Norton, Andre - Novel 39 (16 page)

 
          
 
But it was principally of Mr. Hyde he spoke
this afternoon; Edward Hyde, as Dr. Jekyll had christened his alter ego. The
combination of chemicals ingested by the doctor did not result in the creation
of a second body; instead they physically altered his own to form a more
fitting receptacle for the unbridled urges of his other self. Dr. Jekyll was
long familiar with the effects of various drugs upon the mind and body, but
never had he dreamed of so potent a potion and so remarkable a result.

 
          
 
A single draught altered outward appearance:
there was no recognizable resemblance between his usual self and the hirsute,
dwarfish figure of Edward Hyde.

 
          
 
Now he was free to go his own way, as the
respected and self-respecting physician, untroubled by baser thought or deed.
And when upon occasion he resorted to the use of his discovery, the drug was a
veritable elixir of life to Mr. Hyde, allowing him to give full rein to any
impulse.

 
          
 
That Hyde was a being of impulse, Dr. Jekyll
did not deny. Nor could he delude himself for long that Hyde was truly a
creature in the lowest sense of the term, a creature devoid of conscience or
compassion.

 
          
 
Hyde led a separate existence of his own whenever
Jekyll prepared and drank the
agent
of transformation.
But when Hyde returned, satiated, to swallow the antidote that restored Jekyll
to his rightful self, the physical change did not erase memories of Hyde's
deeds.

 
          
 
Thus Dr. Jekyll, when in his proper form,
remained a prisoner of his own conscience. The freedom he had sought to achieve
for beneficent usage was conferred only upon Mr. Hyde, whose purposes and
practices were
malign
.

 
          
 
But the drug was powerful, and despite his
knowledge of its effects, the craving for it persisted. Each time his
resolution weakened, Hyde's hold on him grew stronger. In the end came a
horrifying turn of events; Henry Jekyll found himself transformed into Edward
Hyde without the use of the potion and without conscious volition. Increasingly
he resorted to use of the antidote, which alone was capable of temporarily
restoring him to the form he had once so eagerly abandoned and which now he so
desperately desired to maintain.

 
          
 
And then the supply of antidote started to run
out.

 
          
 
"He realized his danger once it was
depleted," Mr. Utterson told Hester. "But despite the most frantic
efforts, he was unable to replace the necessary ingredients. Now Jekyll stood
doubly condemned; both as a prisoner of conscience and as a physical inmate of
Hyde's body."

 
          
 
It was at this point in Utterson's recital
that Hester broke her vow of silence. "And no one knew?" she asked.

 
          
 
"Such was the case," the solicitor
said. "But suspicion was growing and discovery inevitable. The first to
learn the truth was Jekyll's personal friend and physician, Dr. Hastie Lanyon.
He confided his narrative to paper and sent it to Jekyll, warning him that he
would soon place a copy in my hands.

 
          
 
"The rest, I believe, is known to you.
Dr. Jekyll, held captive in the dwarfish form of Hyde, hid away in his
chambers. It was there that the butler
Poole
and I found him, only moments after he had
taken his own life.

 
          
 
"Apparently he expected my arrival, for
he left certain papers behind, together with a note drawing them to my
attention. The first was his will; the second, a copy of Dr. Lanyon's
narrative. The third document was Jekyll's full and final confession."

 
          
 
Hester's shock gave way to relief. "Then
you do have proof," she said.

 
          
 
Mr. Utterson shook his head. "I did have,
but only for a brief interval. Much to my present shame I acted upon impulse
and burned all of the papers that might serve as evidence, retaining only the
will."

 
          
 
Hester's question was inevitable. "Why
didn't you go to the police?"

 
          
 
For the first time during their conversation
the solicitor replied without meeting her gaze. "I mentioned acting on
impulse, but did not identify its nature. Poor Harry Jekyll's confession at
first horrified, then moved me to pity for his misfortune. There seemed little
point in making such disclosures; the cause of justice could not be served by
so doing because the criminal, Edward Hyde, was already dead and so was his
chief victim, my old friend Jekyll, whose good name would be forever tarnished
by this testimony." Utter-son sighed again. "It is a decision that
has weighed heavily upon my conscience, and one that I now deeply regret."

 
          
 
"What of the other witnesses?"

