DIANA: Like the parlor, last week.
They took three omnibuses to get to the Thames embankment. They could have taken two, but as they were leaving the house, Mary thought she saw—what? Perhaps nothing. Leaning against one of the houses in the row was a beggar, hunched over in a peculiar way. But then beggars often were hunched over, weren’t they? The man was probably a drunkard. There was nothing unusual about his appearance—beggars appeared even here, in the respectable streets around Regent’s Park. But there was something furtive about him, in the way he looked at her and then immediately looked away again. Beggars usually—begged, didn’t they? Whereas he simply sat there, leaning against the wall, with his cap on the pavement in front of him. So she changed omnibuses twice in case they were being followed, although she wondered if she was being silly. Who would want to follow them, and why? Diana complained, but Beatrice nodded when Mary described the beggar she had seen and agreed that it was best to be cautious.
It was a long and tiring journey, riding on top of the omnibus when they could, or making sure Beatrice was sitting next to a window. By the end of the trip, she was heartily sick of Diana’s comments about how well she knew London and all the places she had been. But at last they alighted near the embankment and saw the Thames meandering seaward, with boats chugging up or floating down its muddy waters. Mary was very glad to see it.
They walked across the Chelsea Bridge and to the fields of Battersea Park. They did not need to ask directions to the circus: it was plain as plain could be—a circular red-and-white-striped tent clearly visible against the green fields, surrounded by smaller tents and wagons with LORENZO’S CIRCUS OF MARVELS AND DELIGHTS painted on them in garish colors.
As they drew nearer, they heard a man at the entrance to the circus tent call out, “Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys! This way for Lorenzo’s Circus of Marvels and Delights! One penny admission, and a ha’penny for the little ones! Admission to the sideshow free with your ticket! Come see Atlas the Strongman lift two Englishmen on his shoulders! Come see the Cat Woman, brought from the jungles of South America! Half woman and half ferocious beast, but for a penny she will allow you to scratch behind her ears! Come see Sasha, the famous Dog Boy of the Russian Steppes, and the Two-Headed Calf of Devonshire, and the Real Mermaid! Come see the Zulu Prince do his bloodthirsty native dances, and the Giantess, taller than any man! If any man is taller, your money back, sir! Next circus performance in an hour, ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys! Buy your tickets, a penny and ha’penny!”
“What do we do now?” asked Mary. “Catherine Moreau’s letter said she would be here, but it never told us how to recognize her.”
“Buy tickets, of course,” said Diana. “She said she was with the circus, so let’s see the circus. Anyway, I want to see Sasha the Dog Boy and the Real Mermaid.”
“Yes,” said Beatrice. “I think that would be best, would it not? Although I will stand at the entrance. Once the performance begins, there will be many people—I do not wish to be around so many, particularly in my current state. We do not know how to recognize her, but perhaps she will know how to recognize us.”
Mary went to the ticket booth, next to the circus entrance, and bought them tickets: two adults and one child. Diana could still count as a child, couldn’t she? She was small enough to pass for one, and it would save them money. “Now what?” she asked, when she had given Beatrice and Diana their tickets. “We still have an hour until the next performance.” But Diana was already heading toward the sideshow.
“Beatrice,” she said, “how long would it take you to poison that girl?”
“You would poison your own sister?” asked Beatrice, sounding shocked. Mary could imagine Beatrice’s expression behind her veil. Was it because she was Italian, or because she was poisonous, that she did not understand sarcasm?
“No, I suppose not,” she said with a sigh. “Come on, we’d better follow her. I don’t want her getting lost.” It was noon, and between the tents, circus-goers were sitting on the grass, eating lunches they had brought or purchased at the various food carts. Mary realized she had completely forgotten to bring a lunch of any sort. She was not hungry, but Diana would be, soon. Her appetite was like clockwork—you could tell time by it.
They showed their tickets at the entrance to a smaller, rectangular tent, also striped red and white, that housed the sideshow. Inside, the tent was partitioned into sections lit by openings in the cloth ceiling. At this hour, it was almost empty. They passed from section to section, each labeled with the name of the performer inside. The first contained Atlas, the Strongman. They watched as he raised a series of dumbbells, winking at them, and then offered to carry them on his shoulders. Diana almost stepped forward, but Mary grabbed hold of her collar. “Two beautiful ladies, I could lift you easily!” he said to Mary and Beatrice, while Diana silently struggled. Mary shook her head and kept a firm grip on the fabric. “No? Well, how about the gentlemen?” Two university students wearing the scarves of their colleges volunteered, and Atlas lifted them onto his shoulders. The audience, such as it was, clapped politely.
Next was Sasha the Dog Boy, who seemed rather glum but barked and howled convincingly. “He doesn’t even look like a dog,” said Diana. “He’s just hairy, that’s all. I mean, he’s wearing a Norfolk suit. Dogs don’t wear Norfolk suits, do they?”
Better than both Atlas and Sasha was Astarte, the Cat Woman from the South American jungles. She looked like a cat, with cat ears set high on her head and yellow cat eyes. She was covered with a thick pelt of yellowish-brown fur, except on her face, and had a long tail that whipped around as she walked. She snarled convincingly and showed her sharp claws. But when any of the audience members paid an extra halfpenny, she would allow them to scratch her under the chin and stroke the fur on her back and arms. Then she would purr loudly.
“Oh, she’s a sight, isn’t she?” said Diana. “Do you think her mother was a woman and her father was a cat? Do give me a ha’penny, Mary. I want to go touch her.” One of the students had paid the halfpenny and was approaching her tentatively, clearly nervous about getting too close to those claws.
“That is not possible,” said Beatrice. “The laws of heredity do not allow such matings.”
The Cat Woman turned toward her. “You,” she said, in a low voice that sounded like a growl. “Yes, you, in the dark veil. You will come scratch me, will you not? Venite, puella florum!”