“How could Mary have brought it?” said Diana. “She didn’t know this morning that you would be interested, and anyway, it’s been raining all day. Only an idiot would bring an important letter out in the rain.”
Mr. Holmes smiled. “You are correct, Miss Hyde, and I stand rebuked. I apologize, Miss Jekyll. Perhaps we can examine this letter at a later date?”
“Of course,” said Mary. She did not know whether to be angry at Diana for her rudeness or grateful for her support.
DIANA: I only said it because he was being an idiot.
MARY: You said it because you wanted to protect me. Because despite your insufferable behavior, you love your sister. That’s why.
DIANA: If you kiss me again, I’m going to hit you.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “this society was conducting experiments in transmutation . . .”
“And what may that be?” asked Watson.
“Transmutation was the goal of the medieval alchemists,” said Holmes. “They were attempting to turn base metals into gold. It sounds as though these modern alchemists are attempting something more complicated: Moreau’s experiments point toward a biological transmutation. He was attempting to create new species, to alter the fundamental material of life itself. But Miss Jekyll, remember that the only connection between the murders and this society remains the initials on a fob torn from a watch chain—initials that could have another meaning altogether. And we have a confession on our hands. Watson, I believe you made a copy of the telegram Lestrade received last night?” He added, with a shade of sarcasm, “Watson always takes notes, in case he wishes to write up one of our adventures later.”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” said Watson. He drew a small notebook out of his breast pocket, opened it, and read, “RE WHITECHAPEL MURDERS RENFIELD A LUNATIC MISSING TWO WEEKS RETURNED LAST NIGHT AND CONFESSED TO MURDERS HOLDING AT PURFLEET ASYLUM PLEASE SEND POLICE INSPECTOR AS SOON AS POSSIBLE GABRIEL BALFOUR M.D. That does seem fairly definitive, Miss Jekyll.”
“How do you know?” asked Diana. “You haven’t even talked to him yet. How do you know he’s not making the whole thing up? He’s a lunatic.”
“That’s why we’re going to interview him,” said Holmes. “I believe we’re approaching Purfleet.”
And they were. The train drew into the station. Mary gathered up her belongings, as well as Diana’s. The girl was fourteen—couldn’t she keep track of her hat, at least? But Mary had to remind her to put it back on her head. She remembered all the times she had longed for a sister, someone to play with and later, someone to help with the household. And now she had one. A completely annoying one! Still, she could not help saying, “Here, hold still,” and straightening Diana’s hat, which was of course askew, before they left the compartment.
DIANA: I don’t see the point of hats.
MARY: They’re a social convention. One wears them because one is expected to, whether one needs them or not.
DIANA: How does that contradict what I just said?
JUSTINE: For once, I agree with Diana. I don’t see the point of following social conventions. Why wear a hat unless it is cold outside? An umbrella keeps the rain off your head, a parasol keeps the sun out of your eyes. Why follow social conventions if they’re silly?
CATHERINE: Because we’re unusual enough without drawing additional attention to ourselves.
Mary was so used to the crowds and smog of London that she looked in wonder at Purfleet, with its orderly shops and detached houses surrounded by small gardens. It was not the country exactly, but as they walked from the train station into the center of town, they passed the Thames, flowing between banks covered with grass and furze, so different from the embankment in London. On the other side of the road grew oaks and beeches, beyond which she could see a wilderness of marshland. The closest she had come to wilderness for many years was Kensington Gardens. She was delighted to have left the city behind, if only for a little while.
When was the last time she had left London? Yes, the visit to her grandfather when she was a child. Her father had still been alive, and they had traveled by train for most of a day. She remembered watching the city disappear, and then green fields and hills proceed past the train window. In Yorkshire, there had been a large country house and an even larger garden, with quince trees. Each morning, the housekeeper had put glass jars of golden quince jam on the breakfast table. Mary had ridden a pony in the paddock, and her mother had shown her how to make a necklace of oxeye daisies. She had made one for her mother, but it was too small, and her mother had laughed, then worn it on her head as a crown. Was that the last time she remembered her mother happy? For there had been a quarrel—between her father and grandfather, she remembered, about evolution. Her grandfather had denounced it as blasphemy, and her father had called him—something dreadful, and they had left early.
“It’s lovely here,” she said.
“Give me London any day,” said Diana. “I don’t know how anyone can live in this racket. What is it, anyway?”
“Birdsong,” said Watson. “You would become accustomed to it in time, Miss Hyde.”
Diana snorted. They were walking together, some steps behind Holmes, Lestrade, and Sergeant Evans, who were discussing how best to approach the coming interview.
The asylum was beyond the town and past an old chalk quarry. Mary was tired when they arrived. It had already been a long day. Perhaps she should not have come? And this might be a false lead after all. The lunatic might be making it all up. She glanced at Diana, who complained often enough, but never seemed to tire. Well, there was no turning back now. Although what Mrs. Poole would think of all this, she did not know.
MRS. POOLE: I was worried sick because I had no idea where you were or when you were coming back. As far as I knew, you’d been poisoned by that Poisonous Girl in the advertisement. Imagine leaving the city without telling me!
MARY: I’m sorry, Mrs. Poole. Truly, I am. I can apologize again if you would like.
MRS. POOLE: That won’t be necessary, miss. Just don’t do it again. Unless you absolutely have to, I mean. I know how you girls get when you’re in the middle of an adventure.
“Holmes,” said Lestrade when they were standing at the front gates of the asylum, “I don’t want those girls anywhere near a dangerous lunatic. Do you understand? He’s already killed four that we know of. I don’t want an injury—or even a death—on my hands.”
“He’s confessed to killing four, which is an altogether different thing,” said Holmes. “I understand your concerns, Lestrade, but I would like Miss Jekyll to be present at the interview. If this man had any connection with her father, she may remember him from her childhood.”