“Have you found anything?” asked Justine, standing in the doorway.
“Just this.” Mary held the card out to her. “I think we’ll need to visit the Diogenes Club, as well as those addresses you wrote down. Do you have the list?”
Justine patted her jacket pocket.
“All right then, I think we’ve probably done all we can here. What worries me is that Mr. Holmes doesn’t seem to have taken his clothes. I mean, as far as I can tell.” She had examined his clothes thoroughly—she had opened a drawer full of socks and felt her cheeks grow red from embarrassment. And the drawer of underclothing… well.
MARY: Could you please not mention to the general public that I looked through Sherlock’s underclothes?
CATHERINE: Don’t worry, I’ll take it out before publication.
MARY: That’s what you kept saying about the last book, but you didn’t take out any of the things you promised to.
CATHERINE: Didn’t I? That must simply have been an oversight on my part. I promise to this time. Cross my heart.
MARY: Thank you, Catherine. I expect you to keep that promise.
DIANA: You are so gullible.
They headed back to Park Terrace with Justine’s list and the card in Mary’s purse, as well as a basket of scones fresh from the oven, with the compliments of Mrs. Hudson to Mrs. Poole. The search had taken them longer than anticipated. By the time they returned, Mrs. Poole had already set the table for luncheon. “I thought the morning room would be best, seeing as there are only three of you,” she said. “Mrs. Hudson’s scones! Really, Adeline is so thoughtful. You know, she trained as a cook originally, before marrying a military man. Have you found anything—any clues, as you call them?”
Over lunch, Mary showed Mrs. Poole the list of addresses and the card they had found that morning.
“I don’t know as you girls should be roaming the streets of London, going to all corners without protection of some sort,” said Mrs. Poole, looking at the list of addresses and shaking her head dubiously. “Jamaica Yard, Fishmonger’s Mews, Oyster Lane. What sorts of names are these? Who knows where they might be. In some disreputable part of town, like as not, inhabited by murderers and thieves.”
“But that sounds exactly like the sort of place one might find kidnappers,” said Mary. “After all, we’re not dealing with Sunday School teachers, are we?”
Mrs. Poole said nothing more, but continued to look concerned.
“All right,” said Mary after finishing her Welsh rarebit. “Here’s the agenda for the afternoon: We need to go to the Magdalen Society first, to figure out if Mrs. Raymond is involved in Alice’s kidnapping in any way. After that, we’ll tackle Martin. These addresses may need to wait until tomorrow. We still need to figure out where they are, and I think we had better go in disguise. Agreed?”
Justine nodded, but Diana leaned back in her chair and said, “No way am I going back to the Society of Mary Blooming Magdalen. I’ll go anywhere in London, but not there. You two enjoy yourselves. I’ve got other fish to fry.”
“What sorts of fish?” asked Mary suspiciously. She did not particularly want Diana going with them—there would be no locks to pick at the Magdalen Society, and she did not want her quarreling with Mrs. Raymond. They had not parted on amicable terms. But she also worried about leaving Diana behind. What sort of mischief could she get into?
DIANA: Not amicable! That bloody bitch—
ALICE: Remember that you’re talking about my mother.
“I’m going to teach Archie a new card game,” said Diana. She looked at Justine’s plate. “Are you going to finish that, or can I have it?”
“I do not think he likes being called Archie,” said Justine. She placed her knife and fork neatly on the side of her plate, then put her napkin on the table. She had eaten only half her lunch. “Mary, I’ll go change my clothes now. I think they would not let me into the Magdalen Society dressed like this! I shall have to once again be an exceptionally tall woman.” She smiled wanly, as though she had made a joke—and she probably had. Justine’s jokes were seldom actually funny.
“That’s why I call him that,” said Diana, grinning. “To annoy him! Seriously, if you’re not going to eat anymore…”
Mary just sighed and rose. Well, Mrs. Poole would have to deal with Diana that afternoon. She was not at all sorry to relinquish the responsibility for a while. What would they find at the Magdalen Society? She remembered the dour stone edifice in which magdalenes—reformed prostitutes—in gray gowns and white caps sat in silent rows, endlessly sewing linens for wealthy patrons. She had no desire to enter its cold gray halls again, and she was certainly not looking forward to another meeting with Mrs. Raymond.
CHAPTER III
Adventures in Soho
Mary rang the bell on the gray stone wall. The sound echoed around the forbidding courtyard of the Magdalen Society. It had not changed at all since the last time she had seen it—how long ago was that now? Four months? No, five. Not quite six. Had it truly been such a short time ago that she had found Diana, and then Beatrice, Catherine, and Justine? It seemed as though she had known them much longer than that. Through the gate, she could see that the courtyard was still bare, except for a row of dark green yews by the stone wall of the building, and the building itself still looked as though it had come out of a novel by Sir Walter Scott.
“Should we ring again?” asked Justine. For the first time in a month, she was attired in women’s clothes. They felt strange—not uncomfortable, but as though she could no longer move freely and easily about in the world. She was aware of restrictions, limitations. Perhaps Beatrice was right, and our clothing did impact the way we thought and felt. And yet, there was a beauty to women’s garments that was lacking in modern men’s clothes. As a painter, she could see that. It was all rather confusing.
Mary raised her hand to ring again, but a woman—or rather a girl, because she looked only fifteen or sixteen—rushed out from the shadowy arched doorway of the building. She was halfway to the gate when the white cap on her head fell off and began rolling over the flagstones. Quickly, as though in a panic, she picked it up, put it back on her head, and ran the rest of the way, with one hand on top of her head to hold it on and another under her chin, clutching the ribbons. Surely it would have made more sense to stop and tie it? Mary remembered the sharp-featured and sharp-tongued Sister Margaret who had opened the gate for them last time. This was certainly a very different sort of greeting!
“I’m so sorry,” said the girl, panting, with one hand on her side. “I’m supposed to be the porter today, but I was in the lavatory, and I didn’t hear the bell until one of the other girls shouted. I came as quickly as I could. McTavish would be so angry if she knew I was away from my post! You must be—looking for linen to purchase? Or perhaps you wish to make a donation?” She looked at them curiously, as though wondering what two ladies were doing here. They were not fancily dressed, but nevertheless clearly ladies, and with these philanthropic young women you could never quite tell how wealthy they were by their clothes.