Norton, Andre - Novel 39 (15 page)

 
          
 
"As some of you doubtless know, there are
lodging houses offering shelter to both men and women, provided they can pay.
Some have a common kitchen to which food can be brought and prepared, though
few can afford such luxury. The usual price of a bed for a night is eightpence
for double, fourpence for single, tuppence for the rope."

 
          
 
Scattered murmurs rose from the audience, and
Booth nodded quickly. "There may be fifty or more beds situated in one
large room. For those who cannot afford to rent one, a rope is stretched across
the end of the room to lean upon and sleep in a standing position.
Provided the unfortunate can sustain the expense of such a
privilege."

 
          
 
Again the murmur, which, Hester now observed,
came from the more fashionably attired members of the audience.

 
          
 
Local residents seemed already well acquainted
with the hard facts of hard lives, facts that Bramwell Booth was offering now.

 
          
 
". . . All life is hard here. Merely to
exist in these surroundings is something of a miracle. More than half of the
children born in the
East
End
are dead
before they reach five years of age. If you could but see the filth and
foulness within the walls of those tottering tenements—where often a dozen or more
poor souls of both sexes and all ages are penned together, living in the same
single room."

 
          
 
Booth paused, nodding. "I am well aware
that some of you have seen such sights, and if so, there is no necessity for me
to discourse further upon examples of misery and distress. But those who have
come here this evening for a first visit—whether stirred by charitable
inclination or mere idle curiosity—I say to you, the time is upon us.
The time to march forward, to march swiftly, to march victoriously
against the foe.
Hunger, illness, the ignorance of youth and the
infirmities of age, these are mortal adversaries, aided by their tireless
allies whose names are Avarice and Corruption. But the greatest enemy of all is
Indifference."

 
          
 
And it was indifference to which Bramwell
Booth now addressed himself—the indifference of the powerful and wealthy
who
refused to relinquish either a whit of their wealth or a
portion of their power on behalf of the impoverished and oppressed.

 
          
 
Yes, it was true that the homeless and the
orphaned could seek refuge in the workhouse, but here again the conditions he
described were virtually beyond belief. Hester listened, horrified at what she
heard, simply because her own limited experiences vouched for the truth of his
words.

 
          
 
It was the intention of the Army, said the
chief of staff, to provide for the homeless, and to enlist both public and
private financing to that end. At present, reliance was still largely placed
upon the assistance of volunteers who opened their homes and hearts to give
shelter to those who might otherwise fall prey to the perils of the street.
Yes, he was in hopes that those assembled here this evening might heed his plea
for funds. But everyone, rich or poor, young and old alike, could heed a
greater and even more urgent plea.

 
          
 
To those physically capable he issued a call
for volunteer services for assistance in the many tasks that the Army alone
could perform. And it fell to the lot of all to join him in the fight against
public indifference, to aid by word if not in deed.

 
          
 
Oratory was succeeded by ovation, ovation in
turn by donation as uniformed Army enlistees moved down the aisles and extended
tambourines to be passed along each row of spectators until, weighted with
contributions,
they reached the hands of another Army member
at the far end.

 
          
 
Hester was in no position to give anything but
silent thanks for the fact that she was occupying the rear row, where her
dereliction from donation could not be widely observed. In her present
circumstances a contribution was out of the question, and once she had passed
the upended tambourine along to her neighbor, she rose hastily and moved toward
the exit.

 
          
 
Others from rows below her own were already
beginning to crowd the aisle behind her and it was from their ranks that the
call echoed.

 
          
 
"
Miss Lane
!"

 
          
 
Startled, Hester turned to see a familiar
figure moving toward her through the crush of the crowd behind. Even in this
initial moment of surprise she noted how he progressed without rudely elbowing
others aside; it was as though they recognized an authority in his bearing that
caused them to make way. Moses parting the
Red Sea
, she told herself. Or had it been God?

 
          
 
No matter—Albeit Prothore was neither.

 
          
 
The smartly dressed young man reached her side
just as she emerged into the corridor beyond the auditorium. Taking her arm, he
led her to the far wall beneath the stairwell, which afforded shelter from the
movement of the crowd.

 
          
 
Plucked from anonymity and subjected to
Prothore's scrutiny, Hester was suddenly sharply aware of her drab appearance.
Was she forever fated to meet him when clad in so unbecoming a fashion?

 
          
 
Not that it made any difference, she hastily
reminded herself. She was suitably and sensibly dressed for this particular
occasion. God and Moses would understand; as for Albert Prothore, it was none
of his business.

 
          
 
Apparently he thought otherwise. "I must
own this is a most unexpected meeting," he was saying. "After your
experiences the other evening, I did not presume you would be rash enough to
repeat the indiscretion. You gave me your word—"

 
          
 
"I did no such thing!" Hester,
conscious of temper on the rise, paused for an instant,
then
continued in more modulated tones. "And my presence at a public meeting
can hardly be termed an indiscretion."

 
          
 
"Then might I be so bold as to inquire
why you are here?" Prothore said.

