“Indeed,” said Holmes. “And what can you tell us about her?”
Kate was pretty beneath her paint, although if you looked closely, you could tell she was no longer as young as she seemed, and there were pockmarks on her cheeks. She was slender, with bright eyes, rather like an inquisitive bird. Mary looked at her with interest. So this was what a fallen woman looked like! Exactly like any other woman, except for her fancier dress and general air of boldness. In another life, Kate could have been a parlormaid, like Enid. “Well, Molly was a good girl, a governess until her master look liberties. No, I don’t know where, she wouldn’t say, nor where her family was. After the child died, she worked the streets, and made a fair bit too. The gentlemen liked her educated ways. She tried to reform for a while, went to one of them reform societies, but it only lasted a week. Couldn’t stand the sanctimonious piety, she said. No, she didn’t say where, somewhere in Whitechapel or Spitalfields, I believe. She wasn’t one to talk much, was Molly. Last night, she was just as usual. The night was getting on, and it was so cold and damp that there had been no custom, so we sat by the fire in The Bells. Then Molly says, I think I’ll be getting on home, Kate. I told her I would finish my beer—Molly was so ladylike, she never drank anything but barley water. So she puts on her coat, and out she goes. And then I thought, I’m almost done anyway, I’ll drink up quickly so we can walk home together, companionable. My place wasn’t much farther than hers, and we’d been talking about sharing a flat, not liking our situations at present. But when I got outside, I saw that she’d found a customer after all. He was talking to her—there was just enough light coming through the window to see by. You want to know how he looked. I only caught a glimpse in passing, but he was a small gentleman, twisted like. Reminded me of Punch, in the Punch and Judy. He had a strange, whispering voice, as though he didn’t want to be heard. I didn’t rightly hear what he said, and you may think I’m making this up, but that voice chilled my spine, like ice. I walked past them without a word to Molly and went home. I didn’t want her to lose the custom, see. But now I wish I’d said good night. . . . And that’s the last time I saw her, until this sergeant asked me to look at her, lying in the alley. What he did to her—I hope you catch him and string him up good.”
Kate looked down at her hands on the table, but did not cry. What good would it have done? We often think that class of woman is hard-hearted, because it does not show emotion, but what good would it do for the Kates of the world to cry? They have learned that tears do not bring relief or change of circumstance. There is no one to wipe their tears, no one to assuage their grief.
MARY: Oh, for goodness’ sake. She got what was much more useful. After thanking her, Mr. Holmes gave her the sovereign. What in the world would she have done with someone to wipe her tears? Kate’s not as sentimental as you are.
JUSTINE: We all need human sympathy.
DIANA: I don’t.
Before getting up, Kate said, “You remind me of someone, ducky.” Mary was startled to realize that she was looking directly at Diana, who was turning back and forth on her stool. “Are you in the trade? You look young to be in it, but there are plenty of young ones, more’s the pity.”
Diana looked back at her, defiantly. “My mother was known as Gilded Lily, at Mrs. Barstowe’s.”
“Ah, that’s it, then. I knew her when I was a young one myself, although I wasn’t at Mrs. Barstowe’s for long. I fell on hard times—don’t let them tell you that laudanum’s harmless, because it ain’t—and by the time I was right again, the establishment had closed. She was spirited, your mum, and kind to us younger girls. I hope you’re not in trouble with these legal gentlemen.”
When Diana shook her head, she said, “Well, if you ever are, remember Kate Bright-Eyes at The Bells. Any friend of your mum’s will be a friend of yours, and don’t you forget it.”
“I think we’ve done all we can here,” said Holmes, after handing her the sovereign and thanking her for the information she had provided. “It’s long past time for tea. Watson is used to my habits—I often eat irregularly when I’m on a case. But the two of you must be hungry.” Just then, Diana’s stomach gave a low growl. “Watson can take you back to Regent’s Park. I must go with Lestrade. We have a great deal to talk about.”
“But Mr. Holmes,” said Mary, “this man, this twisted gentleman with the low voice who looks like Punch. That’s a description of Mr. Hyde. I thought of him immediately, after we saw Molly Keane’s body. Remember that he was my father’s assistant—he has surgical knowledge.”
Holmes smiled. “That’s an interesting connection, Miss Jekyll, and one I had considered myself, which is why I allowed you to stay and participate in this investigation. But rather tenuous, don’t you think? There must be many small, twisted men in London who could wield a scalpel, and Hyde has not been seen since the Carew murder. Beware the idée fixe: you’ve been thinking of Hyde, so he seems an obvious suspect. But he also presents significant problems. We don’t even know if he’s still alive.”
“Who is this Hyde?” asked Lestrade. “Should I add him to the list of suspects?”
“I’m surprised you don’t remember,” said Holmes. “He was involved in the case I mentioned—the murder of Sir Danvers Carew, the Liberal MP who was at one point spoken of as a possible prime minister. Hyde was identified by a reliable witness as the murderer, but when the police went to arrest him, he had disappeared. He has not been heard of since, although Miss Jekyll briefly thought she was on his track.”
“Well, of course it was years ago,” said Lestrade, looking put out. “I’ll have to go through the records again. And you think this Hyde may be in London, murdering prostitutes?”
“It seems unlikely,” said Holmes. “Although I never discount the improbable until it has been proven impossible.”
“I thought the previous victims were maids and shop girls?” said Mary. Wasn’t that what the newspaper boys had been crying for the last few days?
“Oh, that’s the line we’ve been giving the newspapers, but they’re what you might call ladies of the evening right enough. I don’t think we can hold back that knowledge much longer. Imagine how much larger the headlines will be with a sex angle thrown in! And then the newspapers will start on why the London police haven’t solved these murders. Incompetence of the police—that’s how it always goes.” Lestrade pulled on his mustache and looked bitter.
“You think my father’s been going around murdering prostitutes?” said Diana. She broke into a peal of laughter.
“Now watch yourself, miss,” said Lestrade. “I don’t like young ladies getting hysterics.”