The Strange Case of the Alchemist''s Daughter CHAPTER I The Girl in the Mirror Mary Jekyll stared down at her mother''s coffin. "I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord." The rain had started again. Not a proper rain, but the dreary, interminable drizzle that meant spring in London. "Put up your umbrella, my dear, or you''ll get wet," said Mrs. Poole. Mary put up her umbrella, without much caring whether she would get wet or not. There they all were, standing by a rectangular hole in the ground, in the gray churchyard of St.
Marylebone. Reverend Whittaker, reading from the prayer book. Nurse Adams looking grim, but then didn''t she always? Cook wiping her nose with a handkerchief. Enid, the parlormaid, sobbing on Joseph''s shoulder. In part of her mind, the part that was used to paying bills and discussing the housekeeping with Mrs. Poole, Mary thought, I will have to speak to Enid about overfamiliarity with a footman. Alice, the scullery maid, was holding Mrs. Poole''s hand.
She looked pale and solemn, but again, didn''t she always? "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; even so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labors." At the bottom of that rectangular hole was a coffin, and in that coffin lay her mother, in the blue silk wedding dress that matched the color of her eyes, forever closed now. When Mary and Mrs. Poole had put it on her, they realized how emaciated she had become over the last few weeks. Mary herself had combed her mother''s gray hair, still streaked with gold, and arranged it over the thin shoulders. "For so thou didst ordain when thou createdst me, saying, dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return. All we go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia." "Alleluia," came the chorus, from Mrs.
Poole, and Nurse Adams, and Cook, and Joseph, and Alice. Enid continued to sob. "Alleluia," said Mary a moment later, as though out of turn. She handed her umbrella to Mrs. Poole, then took off her gloves. She knelt by the grave and scooped a handful of dirt, scattering it over the coffin. She could hear small pebbles hit, sharper than the soft patter of rain. That afternoon, the sexton would cover it properly and there would be only a mound, until the headstone arrived.
Ernestine Jekyll, Beloved Wife and Mother Well, at least it was partly true. She knelt for a moment longer, although she could feel water soaking through her skirt and stockings. Then she rose and reclaimed her umbrella. "Mrs. Poole, will you take everyone back to the house? I need to pay Reverend Whittaker." "Yes, miss," said Mrs. Poole. "Although I don''t like to leave you alone .
" "Please, I''m sure Alice is hungry. I''ll be home soon, I promise." She would follow Reverend Whittaker into the church and make a donation to the St. Marylebone Restoration Fund. But first she wanted to spend a moment alone with her mother. With what was left of Ernestine Jekyll, in a wooden box on which the raindrops were falling. MARY: Is it really necessary to begin with the funeral? Can''t you begin with something else? Anyway, I thought you were supposed to start in the middle of the action--in medias res. Before Mary could stop her, Diana crouched by the body of Molly Keane, getting blood on the hem of her dress and the toes of her boots.
She reached across the murdered girl to the stiff hand that lay on her bosom and pried open the clenched fingers. From that cold grasp, she withdrew what the girl had been holding: a metal button. "Diana!" cried Mary. MARY: Not that in medias res! They won''t understand the story if you start like that. CATHERINE: Then stop telling me how to write it. It was no use standing there. It would accomplish nothing, and Mary needed to accomplish so much today. She looked at her watch: almost noon.
She turned and walked under a gray arch, into the vestry of St. Marylebone to find Reverend Whittaker, who had preceded her inside. Ten pounds for the Church Restoration Fund . But she was Miss Jekyll, who had been baptized and confirmed at St. Marylebone. She could not give less. She emerged from the quiet of St. Marylebone into the hurry and bustle of Marylebone Road, with its carriages and carts, the costermongers by the sides of the road, crying their wares.
