“Yes, of course,” said Mary. Whatever her cook could provide. As though she had a cook! And was there enough food in the house for two men? She imagined they would want a proper meal. Men did, didn’t they? She wished that she could have spoken to Mrs. Poole before leaving for Purfleet. At least she had money now. She put her hand on her purse and almost patted it, in the comforting knowledge that it contained a whole pound in change. But would it do her any good? By the time they reached the house, the shops would be closed. Perhaps Mrs. Poole could send for something from a pub.
But there was to be no time for a reading of the letters, not that day. At Fenchurch Street, they found a hackney carriage, the kind popularly known as a growler for the noise of its wheels on the cobbled streets, to take them back to Park Terrace. As they jolted along the London thoroughfares, on which the lamps had already been lit, Mary wondered if she would be facing the wrath of Mrs. Poole, left with no information as to where they had gone or when they would be back, and expected to produce dinner as though by magic.
MRS. POOLE: Wrath! Well, I never. When have any of you ever faced my wrath?
JUSTINE: Yesterday.
BEATRICE: You remember, Mrs. Poole. When you realized we hadn’t cleaned up in the parlor after our meeting with Prince Rupert.
MRS. POOLE: Well, I can’t abide it when you girls leave a mess. It’s just me and Alice looking after the lot of you, as you know. It’s not as though we have any other servants in this house. Alice was up until all hours sweeping up the broken glass.
ALICE: I don’t mind, Mrs. Poole.
MARY: We were trying to capture the masked men who had shot at the Prince. We would have caught them, too, if they hadn’t jumped on the back steps of an omnibus. Why is it that one can never find a cab in London when one really needs it? And when we got back, we had to take care of Prince Rupert, who had fainted on the sofa. I’m sorry—we would have cleaned it up the next morning. It was just the glass cover for the wax flowers. I’m afraid the flowers are shot to bits, though. And I think there’s a hole in one of Justine’s paintings.
BEATRICE: I never liked those flowers anyway. I would not have shot at them of course, but now we can buy something new at Harrods. Something modern, in the style they call l’art nouveau.
MARY: As soon as you start speaking French, I know it’s going to be expensive.
MRS. POOLE: In my day, young ladies had nothing to do with masked men, or princes, or madcap chases through the streets. I can’t stop you from having these adventures, but I insist on keeping a decent house.
As the carriage drove up to 11 Park Terrace, Charlie leaped off the steps, where he had been waiting.
“Mr. Holmes!” he said. “Old Carrot Top wants you right away. There’s been another murder.”
“Another!” said Watson. “How is that possible? Renfield has been under observation since he returned to Purfleet. Did he somehow manage to escape?”
“I don’t know about any Renfield,” said Charlie. “But this afternoon another doxy was killed, same way as the last one. And her brain was missing!”
“What!” said Holmes sharply. “Are you quite certain?”
“That’s what Carrot Top told me. Inspector Lestrade, I mean. I ain’t seen her for myself. He found Tommy in front of Scotland Yard and sent him to find me. He said to bring you as soon as I could. I figured you’d be coming back here or to Baker Street. Tommy’s watching for you there.”
“If her brain was taken—that’s the first time any of these crimes have been repeated,” said Mary.
“So you noticed that as well?” said Holmes. “Watson, stay with Miss Jekyll and her sister. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Driver, can you take me to Scotland Yard?”
“Aye, sir. Hop on back in,” said the driver. And then Holmes was off again. They stood looking at the back of the carriage as it drove away from them down the street.
“Well,” said Mary. It was all she could think of to say.
Suddenly, the door opened behind them. “Where have you been?” said Mrs. Poole.
Dinner consisted of Irish stew, since Mrs. Poole did not consider cold meats sufficient for a gentleman of Dr. Watson’s reputation. Mary said it would take too long, but “I made it this morning,” said Mrs. Poole. “I thought it would be cheap, and last several days for you girls. It’ll just be a matter of warming it up, and I bought some rolls at Maudie’s. Ladies may go hungry, but gentlemen have to eat, you know.” She was rather intimidated by Watson, and bustled around making sure he was comfortable. She even whispered to Mary that they should open a bottle of Dr. Jekyll’s port. They ate in the dining room, with its large mahogany table, which had not been used in—how many years? Mary could not remember. How strange it was to sit there now, with Watson and Diana.
MRS. POOLE: Me, intimidated by Dr. Watson? Stuff and nonsense.
JUSTINE: Is there really a hole in my painting? The one of the girl holding sunflowers? I was hoping to sell that one at the Grosvenor. . . .
The stew was a success, filling and hearty, with beef and potatoes and carrots. Watson thanked Mrs. Poole for the port, but would accept only a glass, and insisted that Mary have a glass as well. “You’ll need it to keep your spirits up tonight,” he said. “It will be cold, and dark, and our mission is dangerous.”
“What about me?” said Diana. “I need my spirits kept up too, you know.”
“Your spirits are already high enough,” said Mary.
They ate as quickly as they could, punctuated by Diana’s slurping and Mary’s “For goodness’ sake, stop that! It’s a disgusting habit.”
As they sat at the table over the remains of dinner and empty coffee cups, Watson said, “Are you ladies ready?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be, I suppose,” said Mary. “How ever am I going to tell Mrs. Poole what we’re up to?”
“I find the direct way is always best,” said Watson.
So when Mrs. Poole came back into the dining room to clear the table, Mary said, “Mrs. Poole, I’m afraid we’re going out again tonight. Beatrice Rappaccini, the girl in the advertisement, is being held captive near Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and we need to rescue her.”
“Well, wrap up warmly,” said Mrs. Poole. “I don’t want either of you catching a cold.”
“Either of us?” said Diana.
“Yes, either of you!” said Mrs. Poole. “With a cold, you’d be even more trouble than you are now, Miss Scamp!”
MARY: You didn’t object at all, Mrs. Poole!
MRS. POOLE: There was someone needed rescuing. I’ve never objected when it’s really important, have I?
They took a cab toward Lincoln’s Inn Fields, asking the cabbie to let them out on High Holborn Street. From High Holborn, they turned into a smaller street—it was Searle, Mary remembered from that morning, although she could not have seen the sign at this hour. The streets were lit, and they walked along the pavement through pools of lamplight, but the park at the center of the square was a tangle of shadows cast by tree limbs. She held Watson’s arm so they would look like a married couple, with Diana as their daughter. As they passed the house Beatrice had pointed out to Mary and Diana earlier that day, they noticed a light in one of the ground floor windows.