Norton, Andre - Novel 39 (22 page)

           
 
She looked regal, Hester thought. But the
smile on her hostess's face was far too welcoming to make one uneasy. She took
Hester's hand in hers with a grip nearly as firm as a man's.

 
          
 
"Miss Jekyll, it is very good that you
have consented to share our outing. I have been away from home too long. You
will forgive me if I do not quite know the rules anymore."

 
          
 
"I never did know them," Hester
blurted out. "I am from Canada."

 
          
 
Lady Farlie laughed. "I see that this may
be a case of blind leading the blind. But doubtless we can assure each
other."

 
          
 
Hester felt warm and she also felt more at
ease than she had with anyone but Mrs. Kirby.

 
          
 
The four Farlies met at the dining table.
Colonel Sir Henry Farlie was a silent man but could smile at the talk about
him, and sometimes interpose a shrewd remark or two. He was obviously somewhat
older than his wife for there were gray streaks in his hair and his clipped mustache.
The children were Robert, who had opened the door, and Mamie, who was wearing a
white dress that did not become her dark complexion. She seemed shy and did not
look at Hester except when they were introduced.

 
          
 
Most of the talk around the table was of the
coming treat. "They, say," Robert declaimed, "that a whole
ship's deck sits on the stage and the theater has the new electric lights
and—"

 
          
 
"A number of wonders, eh?" commented
Prothore. "The lights are worth seeing."

 
          
 
"And we won't be seeing them unless we
hurry," said Lady Farlie.

 
          
 
Lady Farlie, the children, and Hester had the
family carriage, and Prothore and the colonel would come by cab. Though they
arrived in good time they had to take a place among the cabs and carriages
discharging passengers.

 
          
 
They waited for the rest of the party in the
circular foyer where the famed lights made the white, yellow, and gold of the
walls glitter and the decorations gave Hester the feeling she had entered a
palace. Surrounded by bejeweled ladies in their fashionable gowns, for a moment
she felt awkward and ill at ease,
then
dismissed her
concerns. She was here to see a show, not be one. They were at last ushered
into a box, where the chairs were covered with blue velvet facing, and when the
gold satin curtain finally
rose
Hester pushed all her
worries away and allowed herself to enjoy the show.

 
          
 
She was still a little bedazzled when the end
came. Lady Farlie smiled at her. "There now, that is an excellent feast
for someone who has been away from it all. Henry," she said, turning her
head toward the colonel, "I believe I shall favor going to theatrical
performances."

 
          
 
The colonel smiled. "Right enough,
Margaret. And you, Miss Jekyll, will you too become a theater-goer?"

 
          
 
"Perhaps I shall be tempted," she
said. "But right at present I thank you for the invitation to see this
performance and providing a memory that will linger a long time. Vou are most
kind and generous."

 
          
 
"We all have to thank Albert, it was his
idea—and an excellent one to be sure," said Lady Farlie. She held out her
hand to rest on Mr. Prothore's arm. "I think my little brother has turned
out very well!"

 
          
 
Prothore laughed. He seemed more at ease than
usual and was nearly another person this evening. Among his family he dropped some
of that arrogant attitude Hester disliked so much.

 
          
 
This time she took a cab with Prothore, who
was humming one of the tunes from the show. "Thank you again for a
wonderful evening, even more for introducing me to your sister and family. She
has asked me to go shopping with her tomorrow, and also to Mundies. She wishes
to take out a subscription. I shall do the same."

 
          
 
"You have a preferred author, Miss
Jekyll? Rhoda
Broughton,
or Marie Corelli?"

 
          
 
"I have heard of the writers you
mention," she said, "but I prefer books on travel."

 
          
 
"You do?" Then he mentioned a volume
that had been one of her father's discards, and she was able to make a serious
comment or two. "Egypt can be a fascinating place," he agreed.
"It might be an excellent thing for you to investigate the chances of a
Cook's Tour to such a country."

 
          
 
"If Dr. Jekyll's estate is settled in my
favor, I might indeed do that!" Hester was excited at the thought.

 
          
 
They had swung around into the square where
she lived and she was glad to see that the lantern affixed directly above her
door shone very clearly. Another cab was pulled up not too far away, as if
waiting for a fare to come out.

 
          
 
Hester drew out her key, ready to use it, when
the door of the cab opened and she saw a strange figure standing there. It was
not until he spoke that she knew him to be New-comen; she heard Prothore draw a
deep breath.

 
          
 
"Inspector!"
Hester snapped. This man frightened her a little. She also experienced a flash
.of irritation that he should end her pleasant evening by appearing like a
carrier of bad news. "Inspector, what is the meaning of this
intrusion?"

 
          
 
"Why, I hunt a murderer, as everyone in
the house knows. I am after Hyde."

