“Yet even a madman has method in his madness,” said Holmes. “Watson, I would like you to accompany Miss Jekyll to this society. Try to determine whether Hyde is there—unobtrusively, of course. You can meet me afterward and tell me what you’ve found.”
“The two of us?” said Watson. “Surely you wouldn’t send Miss Jekyll into Whitechapel looking for a dangerous criminal! That is too imprudent even for you, Holmes. And consider the name of this society. It would be improper . . .”
“I’m quite prepared to go,” said Mary. “And I’m fully aware of what the society’s name implies. I have read my Bible, and am familiar with the Magdalen. I could hardly live in London without realizing there are prostitutes on the city streets, or societies for their salvation. Really, Dr. Watson, I do read the newspapers.” Although she had lived in London all her life, she had never been to the East End, and Mrs. Poole had warned her what a den of iniquity lay there, in Whitechapel and Spitalfields. She was curious to see whether it was as iniquitous as she had been told.
MRS. POOLE: It was most improper of him to send you there, miss!
CATHERINE: I have not yet gotten to the part where he actually sends her, Mrs. Poole. Please don’t anticipate the action for our readers.
MARY: If we are to have any readers. Do you think anyone will actually be interested in us, how we met, and our lives together?
BEATRICE: There is always interest in monsters. I think Catherine knows that well.
CATHERINE: Yes, I do.
“That is why I’m sending you to protect her,” said Holmes. “You have never seen Hyde, and she has—he was her father’s laboratory assistant. Miss Jekyll, do you think you would recognize him, after all this time? You were only a child, remember.”
“Yes, absolutely,” said Mary. “One doesn’t forget a man like Mr. Hyde.”
“Well then,” said Holmes. “The investigation is afoot. Miss Jekyll, you are responsible for determining whether Hyde is still alive. If he is, we shall attempt to apprehend him and secure your reward. Watson, you are responsible for insuring that Miss Jekyll returns safely. You are to do nothing—nothing, I tell you—but determine whether Hyde lives. After you have visited this society, we shall discuss what to do next.”
“Very well, Holmes,” said Watson. “I would prefer to keep Miss Jekyll out of this, but of course if Hyde is alive, he must be apprehended. We can’t allow a dangerous criminal to conceal himself in London.”
“Can we go now?” said Mary, looking at her watch. “It’s almost noon, and I’m sure it will take us a while to get there.” She had no idea how long it would take, or how they were supposed to get there—surely they were not going to walk? But she was tired of this endless discussion, particularly as to the propriety of her going. At least Mr. Holmes was being practical about it.
MRS. POOLE: And most improper!
CATHERINE: Yes, yes. You’ve made that point. Thank you, Mrs. Poole.
“Shall we meet you back here, Holmes?” asked Watson. As he put on his coat, Mary noticed that he slipped a pistol into the pocket.
“No, ask for me at Scotland Yard. If I’m not there, I’ll be with Inspector Lestrade.”
So Mary’s day would include a trip to Whitechapel and Scotland Yard! This was certainly more interesting than sitting at home and worrying about money. She put the account book back into the portfolio and stood up. “We’ll report back to you this afternoon, Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson, are you ready?”
“I’ll find us a cab on Baker Street. If you’ll follow me, Miss Jekyll?”
Mary took her umbrella from the stand, turned back, and nodded to Holmes, who was smiling—she had no idea why—then followed Watson out the door. As they walked down the stairs, she suddenly wondered how much a cab to Whitechapel would cost, and how she would pay for it. She had exactly two shillings in her purse. Before coming to see Mr. Holmes, she should have gone to her mother’s bank, but of course she had not known she would be taking a cab this morning, and she had been eager to solve the mystery of Hyde. Anyway, she was still not sure how to get to Clerkenwell. Perhaps this afternoon, after their investigation, she could close her mother’s account and transfer the funds. Then, at least, such impromptu trips would not cause her so much concern.
“Mr. Watson, about the fare—,” she began.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Miss Jekyll,” he said, opening the front door. “You’re assisting us in an investigation. All expenses will of course be borne by Mr. Holmes.”
They emerged onto Baker Street to the rumble of cabs, and costermongers shouting “nice fresh ’addock!” or “apples ’alfpenny a pound!” To her left she could see the trees and lawns of Regent’s Park; to her right was the noise and bustle of the city.
She thought of what she had read in her father’s laboratory notebook and the letters, what she had not told Mr. Holmes. There was no need for him to know, at least not yet. But there was no time to think about that now. Watson had waved down a cab and was motioning for her to climb up. She lifted her skirt and settled onto the leather seat, wondering what would be waiting for them in Whitechapel.
CHAPTER III
The Magdalen Society
As the hackney cab drove east, the main thoroughfares grew more crowded, the cross streets narrower, darkened by lines of laundry hanging from balconies and windows. Mary was used to the leafy stateliness of Marylebone Road. Whitechapel High Street was completely different, a tangle of carts and omnibuses, with no trees to relieve the drabness of the buildings. The cabbie refused to take them into the twisting alleys of Whitechapel, so they got out and walked the rest of the way.
Asking directions as they went along, of men smoking in doorways and women selling needles and other oddments from dingy storefronts, they walked until Mary had lost all sense of where they were. Finally, they came to a dismal square, with a park in the middle: a few trees shading a graveled area on which children attempted to roll a hoop. The park was surrounded on three sides by tenements with broken windows and shutters hanging awry. On the remaining side was a gray stone church that proclaimed itself St. Mary Magdalen on a board in faded lettering. Next to the church was a high stone wall, above which they could see the upper stories of a stone house covered with ivy. Over a gated archway in the wall were carved the words SOCIETY OF ST. MARY MAGDALEN.
“How in the world could he be hiding here?” said Mary.
She and Watson looked at a sign on the gate, on which was written: A MISSION TO RESCUE OUR FALLEN SISTERS IN CHRIST. VISITORS PERMITTED BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 2 AND 4, EXCEPT ON THE SABBATH. NO GENTLEMAN VISITORS AT ANY TIME.
“It is what we expected, a society for fallen women. You can’t go into such a place, Miss Jekyll,” said Watson. Mrs. Poole, I’m not going to let you comment here. We all know what you think.