There were questions: What did Miss Rappaccini eat? How long would it take her to poison a full-grown man? Who did her hair?
While Professor Petronius answered them, Mary slipped closer to where Beatrice stood on the platform. How could she communicate with the Poisonous Girl? There had been no indication that she spoke anything but Italian. Quickly, Mary drew a pencil from her purse. Did she have any paper? Yes, the pamphlet—she tore off a corner, scribbled on it the letters she had seen on the watch fob in Molly Keane’s hand and the seal on the mysterious letters from Budapest, and held it out, whispering as loudly as she dared, “Miss Rappaccini.”
Beatrice heard her and turned her head. For a moment, Mary was not certain whether she would take the note. But then, she took a step toward Mary and held out her hand. Mary placed it on her palm—she could not help being glad that she, like Professor Petronius, was wearing gloves. How far did Miss Rappaccini’s baleful influence extend? Beatrice glanced at the note. When she saw the letters, her expression changed: for the first time, she looked interested, alive. “What is your name?” she asked in a low voice.
“Mary Jekyll,” Mary replied.
“Wait for me in the park,” said Beatrice. “I will try to get away, although it will be difficult—he watches me all the time. But wait for me. I will be there when I can.”
It was obvious, from Beatrice’s furtive glance at Professor Petronius, that she did not want to speak further in the exhibition hall. Mary nodded. Their conversation would have to wait.
She looked around for Diana. Where had the girl gone? Mary assumed she had been standing beside her all this time, but no—Diana had slipped away and was on the far side of the room, staring at one of the glass cases. Mary pushed through the crowd, which was still questioning Professor Petronius.
“Do you ever do as you’re told?” she said to Diana when she had made her way to the case.
“No,” said Diana without turning. “Look, it’s the skeleton of Charles Byrne, the Irish Giant. Seven feet tall, he was. And there’s the brain of some kind of mathematical bloke. I’ve never seen a brain before.”
Mary glanced over: the jar was labeled BRAIN OF CHARLES BABBAGE, MATHEMATICIAN.
“Diana, we don’t have time to look at all these things, not right now.” She told Diana about the note she had passed to the Poisonous Girl and Beatrice’s reaction. “We need to go wait in the park. That professor—I think she’s afraid of him. She said that she had to get away from him, to meet us. We need to go wait for her, so we’re there when she has the opportunity.”
It was difficult to drag Diana away from such a tempting display of grotesquerie, of fetuses in jars, some of them with two heads or four arms, or only one eye. Of tumors and abnormalities. But Mary took a firm hold of her coat collar and pulled.
DIANA: My favorite was Charles Byrne. I’d never seen a giant before.
JUSTINE: He was not a giant, simply a very tall man. There is nothing wrong with being tall.
DIANA: Says you. Of course you don’t think it’s abnormal, any more than Beatrice thinks it’s abnormal to go around poisoning people.
BEATRICE: But I know perfectly well it’s abnormal, I assure you. Justine’s height is not extraordinary—for a man. For a woman, yes. But as she says, there is nothing wrong with being different.
DIANA: Oh, come off it! You’re both freaks. Just like me.
Outside, the rain had started again—not a proper rain, but a sort of mist that fell from the sky and covered their clothes in water drops. Mary put up her umbrella. They crossed the street and once again entered the park, then followed the central walk around and around the gazebo, trying to keep warm. It must have been half an hour before they saw a woman hurrying toward them. She was wrapped in a thick shawl, and Mary did not immediately recognize her. She looked so different than she had in the exhibit hall. But as she drew closer, her graceful movements identified her as Beatrice Rappaccini.
“Miss Jekyll,” she said. “Please forgive me, my English is not always adequate to my wishes.” Her English was, in fact, perfect—although she spoke with a lilting Italian accent. “I must speak with you, but there is no time. Fortunately, Petronius has been detained by one of the trustees of the college—I believe he owes the college a considerable sum for allowing him to put on my shows. But he will be along any minute, and then I will not be able to speak freely. I agreed to these shows because he promised that the physicians of the college would attempt to heal me of this dreadful curse, but he has made so much money that he has no interest in my cure—he has become greedy, and I believe he will not willingly let me go. Each night, he locks me in, but even if I were to escape, where would I go in this country? I have no friends in England. Except perhaps you—I have heard your name mentioned, and I am familiar with your father’s work. He must have told you about the Société, or you would not have handed me that piece of paper. Have you come to help me? This must be your—servant?” She looked at Diana curiously.
“This is my—sister, Diana Hyde,” said Mary. “This Société—Society—what is it? I don’t understand.”
“Hyde! This is Hyde’s offspring?” Beatrice looked astonished. “How could your father have done something so disastrous? Allowing Hyde to reproduce himself. I cannot believe it.”
“Hey, who are you calling disastrous, poison breath?” said Diana.
“Then you know what this is all about?” said Mary. “These experiments . . .”
“Yes, of course,” said Beatrice. “I was my father’s assistant. I took his notes and made fair copies of his papers for the journal of the Société. But you—do you truly not know? About the transmutations, the Société des Alchimistes? Your father died when you were still young. He must not have had time to explain . . .”
“Don’t look now,” said Diana, “but Professor Whiskers is coming this way.”
It was indeed Professor Petronius, walking down the path toward them.
“He is no professor,” said Beatrice scornfully. “He has no degree, no qualifications whatsoever! Look, I live in that building. . . .” She pointed to a tall gray house on the other side of the park. “My room is the only one occupied on the second floor. The window faces the back. But I don’t know how I could get out. As I said, he locks me in every night, and I am watched during the day.”
“We’ll help you,” said Mary. “I don’t know how, but we will. We’ll just have to figure it out.”
Professor Petronius was almost upon them.
“Oh sir,” Mary called, turning to him. “Thank you so much for your wonderful lecture! I was just telling Miss Rappaccini how much I enjoyed it, although she probably doesn’t understand me, does she, being a foreigner? But my pupil and I thought it was so interesting! This is my pupil, Diana. Her mother gave us permission to come see the show. We enjoyed it ever so much!”