 
          
 
"Alas, none remain. Dr. Lanyon is dead
and so is the butler, Edgar Poole.
Lacking their testimony or
other verification, if I were to come forward now with this account, it might
be regarded as the ravings of a madman.
My reputation, as well as my
late friend's, could be ruined. Call it cowardice or
caution,
I see great harm but no gain in pursuing such a course."

 
          
 
Reflecting upon his sentiments now, Hester
found herself in agreement as she thought of what someone like Inspector
Newcomen might make of Utterson's story. She herself believed the solicitor was
telling the truth, which only served to shock her the more.

 
          
 
Hester's reaction had not gone unnoticed.
"Bless me," Mr. Utterson exclaimed, "I trust you realize that I
have made these disclosures only because it was necessary to do so. But as Dr.
Jekyll’s heir—or, rather, heiress—"

 
          
 
Hester interrupted him with a swift gesture.
"But you are named in the will. What is your true reason for renouncing a
claim upon the estate?"

 
          
 
"It is a question of principle,"
Utterson said. "Perhaps I delude myself that this decision is not prompted
solely by the prickings of conscience, but the facts of the matter speak for
themselves. You are Harry's kin and I am not. You are young and I am old. You
are, bluntly speaking, presently impoverished, while my possessions are more
than ample for my needs."

 
          
 
Hester had listened without comment, and it
was Utterson who again took up the thread of discourse. "Under the
circumstances, it will be some time before Dr. Jekyll can be declared legally
dead, but I intend to take action to hasten proceedings. And when the affair is
settled you will come into an estate of roughly"—here the lawyer hesitated
long enough for a dry cough—"fifty thousand pounds."

 
          
 
It took a moment before Hester could catch her
breath, but Utterson's voice still echoed in her ears.
Fifty
thousand pounds.
The amount was staggering.

 
          
 
Again it proved difficult for her to recall
exactly what Mr. Utterson said next. He was doing his diplomatic best to inform
her there was no longer any need to live in near poverty. As Dr. Jekyll's
attorney and executor-to-be, he was empowered to disperse funds as he deemed
fit. He intended to place her immediately on an allowance of two hundred pounds
a month, payable in bank drafts drawn upon an account to be set up for that
purpose.

 
          
 
"I think this to be sufficient for you to
live according to your station and properly maintain your establishment,"
he said.

 
          
 
"Establishment?"

 
          
 
"You may not find it necessary to employ
a butler," Utterson said, "but if you wish a personal maid, I can
furnish you with the name of a reliable agency.
Poole
's widow refuses to serve, which is
understandable after her loss, but she did inform me as to the whereabouts of
Bradshaw, the footman, and the cook, Mrs. Dorset. They are willing to enter
your service and await your word. Meanwhile, here are the keys."

 
          
 
"Keys?"

 
          
 
"To Dr. Jekyll's
house."

 
          
 
And here they were now, right beside Hester
upon the desk. The keys that would open the home of a man who, like Fate
itself, was the embodiment of both
Good
and Evil.

 
          
 
Though the weighty keys had been in Hester's
hand during their ride, Utterson, who had accompanied her, did not make any
motion for her to use them as he assisted her from the cab to face the imposing
house he had declared was now hers. It was a handsome building of an earlier time,
facing a square and effectively shouldered on either side by others of its
kin—except the others bore signs of having come down in the world, being
shabby-genteel as it were. The one she faced had been well kept up, the steps
to the door scrubbed, the brass knocker on its surface well polished.

 
          
 
Utterson did not have time to raise a hand to
the knocker before the door was flung open and a tall man, in a dark coat that
had no touch of livery about it, but which nonetheless gave the impression of a
spruce and competent servant, bowed deeply at the sight of the solicitor. The
man ushered them into the large, low-ceilinged hall warmed by a bright fire and
furnished more as a drawing room than an entrance. There were chairs that
suggested perfect ease for the sitter, as well as a number of cabinets along
the walls. Hester caught glimpses inside of what must certainly be costly
curios evidently collected by someone with a love for the old and the
beautiful. Regularly spaced between the cabinets, burnished frames held
appealing pictures. In all, the look of this entrance into her new domain was
that of a place of wealth and taste, and she felt more than a little daunted,
though she had determined on the way here that she would give no sign that what
she found was either more or less than she expected.

