“Miss Frankenstein!” said Holmes, clearly astonished. “William Pengelly, the geologist? Pengelly, who excavated Kents Cavern and proved the Earth could not possibly be six thousand years old, as Bishop Ussher had suggested?”
“You know him, then?” said Justine. “Oh, perhaps I could speak with him again! How I would like that.” She smiled a pale, wan smile, as though remembering their friendship with pleasure.
“Speak with him! No, he died several years ago, an old man. I did not know him myself, but he was well-known to anyone with an interest in science and the inductive method of reasoning. He was a respected member of the Royal Society. He could not possibly have had anything to do with the Société des Alchimistes. And yet, there must have been a reason for him to be there. It could not have been a coincidence. Just as one part of this case begins to make sense, it becomes more inscrutable.”
“Then you don’t believe he was simply my friend?” said Justine, looking as sad as Mary had ever seen her.
“Of course he was your friend,” said Catherine. “I have to admit, this is starting to sound—well, clearly he wasn’t just a village boy. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t your friend, Justine.”
“My brother Mycroft has contacts in the Royal Society. Perhaps they can tell us more about this Pengelly,” said Holmes. “It seems clear that we have solved one mystery: we know who committed the Whitechapel Murders, and why. Now we must solve the mystery of the Société des Alchimistes. What is it? Who are its members? Is it still carrying on its illicit activities, particularly in England? But I promised Lestrade that I would return as soon as I could—I left him with very little information, just enough to charge Hyde with the murder of Molly Keane.” He stood, looking both worried and impatient. “Miss Jekyll, if you’ll excuse me, I will go trouble Mrs. Hudson for a meal of some sort and another coat, since Miss Moreau is still wearing mine, then take a cab back to Scotland Yard. I have a lot to tell Lestrade, and I’m not sure how much of it he will credit! He’s not the sort to believe in hundred-year-old giants or Beast Men. He will likely dismiss it all as a fairy tale and look for the most ordinary explanation—that Adam was a madman, and the more improbable parts of the story are simply figments of my imagination. From long association, I know how he thinks, you see. Then I must send a message to Lord Avebury, who will not be getting his menagerie back, although who knows, the orangutan may head home, if he indeed escaped the fire.”
“Of course, Mr. Holmes,” said Mary. “And we will see you . . .” When?
“Tomorrow, perhaps. I will of course bring you news of Watson. But you—I believe you should all get some rest. It has been a difficult night for you all.”
Mary nodded. Yes, it had been difficult. But exciting too, she could not deny that. Did she want to experience any more such nights, stalking a suspect through London with Mr. Holmes, solving mysteries? Well, not tonight, that was for certain!
Holmes bowed and said, “Until tomorrow, then.” With a couple of long strides, he was out the door. As he passed her, Alice started, as though remembering where she was, and then followed him out, still holding the breakfast tray.
Mary heard the voice of Mrs. Poole below, then the front door closing. And then silence.
Suddenly, she realized they were all looking at her—Justine leaning back against her pillow, Diana sitting cross-legged on the bed, Catherine with her legs curled under her like a cat. Beatrice in her chair by the window. They were all waiting for Mary to speak.
“Well?” said Diana. “Now what?”
Now what, indeed. She knew what she wanted to say, but would they agree? The only way to find out was to ask. “What I’d like is for you all to stay here. I’ve lost all the family I had . . .” Hyde did not count, of course. “I think we’ve all lost our families, haven’t we? Diana has no one. Beatrice may still have relations in Italy”—Beatrice shook her head—“but anyone Justine knew is long dead. And Cat—well, she had no human family, at least. I want us to be a family for each other. Anyway, we still have a mystery to solve. As Mr. Holmes said, we know who committed the Whitechapel Murders, but we know almost nothing about the Alchemical Society. What sorts of experiments were our fathers conducting? What were they trying to prove? We know it had to do with biological transmutation, but there were papers . . . they met to give papers, remember? Are there papers about Beatrice, or Catherine, or even Justine? Is there a journal? Societies usually have journals, don’t they? Beatrice, didn’t you mention a journal of some sort? There’s still so much we don’t know. It seems clear that the society was not directly responsible for the Whitechapel Murders. My father had been cast out of the society, and Prendick, who is still a member, was hiding his activities from them. Adam was an experiment, wasn’t he? Rather than a scientist. And he mentioned that they, whoever they are, wouldn’t let him join. But the society did sanction the creation of . . . well, of monsters. Girl monsters. Is it continuing those activities? If so, it must be stopped. I have no idea what we’re going to live on, because we’ll run out of money soon. Still, I think we should all stay here and find a way.”
There, she had said it. Now she waited to see how they would all respond.
Justine nodded. “Yes, we should certainly try to stop the Société, although it will not be easy. You are right—we must solve this mystery together. We are—like sisters, are we not? I lost my own sisters when I was sent into service, and then when I died and was reborn. I would like to have sisters again.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Diana, with an expression of disgust. “I have one sister, and she’s bad enough. Anyway, what about Poison Breath? I saw what happened in that warehouse! Are we all going to die in our sleep?”
“That was scarcely her fault!” said Mary.
“No, Diana is right,” said Beatrice. “I will always be dangerous. If I stay here, I must spend most of my time in the laboratory, so my poison does not affect you all. I agree that we must try to stop the Société des Alchimistes. But are you certain that you wish me to stay?”
“No,” said Diana, and “Yes,” and “Yes, of course,” said Mary and Justine simultaneously.
“Catherine?” said Mary, realizing she had not yet spoken.
“I don’t know,” said Catherine. “We’ll fight, inevitably. I don’t just mean Diana sticking knives into people, which doesn’t count. What I mean is that we’re opinionated. We’ll want our own way. Except maybe Justine, who has to be gentle because she’s so strong. It won’t be a peaceful life, with all of us here.”
“I know,” said Mary. “But families do fight, don’t they? Anyway, I think we’re stronger together than apart.”
“Maybe.” Catherine frowned. “Anyway, I’m a puma. I’m solitary and secretive, according to the Encyclopaedia Britannica in your father’s study. Yes, we need to stop the society, if it’s still creating—well, more of us. But I’m not sure I want to be anyone’s sister.”