 
          
 
"I should think the reason is obvious
enough. I am writing an article about this meeting for The British Lady."

 
          
 
"But that's impossible." Albert
Prothore shook his head. "Aunt Agatha gave me that assignment this
afternoon. She said there would be no further need for your services."

 
          
 
Stunned, for a moment Hester's only response
was a speechless stare to meet and match his own.

 
          
 
Neither of them observed another's stare
embracing both. Watching them unobtrusively from the nearby doorway was
Inspector Newcomen.

 
          
 
“Surely the vagaries of Fate are beyond
comprehension." Despite the twilight chill of her room that numbed
Hester's fingers, her pen moved swiftly across the paper.

 
          
 
"This morning I was so distressed that I
could not bring myself to write of the misfortunes that had befallen me."
Hester paused momentarily to grant another transfusion of ink to her pen.
"Suffice to say that my account of Mrs. Kirby's shelter for homeless
children was summarily rejected. And last night my attempts to gather material
for another article proved fruitless when I discovered Mr. Prothore had been
given that assignment."

 
          
 
Once more Hester dipped her pen. As she did so
she mentally reviewed her encounter with Sir John Dermond's parliamentary
secretary. It developed that Prothore was not attending the meeting merely to
accommodate Miss Scrimshaw; his actual employer, Sir John, was pressing him to
investigate the problems of the slums.

 
          
 
This disclosure had not been forthcoming until
she was already in the cab, homeward bound, again at Prothore's insistence.
During the journey he expressed himself regarding the meeting, his views
differing
widely from her own
.

 
          
 
Disgusting.
Bilge.
Sheer twaddle.
Tommyrot.
Although lacking his
aunt
Agatha's talent for invective, he managed to convey distaste with equal ease.
Bramwell Booth was dismissed as a sanctimonious hypocrite or else a pious
nincompoop, as were all who presumed to meddle in such matters. The problems of
poverty were meant for the consideration of economists, not amateur
theologians. For that matter he didn't approve of political intervention; his
own employer was keen to learn about conditions solely to exploit such information
and further the Liberal cause in Parliament. As for his disapproval of Hester's
activity—

 
          
 
Hester put her pen aside. The gesture was
abrupt but decisive.

 
          
 
Had she been able to confide in her journal
earlier today, she would probably have set down everything in detail, but now
there was no longer any need to do so. In fact, there was no question of need
at all, thanks to those selfsame vagaries of Fate to which she had previously
alluded.

 
          
 
Why write of yesterday when it was today that
really mattered? This
noon
, to be exact; high noon, coinciding with
the height of
her own
anxieties. The fix she was in
had her literally pacing the floor when Dorry arrived with the notice summoning
her to Mr. Utterson's office, at her earliest convenience.

 
          
 
The message had been delivered by a cabby who
was still waiting, either for a reply or for her accommodation as a passenger
on the return journey to Turk's Court. Hester gave Dorry instructions; the
cabman was to continue waiting and she would join him presently.

 
          
 
"Presently" proved to be a matter of
some few minutes, during which Hester hurriedly donned the one properly
becoming outfit she had not worn on her previous meeting with the solicitor.
Whether the prospect of this coming visit boded well or ill, she would at least
confront it while wearing her Sunday best. Perhaps a change for the better in
her appearance augured a change for the better in her fortunes. Then again, she
vaguely recalled reading a volume from her father's library that described the
care Marie Antoinette lavished upon her dress just before she was escorted to
the guillotine.

 
          
 
No matter, she was on her way. The early
afternoon sunshine danced and dazzled over the dome of
St. Paul
's, and pigeons soared above the battlements
of the Tower. Hester made a mental resolve to visit both of these
London
landmarks at, as Mr. Utterson would put it,
her earliest convenience.

 
          
 
But what if there was no convenience in her
future? As of this moment her worldly possessions consisted of an inadequate
wardrobe, a meager assortment of personal effects—all worthless, save for her
watch—and barely four shillings in cash. Perhaps Mr. Utterson's invitation
indicated an intention to improve her resources. Or was it actually a summons
to wait upon Inspector Newcomen?

 
          
 
Recollection of the big man's suspicions and
the authority with which he could implement them dimmed the sunshine's
dazzlement, and for a moment the thought of poor Marie Antoinette crossed her
mind again.

 
          
 
Hester dismissed the conceit with a shrug. She
was hardly a tragic figure, let alone a queen, and this conveyance was
certainly not a tumbril.

 
          
 
Once more Hester contemplated the vagaries of
Fate. Like father, like daughter, she told herself. Was it not the very mystery
that Father unknowingly sought to solve by his earnest examination of
Good
and Evil?
All those letters to
learned professors and philosophers in faraway places, all those personal
consultations with clergymen, and with what result?
His verdict was that
pure goodness, like pure evil, could not be proven to exist in any manifest
form.

 
          
 
Which meant, when carried to its logical
conclusion, that there was neither a God nor a Devil to rule or motivate
mankind. They were personifications of forces that in reality were not separated
but intermingled. And the true and only name for such forces was Fate.

