I returned his madman yesterday afternoon, after I assured Lestrade that he was not complicit in the murders. As of this morning, Renfield was in his room at the asylum, in a straightjacket. Only Hyde was gone. Lestrade is alerting the ports, and if he’s seen, he will be arrested. However, he managed to escape the first time, and I suspect we have seen the last of Mr. Hyde for a while. I’m sorry.” He looked at Mary with concern. “I know this must be a blow to you. You wanted to question him, and there’s no possibility of claiming any reward in his absence.”
“And what of Mr. Prendick?” asked Justine. Catherine looked away. If there was any information on Prendick, she did not want to know, although she knew Justine was asking for her.
“Lestrade is also having his boardinghouse watched, although if Prendick has any brains at all, and I suspect he does, he won’t return there. What he did is not technically a crime—there is no statute on the law books forbidding the creation of Beast Men. But I wager he does not want the Alchemical Society to get wind of his activities. He was clearly hiding them from Dr. Seward. When Seward summoned him, suspecting that he was somehow implicated in the murders, Prendick denied any knowledge of them. I wager he does not want the society to know he was involved with the likes of Edward Hyde and Adam Frankenstein.”
“Prendick is gone. I’m sure of it,” said Catherine. “He’s a coward. He’s always been a coward.”
“Well then,” said Holmes. “Where does that leave us? With Adam Frankenstein dead and the Beast Men destroyed, but Hyde and Prendick still on the loose. Although that orangutan may have gotten away as well—I’ll tell Lestrade to keep an eye out for him. It may be difficult to press charges against Mrs. Raymond now, since there’s no direct evidence of her involvement. I was counting on Hyde to testify against her. However, I’ve told Lestrade to keep an eye on her, and of course he will continue the search for Hyde. He can’t take credit for having solved the Whitechapel Murders without a murderer, preferably behind bars.”
“But Mr. Holmes,” said Mary, “while these two men have escaped, there is also the Société des Alchimistes itself. It is secret and unscrupulous in its methods. We may have solved the Whitechapel Murders, but the mystery of this society remains. Who are its members? What does it do? Is it continuing the experiments that created Beatrice and Catherine? Surely this mystery is not yet solved.”
MARY: I like how neatly you have us talking, when really of course it was a babble of “Do you think they’ll catch him?” and “I bet he’s headed back to Switzerland.” and “Can I have more ham? I’m still hungry.”
“I agree,” said Holmes. “I have not forgotten about the society itself. It has been operating in England for . . . well, we don’t know how long. And here in London—or at least it was, while Jekyll was conducting his experiments. London is my city. If there is a secret organization in it, I want to know what it’s doing.” His face as he said this was grim.
“And what did you mean just now, when you said I should become your assistant?” Mary was almost afraid to ask. Surely he did not mean that she would be another Watson? Solving mysteries with him, traveling around England as a detective? Well, detective’s assistant. But still. After all, she had helped solve the Whitechapel Murders. . . .
“I mean that I need someone to organize my papers. You’ve seen yourself that at present, they are in disarray. I know where everything is, of course. But I need someone with a clear and logical mind, such as you have, to devise an organizational system that will make all my files easily accessible. It’s clerical work, but you asked for work, and I have some for you. Are you interested, Miss Jekyll? I can offer two pounds a week.”
Mary put her soup spoon by her plate. She aligned it precisely, then folded her napkin beside it. We already knew her well enough—at least, Catherine already knew her well enough—to see that she was disappointed and not showing it.
JUSTINE: I knew it also.
BEATRICE: And I.
DIANA: I thought she always did that. Just because she’s Mary. Doesn’t Mary always do that?
“Yes, thank you. I should be very glad of two pounds a week. When would you like me to start?”
“Today, if possible,” said Holmes. “I need to get back to Lestrade at Scotland Yard, and I would like you to accompany me. As a temporary Watson, to take notes. In Watson’s absence, I lack a reliable secretary. Of course he doesn’t thinks of himself that way, but his notes are often useful to me, before they become the melodramatic stuff of his stories. If you’re done with your meal . . . will you come?”
“Of course,” said Mary. Scotland Yard! Well, she might be stuck in 221B Baker Street tomorrow, but today at least she was going somewhere interesting.
“And how is Dr. Watson?” asked Beatrice.
“Much better this morning,” said Holmes. “I saw him first thing, before meeting with Lestrade. You may visit him if you like, but I suggest no more than two of you at a time. I hope you won’t be offended if I say that all of you together can be . . . overwhelming. Particularly for a man in his delicate state.”
“I’d like to go see him,” said Beatrice.
“I’ll go with you,” said Catherine. “For protection.”
“Thank you, Cat, and of course you’re welcome to come with me. But I think I can protect myself.” Beatrice looked as though her pride had been wounded.
“Not to protect you. To protect the British public from you. Particularly until you become less poisonous. I can already see the headlines: Italian Beauty Poisons Londoners! The newsboys would be crying it all over the city. . . .”
“And what about me?” asked Diana. “I want to go somewhere or do something! Why don’t I get to do anything?”
“Diana, will you stay with me?” said Justine. “I am not ye
t entirely recovered, and if any danger were to threaten, if Hyde were to return for instance, I’m not sure I could defend myself, or Mrs. Poole and Alice. We would need someone as clever and resourceful as yourself on our side.”
“Oh, well, if you need me. I suppose I can stay.” Diana shrugged, but looked as pleased as a cat that had gotten into cream.
Mary was not sure she approved of Justine’s maneuver. Surely that sort of praise was bad for Diana? But at least it would keep her from following one of them without permission.
“Well then,” said Holmes. “Let’s be off on our various errands. Miss Jekyll, if you’re ready?”
“Yes,” said Mary. “Yes, I’m ready.” She rose from the table and pushed back her chair. “Let’s go.” It would be an adventure. And perhaps not the last.
MARY: Of course not the last. Think of all the things that have happened since then!
CATHERINE: Yes, but I have to end with at least a little suspense.
MARY: What about what happened after that? You know, immediately after. You were all there.
“Just a moment, Mr. Holmes,” said Mary. “I’ve forgotten my umbrella.”
They were already outside the door of 11 Park Terrace—I mean, the Athena Club. It was a late spring day in London, which meant it was about to rain. Mary had indeed forgotten her umbrella—she did not add, deliberately. Because she had to know.
Holmes nodded, and she ran back inside. Catherine and Beatrice had their coats on. Well, her coats. Their coats now. Justine and Diana were standing in the hall, seeing them off. Quickly, because she did not want Holmes to come back in and hear her, she said, “Diana, where is that pin you used to pick the locks in the warehouse? The hatpin you probably stole off my dressing table.”
Diana looked at her with astonishment. “What hatpin?”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. Tell me the truth.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Diana shook her head, eyes wide, all innocence. Which meant of course that she was lying. We were beginning to know her now, to know each other. We could tell things about each other that others would not be able to. That’s how it is with families.
The Strange Case of the Alchemist's Daughter Page 35