Although it was out of her way, she took a detour through Regent''s Park. Usually, a walk through the park could lift her spirits, but today the roses just starting to bloom were bowed down with rain, and even the ducks on the pond seemed out of sorts. By the time she reached the staid, respectable brick house at 11 Park Terrace where she had spent her entire life, she was tired and wet, despite her umbrella. She let herself in, a procedure that would no doubt scandalize Mrs. Poole, and put her umbrella in the stand, then stopped in front of the hall mirror to take off her hat. There, she caught a glimpse of herself, and for a moment she stood, captured by her own reflection. The face that stared back at her was pale, with dark circles under the eyes. Even her hair, ordinarily a middling brown, seemed pale this morning, as though washed out by the light that came through the narrow windows on either side of the front door.
She looked like a corpse. I have paused to show you Mary staring into the mirror because this is a story about monsters. All stories about monsters contain a scene in which the monster sees himself in a mirror. Remember Frankenstein''s monster, startled by his reflection in a forest pool? That is when he realizes his monstrousness. MARY: I''m not a monster, and that book is a pack of lies. If Mrs. Shelley were here, I would slap her for all the trouble she caused. DIANA: I''d like to see that! "What are you going to do?" Mary asked the girl in the mirror.
"Don''t you start talking to yourself, miss," said Mrs. Poole. Mary turned, startled. "It reminds me of your poor mother. Walking back and forth in that room of hers, until she near wore a hole in the carpet. Talking to who knows what." "Don''t worry, Mrs. Poole," said Mary.
"I have no intention of going mad, at least not today." "How you can joke about it, I don''t know! And her just in the ground," said the housekeeper, shaking her head. "Would you like a cup of tea in the parlor? I''ve started a fire. Cook says lunch should be ready in half an hour. And there''s a letter for you, from Mr. Guest. I found it pushed through the slot when we arrived. I''ve put it on the tea table.
" From Mr. Guest, her mother''s solicitor. Well, hers now, although she did not think Mr. Guest would want to do business with her much longer. It had been different while her mother was alive. "Thank you, Mrs. Poole. Could you tell everyone to come into the parlor? Yes, even Alice.
And could you bring--you know. I think it had best be done right away, don''t you?" "If you say so, miss," said Mrs. Poole, visibly reluctant. But there was nothing else to be done. Unless this letter from Mr. Guest . Could it possibly be about a change in her circumstances? Mary went into the parlor, took the letter from the tea table, and tore open the envelope--neatly, but without searching for a letter opener. Perhaps .
but no. If you could come to my offices at your earliest convenience, we can settle a few final matters concerning your late mother''s estate. That was all. She sat down on the sofa, stretching her hands to the fire. They were pale and thin, with the blue veins visible. She must have lost weight in the last few weeks, from worry and the long nights sitting by her mother''s bed so Nurse Adams could get some sleep. She wished she could lie down now, just for a moment. The funeral had been so .
difficult. But no, what had to be done should be done as soon as possible. There was no point in putting it off. "Here we are, miss," said Nurse Adams, leading what reminded Mary of a procession from a fairy tale: the cook, the footman, the maid, and the poor little scullion in the rear. Mrs. Poole followed them in and stood by the door, with her hands folded and the expressionless face of a disapproving servant. Well, this was it. How she hated to do it, but there was no alternative.
"Thank you all so very much for coming to the funeral," Mary began. "And thank you also for your--your care and loyalty, particularly these last few weeks." While Mrs. Jekyll had screamed and torn her hair, and refused to eat, and finally declined into her last illness. "I wish I were calling you in here simply to thank you, but I''m afraid there''s more. You see, I have to let you go, every one of you." Cook took off and wiped her spectacles. Enid sniffed and started crying into a large handkerchief that Joseph handed her.
Alice looked like a scared rabbit. How horrible this was! More horrible even than she had imagined. But Mary continued. "Before my mother''s death, I met with Mr. Guest, and he explained my financial position. Cook remembers, for she was here while my father was alive, but I don''t suppose the rest of you know. My father was a wealthy man, but when he died fourteen years ago, we discovered that his fortune was gone. He had been selling his Bank of England securities and transferring the money to an account in Budapest.