“Give me a halfpenny,” said Beatrice to Mary, holding out a gloved hand.
Wondering, Mary handed her one. After the student had taken his turn, Beatrice walked up to the Cat Woman, handed her the coin, and then leaned close, scratching her behind the ears. Mary could hear a murmur, and then the usual loud purr of the Cat Woman. What was Beatrice doing?
In a moment, Beatrice returned, and the Cat Woman was saying, “Anyone else wish to scratch behind my ears or under my chin today? You, sir?” She looked at the other student with her yellow eyes and smiled enigmatically.
“Let us keep walking,” said Beatrice. “I will explain when we are out of this tent.”
The two-headed calf was indeed two-headed, but otherwise looked exactly like a calf. The Real Mermaid was utterly unconvincing. “They could at least have hidden the seams on her fish tail,” said Diana. The Giantess had evidently retired with a headache, and the Zulu Prince performed his bloodthirsty native dances with abandon, but Mary could see that on the stool he occupied when not performing, he had left a copy of Middlemarch, with a stray ticket marking his place.
At last they emerged from the tent. “What was all that about?” asked Mary.
“The Cat Woman is Catherine Moreau,” said Beatrice. “She told me to find her tent and meet her there once the circus begins. Then the sideshow will close and she will no longer be on display. It’s the one next to the green wagon.”
“How did you know it was her?” asked Diana.
“She spoke to me in Latin,” said Beatrice. “I suppose Dr. Moreau must have taught her Latin, as my father taught me.” Mary felt a pang of jealously. Her father had never taught her Latin, never taught her much of anything, despite those displays in his laboratory—but then, he had died when she was only seven. If he had lived, would he have taught her more? And would she have been better off? She remembered the letter: 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. Perhaps she would have been worse off, much worse. Would he have conducted experiments on her? Or Diana? And anyway, if her hypothesis was correct, at that point he had irrevocably become Hyde. Perhaps it was best, after all, for both of them that their father had died before he could do more damage than he had already done. After all, look at Beatrice. . . .
Then, as she had predicted, they had to stop at one of the carts and buy a meat pie for Diana, because she insisted that she was so famished, she might faint at any moment. Mary could not think of food at such a time, and when Beatrice was asked what she wanted, she said, “A glass of water, please.” What did Beatrice do for lunch, anyway? Soak up sunlight?
“Could you try not to eat that entire pie in one mouthful?” said Mary. But before she could finish the sentence, it had already disappeared into Diana’s mouth, and she was wiping off the crumbs with the back of one hand. Well, at least lunch had not taken long.
They found the tent, the last in a row of smaller striped tents that housed the circus performers, next to a green wagon that looked as though it might have contained an animal, for its sides were barred. They lifted the tent flap and entered. Beatrice drew her veil back over her hat, and Mary looked around her. The tent was divided into two sections by a curtain. In the section they had entered, they saw a camp bed, a folding table and chair, and a large trunk with its lid thrown back. It was filled with clothes, which were also scattered over both the bed and chair. Catherine Moreau was not very neat in her habits.
MARY: She still isn’t.
As their eyes adjusted to the dim light in the tent, Catherine entered after them and closed the flap.
“I’m so glad that’s over!” she said. She no longer spoke in a low growl—now, she sounded like an ordinary Englishwoman. “I usually don’t mind the performance, but in this circumstance I wanted to get away as quickly as possible.” She put her hands to her throat and fumbled there for a moment. Then she put her hands on her ears and lifted off—not only the ears, but the entire cat head. Underneath, she had dark brown hair coiled into braids so it would lie flat under the headpiece. She unbuttoned the invisible buttons of her cat outfit and took that off as well, attached claws and all, dropping it into the trunk. Her body was also brown, but hairy only where women’s bodies are usually hairy. Mary blushed and looked away, but not before she had seen the network of lighter scars that covered Catherine Moreau’s body. She was not accustomed to women stripping themselves naked in front of her. Catherine pulled on an orange kimono embroidered with cranes from the pile of clothes on the cot.
“How did you recognize me?” asked Beatrice.
“By your smell,” said Catherine. “You don’t smell entirely human.” She looked curiously at Mary and Diana, as though trying to determine who they might be.
“And so you spoke to me,” said Beatrice. “I understand. Are you—Dr. Moreau’s daughter? If so, I offer my condolences on your father’s death.”
“His daughter! I suppose you could call me that. He did, and gave me his surname himself. But I am, more accurately, one of his—creations. Perhaps we should talk of this after you’ve introduced your friends?” Without her cat suit, Catherine looked like an ordinary woman, but her yellow eyes still had something wild in their depths.
MARY: Oh please! You’re turning yourself into one of your own heroines. Something wild in their depths, indeed!
Mary quailed a bit at the sight of her.
MARY: I certainly did not!
“These are Mary Jekyll and Diana Hyde,” said Beatrice. “They rescued me from the man who was holding me captive, and we can rescue you as well.”
“I’m not being held captive,” said Catherine. “This is the way I earn my living. It may not be the most dignified way, but it’s better than selling myself under some bridge.” She looked more closely at Mary. “Jekyll—I remember that name. Wasn’t he also a member—”
“Of the Société des Alchimistes? Yes,” said Mary. “We’re trying to find out as much about the society as we can. If there’s any information you could give us . . .”
Catherine threw back her head and laughed. Mary had expected it to sound animalistic, but her laughter was entirely human. “Information! Oh yes, we could give you information about our fathers’ precious society!”
“Who’s we?” asked Diana.
Catherine looked at each of them, as though assessing them individually. Then she said, “It’s all right,” not to them but to the curtain dividing the tent. “It’s all right to come out.”
Mary braced herself. Was this some sort of deception? Were they about to be attacked?