Norton, Andre - Novel 39 (21 page)

 
          
 
"There is no need to strain your eyes.
Off with you to supper or you'll have a bad headache and may not feel like work
at all tomorrow."

 
          
 
"I ain't inclined to 'eadache, miss.
Seems like I'm blest that way.
Poor Missus
Kirby, she 'as cruel ones sometimes.
They lay 'er sick in bed.
Many a time I've seen 'er so.
She won't
even
've
one of us near 'er then. Says any noise make it worse. She takes to
'er room and jus' lies there."

 
          
 
"Can't she get help from a doctor?"

 
          
 
"Says she knows rest is all what
'elps."

 
          
 
"It is too bad she has those
attacks," commented Hester. "Now, I mean it, Bertha, put away the
sewing."

 
          
 
Two lamps and the candles on the small dressing
table were alight, as Hester came into the room that had enchanted her so much
on the day she had first seen it. She went to the small desk and opened her
journal. But even as she picked up her pen, she found it suddenly difficult to
order her thoughts. Order her
thoughts, that was
an
expression of her father's that had often rung in her ears as a command. He had
had no time for an emotional response to anything.

 
          
 
Her father, with his quest for complete good,
complete evil—had, in his way, walked a path close to Dr. Jekyll's. It was the
first time that comparison had occurred to her. Her father's research had been
undertaken through the printed page; he had struggled to draw wisdom from
earlier ages. Dr. Jekyll had sought another path. Because he was a man of
science and not a philosopher, he had taken the riskier and more dangerous way
of physical experimentation, which had ended in foul defeat. Her father's way
had also warped him—had robbed him of emotion—while the doctor's research had
transformed him into a creature of emotions which could not be controlled. Had
her father ever, during his life of austere scholarship, been aware that he had
also stepped beyond certain limits?

 
          
 
Both of them had sought, both of them had
found—but in the doctor's case the taint lived on. She sat staring straight
into the lamplight. During the day she had been able to avoid thinking about
the horror of Utterson's death, but now memory broke through and could not be
dismissed. Resolutely she opened the journal, determined not to give way to
what she realized was fear. She was a Jekyll; could "this strange
obsession touch her? She did not believe it, she dared not! As carefully as if
she were transcribing some passage for her father, Hester set down the events of
the day.

 
          
 
Prothore's part in the action—she remembered
how distraught he had been earlier when he had told his story—that was such
folly that she had to believe that Newcomen was also a man under an obsession.
Such were clearly dangerous.

 
          
 
There were marks on the back gate. Well,
London was certainly not devoid of thieves. A large house might well attract
their attention. But with the newly changed locks there was no chance of a lost
key giving a stranger entrance. Bradshaw! For the first time she wondered about
the abrupt flight of the new butler. He had been for some years in-this house,
keys could well have come into his hands—but if he were on good terms with any
questionable person there would have been no need for that attempt at forcing
the back gate. She hoped that Prothore would be as good as his word and see
that she had a reliable manservant soon.

 
          
 
Hester made herself write on. The only thing
that gave her spirits a lift was the note that had come from Lady Farlie. She
made herself concentrate on the morrow and turn her back on today.

 
          
 
But once she was ready for bed she could not
settle down.
Something to read?
She remembered those
well-filled bookcases in the library. Hester had had no time to explore their
contents but surely they could not be all medical books or scientific material.
There would be no harm in finding out—several times in the past when her nerves
had been overwrought she had been able to forget worries and irritations and
woo slumber with what lay on a printed page.

 
          
 
Lamp in hand she resolutely went out into the
hall, down the stairs. It was like venturing into some cavern, and she pulled
her wrapper closer together at the throat, shivering, but refusing to surrender
to what could only be illogical uneasiness.

 
          
 
In the library she lit two more candles,
leaving a pool of light around the desk while she held her lamp high and went
to the edge of the bookshelves. As she had expected, there were mainly
treatises of a scientific nature, but she persevered and at length the name of
Dickens shone out in tarnished gold. She pulled the nearest such volume from
the shelves and went back with it under her arm.
Our Mutual
Friend.
She frowned a little. Not too cheerful a tale in itself but
certainly interesting enough to hold back thoughts she had no desire to welcome
this night.

 
          
 
Hester blew out the candles and hastened along
the big hall and up the stairs. She was eager to leave the chill dark of the
lower part of the house as speedily as she could.

 
          
 
Once back in her room she settled the lamp on
the bedside table and went to the window. The only thing she disliked about the
room was that its windows looked out on that ominous courtyard. Now she could
not help herself, drawing aside both drape and curtain to look out into the
night. The moon was full and for once no clouds obscured it. But there were
shadows along the wall. From this height she could see a little of the back
street, and though there were lights glowing in the higher windows of the
buildings, it seemed unnaturally quiet and deserted.

 
          
 
Shadows—

 
          
 
Hester clutched the window curtain in a very
tight grip. Had she seen a queer flutter of a . . . shadow coming toward the
newly enforced gate? Nonsense—

 
          
 
She came away from the window highly annoyed at
herself
. Next she would be hearing housebreakers
creeping up the stairs! A very small covered jug sat on her table. As her hands
touched it she felt warmth, and then she saw a cup set out beside it.