 
          
 
However, her attention was centered not so
much on the hall itself now, but on the small group of people gathered there,
all facing her with looks of avid curiosity. There was a middle-aged woman from
under whose ruffled cap
strayed
a lock or so of
grizzled gray hair. Her face was round and the rest of her decidedly plump.
Hester did not need Bradshaw's rather affected words of introduction to guess
that this was Mrs. Dorset, the cook, and, in the absence of a housekeeper, the
most important female member of the staff. She was flanked by the thin,
youngish Hannah in the decent black dress, ruffled apron, and cap of a
housemaid's afternoon formal wear. In her shadow stood the much smaller,
shrinking figure of Patty in blue cambric, twisting her apron with large, raw,
work-swollen hands; her frame was that of an immature child and it was apparent
that she was completely overawed by both her surroundings and situation. Not so
the rather undersized boy in a buttoned-up jacket. Though he kept a wary eye on
Bradshaw, he was very interested in all else within sight.

 
          
 
Thus Hester met the staff of her new home,
indeed a modest one for a gentleman's abode, especially one as well in the
pocket, according to the saying, as Dr. Jekyll had been. With
Poole
dead, Bradshaw now stepped into his boots,
for Mrs. Poole refused to return as housekeeper. Utterson had informed Hester
of this, but it did not trouble her. Accustomed to running her father's
household, she anticipated no problems. There would be no need for great
entertainments, and to live quietly was all she desired.

 
          
 
When she had spoken pleasantly to the gathered
servants, she suggested tea be served to Utterson and herself before the fire.
While it was being prepared the solicitor informed her he had taken the liberty
of sending his clerk Pope around to settle accounts with Mrs. Carruthers and
fetch Hester's trunk. Indeed, it arrived before their tea was ready, and
Bradshaw deposited it, together with a bundle of garments gathered from the
closet and bureau at the lodging, on the landing before the stairs.

 
          
 
When at last they took their tea, Utterson
fell into set-jawed silence, staring into the flames. It seemed to Hester that
his thoughts were occupied with the dark and horror-filled story he had felt
forced to share with her.

 
          
 
If ever a house deserved to be haunted,
perhaps it was this one. She gave herself a little shake, as if to dislodge the
notion.

 
          
 
"The staff..." Utterson spoke
suddenly. "I trust it will be adequate. If you need others—though Jekyll
found these most satisfactory—you have the right to hire such."

 
          
 
Hester thought suddenly of Mrs. Kirby's
Sallie. The girl's bright face, willingness to learn, and that intelligence her
mentor had commented on, would make her an excellent addition to any household.
Yes, she might well offer Sallie a place here. Even though Utterson had already
advised her during their ride hither that she could not present Mrs. Kirby at
once with funds enough to acquire the second dwelling wanted to shelter more
girls, she could assist in modest ways—this being one of them.

 
          
 
Hester planned a visit to the Kirby
establishment as soon as possible, perhaps the very next day. In the meantime
the house itself afforded her matter for conversation.

 
          
 
At her questioning Utterson arose further out
of whatever dark study had held him for a while and informed her that the
doctor had been a noted collector in several fields.

 
          
 
They finished their tea, Hester noting with
satisfaction that the bread and butter had been of the proper thinness, the
cakes fresh and lightly made, and that Bradshaw was deft in his service. She
ate hungrily but Utterson did not. And it was only too soon that he arose to
go.

 
          
 
As Bradshaw showed him out Hester stiffened
her back. The hall room that had seemed so welcoming at first now overshadowed
her. She longed for more light though there were candles aflame in two
candelabra on a table nearby and several lamps aglow. The afternoon seemed to
have faded far too fast into twilight.

 
          
 
Hester faced up to what she felt to be her
first duty when Bradshaw returned. "I would like to see the house."

 
          
 
He at once picked up one of the smaller lamps.
"Of course, miss."

 
          
 
She was introduced into a library where the cold
of the unlit fireplace seemed to reach out into the whole of the chamber. There
was the large desk of a man of business and more cabinets of curios, as well as
two long walls lined with books, their covers a uniform dull mud color, which
looked as if they had never been read and no one would ever desire to take one
from its proper shelf. Yet there was the smell of polish in the room, and she
had a feeling that no dust had been allowed to settle there.

 
          
 
The dining room was a much more cheerful place
and apparently had been in continued use. A second fire blazed there, and over
the mantel hung an almost life-sized portrait to which Bradshaw gestured.

 
          
 
"That was the master—when he was younger.
Mr. Poole said it was very like him."

