MARY: What about your human years? Do they count as human years? Will you age at a normal rate now? I mean for a woman?
CATHERINE: I don’t know. Pumas only live about fifteen years in the wild. It would be rather awful to die at fifteen, don’t you think? But I simply don’t know. I don’t think even Moreau knew—or cared about that effect of the humanizing process. He ignored his Beast Men after they were created. It was the act of creation itself that interested him. So I guess we shall simply have to see. No man knows how long he has to live anyway, right? Justine couldn’t have guessed she would live for almost a century. It’s just . . . the way things are, and one has to deal with it as best one can.
Mary, Diana, and Alice went to St. Marylebone Church. Beatrice and Justine, who were Catholic, went to St. James’s Church, across from Spanish Place. Mrs. Poole said she would go to an afternoon service. Catherine sat up in her room, opened a notebook, and started writing: “No man who has seen Astarte has lived to tell the tale but one: I, Rick Chambers, Englishman.” Yes, she thought. That sounds just right.
By the time Mary returned with Diana and Alice, and Beatrice and Justine returned together, Mrs. Poole had prepared Sunday lunch. So we all sat around the large table in the dining room, since the morning room table was too small. It would become our room for club meetings and plotting strategy. But that day, we were eating creamed ham (Catherine and Diana), cauliflower soup (Justine and Mary), and something wilted (Beatrice). And we were making plans. How could we live together? What would we live on? We all thought of ways to make money: Beatrice would sell her medicines, Justine wanted to try painting, Catherine would write. Diana wanted to become an actress, but no, said Mary. Being an actress wasn’t respectable, and anyway she had to go to school. As did Alice. “I just want to be a housemaid, miss,” said Alice. “I almost died, remember? I would rather not almost die again, if you don’t mind.” Mary had insisted she eat with us rather than in the kitchen. (She was picking at the ham.)
“Well, we can’t afford school fees anyway, and I suspect that sending Diana to school would be a disaster,” said Mary. “So we can educate you both at home. Beatrice can teach you science, and Catherine can teach you literature, and Justine can teach you French and Latin. And I used to be rather good at history. But what can I do to bring in some money? I have no artistic talents. I could be a shop girl or typist, but I’ve already tried all the agencies . . .”
“How about becoming my assistant?”
We all looked up, startled to hear a masculine voice. There, in the doorway of the dining room, stood Sherlock Holmes.
“I’m sorry, miss,” said Mrs. Poole. “He didn’t wait for me to announce him. Just strode in here . . .”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Poole,” said Holmes. “I’m afraid I have rather urgent news. You see, Hyde has escaped.”
“From Newgate?” said Mary. She looked astonished, as well she might.
“From the depths of Newgate itself. And I assure you that he was well guarded. This morning, the warden found the lock picked and the prisoner gone. Has he tried to contact any of you?”
We all shook our heads.
“I don’t suppose Renfield has escaped as well?” asked Mary. “That would be a bit too much.”
“No,” said Holmes. “I telegraphed this morning, to make certain. He’s safely locked up, according to Joe Abernathy, who’s been rehired at the asylum. I suspect Dr. Seward heard of my visit to Joe and wants to keep an eye on him. The good doctor looked at the both of us suspiciously when I returned his madman yesterday afternoon, after I assured Lestrade that he was not complicit in the murders. As of this morning, Renfield was in his room at the asylum, in a straightjacket. Only Hyde was gone. Lestrade is alerting the ports, and if he’s seen, he will be arrested. However, he managed to escape the first time, and I suspect we have seen the last of Mr. Hyde for a while. I’m sorry.” He looked at Mary with concern. “I know this must be a blow to you. You wanted to question him, and there’s no possibility of claiming any reward in his absence.”
“And what of Mr. Prendick?” asked Justine. Catherine looked away. If there was any information on Prendick, she did not want to know, although she knew Justine was asking for her.
“Lestrade is also having his boardinghouse watched, although if Prendick has any brains at all, and I suspect he does, he won’t return there. What he did is not technically a crime—there is no statute on the law books forbidding the creation of Beast Men. But I wager he does not want the Alchemical Society to get wind of his activities. He was clearly hiding them from Dr. Seward. When Seward summoned him, suspecting that he was somehow implicated in the murders, Prendick denied any knowledge of them. I wager he does not want the society to know he was involved with the likes of Edward Hyde and Adam Frankenstein.”
“Prendick is gone. I’m sure of it,” said Catherine. “He’s a coward. He’s always been a coward.”
“Well then,” said Holmes. “Where does that leave us? With Adam Frankenstein dead and the Beast Men destroyed, but Hyde and Prendick still on the loose. Although that orangutan may have gotten away as well—I’ll tell Lestrade to keep an eye out for him. It may be difficult to press charges against Mrs. Raymond now, since there’s no direct evidence of her involvement. I was counting on Hyde to testify against her. However, I’ve told Lestrade to keep an eye on her, and of course he will continue the search for Hyde. He can’t take credit for having solved the Whitechapel Murders without a murderer, preferably behind bars.”
“But Mr. Holmes,” said Mary, “while these two men have escaped, there is also the Société des Alchimistes itself. It is secret and unscrupulous in its methods. We may have solved the Whitechapel Murders, but the mystery of this society remains. Who are its members? What does it do? Is it continuing the experiments that created Beatrice and Catherine? Surely this mystery is not yet solved.”
MARY: I like how neatly you have us talking, when really of course it was a babble of “Do you think they’ll catch him?” and “I bet he’s headed back to Switzerland.” and “Can I have more ham? I’m still hungry.”
“I agree,” said Holmes. “I have not forgotten about the society itself. It has been operating in England for . . . well, we don’t know how long. And here in London—or at least it was, while Jekyll was conducting his experiments. London is my city. If there is a secret organization in it, I want to know what it’s doing.” His face as he said this was grim.