 
          
 
Bertha—the girl must have brought it up when she
returned from her own belated meal. This was a thoughtfulness that Hester had
not expected. She uncovered the jug and sniffed tea with an herb scent. Pouring
herself a cup, she drank and then retired to bed with Dickens firmly open to
the first page, fully intending to escape into the world drawn by that master
storyteller until drowsiness overtook her.

 
          
 
Hester's perception worked better than she had
thought. She had read less than five pages before the book actually fell out of
her hand. She laid it aside, put out the reading lamp, and settled into her
pillows,
sure that she would have a full night's sleep
before her now.

 
          
 
Hester awoke with an odd sense of having been
elsewhere—in some dream, but without memory of it except that it was vaguely
distressing. Bertha had opened the drapes and there was a cup of tea waiting
for her.

 
          
 
Sunlight streamed into the room as Hester
pulled
herself
up and Bertha turned smilingly to look
at her.

 
          
 
"'Tis a rare fine mornin’, miss. Sun does
change the look of things, don't it now?"

 
          
 
Hester took her watch from the pocket on the
bed drapery. Nine o'clock! She had never before dawdled beneath covers as long
as this that she could remember.

 
          
 
She drank her tea while Bertha fussed about
the wash-stand, putting out a large fresh towel and moving a tall can of hot
water. The sunlight had once more turned the room into the fairy-tale place she
had first seen and Hester felt a surge of well-being and pleasure. This was not
yesterday but today, and she had before her the meeting with Lady Farlie.

 
          
 
"There's this as came for you, miss.
Brought around a half hour ago."

 
          
 
Bertha freed a square envelope from her pocket
and laid it down on the bed.

 
          
 
Hester recognized Lady Farlie's handwriting.

 
          
 
"Dear Miss Jekyll," she read,
"I know that this is extremely short notice, but there has been a change
of plans and now I offer you a slightly different invitation. Our son, Robert,
has returned home unexpectedly and suggested that we attend tonight the
production of that amusing play, Pinafore, at the Savoy. Albert has not only
produced tickets—which at such short notice is very commendable—but will
accompany us. I hope you will consider my invitation to join us for dinner and
go on to the theater. Perhaps this is an intrusion when we have not yet met.
But we would very much like you to be our guest. We dine at seven, so that we
may be on time for the play. If you do wish to accept this rather informal
invitation, we would be most pleased."

 
          
 
Hester reread the note. It did seem strange
that she would be asked to join what must clearly be a family outing, when she
had never even met her hostess. Yet the tone of the note, judging by Lady
Ames's world, was very cordial. Perhaps a refusal might even offer offense, and
that she certainly did not want to do. She thought about it while she dressed
and then ate a leisurely breakfast. At last she decided to accept. She had
heard about the Savoy and its reputation as one of the "sights" of
London. The Pinafore musical production had been many times mentioned. A real
ship's deck was supposed to be laid on the stage. And Hester had never seen a
real play. Any new experience that led to the widening of one's knowledge was
to be cultivated.

 
          
 
Bertha had made a good choice in cutting out
the dinner gown, and if they hurried and got it finished she would make a
respectable appearance. She found Bertha already in the sewing room at work on
the dusty rose taffeta. Hester smoothed one of the pieces with her hand; she
had never before owned anything as gay in color. Yet judging by what she had
seen in the shops this one was very subdued.

 
          
 
"It will be just right, miss,"
Bertha said, industriously sewing seams on the machine, "and that is truly
your color. You ought to have pearls— M

 
          
 
"Pearls."
Hester laughed. "No, there will be no pearls." It was impossible for
her to imagine owning any jewelry except the cameo pin she believed had been
her mother's. But Bertha was frowning.

 
          
 
"You must have something! Oh, I
know." She jumped up from her chair, laid the material on the bed, and
went rummaging among the fashion magazines and papers in which Hester had so
recklessly invested. Flipping hurriedly through one of the magazines, Bertha
came to a page and pointed out the fashion plate thereon. The lady, dressed in
a gown similar to Hester's, wore about her throat not pearls but a ribbon
holding an artificial flower for a charming touch.

 
          
 
"The very thing," Bertha said.

 
          
 
They spent a most labored day. Cook seemed to
have recovered from the attack of nerves brought on by the report of
"Fish" and was back in good form with the luncheon she served Hester.
Hannah had taken her acceptance of the evening's entertainment to the Farlie
house. Hester had almost thought to snatch it back at the last moment. Though she
might be properly dressed, she did not know what a dinner might entail.

 
          
 
At Lady Ames's she had never been served
anywhere except in her own room, and she could guess that the Farlie
establishment would differ greatly from Mrs. Carruthers's boarding house. Life
in Canada had not prepared her for such an occasion. Even as she stood at the
fatal hour in her new gown, with Bertha giving a twitch of the overdrapery of
the skirt, and looked into the wardrobe mirror to see
herself
fashionably clad for the first time in her life, Hester felt uneasy.

