Strange Case of the Alchemist's Daughter, The by Goss Theodora

Author:Goss, Theodora [Goss, Theodora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, Horror, Novel
Publisher: Saga Press
Published: 2017-01-01T02:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XII

Catherine’s Story

It was probably the strangest sight the respectable parlor of Dr. Jekyll had ever seen, at least since the days when Mr. Hyde roamed through the house at will. In the light of the gas lamps, which were turned up high, Catherine and Diana could see four men gathered around the body of another, lying on the floor, with a handkerchief draped over his face. The carpet had been pulled back, so he lay directly on the parquet in front of the fireplace. It took them a moment to realize that two of the men were Mary and Beatrice, who had not yet changed out of their masculine clothes. The other two were strangers to Catherine, but Diana immediately recognized Holmes and Watson. The parlor itself was a shambles, with furniture knocked over and the painting of Mrs. Jekyll hanging crooked on the wall.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you both! We were worried sick,” said Mary. And then, looking at them more closely, she exclaimed, “You’re absolutely filthy!”

“We came by rooftop,” said Catherine. “What is this about Justine? Where is she?”

“Upstairs, lying down,” said Mary. “She’s completely distraught. We arrived home without incident, but the house was being watched. As I opened the front door, this man tried to force his way in. We fought back—you can see the result! I tried to hit him over the head with my umbrella, and Beatrice did her best to weaken him with her breath. But it was Justine who saved us: she got her hands around his neck and—she strangled him, right here in the parlor. He was so strong! He twisted Beatrice’s arm—you can see the bruise, all green and blue.”

“I’m all right,” said Beatrice. “Charlie was around the corner—he seems to have appointed himself our guardian angel!”

“More like guardian street urchin,” said Diana under her breath.

“He heard the altercation—that is the right word, is it not? And ran to get Mr. Holmes.”

“I’m glad he’s keeping a watch on the house,” said Holmes. “I asked him to let us know if there was anything amiss.” He turned to Catherine. “You must be Miss Moreau. We’ve been hearing about your adventures this morning. I’m Sherlock Holmes, and this is my associate, Dr. Watson.”

“Is it safe for you to continue this investigation?” asked Watson. “You are certainly courageous young women, but you seem to be running into increasing danger. And this . . .” He gestured at the man lying on the floor. “I scarcely know what to make of it!”

Catherine walked over to the dead man and removed the handkerchief from his face. It was strangely distorted: the eyes small and set close together, the nose upturned and flat, the chin almost nonexistent with a few prominent bristles. “I can tell you what to make of him, Dr. Watson. But Diana and I are tired and famished. If we could sit down and have something to eat, I believe I could provide you with an explanation—although it may deepen this mystery rather than elucidating it.

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