Norton, Andre - Novel 39 (23 page)

 
          
 
With the words came the recollection Hester
had been searching for at the time of awakening. Now, as the girl opened the
drapes, she called to her.

 
          
 
"Bertha—do you remark what I did with
that card Mr Hobbs gave me?"

 
          
 
'The locksmith, miss?"
The girl nodded. "I do believe you set it in the tray on the 'all table.
You
wants
it now?"

 
          
 
"Please to stay with me while I dress.
Then we'll go down together. Between us we should be able to manage something
for breakfast."

 
          
 
Hester dressed, grateful as much for Bertha's
presence as for her assistance. The sky beyond the window cast a gray gloom
over the garden and courtyard below. Even after Bertha brought the gas log to a
blaze, it could not totally dispel damp chill and dim shadow from the sunless
world without.

 
          
 
Further fires were kindled for comfort when
they descended the stairs together, to which Hester added the cheer of candles.
Assured that locksmith Hobbs's card was resting where Bertha had recalled,
Hester pocketed it and led the way to the kitchen.

 
          
 
Mrs. Dorset's departure had indeed been
precipitate, to judge from the state in which they found the cook's domain. A
good thing she and the others, like Bradshaw, had not waited departure to
demand wages; none would be forthcoming under these sorry circumstances.

 
          
 
Hester checked the thought with a rueful
smile. How quickly one who had spent a lifetime of near poverty could slip into
the imperious attitudes of the upper classes! All it took was a few days and a
few pounds to transform the country mouse into a tyrannical tigress. Given
their lifetimes in such a situation, it was a bit easier to understand Lady
Ames and Miss Scrimshaw. On the other hand, Captain Ellison and Mrs. Kirby were
not of that mind; they had chosen the right course, and she must follow it,
too.

 
          
 
But now there was another course to follow,
once she and Bertha concluded breakfasting. Reaching into her skirt pocket,
Hester pulled out Mr. Hobbs's card and handed it to the girl.

 
          
 
"Do you know this address?" she
asked.

 
          
 
Bertha nodded without looking at the lines of
print. "Yes, miss. The shop's around the bystreet an' two squares
down."

 
          
 
"Good. I would like you to go there now
and see if you can fetch the locksmith for me."

 
          
 
Once Bertha was dispatched on her errand,
Hester set about gathering up the breakfast dishes. Midway through the task she
paused, setting them down again with a smile of rueful realization. Hands such
as hers were not destined to be immersed in dishwater. What would Lady Ames
remark upon seeing her thus engaged? More to the point, what would Bertha say?

 
          
 
Here, servants seemed more snobbish than their
masters. It was the one trait that both cut across all classes of society and
at the same time bound them together.

 
          
 
Hester forced herself to be seated. From this
vantage the kitchen appeared vast, indeed; she would not wish to spend much
time in it alone, nor condemn herself to solitary confinement in any of the
rooms of this formidable house. She wondered that Bertha was not afraid to
stay; perhaps she judged it preferable to the prospect of life in the streets.

 
          
 
Whatever the reason, Hester was grateful for
her presence, and regretted even this temporary absence.

 
          
 
More quickly than she would have thought, the
absence ended as Bertha signaled her arrival at the front door.

 
          
 
Hurrying down the hall to admit her, Hester
was pleasantly surprised to see that the girl was not alone. Standing beside
her, a portly, ginger-mustached man bobbed his head in greeting.

 
          
 
"'Obbs, m'um, at your
service."

 
          
 
Hester smiled. "Thank you for responding
so quickly."

 
          
 
The locksmith squinted toward Bertha through
rimless spectacles as he spoke. "Caught me at the proper time, she did. I
'ad me a commission to fit winder-catches for a green-grocer's shop clear off
on Oxford Street, but word come not to 'urry, seeing as 'ow the place burned
down last night,

 
          
 
His bespectacled stare was fixed on the hall
beyond the point where Hester stood in the open doorway. "Your gel here
says it's a matter of some emergency. If you'd oblige me with a look ..."

 
          
 
"By all means."
Hester stepped back. "Do please to come in."

 
          
 
Hobbs
entered,
then
followed her along the hall. Behind them Bertha closed and locked the front
door, then hastened to catch up to them as they neared the kitchen.

 
          
 
"Problems 'ere, m'um?" the locksmith
asked. "I 'ope nothing went amiss with our work yesterday. It's only I've
young Sethers to reckon with. A likely lad, but still a new 'pprentice—"

 
          
 
"There are no complaints." Hester
cut him off quickly. "You did an excellent job. It's just that there is
probably more that must be done."

 
          
 
"Probably, m'um?"

