“What do you intend to do with us?” asked Mary, before Diana could open her mouth again. Insulting Mrs. Raymond was not going to help them, or Alice, or Mr. Holmes.
Mrs. Raymond smiled. It was a cruel smile. “Do you truly expect me to tell you that? As far as I’m concerned, the best place for you is where you are—right here, where you cannot interfere. Come, Colonel. We have more important things to do than converse with our guests. I hope you’re comfortable, Miss Jekyll. You will be here for quite some time.”
As she turned and opened the door, Diana shouted, “Go to hell, you bloody bitch!”
Suddenly, the floor of the coal cellar was alive with snakes. Mary screamed and scrambled back, while Diana kicked at them, trying to stamp first one, then another.
“What the hell?” she said. Her boot stamped on the floor of the coal cellar. There was no squish of snake flesh beneath it.
“They’re an illusion,” said Mary, her heart still racing. “Just an illusion—just mesmerism. They’re not real.”
“They bloody well looked real,” said Diana. Once again, the floor was bare, the door was shut, and they were alone. “That bitch. That bloody bitch. I’d like to see her frightened for once. Not that I’m frightened, you understand. Not of a bunch of snakes! What happens now?”
Diana might say she was not frightened, but Mary had never seen her so discomposed before. She reached over and squeezed her sister’s hand. For a moment, Diana squeezed back, before slapping her hand away. Mary looked around at the bare, soot-stained walls of the cellar, and then at Justine, still unconscious. “I have no idea.”
DIANA: I’m never frightened. I wanted to kill her, and if I’d had my little knife in my hand instead of my tool kit, I would have. I bit her so hard before she hit me! I wish I’d bitten her even harder.
ALICE: Remember that you are talking about my mother.
DIANA: Well, excuse me! You all say nasty things about my dad all the time, and do I make a fuss about it?
MARY: Usually, yes.
For what felt like an eternity, nothing happened. The light from the lantern flickered around the room. Mary sat on the mattress, her back against the wall, feeling a greater sense of despair than she had felt since they had been held captive in Styria by Mr. Hyde. At least they had not been in a coal cellar, and they had not been tied up! Yes, there was help close at hand—somewhere in Soho, Watson was with the Baker Street boys, waiting for her to contact them. When she did not, hopefully he would go to Lestrade and ask for help. And hopefully, Lestrade would believe his story. She knew that he did not like her or Diana any more than he liked Holmes, but surely he would not let three young women disappear without investigating? She comforted herself with a vision of the Metropolitan Police breaking into the coal cellar and leading them all to safety.
Meanwhile, with the part of her mind she was not using to worry about their situation, she was playing a game that Diana had decided to call “Guess What I’m Thinking.”
“Is it bigger than a breadbox?” Diana asked.
“Yes.”
“Is it a person?”
“Yes.”
“Is it Sherlock Holmes?”
“Yes.”
“Oh God, why are you so predictable? You owe me another shilling. That’s thirteen shillings in my favor. My turn.”
“All right. Is it an elephant?”
“No. That’s a stupid way to begin. I’ll give you a hint. It’s larger than an elephant.”
“Is it the Alps? I mean, is it smaller than the Alps?”
“Yes, it’s smaller than the Alps.”
“Is it alive?”
“Yes and no.”
“You can’t answer yes and no. It has to be yes or no.”
“But I can’t answer that if it’s not accurate.”
“I wish someone would rescue us so I wouldn’t have to play this stupid game!”
It took Mary another thirty-seven questions to answer “Orient Express.”
“See?” said Diana. “It’s not alive because it’s a train, and it is alive because it has people in it, and they’re alive. I think you should lose that one—you took so bloody long to guess!”
“But I didn’t give up,” said Mary. “I thought you only lost if you gave up?”
Finally, thank goodness, Diana fell asleep. Mary did not want to fall asleep—someone should stay awake, in case anything happened. In case Mrs. Raymond came back again, or the Metropolitan Police came to rescue them… She was so tired! And getting hungry. No one had come to give them food or water. She would stay awake, she was determined. She would not allow Mr. Hyde to keep them here, captive in Styria. Lucinda was dying—they must get her to Budapest. Where were Justine and Diana? Mary could not find them. She walked and walked through the long stone passages of Castle Karnstein, lit only by streetlamps. It was so dark here among the streets of Soho—it must be past midnight. Mr. Holmes was late. She looked down at her wristwatch and paced back and forth impatiently. What was that? Gunshots, off in the distance. She began walking toward them, but did not seem to get any closer. Oh, she thought. I’m in Looking-Glass Country. She sighed with relief that finally everything was making sense.
MARY: I still can’t believe Dr. Watson was so stupid. Why didn’t he go to Lestrade?
CATHERINE: Do you really think Lestrade would have believed him? Anyway, Wiggins was partly to blame as well. He wanted a raid and he got a raid. Men and boys—honestly, I don’t think there’s much difference between them, except for the length of their pants. They like playing soldiers.
DIANA: Don’t you dare say anything against Wiggins!
CATHERINE: Why? You do all the time.
DIANA: That’s different.
“Hold my hand, Lydia,” said Helen. “I’m not going to let them take you away from me.”
Alice was standing at the window with her mother and Professor Moriarty in the common room of the Order of the Golden Dawn. It was difficult to tell exactly what was going on outside.
“Dr. Watson and a group of ragged boys!” Professor Moriarty had said, sounding incredulous. “Do they really think they can get in here, past Moran and his men? Helen, I don’t have time for this. Get rid of them.”
Alice looked up at her mother, worried. She had felt so hopeful, ever since she had sent that message to the Baker Street Irregulars and hung the handkerchief out the window, in case anyone might notice. Perhaps they would understand that it was a signal. Then, last night, Helen had come into the room where she was sitting with Margaret Trelawny, checking items on a list Margaret had given her against an exhibition catalog. “Well, my dear,” she had said, “you will be glad to know that we captured Mary Jekyll, that devil Diana, and a confederate of theirs, the monster Justine Frankenstein. I always assumed she had been destroyed, as Mrs. Shelley described, but it seems not. I shall have great satisfaction, eventually, in taking her apart, to see how she was assembled. But there’s no time for that now. We have more important work to do.” It had taken all of Alice’s effort not to break down and cry in front of her mother and Margaret.