 
          
 
She knew that she would feel out of place, but
she also worried that the Farlies knew of the story she had told Prothore. How
long had they been back in England? Had they read of the Hyde case at all?
Jekyll was not a common name. To hear it might awaken memories of something
sensational, and that would certainly shadow any friendship she might wish to
pursue.

 
          
 
There came a pounding at the door, which made
Hester a little flustered as she caught up her evening purse and fan. Bertha
smoothed the mantle across her shoulders, and she descended the stairs to see
Prothore waiting in evening dress and looking more at ease than she had ever
seen him before.

 
          
 
"Good evening," he greeted her and
she replied with the same innocuous words. He was watching her so intently that
Hester was disturbed. Had she chosen the wrong dress? Or was it that he could
only see in her the worn respectable dowdiness of her earlier state.

 
          
 
When they were seated together in a carriage she
felt that she must say something even though he was so silent.

 
          
 
"It was most kind and thoughtful of your
sister to ask me."

 
          
 
"Margaret was pleased you would come on
such short notice." But he did not even look at her, staring straight
ahead.

 
          
 
"I am sure she is a very pleasant and
kind person," Hester said, struggling to keep the conversation going.

 
          
 
He seemed to arouse then from his meandering
thoughts, but it was not comments concerning his sister that he voiced now.

 
          
 
"Did you truly believe Utterson's
story?" That came with the force of a demand.

 
          
 
"Yes. And I think you also would have
believed it if you had heard Mr. Utterson when he told it." She clutched
her fan tighter. Hester hoped that she would be allowed to forget for a little
while all horrors the doctor's confession had aroused in her.

 
          
 
Prothore was frowning now. "It is too
impossible, it can't be!"

 
          
 
"Mr. Utterson believed in it. He told me
that he had a letter from Dr. Jekyll explaining it all. Perhaps the
letter—"

 
          
 
"I shall start inquiries concerning that.
But Miss Jekyll, do you wish to continue to stay in that house? I do not think
that can be to your good. Sell the place and buy something more to your
taste."

 
          
 
"Mr. Utterson told me it would be some
time before my inheritance is legally recognized. Thus I must stay there."
She smoothed one gloved hand over the other.

 
          
 
"At any rate," he was continuing,
"I shall see that you have a new butler. Bradshaw's disappearance I cannot
account for."

 
          
 
"He gave notice and I told him if he
wanted a reference he must stay through the month. Then I heard that he was
gone and had not even asked for the portion of his pay due him."

 
          
 
"What explanation did he give for wanting
to leave?"

 
          
 
"That he was not used to service where
the police came. I think that I was not respectable as he saw it." She
laughed.

 
          
 
"Utter and complete
nonsense."
Prothore's voice was sharp.

 
          
 
"I was told that ambitious servants who
wish to work themselves up in the world have a dislike for being part of an
establishment where the police are apt to come." She hesitated and then
asked the question that had lingered at the back of her mind ever since her
conversation with Inspector Newcomen. "This Newcomen, will he continue to
pay visits?"

 
          
 
"He is a determined man. I have made some
inquiries concerning him and they were all agreed on one
point,
that
the inspector, once onto a case, never lets go until he is
satisfied."

 
          
 
Hester felt a sudden chill, and pulled her
cloak closer about her shoulders. To have her house haunted by Newcomen was not
a prospect she faced with any pleasure.

 
          
 
The cab had stopped before a house with
brilliantly lighted first-story windows. "Ah, here we are," Prothore
announced. He offered her his arm as they went up steps to the door.

 
          
 
Before he had a chance to use the knocker a
boy, perhaps just in his teens, threw the door wide open.

 
          
 
"Uncle Albert! You are the tops for
getting the tickets. Mamie and Mother are all primped up and it's going to be
really great!"

 
          
 
"Robert, you have a guest," Prothore
said in a voice that dashed the other's enthusiasm.

 
          
 
The boy colored and gave a small bow in
Hester's direction. "I'm sorry, Miss Jekyll."

 
          
 
"But you need not be," answered
Hester. "The treat we have been offered tonight is something to be very
excited about."

 
          
 
"This is Robert, my nephew,"
Prothore said. And the boy gave another stiff little bow.

 
          
 
"Mother's in the drawing room." He
was quite subdued and Hester made a guess that Robert greatly desired his
uncle's good opinion.

 
          
 
Hester straightened as Prothore took her
mantle and gave it to a footman. Placing the required tips of fingers on
Pro-thore's arm, she allowed him to escort her to meet Lady Farlie. Was she
about to face another Lady Ames? But to her relief the lady who arose to meet
them halfway across the room was certainly quite unlike that plump and arrogant
female.

 
          
 
She was tall and her complexion dark. Her
hair, of which she had
an abundance
, had been braided
and then wound around her head to form a crown into which had been inserted a
pin in the form of an exotic bird, a peacock whose eyes and tail glittered in
the lamplight.

 
          
 
Her earrings were also of glittering stones
and matched a necklace made of drops, with pearls in each. The gown was dark
blue but patterned on the bodice and in her overdress were golden flowers and
leaves.