“Run!” said Mary. “Follow the path on the right!” She turned and started running down the path that curved around the park, with the hedge on her right and tall trees to her left. It seemed safer than the long, straight path that led to the gazebo, and would take them to the corner near the Royal College of Surgeons. There, she remembered, was another street leading back—she was almost sure—to High Holborn. That was their escape. She turned back to make sure the others were following—Diana darted past her, and she could see Watson trying to help Beatrice, who waved him off, making certain even as she ran that he did not touch her. Mary turned to catch up with Diana. They ran through the shadows, their boots landing with dull thuds on the dirt path. Then, the Royal College of Surgeons loomed up on their left. To their right was the opening in the gate and the road Mary had noticed that morning. They were almost there, almost at the street that led to their escape, and still there was no pursuit.
Suddenly, they heard a sound that struck a chill into all their hearts.
DIANA: Not mine.
MARY: I don’t believe that for a minute.
It was the dog, barking and growling in the open air. It had been let out, and was making straight for them across the grass, under the trees. They could see it as a vague black shape in the darkness, but mostly they could hear it, drawing closer.
“I hate to shoot a dog,” said Watson. “But in this case, I have no choice.”
“No!” said Beatrice. “A pistol shot will merely draw more attention to us. Fidelis knows me. Let me handle him.”
“Madam, I think that would be unwise,” said Watson. But Beatrice had already turned back. She was holding her hands out to the large black dog, who approached her warily, with barks, but refrained from attacking.
“Fidelis, sweet Fidelis,” she said, coaxingly. “Come to me, sweetheart. Who gave you gingerbread yesterday?”
Evidently, Fidelis remembered the gingerbread. He stopped barking and drew nearer. Beatrice put her hand on his head, then leaned down and breathed on him, long and steadily over his entire face. The black dog sat, then lay down as though tired, and twitched for a moment. And then he was still.
Beatrice looked up at them, and even in the darkness Mary could see that her face was wet with tears. “I did not mean to . . . Oh, he has made me too poisonous! I meant only to render Fidelis unconscious for a while.”
“Madam, that was a most impressive demonstration,” said Watson.
“This isn’t the time for compliments,” said Mary. Could Watson not see how upset Beatrice was? And what did she mean—who had made her too poisonous? But this was no time to inquire. “To the right and up the street! We need to lose ourselves in the crowd.”
They ran up the street, emerging on King’s Way, then merged with the crowd as best they could, heading toward Piccadilly Circus. Although it was late—Mary checked her watch again and found that it was after midnight—the roads were still choked with carts and wagons. On the sidewalks, beggars asked for pence and fancily dressed women greeted potential customers. Which was all the better for them—there was less of a chance they would be seen in the London traffic.
At Piccadilly Circus, they caught a hackney carriage. “You must lower the windows,” said Beatrice. “Cover your mouths with handkerchiefs, and do not breathe too deeply. Forgive me, I would change my nature if I could. I shall always be what I am—a danger to others. But my toxicity will lessen with time. Professor Petronius insisted that I ingest poison every day, to make certain I would kill his specimens as effectively and dramatically as possible. Tonight, I am sorry to say, it has ensured our escape. Under ordinary circumstances, I could not have killed Fidelis so quickly. Would that he had survived! He was a good creature, and did only as his master bade him.”
“How terrible!” said Mary. She and Watson pulled down the windows, none too soon because she was beginning to feel light-headed. Luckily she had an extra handkerchief for Diana, who had of course forgotten hers. “Why did you stay with him if he treated you so badly?”
“I was told the college would find a way to make me—ordinary, not mortal to my kind. I hoped it was true, but came to realize that his sole motive was profit. The college was benefitting from his fees—there was no incentive to cure my condition.”
Beatrice looked out the window, taking in the sights and sounds of London at night: the rows of gas lamps, the continual life of the city, cabs and carts and gentlemen’s broughams moving through the streets even at this late hour. “It’s magnificent!” she said. “I’ve seen so little of London since I’ve been here. Before arriving, I spent several weeks in Paris, hoping the French physicians, so famous for their art, could find a cure for me, but to no avail. I had already been to Milan and Vienna. So I came to the largest city in the world, hoping that here, if nowhere else, I could be cured. By the time I arrived, I had no money left, and Professor Petronius offered me a way to at least keep body and soul together. At first he wanted to put me in a freak show and tour through the countryside, but displaying me as a scientific oddity proved more lucrative. So here I am, still with no way to sustain myself, and no cure for my condition. Ah, sometimes I wish that I had died in Padua!”
“Don’t say that,” said Mary. “You’re among friends now. We’ll help you as best we can.” But how could she help the Poisonous Girl? A perfume seemed to emanate from Beatrice, like the scent of an exotic flower. That’s the poison, she thought. She put her head out the window to gulp mouthfuls of London air, with its miasma of coal dust, manure, and the general doings of six million inhabitants. Still, it was preferable to Beatrice’s sweet toxicity. They were almost at Marylebone, she noticed with relief. Soon, they would be home. And then what?
The house was dark when Mary let them all in, but almost immediately Mrs. Poole came bustling up from the kitchen. “I’ve been waiting up, watching for you!” she said. “This must be the Italian lady. You’re most welcome here, miss.”
“Thank you,” said Beatrice. “And I apologize for any trouble I have caused, or am about to cause. It is most kind of you to welcome me into this beautiful home.”
MRS. POOLE: Now that’s manners, that is. If you had been so polite, Miss Diana, you would have gotten a different reception.
“Oh, stuff it,” said Diana. “The question is, where is she going to sleep? I don’t want her anywhere near me! I just about threw up in the carriage.”
“I must sleep far away from any of you,” said Beatrice. “What is the most distant part of the house?”
“My father’s laboratory,” said Mary. “It’s across the courtyard. Mrs. Poole, can you make up a bed for Beatrice in there, for the night?”
“She could sleep on the sofa in his office,” said Mrs. Poole. “Dr. Jekyll often slept there when conducting his experiments. I’ll bring up a pillow and some blankets. I finished cleaning and airing it out today, so at least it won’t be dusty for you, miss.”
Before bidding them good night, Watson said to Mary, “You will be careful, won’t you? Miss Rappaccini is a lovely woman—I have seldom seen anyone more beautiful—but I do not want her to make you and your sister ill. If the responsibility becomes too much, Holmes and I will find other accommodations for her.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Mary. “Let us see how the night goes. I’ll know better in the morning what is to be done.”