“A man—or a woman,” said Beatrice. “Yes, my father was a Lamarckian. He believed that by introducing traits from plants into living men and women, he could pass those traits on to the next generation. He could direct the course of evolution, create better, stronger human beings. That was why he created me. He believed any child I bore would inherit my ability to live off organic matter and sunlight—and my natural defenses, for that was how he saw my poisonous nature. But my father had been trained as a botanist. Dr. Moreau was not interested in plants: what interested him was the division between man and animal.”
Once again, Mary felt a little lost. Her lessons with Miss Murray had not covered Lamarck. She hated the sensation that Beatrice and Catherine, and sometimes even Justine, were speaking a language she did not understand. Well, all she could do was listen carefully. This was still her case, after all, even though it had grown so much larger than when she started her investigation. But it was she who had seen Molly Keane dead on the pavement, who had gone with Mr. Holmes to question Renfield in the asylum. She must not forget that.
“Yes,” said Catherine in response to Beatrice. “It was the difference between man and animal that vexed him.” As she talked, she started to pace back and forth before the dead man, stopping and turning to them when she wished to emphasize a point. “What separated the two? If he could turn animals into men, could he not create men who were even higher, in whom the animal nature was entirely absent? Men who would have no base desires, no primitive instincts? After he was driven out of England for the cruelty of his experiments, he took the fortune he had inherited and bought a ship. He stocked it with everything he would need for an extended stay on a South Sea island, and set sail. He took with him a disgraced medical student named James Montgomery, who was willing to become his assistant under such inauspicious circumstances. Once he had found a suitable island, uninhabited and with no important animal species, he began his experiments: transforming animals into human beings. At this, he was successful—or successful enough to fool an average observer, although he was never satisfied with the result.”
“I find it difficult to believe,” said Watson. “How could an animal be imbued with human reason?”
“The proof stands before you,” said Catherine. She unbuttoned the collar of her dress—one of Mary’s day dresses that she had not worn for years because it was too tight, but Catherine was smaller than she was. She pulled the fabric back to expose her neck, then turned her head from side to side. Her face and neck were covered with a pattern of faint scars. “Am I human?” she said. “I don’t know. I have a name, Catherine, given to me by Montgomery. As a joke: Catherine, Cat in here. There is a cat in here.” She pulled up the sleeves of her dress: on her arms, too, they could see a regular pattern of scars, faint but visible in the lamplight, like a network of roads over her body.
“After Moreau had been on the island for several years, a boat carrying specimens for him, under the care of Montgomery, picked up a man who had been shipwrecked and was floating in a dinghy with two dead sailors. His name was Edward Prendick, and by one of those strange coincidences that sometimes occur in the world, he was a man of science, a biologist who had studied under Professor Huxley. Montgomery befriended him, and when the boat arrived at my father’s island, Prendick disembarked as well. One of the animals on that ship was a puma.”
Here Catherine paused, poured herself a cup of tea, and added a great deal of milk.
“That was you, wasn’t it?” said Diana. “You’re the Cat Woman.”
Catherine took a sip of her tea. “I was the puma, yes. After we disembarked, Moreau began the process that would turn me into a woman. Surgery, but also after a certain point, after my mind was receptive to it, hypnosis and education. Indoctrination. In the same room, for I was in a cage during most of the process, he sat with Prendick, drinking tea, discussing his aims and procedures.”
“That’s incredible,” said Watson. “I don’t know whether to loathe the man or admire his artistry.”
“They talked science, history, politics. Moreau had been alone with Montgomery for a long time. I think it was a relief for him to talk to someone who was not yet infected with the melancholy of living among the Beast Men. So I listened, as my ability to comprehend their speech grew, and learned more from their conversations than what Moreau was trying to teach me. The history of the Alchemical Society, for example. Moreau invited Prendick to join and explained the aims of the society, the work it had done over the centuries.
“Prendick was horrified, but fascinated. Day after day, he heard my screams of agony, for in that first stage, Moreau would not use anesthetic. He said it complicated the procedure, that pain was a necessary part of the process. Prendick would come and look at me in the cage, watch me being transformed into a woman. He saw the first light of recognition, of reason, in my eyes. And he was there the day I escaped.”
“How did you manage it?” asked Mary. What a strange story this was. Several days ago, she would not have believed it. But was it any more incredible than her father turning into Hyde?
“I was almost healed by then. Moreau himself, who was rarely satisfied with his creations, said I was his masterpiece. His previous attempts at creating Beast Women had been failures. He had never before been able to get the delicate formation of the fingers, or the contours of the face. The few Beast Women on the island were poor, malformed creatures. But the ship that brought me had also brought a new set of German surgical instruments. With those, and with patience and the most precise technique, he created me. It took months.”
“His technique is remarkable,” said Holmes. “I would not have distinguished you from a human woman.”
Catherine opened her mouth in a snarl. Moreau had reduced their length and sharpness, but she still had fangs. They would not be visible unless her lips were drawn back, as they were now. But they would nevertheless be deadly.
Holmes smiled. “I meant that as a compliment.”
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” said Catherine. “But you see that I am not entirely human. I could, in a moment, bite through your throat.”
Holmes bowed in acknowledgment.
MARY: Did you really say that, or are you showing off?
CATHERINE: If I didn’t say it, I should have, don’t you think?