 
          
 
He held the lamp higher so that she could see
better
. This man pictured here, how could he have been the
protagonist of that evil and haunting tale Utterson had told her? He was
handsome in an open way that pleased the eye, his mouth curved in a gentle
smile. Looking at him she felt an odd warmth and fleeting desire to have known
him. That he could have been led into such darkness—that hardly seemed
possible.

 
          
 
"He looks as though he were very
kind." She spoke the thought aloud.

 
          
 
"That he was, miss. A proper gentleman, and
yet with a thought for them as weren't so high in the world. Many a time he
gave aid to them as were ailing and could not pay. A good man, miss."

 
          
 
Bradshaw sounded sincere, but then he did not
know his master's secret. Perhaps it was for the best.

 
          
 
Hester decided to postpone inspection of the
offices, kitchen, and pantry. That would be reserved for the morning when she
must interview Mrs. Dorset and make plain the intention to run her own house.

 
          
 
Instead she instructed Bradshaw to conduct her
upstairs. He did so, carrying the trunk and the parcel of clothing without
further orders, then setting them down in the upper hallway while she
confronted the task of choosing a bedchamber.

 
          
 
The first room to which Bradshaw now ushered
her most certainly would not do. The bed was huge, with curtains of a figured
green stuff to match the carpet of a similar shade. It was, Hester realized, a
room in which she would never feel comfortable.

 
          
 
Bradshaw verified her unspoken guess.
"This was the master's room."

 
          
 
"Yes. But it will not do for me . .
."

 
          
 
"No, miss," he agreed at once.
"Hannah has turned out the old mistress's room for your approval."

 
          
 
"Dr. Jekyll's
mother?"

 
          
 
"Oh, no, miss. Dr. Jekyll bought this
residence from Dr. Donner's heirs. T'was Mrs. Donner as had this room."

 
          
 
He had brought her to a second door and now
flung that open. She did not need the lamp he carried to see what was here, for
a fire was lit and candles in four branched sticks stood on the mantel, as well
as two lamps and lit candles in the holders on either side of the dressing
mirror. The room itself brought a gasp of delight from her. It was a place of
fancy such as one might find in one of the fairy tales she had read
surreptitiously as a child. The walls were covered with painted fabric
decorated with birds and butterflies. This bed also was curtained but the
draperies were roped back, while the head and foot so displayed were black
inlaid with mother-of-pearl, silver and gold touches. In the bed Hester
recognized the papier-mache so esteemed by an earlier age. Slender-legged
chairs held dark-colored cushions decorated with faded but beautiful
embroideries, which also adorned the draperies now pulled over two wide
windows.

 
          
 
Near the well-lighted dressing table, only
half showing around the edge of an oriental
screen,
was a washing stand. The tall standing wardrobe was patterned in fanciful
designs like the
screen's
.

 
          
 
"This is . . . very suitable." She
disciplined her voice firmly.
"And the other
rooms?"

 
          
 
Of a sudden she wanted to get this inspection
trip behind her, return alone to luxuriate in this fairy-tale room.

 
          
 
"The master had few guests, miss. Nothing
has been allowed to go, but much is kept in wraps."

 
          
 
His words were verified as she glanced quickly
into four other rooms, where the furniture was shrouded; all of them cold with
a suspicion of damp. It might be well to have fires in them now and then, too.

 
          
 
Bradshaw brought trunk and belongings to the
chamber she'd selected,
then
departed, and at last she
was alone in her own room. Her own room!

 
          
 
Hester reached out to run her hand down the
side of the wardrobe, as if to confirm its tangible reality. In all her life
she had never aspired to such a turn of fortune. Though what it was founded on
summoned a chill the fire could not dispel.

 
          
 
What would her father have made of these
circumstances? Had he known, or perhaps suspected, his cousin's propensity for
the morbid, if not the secret itself? Had that been the reason for their
alienation, for the changing of his name?

 
          
 
Nonsense, she must not let herself dwell on
the past. It was the future that mattered now. Hester hunted out the key to her
trunk and frowned when she inspected its contents. The frown deepened as she
faced the long mirror on one of the wardrobe doors. If Father saw her now, he'd
say that shabbily dressed stick of a girl had no place here. She must have the
proper clothes and very soon. Surely the servants had already marked her drab
appearance. A governess, a servant little higher than themselves, that was what
she looked like.