 
          
 
"But Hyde is dead." She was
bewildered. "I told you—"

 
          
 
"You told us a wild story—something out
of the dreadfuls. You may not have had a hand at the beginning of this affair
but you are taking a part in it. I want Jekyll and I want Hyde—both of
them!"

 
          
 
"But they are dead" she returned,
still unable to understand what the inspector was saying.

 
          
 
"Are they now? Well, I can give you proof
that Hyde still walks this earth. We opened his coffin today, you see. And,
miss—it was empty!"

 
          
 
“Naught to
worry,
miss."

 
          
 
Hester shook her head. "I'm all right,
Bertha. And it's high time you were off to bed." She placed her cup on the
tray as she spoke. "Please take this with you."

 
          
 
"Yes, miss." But Bertha made no move
to withdraw. "Would you want for me to stay until you
falls
asleep?"

 
          
 
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary."
Hester masked her true feelings with a smile. "Good night, Bertha."

 
          
 
"Good night, miss."

 
          
 
This time the girl picked up the tea tray and
carried it with her to the door, which closed behind her noiselessly. Lying
propped up against the pillows, Hester strained to hear the sound of footsteps
in the hall and on the stairs beyond.

 
          
 
Nothing was audible, nothing at all. By this
time the hall and stairway were empty. She was alone here on the upper floor of
the house. There was a lock on her door, but using it meant Bertha would have
to pound for admittance in the morning, for there
were
no duplicates of the keys that rested beside Hester's pillow.

 
          
 
She stared at the silvery symbols of security.
That's what they were, of course—mere symbols. Doors that were locked could be
opened by other means. She remembered Utterson's account of how Poole had
battered down the red baize door to Dr. Jekyll's cabinet and discovered the
body of Mr. Hyde.

 
          
 
With the memory came disturbing realization.
They were dead now, all of them dead.
Poole and Utterson,
victims of violence.
Dr. Jekyll a suicide, by his own hand. Or could it
be called his own hand, once transformed into that of Edward Hyde's? And was
Hyde actually dead after all?

 
          
 
Hester thought of Newcomen's sudden,
unexpected revelation tonight.
Unexpected, unwelcome, and
unnerving.
What could it mean?

 
          
 
The question, like the grave itself, was an
empty one. Open graves, open doors; neither truly revealed their secrets. And
unopened, they afforded no real protection.

 
          
 
How difficult it had been for her to reject
Bertha's suggestion of staying until she slept! Partially it was out of
consideration for the girl after so long and arduous a day. Then there was the
matter of her own pride; a stubborn unwillingness to admit the extent of the
trepidation that assailed her. Beyond which, the kernel of the difficulty;
there would be no sleep for her this night, not after what Inspector Newcomen
had so abruptly announced.

 
          
 
Afraid?
Hester
lowered herself on the pillow atop the bolster. Of course she was afraid, but
the worst of it was that she did not know what she feared.

 
          
 
Was it Hyde dead, or Hyde alive?
Or dead-alive?

 
          
 
There had been a time when all of these
considerations would have seemed impossible. That Hyde existed or had ever
existed was in itself a defiance of what she had hitherto accepted as natural
law.

 
          
 
"And what of you, Father?" she
murmured.
"Would you accept such evidence in your quest
for absolute Good and absolute Evil?
And would you conceive that the
living proof resided in a member of your own family?"

 
          
 
Despite herself, for a fleeting moment this
notion brought a genuine smile to her lips. She
frowned
it away quickly as she recalled Albert Prothore's advice. Upon hearing about
the opening of the grave, he had urged Hester to leave the house immediately
and take residence in a hotel. "If not, I am certain my sister would be
happy to afford you temporary accommodations," he told her.

 
          
 
Only her insistence and the knowledge that she
still had a partial staff in residence prevailed over his strongly voiced
concerns. He then suggested that Inspector Newcomen post an officer on duty to
guard the premises.

 
          
 
To this Newcomen demurred, and rightly so.
Nothing had occurred here to indicate a threat of possible danger; under such
circumstances the best he could do was to alert the regular patrolman assigned
to the area around the square. "But mind the locks," he said.

 
          
 
The admonition was unnecessary. Hester had
indeed minded the locks, each and every one, after the two men took their
departure. Now there was nothing more until morning. Though
sleep
was beyond her grasp, she could at least close her eyes and attempt
whatever measure of rest attainable.

 
          
 
Turning out the lamp, she snuggled into the
warmth of the quilt. There was still a faint glow from the embers in the
fireplace that did little more than add a reddish cast to the darkness. Beyond
the window the night wind whispered promises of autumnal chill to come.

 
          
 
For a moment Hester's thoughts strayed to
those mean streets she had traversed with Captain Ellison, and the forlorn
denizens who huddled there. What would be their fate when winter came?

 
          
 
Once again she renewed her vow. Whatever the
extent of the estate, a portion of it would be devoted to aid the plight of
those less favored by fortune. It was not pity alone that moved her, but
gratitude, upon reflecting how close she had come to sharing a similar lot.

