“If you want me to get you out of here, you’d better pack,” Mary said. The girl was out of control. What in the world was she going to do with her?
Diana jumped off the bed, pulled on one of the dresses that were lying on the floor, and started throwing the remaining dresses into a trunk that was sitting beside the bureau. Well, they could sort it all out later. The important thing now was to get out of here and discuss the situation with Dr. Watson.
“And put on your boots,” said Mrs. Raymond.
“Won’t,” said Diana.
“Suit yourself,” said Mrs. Raymond. “You’re not my responsibility any longer.”
“But you seem to be mine,” said Mary. “Put on your boots or I’ll leave you here.”
Diana glared at her, but she pulled a pair of boots from under the bed and put them on over her bare feet. “All right, I’m ready. Get me out of here so I don’t have to see her ugly face again.” She stuck out her tongue at Sister Margaret, who looked shocked and a little frightened.
“That’s enough,” said Mary. “If you want to come, then come.”
DIANA: See, that’s the voice. You can call it businesslike if you want to.
MARY: I was very close to leaving you there. You’d better thank your stars I didn’t!
DIANA: They’d better thank their stars! If I had stayed there much longer, I would have burned down that whole operation.
MRS. POOLE: Oh, I don’t doubt you would have. Sometimes I think you’re a demon in the shape of a child! And don’t bother sticking your tongue out at me. I’m so used to it that I no longer pay attention.
Together, Mary and Sister Margaret carried Diana’s trunk down the two flights of stairs, with Diana capering before them, humming some sort of tune. Mrs. Raymond followed them all the way down to the front door, then watched them walk across the courtyard to the gate, as though to make certain Mary and Diana were truly leaving.
Watson, still waiting outside the gate, looked relieved to see Mary again.
Once they had carried the trunk through the archway, Sister Margaret set it down, scurried back into the courtyard, and shut the gate behind her with a clang. She turned the key in the lock, then called, “May the Lord bless and keep you—away from here, you imp!”
“Your arse!” Diana called back, with a rude gesture.
“Dr. Watson,” said Mary, almost laughing at the astonishment on his face, “I’ve been informed that this is Miss Diana Hyde, and that I am now in charge of her.” The situation wasn’t funny of course—only he looked so completely bewildered. It was such a perfect expression of how she herself was feeling at the moment.
“How d’you do,” said Diana. “Any gentleman friend of my sister is a gentleman friend of mine.”
“Your sister?” said Mary. “What in the world do you mean—”
“Dr. Watson! Dr. Watson!” A boy was running down the street toward them. He was a typical London urchin, in an oversized suit with holes in the knees and a battered cap on his head. He stopped, put his hands on his sides, and tried to catch his breath.
“What is it, Charlie?” asked Watson, producing a penny out of his pocket.
“Mr. Holmes says to come as soon as you can,” said the boy, taking the penny so swiftly and skillfully that Mary barely saw him do it. “They’ve found another body. It’s not far from here, but I ran all the way.”
“I’m afraid your explanation will have to wait, Miss Jekyll,” said Watson. “I’ll have to get you back to Marylebone. But how to do it, when there are no cabs in the area . . .”
“I can come with you,” said Mary. “I need to talk to Mr. Holmes, quite urgently.” She wanted to tell him about what had happened at the Magdalen Society. Perhaps he could shed some light on it all. “Can we can send the trunk and this child back together?”
“Oh no!” said Diana. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Wherever you go, I’m coming too. You took charge of me, remember?”
“Miss Jekyll, I can’t take you to a murder scene,” said Watson.
“I don’t think you have much of a choice. I can’t find my way back to Marylebone from here alone, you know.” Despite the difficulty of the situation, once again Mary felt like laughing. Here she was, in the middle of Whitechapel, with Dr. Watson and mystery in the shape of a very dirty girl, arguing to be taken to a murder. What would Mrs. Poole think?
MRS. POOLE: What indeed!
“Oh, all right,” said Watson. “Charlie, can you take charge of this trunk? Miss Jekyll will give you her address. Find a cart that can transport it for her, and make sure it arrives safely. And tell me where I can find Holmes.”
“All right, guv’nor,” said Charlie, looking curiously at Diana, particularly at her bare ankles, which were visible under the hem of her dress. Obviously, he was not used to seeing her like with the respectable Dr. Watson. She made an impish face at him. He turned up his nose, looking most superior, and paid her no more attention.
Watson handed him a shilling, which disappeared as quickly as had the penny. Charlie ran off into the alleys of Whitechapel, with a promise that he wouldn’t be a minute, guv’nor. While they were waiting, Mary retrieved her portfolio and umbrella, and handed the revolver back to Watson, with thanks for its protection. As briefly as she could, she told him what had happened inside the Society of St. Mary Magdalen, with numerous interruptions from Diana, half complaints about the society, half curses. When he heard about Diana’s cut, he did his best to clean it with the whiskey he carried in a flask—for emergencies, he said. As he poured whiskey onto the cut, Diana swore vividly and inventively. Although she hated to admit it, even Mary was impressed by her verbal prowess.
MARY: I was not!
DIANA: Oh, you most definitely were.
He rebandaged the cut with strips from Diana’s already-torn shift, ripped off with the aid of his pocket knife. Just as he had finished tying the bandage, Charlie returned with a man driving a wheelbarrow. The trunk was lifted into the wheelbarrow, and the man promised that it would be delivered safely to 11 Park Terrace by his brother, who had a cart from which he sold vegetables in Covent Garden, “lovely turnips and cabbages, miss.” Charlie gave Watson directions, although Mary could hear phrases such as “turn by the house with the chickens in the front yard,” which did not fill her with confidence. Then Charlie followed the man with the wheelbarrow, whistling between his teeth.
Watson turned to them again. “Miss Jekyll, and . . . Miss Hyde? If you’ll both follow me, I’ll do my best to take you to Holmes, although what he’ll think of your presence, I have no idea.”