Second order of business: What had we learned about the Alchemical Society? Catherine, who sometimes wrote in the British Library Reading Room, had found mentions of the society in eighteenth-century manuscripts. The society had been less secretive then, and many prominent Englishmen were members, but so far she had found no information on what experiments, if any, they had been conducting. She would continue her research. Mary reported that Dr. Seward was still in Purfleet. Joe, who was watching Seward for us, had told us he was planning on going to Vienna again, but at the last minute the trip had been canceled. Why had Seward canceled his trip? We did not know. It was frustrating knowing so little. Ten minutes for complaints about how little we had discovered so far. Beatrice said it was natural for our investigations to go slowly.
Third order of business: Mrs. Poole had found two stray kittens in the backyard. What should we call them? The names Alpha and Omega were proposed and unanimously approved. We had kittens! Mrs. Poole insisted she was letting them stay only because they would eventually catch mice.
Fourth order of business: Mary said, “I received this letter yesterday. You remember I said there was one person in the world to whom I could recount the events that brought us together? That person was my former governess, Miss Murray. I wrote her a letter several months ago, not knowing she had moved. My letter seems to have been forwarded from address to address, but it finally reached her, and she has written back. I think I’d better read you her response.”
We waited, wondering what the letter was about, knowing Mary would not have told us about it if it were not important. She started reading.
My dear Mary,
I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to respond to your letter. As you can see from my address, I am no longer teaching school in England. To explain why I am in Vienna would take much longer than I have at present. For I, too, have been living an adventurous life, sometimes too adventurous for my taste. It has, strangely enough, intersected with yours in a sense. You will perhaps understand more when you read the enclosed. If I were in a position to help the writer, who is the daughter of a dear friend, I would. But I need to leave Vienna almost immediately. I told her that if she wrote to you, I would forward her appeal—it is the most that is currently in my power. I hope—I very much hope—you can help her. And forgive me for my brevity. I will write more when I can. My love to you, now and always (and I think you need no longer call me Miss Murray).
Mina
“And?” said Catherine. “What is the enclosure?”
Mary stared at a second sheet of paper folded in the first, as though trying to decide what to do with it. But really, she had already decided, or she would not have brought it to our meeting. She began.
Dear Miss Jekyll,
Our mutual friend Miss Murray has told me who you are, and of the Athena Club. You do not know me, but I take the great, the very great, liberty of asking you to help me in my dire need. I am the daughter of Professor Abraham Van Helsing, a doctor and researcher associated with several important universities, in England and on the continent. My father is also a prominent member of a certain Société des Alchimistes. Miss Murray has assured me that you know of this society, and that you and your fellow club members are aware of its activities. I am, against my will and sometimes without my knowledge, the subject of certain experiments carried out by my father. As I result, I am . . . changing. And I am afraid. The one person who could protect me, my mother, is locked away in an asylum for the insane. I am not yet of age, and have no resources of my own or friends to whom I could turn. I do not know what to do. Please, if you can, help me, I beg of you.
Lucinda Van Helsing
Vienna, Austria
For a moment, we were all silent. Then, “Where’s Austria?” asked Diana.
“We wanted to know if they were still making monsters,” said Catherine. “I think we have our answer. The Société des Alchimistes, or at least some of its members, are still experimenting on girls. Lucinda Van Helsing doesn’t tell us how. . . .”
“She may not know herself,” said Justine. “This Professor Van Helsing must be stopped. We cannot allow such experiments to continue. I speak only a little German, but could learn quickly, I think.”
“Austria is near Switzerland,” said Beatrice. “I stayed in Vienna briefly, trying to find a cure for my condition. The nights will be getting cold there, although the days are warmer and sunnier than in London. We shall have to pack sweaters and wool coats.”
“I’ll have to ask Mr. Holmes for some time off,” said Mary. “I think he can survive without an assistant for a while. But this isn’t the sort of thing we can rush into. It must be planned carefully. Has anyone seen the atlas?”
“I was using it to plan Rick Chambers’s escape route,” said Catherine. “I’ll bring it into the dining room. Meet me there in five minutes.”
“You’re not going to leave me behind,” said Diana. “You’re always leaving me behind.”
And then we sat around the large mahogany table: Mary, Diana, Beatrice, Catherine, and Justine. Mapping travel routes, calculating expenses. Planning the future adventures of the Athena Club.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Mary refuses to listen to me, but I am after all the one writing this story (with frequent interruptions), so I’m going to add a note about Mrs. Shelley—also named Mary—and the book she is most famous for writing: Frankenstein, a Biography of the Modern Prometheus. We authors have to stick together, even when one of us is long dead.
(Those of you who are interested only in adventures may wish to ignore this part and go directly to reading one of my other books. I won’t mind.)
Mary says the book is a pack of lies, and accuses Mrs. Shelley of writing it to protect the Société des Alchimistes, as it was constituted in her time. After all, she never mentions the society. She implies that Frankenstein was working entirely unguided and alone, which was not the case. Most readers nowadays assume the book is a work of fiction anyway, as Watson did, but it’s not. Neither is it entirely lies. The early story of Victor Frankenstein is almost entirely accurate, as we know from Justine. Mrs. Shelley fails to mention that as a student at the University of Ingolstadt, Frankenstein was inducted into the Société des Alchimistes by his chemistry professor. We have seen both their names, Victor Frankenstein and Adolphe Waldman, in the records of the society, in Budapest. (To find out how we were able to access those records, read the second in this series of Adventures of the Athena Club.)
MARY: That’s quite clever of you, actually. Making them want to read the second book.