Theodora Goss - The Strange Case of the Alchemist’s Daughter

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright 2017 by Theodora Goss

Jacket illustration copyright 2017 by Kate Forrester

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Jacket art direction by Krista Vossen

Interior design by Brad Mead

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Goss, Theodora, author.

Title: The strange case of the alchemists daughter / Theodora Goss.

Description: New York : Saga Press, [2017]

Identifiers: LCCN 2016031398 (print) | LCCN 2016038043 (eBook) | ISBN 9781481466509 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781481466523 (eBook)

Subjects: LCSH: Holmes, SherlockFiction. | Watson, John H. (Fictitious character)Fiction. | Secret societiesFiction. | AlchemistsFiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

Classification: LCC PS3607.O8544 S77 2017 (print) | LCC PS3607.O8544 (eBook) | DDC 813/.6dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016031398

For Ophelia, who read it first

Here be monsters.

MARY: I dont think thats the right epigraph for the book.

CATHERINE: Then you write the bloody thing. Honestly, I dont know why I agreed to do this.

MARY: Because we need money.

CATHERINE: As usual.

M ary Jekyll stared down at her mothers 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 youll 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 didnt she always? Cook wiping her nose with a handkerchief. Enid, the parlormaid, sobbing on Josephs 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. Pooles hand. She looked pale and solemn, but again, didnt 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 mothers 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 dont like to leave you alone...

Please, Im sure Alice is hungry. Ill 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? Cant 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 wont understand the story if you start like that.