Even in the darkness, Mary could see that Alice had her arms wrapped around herself. She took off her mackintosh and draped it over the girl’s shoulders. “There, put your arms into the sleeves and button up the front. It’s too cold for a nightgown. How ever did you end up at the Magdalen Society? I thought you were going back to your family in . . . the country somewhere? I don’t think you ever told us.”
“Will you be angry, miss, if I tell you that I lied to you and Mrs. Poole? There weren’t no family in the country, just a charity school. My mum left me at an orphanage when I was only a baby. Guess she couldn’t take care of me herself. When I was old enough to learn my letters, I was sent to the School for Impoverished Children in Spitalfields. I’ve never been outside London.”
“But you told me about milking cows and gathering eggs!” It was difficult to believe that Alice—shy, silent Alice—had lied, particularly to Mrs. Poole. Why, Mary herself wouldn’t have been brave enough to lie to the housekeeper.
MRS. POOLE: She knows I’ve forgiven her. Alice is a good girl, and won’t do it again.
ALICE: Thank you, Mrs. Poole.
“Aye, one of the other girls was from the country,” said Alice. “At the school there were two kinds: girls whose parents paid for them, though little enough it was, and girls who had no parents, and who were paid for by subscription. That was me, one of the charity girls. My friend was one of the paid girls—her dad paid for her, because her mother had died and her stepmother didn’t like her. We shared a bed, and at night when I couldn’t sleep, she used to tell me stories about life on the farm. She was terrible homesick!”
“But why did you lie to us?” They were at the water now. Moonlight shone down on the Thames, and at the dock, among the boats moored there, was the Hesperus. Its lanterns were lit, fore and aft, and Mary could see its name written in white paint on the prow. It was a small steam launch, with its chimney already smoking—the captain must have decided to trust them after all.
“Ahoy, there!” called Holmes. “May we board, Captain?”
“Aye, if you’ll show me you can afford it,” shouted a rough voice. The captain stepped into the lantern light. He was what Mary would have expected a steamboat captain to look like: grizzled, with a knit sweater and flat cap on his head. “A pound for each person, that’s what I want. And if I can count correctly, and I can, there are nine of you, and that makes nine pounds even.”
“Nine pounds!” said Mary. That was an outrageous sum!
“Aye, that’s what I want, little lady. And it looks to me as though you’ll pay it, seeing as that gentleman ain’t looking too healthy. What did he do, drink too much? And what are you, circus performers? Not that I care, mind you. It takes all sorts to make a world, and there are sorts down here by the docks that would make you think the world was a strange place indeed.”
“I’ll give you five now, and the rest when we get to the Royal Hospital,” said Holmes. “This man is wounded—we must get him to a doctor as soon as possible. I give you my word that you shall be paid.”
“Aye, and who might you be, leading a man around in handcuffs, followed by loose women in various states of undress? How am I to know you’re not a criminal yourself?”
Loose women! Well, looking around her, Mary had to admit they didn’t look particularly respectable. At least Alice had a mackintosh to cover her nightgown. But Catherine’s bare legs stuck out from under Holmes’s frock coat.
“I’m Sherlock Holmes, and I’m taking this man to Scotland Yard.”
“Mr. Holmes! Am I supposed to believe that? Then you’ll be able to tell me all sorts of things about myself, without me having to tell you.” The captain looked skeptical. “Tell me something, Mr. Holmes. Anything about me that you wouldn’t know.”
Holmes’s expressions were usually difficult to read, but even by lantern light, Mary could see that he was thoroughly exasperated. “Your initials are G.M. You smoke a pipe, your preferred tobacco is Old Virginian, indeed you were smoking your pipe as we approached. You were a sailor but were wounded by a bullet to the shoulder, so you gave up the seafaring life to become a riverboat captain. Your wife is a conscientious woman who scolds you for drinking excessively. Is that enough to prove my identity, Captain? My associate, Dr. Watson, is grievously wounded.”
The captain looked at him with wonder. “It’s like magic, it is! Aye, I’m George Mudge, and you’re right about everything, even the old woman, who’s far too good for a reprobate like me. How we do like reading those stories of Dr. Watson’s on a Sunday evening. It will be an honor to take the both of you—and your companions—upriver. Come aboard, Mr. Holmes! I’ll have to tell Mike, who runs the boiler. He won’t believe it’s really you!”
If Mary had not been so tired, she might have laughed out loud. Next, Captain Mudge would be asking Holmes for his autograph! What a night it had been: fear and tragedy and absurdity, all mingled. She simply didn’t know how to respond anymore.
The steamboat was small, just large enough for about twenty passengers. Under ordinary circumstances, it was probably a pleasure-launch hired for day trips up the river. Justine carried Watson to the back, where he could lie on one of the benches. Holmes followed her, leading Hyde. Beatrice went after him, and Mary was about to follow as well, but . . .
“No, I want to go up front,” said Catherine. “It’s bad enough being on the water. At least let me breathe fresh air, not that stuff coming out of the chimney.”
“I didn’t know you disliked water,” said Mary.
“Did you ever know a cat that liked it?” Catherine led them to the front of the boat, past the chimney. Mary did not particularly mind the smoke, but to Catherine, with her cat’s nose, the stench must be terrible.
CATHERINE: It was. Most of London smells terrible. Except the rubbish heap outside Billingsgate Market. That smells of lovely fish heads. . . .
So Mary followed her, relieved that she did not have to sit near Hyde. Eventually, she would have to confront him, but not yet. Alice followed Mary. There, they settled themselves on the seats facing forward, presumably so pleasure-seekers could see where they were going. Renfield stood undecided, not certain which way to go, but finally turned to sit with Holmes and Hyde in the back. Thank goodness the madman would not be sitting with them. Yet another thing Mary would not have to worry about, for a while at least.
When they were seated, Mudge cast off the line, and then they were free of the shore and on the water, steaming up the Thames in the darkness. I’ve never been on a boat before, thought Mary. Yet another item on the growing list of things she had never done. The wooden seat was hard, the air was cold, and there was darkness all around the lantern on the prow, like a large firefly leading them into the night. All around, she heard the lapping of water. The ground under her feet, which had always been so stable, was no longer stable, but swayed side to side, as though she were floating on uncertainty itself.
BEATRICE: That’s a lovely image, Catherine.