 
          
 
"See for yourself and tell me what you
think." Hester started toward the hall door that bisected the servants'
quarters beyond, glancing toward Bertha as she passed. "If we have
visitors at the front door while I'm gone, call out to them to wait. Then come
directly to me."

 
          
 
Bertha's eyes widened. "Yer means to go
inside over there?"

 
          
 
"Do not concern yourself, Bertha. Mr.
Hobbs will be with me. Just stay here and do up the dishes."

 
          
 
Without waiting for a reply, Hester took a
candlestick from the table, opened the door, and moved down the narrow
unlighted corridor with Mr. Hobbs following directly behind. Pausing before the
exit at the far end of the hallway, she reached for her keys and peered down at
them in semi-darkness.

 
          
 
The locksmith moved up beside her. "Let
me give you a hand, m'um," he said, and did just that, extending a pudgy
palm.

 
          
 
The eyes behind the spectacles were keen, the
fleshy fingers adroit. In a matter of moments the door was open and they moved
into drab daylight beyond.

 
          
 
The back garden stood untended, a wilted
wilderness overgrown with weeds. Hester reminded herself it would be needful to
employ the services of a gardener in addition to other requirements for a
household staff.

 
          
 
Now they were crossing the courtyard,
footfalls crunching dead leaves, scattered victims of autumn winds. By the time
they reached the entryway to the building on the far side, Hester was grateful
for its shelter.

 
          
 
There was only the single door here on this
side of the gabled two-story structure, but no lock had been affixed to it, and
both the metal knob and the keyhole plate beneath were rusted.

 
          
 
Mr. Hobbs stubbed a finger outward.
"Where paint 'as peeled, you can see rot in the wood. A lock won't 'elp;
what's needed is a new door."

 
          
 
Hester nodded. "There are other things."
She started reaching toward the doorknob but Mr. Hobbs intercepted her.

 
          
 
"Allow me, m'um."

 
          
 
His efforts resulted in a grating of rusty
hinges and a surge of damp issuing from the open doorway. Darkness lay beyond.

 
          
 
Hester gripped the base of her candlestick;
the taper it held was fresh, the wick still white. She turned to address the
locksmith but he had already anticipated her request. A moment later the candle
put forth a blossom of flame.

 
          
 
Mr. Hobbs reached forward. "Let me take
that for you, m'um," he said. "Best I go first."

 
          
 
They started forward into the musty murk of a
hall entryway, flanked by a wide door. Again it was the locksmith who
anticipated Hester's movements by opening the door, giving access to a large
room cluttered with boxes and dusty tables.

 
          
 
Mr. Hobbs glanced at his companion. "Do
you wish lock for this?"

 
          
 
"I doubt there is a need," Hester
replied. The locksmith went over to two doors at the right. The first proved to
be a closet, but the second revealed a steeply slanted stairwell descending
into darkness that defied the candlelight.

 
          
 
Hobbs
's hesitation was broken by Hester's nod.
Slowly he set foot upon the uppermost treads. "Take care," he
murmured.

 
          
 
His words were punctuated by the creak of
stairs protesting the weight they bore. The air was
more damp
below and the darkness deeper, but the light of the flame was sufficient to
disclose the contents of the cellar.

 
          
 
The locksmith frowned. "What need d'ye
suppose
he
'ad for all that lumber?"

 
          
 
"I haven't the faintest idea. Dr. Jekyll
purchased this property from the heirs of a surgeon named Donner. Perhaps the
original owner stored materials here against a time when he might enlarge the
building."

 
          
 
Mr. Hobbs shrugged. "I take it Dr. Jekyll
'ad no such plans."

 
          
 
Hester allowed her nod to serve as a reply.
She had no desire to discuss Henry Jekyll's plans, or even to speculate what
they might have been.

 
          
 
Upon turning, it was she who led the way back
up the stairs, into the tiny hall, and up to the door at its end. Here again
the knob turned easily, and once more there was a telltale rasp of hinges as
the door swung open.

 
          
 
This time the grating sound
echoed, rising and resounding with an eery pitch through the recesses of the
chamber beyond.

 
          
 
Like a scream, Hester told herself. This room
must be the one described as Dr. Jekyll's surgical theater. How many times had
real screams risen here? How much pain had poured forth, how much blood had
been shed?
This scene of suffering—had it also been the scene
of death?

 
          
 
Very likely so, for she remembered hearing
about Mr. Hyde having entered from the bystreet by "the old dissecting
room door."
Which meant that either Dr. Donner or Dr.
Jekyll, perhaps both, had brought cadavers here.
If
so, for what purposes?