“Oh yes,” said Diana. “Especially when she killed the canary. That was prime! I hope we get to see it again.”
“Well, only if your mother lets us. Thank you again, Professor. It was all so fascinating.”
“Thank you, ladies,” he said, taking Beatrice by the arm. Mary noticed that although he bowed to them politely enough, his grip on Beatrice’s arm was firm. Up close, his dyed whiskers made him look even more like a charlatan, and his teeth were stained with tobacco. “Do come again, with your mother’s permission of course. A shilling and sixpence. Now if you’ll excuse us, Miss Rappaccini has a show again in an hour.”
He hurried Beatrice away. Mary and Diana watched them depart, the man in the top hat and the woman wrapped in a shawl. He was still holding her arm when they went into the building Beatrice had pointed out.
“We have to rescue her,” said Mary.
“Got any bright ideas?” asked Diana.
“Not a single one. Not at the moment. But we have an appointment with Mr. Holmes. We can at least tell him what we’ve learned about S.A.”
“And what’s that?” said Diana.
“Well, what the initials mean. It has to be the society Beatrice mentioned: the Société des Alchimistes. Although I don’t understand why a scientific society would want to murder girls and take their body parts. . . .”
“Unless they want to use those body parts in experiments,” said Diana.
Mary stared at her sister. The rain started again. She could hear it patter on the leaves of the trees above, and then on the pavement. “That’s horrible. That’s—well, just horrible.” She remembered the words of the letter from Italy: You have a daughter, have you not? Surely she is old enough for you to begin the process, in whatever direction you decide will yield the most promising results. Experiments—on girls. What had the letter said about the female brain being more malleable? Molly Keane’s brain had been missing . . . why?
“Are we going to just stand here?” asked Diana. “I’m getting wet.”
“Well, get under the umbrella.” Mary consulted her wristwatch, then thought for a moment. “I hate to spend money on transportation, but I told Dr. Watson we would meet them at noon, and it’s half past eleven. Let’s catch an omnibus back to Baker Street.”
“That’s more like it,” said Diana. “You’ve spent the morning dragging me all over the city. The least you could do is pay for a bus. And buy me something to eat.”
They bought half a dozen currant buns for tuppence and ate them as they rode in the omnibus. Luckily, the bus was almost empty and they could sit inside, dry although not particularly warm or comfortable. They disembarked on Marylebone Road, walked up Baker Street, and rang the bell at 221B. Mrs. Hudson led them right up the stairs and knocked on the door. “Mr. Holmes, it’s Miss Jekyll and—a friend,” she said, looking at Diana dubiously. Diana still had crumbs on her collar. Mary wiped them away hastily with her handkerchief.
“Let them in, Mrs. Hudson,” called Holmes. “The door is unlocked.”
Mary pushed open the door and stepped into the parlor. It was just as disorganized as the last time she had visited, with the skulls on the mantelpiece, the specimen jars on shelves, and furniture covered in books and ash. Holmes turned to her with a smile and Watson bowed, but a third man in the room frowned. It was Inspector Lestrade.
“You again!” he said. “The case is closed, Miss Jekyll. The murderer has confessed. So you can take yourself home to your embroidery, which is what young ladies should be doing, rather than interfering with murder investigations. And take that hellcat with you,” he added, seeing Diana.
“Although Lestrade has expressed himself so rudely, I’m afraid he’s right,” said Holmes. “There has been a confession. A madman by the name of Renfield claims he committed the murders. We’re on our way to Purfleet Asylum to interview him.”
“A confession!” said Mary. “Then perhaps what we’ve found doesn’t matter after all.”
“And what have you found?” asked Holmes.
“S.A.,” said Diana. “It’s some kind of society.”
“We believe it may refer to a Société des Alchimistes,” said Mary. “Have you heard of it, Mr. Holmes? My father belonged to it, and so did two scientists named Rappaccini and Moreau. I believe they corresponded regularly about the activities of the society. We found a letter from Dr. Rappaccini to my father in which he mentions experimenting on girls.”
“Moreau—I’ve heard that name before,” said Watson.
“Intriguing,” said Holmes. “This may have nothing to do with the murders, Miss Jekyll, but I would like you to tell me as much as you know about this society.”
“Holmes!” said Lestrade. “There’s no time if we’re going to make it to Purfleet and back before the end of the day.”
“Well then, Miss Jekyll will simply have to come with us. You won’t mind a rather long trip, will you? We need to take a train from Fenchurch Street. You can tell me what you discovered on the train. Watson, will you hand me my coat?”
“Absolutely not!” said Lestrade. “Holmes, this is too much, even for you. Much as I dislike Miss Jekyll’s interference, and Miss Hyde in general, I will not take them into a madhouse.”
“Then they can wait outside,” said Holmes. “Miss Jekyll, are you coming?”
“Yes, of course,” said Mary. “I’ve never been to an insane asylum.” Yet another thing she had never done before. But this was different from going to Whitechapel or inside a society to save fallen women. This would be the sort of place her mother might have been sent, or ended up, if she had not died. Once again Mary remembered her mother in those last days. Did she truly want to go to such a place? On the other hand, she did not want the mystery to be solved without her. And now there was this new mystery, of the Société des Alchimistes.
“I’m not afraid of madmen,” said Diana. “I used to see them all the time, wandering around Whitechapel. They would sleep on the stoops or in the park. Sometimes they were the only ones who made sense.”
“I apologize, Miss Jekyll, that you haven’t at least had time to dry off,” said Watson. “You see how things are around here—I’m afraid this is standard procedure for Holmes. Are you certain you’re willing to undertake this journey?”
“Yes, it’s quite all right,” said Mary. “I would like to tell you both what we’ve found. And we need your help—but I’ll tell you more about it on the train.”