 
          
 
Now she had been spared. And tonight had in
many ways proved a revelation; an assurance that she could accustom herself to
the standards of polite society, and that not all of its members were boorish
ogres. The Farlies had accepted her without question, and Albert Prothore was
once again appearing in quite another guise. It was as if all the stiffness and
starch that had irritated her at the first could be put off like a coat. In
fact with his family his friendliness and small signs of concern for her had
been oddly warming in a way.

 
          
 
It was almost as if she met him for the first
time, but then this had been a night filled with new experiences. Her meal was
one of them; Hester had known hospitality before, but this was a revelation of
what it meant to really dine out. And of course the theater was pure
enchantment.

 
          
 
Hester sighed. Why couldn't that enchantment
have continued? Why did the evening have to end with the ominous news delivered
by Inspector Newcomen?

 
          
 
No answer, save for the whisper of the wind.

 
          
 
And here in her room the reddish glow dwindled
and died. The darkness deepened like that which yawned from an open grave—the
open, empty grave of Edward Hyde. She was fleeing that grave now, running
through the tangle of windswept streets where shadows slumped in mute misery.

 
          
 
Shadows that can rise out of the grave can
come into your house, into your life, come to take it over. All she could do
was flee as she did now, running upstairs through the crooked corridors of the
house, clutching the keys of salvation.

 
          
 
Hester blinked, awakening with a start to find
herself
actually holding keys in her hand. She must
have dozed off without realizing it, and it was then that the dream came.

 
          
 
Presently it was fading as swiftly as it had
come, and while she grasped the keys, the other elements eluded her.
Something about trying to escape from Hyde, something to do with
seeking salvation.
The Salvation Army?
That
hadn't been a paff of her dream, though in it she recognized some of the
streets she'd traveled with Captain Ellison.

 
          
 
No, salvation lay somewhere else. That's why
she had taken a tight grip on the keys. And now she must take a tight grip on
herself until she remembered. It was important to remember.

 
          
 
Time ticked away. There were moments when she
dropped beneath the surface of slumber but not into the deeper depths of dream.
Hester had only a vague awareness of the coming of dawn and none whatsoever of
Bertha's arrival until silence was broken as the girl set down the tea tray.

 
          
 
"Good morning, miss."

 
          
 
Her words were muffled, almost inaudible.
Hester glanced toward the girl quickly and found
herself
staring at a tearstained face. "Why, Bertha!" she exclaimed.
"You've been crying! What's the matter?"

 
          
 
"They've gone," the girl said.
"Cook, 'Annah, Patty, and Ratsby, too—packed up and took off,
th
' lot o' 'em. Must of cleared out afore dawn, 'cause when
I comes down to the kitchen at sunup there weren't a soul to be seen."

 
          
 
Hester was sitting upright now. "You mean
they left without notice? Surely Mrs. Dorset could have waited on some sort of
explanation for such conduct."

 
          
 
Bertha shook her head. "It was she as
stirred up the others. Right tiddly, nipping at that bottle regular an' making
out she'd been took with the vapors. Scared, that's the truth of it."

 
          
 
"I know she was upset because the
courtyard door might have been tampered with," Hester said, nodding.
"But she seemed recovered by the time I went to dinner last evening."

 
          
 
"'Yde," Bertha said. "She kept
on about a Mr. 'Yde as used to come 'ere in the olden days. Mostly it was
'Annah she spoke to, but Ratsby and I 'eard our share." A quaver crept
into the girl's voice. "Is it true, miss?
Did this Mr.
'Yde shut himself away in that place across the courtyard an' take his own life
there?"

 
          
 
"It seems so, Bertha." Hester firmed
both face and voice into a counterfeit of composure. "But there's nothing
to be afraid of."

 
          
 
"Dorset said different. She said as 'ow
this Edward 'Yde's ghost comes '
an
goes in the
night."

 
          
 
Hester swung around the side of the bed and
fitted her feet into the slippers waiting there on the floor. "I'm
surprised at her." She strove to keep her tone light. "And even more
surprised that Hannah, at least, would believe such nonsense."

 
          
 
"Per'aps they didn't at first,"
Bertha said. "But after Dorset told what that inspector 'ad tp say last night
about the empty grave—"

 
          
 
"Eavesdropping!"
Composure failed Hester for a moment. "I didn't realize she overheard
us."

 
          
 
"She 'eard, all right.
Said as 'ow it proved 'is ghost was rised and on the prowl.
A
evil spirit, come 'ere to make mischief."

 
          
 
"So that's what frightened them off into
the night." Hester nodded as she slid her arms into the robe that Bertha
now held outstretched. "I appreciate your loyalty in not joining them.
You're a brave girl."

 
          
 
"Thank you, miss." The accompanying
smile brightened her tearstained countenance. "Someone needs to stay '
an
look after you. An' now as we've new locks on all the
doors—"