“But they were solved,” said Mary. “I mean—we found out who did it, but he—well, he escaped to the continent, so he could not be brought to justice. And he died there—a painful death, I assure you. As painful as the deaths he brought on all those poor girls.” She remembered Adam Frankenstein in that bare room, on that small bed, dying of his burn wounds. Of course, Hyde had not been punished—he was still out there somewhere, free to continue his nefarious career. Well, if there was any justice in the universe, he would get his own comeuppance, someday.
“And it wasn’t in the papers?” said Kate. “Well, he must have been someone high and mighty, to keep it all so quiet. Connected to the Royal Family, maybe? But whoever he was, I’m glad he got what was coming to him. Anyone who did what he did to Molly deserves to rot in Hell. Talking about high and mighty, Doris tells me you’re looking for Mrs. Raymond.”
Mary looked at her, startled. “How did you know—”
“Keyhole,” said Doris. “Not very proper, I know, and my mum would scold me about it, but it’s important for us to know what’s going on around here, so we take turns eavesdropping. No one dared, while Mrs. Raymond was here—she always seemed to know what we were up to, I don’t know how. She must of had eyes in the back of her head. But McTavish doesn’t notice half of what goes on.”
“A completely necessary and understandable practice,” said Mary. “And yes, we are looking for information on Mrs. Raymond. Do you happen to know—”
“Not here in the hall,” said Kate. “Come on, follow me.”
She led them to a small room that was apparently used for storing the products made by the Magdalen Society, because there were shelves stocked with tea towels, aprons, and children’s smocks. Through a narrow window, Mary could look down to a dismal garden behind the building, with a few privets and an unkempt lawn.
“This is all I know, and it ain’t much,” said Kate. “Maybe Doris knows more—she’s been here longer than I have. I came because I caught the influenza, and when I got out of St. Bartholomew’s, I was too sick and tired to work—say what you will about this place, they do give you hot meals you don’t have to pay for! Anyway, about a week after Mrs. Raymond admitted me, we were told she was gone, and Sister Margaret—Matron McTavish, as she insists on being called—was in charge. There were plenty of rumors going around, I assure you—like that she wasn’t Mrs. Raymond after all, but a Mrs. Herbert. Do you remember the Herbert murder case? It was more than ten years ago—Mrs. Herbert was accused of murdering her husband, although they never could figure out how she done it, so she was acquitted for lack of evidence. They say she killed him to be with her lover!”
“The trustees found out about it—at least, that’s what we think—and she had to go,” said Doris. “Agnes insists that one night, about a week before Mrs. Raymond disappeared, she saw a man in her office. He was tall, with dark hair. Maybe that was her lover, come back for her? Or maybe he was blackmailing her and she refused to pay up? Then he told the trustees.…”
“Agnes has the most vivid imagination,” said Kate, shaking her head. “What she probably saw was the shadow of a hatstand—if anything at all! Anyway, some say Mrs. Raymond was the one who wanted to leave—the trustees were fair begging her to stay. Either way, one morning she was gone, and nothing has been heard of her since.”
“When was this?” asked Mary. “When did she disappear?”
“Around the end of August,” said Doris. “I’m sorry, miss, I wish we had more information for you. The truth is, no one really knows where she went, or what became of her.”
Mary sighed. Rumor and conjecture, that was all. Well, at least it was something! Mrs. Raymond had vanished about a month before Alice was kidnapped. Could the two disappearances be connected? She had no idea.
“Thank you both,” she said. “And Kate, if you ever need help, you know that you can come to us: 11 Park Terrace in Marylebone. If we’re not at home, tell Mrs. Poole who you are, and she’ll admit you.” She held out her hand, which had a shilling in it.
“That’s very good of you, miss,” said Kate, taking the shilling and then pressing her hand.
“Particularly if you need medicine,” said Justine. “Beatrice cannot cure the influenza, but her plants can help you recover from it sooner. She’s away from home, but should be back in a few days. Her medicines are as effective as anything you’ll receive at St. Bartholomew’s.”
BEATRICE: I am so thankful to Dr. Watson for his system of rubber tubes. Without it, my plants would certainly have perished while I was away. Even the datura, which I was so worried about, survived magnificently. While our activities as the Athena Club are important, it is also important that I supply the hospital from my pharmacopeia.
CATHERINE: I’m trying to tell an adventure story, and you’re talking about an irrigation system?
With another shilling for Doris, Mary bade them farewell, grateful for the information they had provided, although wondering if it truly helped them at all. Once she and Justine were walking away from the Society of St. Mary Magdalen along the streets of Soho, she said, “If Mrs. Raymond was Mrs. Herbert, maybe she’s not the woman we’re looking for after all. If Raymond was simply an assumed identity, she may have nothing to do with Dr. Raymond or his experiment. The name may simply be a coincidence.… After all, there are plenty of Raymonds in London!”
“Could we find out more about this murder?” asked Justine. “Frau Gottleib said she did not believe in coincidence. I would not discount the role of chance in human affairs—however, in a situation as tangled as this one…”
“There should be more information in Mr. Holmes’s files,” said Mary. “He’s cataloged the details of every murder in London since he became a consulting detective—and many before that! If it’s not there, we might have to ask Inspector Lestrade.” She shuddered.
“Where to now?” asked Justine. “Shall we proceed to the boardinghouse where the performers of Lorenzo’s circus are staying? Although as I told you, I cannot believe that Martin would hurt or even frighten Alice in any way.”
Mary nodded. She did not share Justine’s confidence in the Marvelous Mesmerist.
They were both tired, and walked without speaking. Had they really arrived home only yesterday? Mary felt as though she had never left the fog and grime of London. The bright sunlight of Vienna, the pink and green and ocher buildings of Budapest, seemed like a dream, rather than things she had actually seen for herself. How quickly the human mind adjusted to new circumstances! Or, in this case, old ones. She was glad to be back, but she wished they could have had some rest, some time to spend at home in Park Terrace, before starting on yet another adventure. If only their friends were not in peril.…
On Whitechapel High Street, they caught an omnibus toward Clerkenwell. The boardinghouse was not difficult to find, but when Justine asked for Martin, the landlady, who smelled of cabbages, told them that he had moved out a week and a half ago. There were still circus performers staying at the boardinghouse, but they did not have much more information. Maisie the bareback rider told Justine that he had not said much about where he was going. “He said he’d found a better place, and didn’t want to be a circus mesmerist anymore. And then he was gone, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Do you have any news of Lorenzo? We heard the circus is doing a grand tour and making lots of money.”