 
          
 
Hester shook her head.
Strange
thoughts for a sunny afternoon.
And she was by no means certain of her
conclusions. Surely the learned professors and philosophers would disapprove,
and the clergy cringe, at such blasphemy. What Father himself might say she
would never
know.
But then there were so many things
that Father had left unsaid. It was for those very reasons that she now found
herself in her present circumstances, on her way to a meeting that might well
determine the course of her future. Such indeed were the vagaries of Fate.

 
          
 
Her actual arrival at Mr. Utterson's office
was scarcely the stuff of high drama. Again it was the ubiquitous clerk, Mr.
Guest, who greeted her and paid the cabby, then guided her to the inner sanctum
of his employer.

 
          
 
To Hester's considerable relief, the lawyer
awaited her alone; there was no sign of Inspector Newcomen's presence unless,
of course, he had chosen to conceal himself in the closet.

 
          
 
But that was nonsense. And it was obvious from
Mr. Utterson's greeting and expression that this was meant to be a serious
occasion. Or was it merely that her own somewhat more ladylike appearance
elicited a more respectful response?

 
          
 
For a moment Hester flattered herself that
this might indeed be the case, but if so, the solicitor abruptly corrected the
notion.

 
          
 
Now, some several hours later, she could not
recall his exact words; only the clarity of their meaning remained. Mr.
Utterson had, he said, taken immediate steps to check out her claims—even to
the point of contacting Major Ames by cable—and was satisfied that they were
valid. His next statement she remembered verbatim.

 
          
 
"You are now the heir," he told her,
"the sole and only heir, to Henry Jekyll's fortune."

 
          
 
Startled, it took several seconds before she
could muster and murmur her reply. "But how do you know Dr. Jekyll is
dead?"

 
          
 
Mr. Utterson regarded her somberly.
"Because I was present when he died."

 
          
 
Hester leaned forward. "I thought you
witnessed the death of Mr. Hyde."

 
          
 
"So I did." Mr. Utterson nodded.
"Dr. Jekyll was Mr. Hyde."

 
          
 
If his previous announcement had been
startling, this present statement stunned Hester to a point where she was
incapable of a reply. She sat in shocked silence and it remained for the
solicitor to break it with a heavy sigh.

 
          
 
"What I am about to tell you is a matter
of strictest confidence," he said. "And before I do so it will be
necessary for each of us to take an oath. Mine, which I now solemnly swear, is
that I tell the truth. And in return I want your word that you never reveal
what I disclose."

 
          
 
Hester hesitated. "You suggest we enter
into a conspiracy of silence—"

 
          
 
"Not suggesting," Utterson said.
"I am insisting upon it. As for conspiracy, I tend to find that too harsh
a term. Let us instead regard it as a matter of mutual agreement."

 
          
 
"Can you not speak plainly?" Hester
asked. "I need an assurance that there is nothing of a criminal nature
involved."

 
          
 
The solicitor frowned. "I fear no such
assurance can be granted you. Criminal acts must be spoken of—indeed, the very
heart of the matter is a crime against Nature itself."

 
          
 
Hester sat irresolute. Why men of the law
insisted upon talking in riddles was a conundrum for which she had no answer.
But the riddle that Utterson presented was tantalizing, and the answer must be
important.

 
          
 
Curiosity overcame reluctance. "You have
my promise to remain silent," she said.

 
          
 
And silent she remained as Mr. Utterson spoke.

 
          
 
What he had told her loomed vivid in her
memory, though his precise phrasing was clouded, very much like the sky
presently visible beyond the window of her room.

 
          
 
Shabby as her surroundings might be, Hester
was grateful for the sense of security they afforded. There had been no feeling
of security in Utterson's office once he revealed the particulars of Dr. Henry
Jekyll's experiments.

 
          
 
"Experiments."
That was the term the solicitor used, but it scarcely began to describe the
activities of his late client and longtime friend—activities that Utterson had
never suspected.

 
          
 
Henry Jekyll inherited his wealth but earned
his reputation, as a practicing physician and through private research into
medical science. It was not until his middle years that such research resulted
in a conclusion both philosophical and psychological. There was, he reasoned, a
duality in man, two separate and distinct aspects of being, imprisoned in one
body. Call them moral and immoral or civilized and primitive; the terms merely
described polar twins perpetually warring for the control of a single bodily
vestment.

 
          
 
The battles were continuous, the victories
merely temporary and far too costly. If intellect prevailed, then instinct
suffered; when flesh triumphed, spirit agonized. In
either
case the single mind and
body that housed both forces was the ultimate
victim.

 
          
 
Ideally, each force should inhabit a body of
its own. Such was Jekyll's psychological solution to the problem. But what if
there was a physiological solution as well?

 
          
 
As best Hester could now recall, Utterson had
not described the details of the "experiments" conducted by Dr.
Jekyll in his laboratory, or just when he attained final and physical proof of
his theory. Whatever the occasion, the solicitor was unaware of it at the time;
his only information came after Jekyll's death.