Norton, Andre - Novel 39 (24 page)

 
          
 
Since this was a surgical theater, its first
proprietor may have performed autopsies for the benefit of medical students.
But Dr. Jekyll had no students, at least not to her knowledge. Any dissections
he conducted here must have been part of the process he described only as his
"experiments"—a vague term used
deliberately,
and undoubtedly with good reason.

 
          
 
Hester did not care to dwell upon that reason.
Mr. Hobbs's words came as a welcome interruption to her thoughts.

 
          
 
"I warrant you'll want a stout lock 'ere,"
he commented.
"And a bit of oil on those 'inges while
we're at it."
His squint was directed through the open doorway and
into the recesses of the room they were entering.

 
          
 
To her relief there was no hint of horror in
what the wavering candlelight dimly disclosed. If a table still stood in this
room, it was completely obscured by the array of crates and boxes stacked and
rising to obstruct a view of the glass-guarded cupboards on the far wall.

 
          
 
The locksmith glanced at her. "Shall I
move some of this so's to get through, m'um?"

 
          
 
"Don't bother. I think we can find a way
around it." Hester noted that the jumble of crates and cartons did not
extend to the near side of the room, where a path seemed to have been cleared
along the wall. "Let us try here," she said.

 
          
 
As Mr. Hobbs raised the candle to peer forward
across the narrow open area, its flicker revealed the outline of a stairway
rising at the end. He advanced toward it and Hester followed reluctantly.

 
          
 
Hardly the word, Hester corrected herself. It
was not mere reluctance but a much stronger feeling. Fear was a part of it of
course, though only a part; the dread she recognizee mingled with another
emotion that could only be identified as a kind of horrid anticipation.

 
          
 
She knew what was upstairs—Dr. Jekyll's
cabinet, his combined private office and laboratory, his sanctum sanctorum
where deeds that were hardly saintly had been performed.

 
          
 
The path along the side of the wall, though
unobstructed by heavy objects, was littered with dust and a scattering of straw
from opened packing crates.

 
          
 
"Easy now, m'um,"
Hobbs
murmured.

 
          
 
His warning was unnecessary. As she moved
behind him up the staircase, the fingers of Hester's right hand curled to grip
the balustrade. Glancing forward she saw the locksmith halt upon the landing
and stand as though transfixed. When she reached his side the candlelight
revealed the reason.

 
          
 
He was staring at the open entrance to Dr.
Jekyll's cabinet. Hester remembered Utterson's account of how
Poole
battered down the red baize door with five
blows from an axe, and the proof of his story lay just across the threshold.
Broken panels and smaller bits of wood were heaped upon the faded carpeting
beyond; all that remained within the frame of the doorway were a few splinters
of metal hinging.

 
          
 
"Tut-tut!" Mr. Hobbs sounded almost
reproachful. "No lock needed here, either." Now his voice held a
questioning note. "Bit of trouble, I take it."

 
          
 
"Apparently."

 
          
 
Hester's reply was perfunctory, and
deliberately so, for she had no intention of confiding in the locksmith.

 
          
 
Mr. Hobbs stepped over the shatterings of
boards and panels inside the doorway. Halting beyond, he turned to elevate the
candle for her benefit.

 
          
 
"Careful, m'um," he said.

 
          
 
Now Hester surveyed the cabinet she had just
entered. Oddly enough, what she observed seemed almost so familiar as to lessen
her fear.

 
          
 
Here, much as Utterson had described, was a
somewhat commonplace room, dimly illuminated by the light from three barred
windows and Mr. Hobbs's candle. There was a fireplace, a tea table, a business
table, several comfortable chairs, bookshelves, and a tall cheval glass. Only
the presence of the glazed presses full of chemicals and a third table beside
them distinguished this quiet, carpeted room from the ordinary.

 
          
 
Carpeted.

 
          
 
Hester stared down and fear returned. In her
mind's eye she could see what Utterson had so vividly described—the dwarfed and
stunted body of Edward Hyde sprawled lifeless there on the carpet.

 
          
 
But it was not the thought that this room had
contained a suicide's corpse that moved her now; it was the fantastic
explanation of its true identity that lent ghastly color to the mental vision.

 
          
 
To banish it she quickly redirected her gaze
to Mr. Hobbs. The locksmith was already on the other side of the room,
examining the windows with something almost akin to admiration. "Stout
bars, these," he said. "No need to 'ave replacements."

 
          
 
Hester nodded, and moved toward the
bookshelves. "Would you be good enough to bring the candle closer?"
she murmured. The locksmith obliged and for a moment she stood there satisfying
a natural curiosity. At least she presumed this to be so, although it was
difficult to determine just why people gravitate to observe the contents of
bookshelves when entering a strange room. Would the interest lie in the books
themselves or in the character of their owner? A man is known by the company he
keeps; is it also possible to discern his nature through the books he reads?

 
          
 
Certainly Dr. Jekyll's library seemed to offer
few surprises. At first glance the shelves appeared to contain nothing except
medical works, plus a few that dealt with religion and philosophy. She reached
toward one of the latter.

 
          
 
"Watch out!"

 
          
 
Hester felt the sudden grip of Mr. Hobbs's
pudgy fingers tug her wrist back.

 
          
 
Staring down, she saw the great black spider
emerging from behind the volume and scuttle across the shelf.

 
          
 
She could still see its huge and hateful image
long after their hasty departure from the building and welcome return to the
comparative security of the kitchen in the lock-guarded house.

 
          
 
Hester did her best to dismiss the memory
during her discussion with Mr. Hobbs. A carpenter must be summoned to measure,
construct, and install the necessary door replacements. The man he had in mind
would be available within a day or two, though it would probably take another
few days before the doors would be finished and ready for the locks that Mr.
Hobbs would then furnish for them.

 
          
 
The idea of waiting that long was an uncomfortable
one, but Hester accepted the necessity, and she comforted herself with the
promise of future security.

 
          
 
It was only after Mr. Hobbs's departure that
the vagrant thought emerged. Love laughs at locksmiths.

 
          
 
But what of hate?

 
          
 
What of the hateful, hate-filled Edward Hyde
who had come to horrid life and met a horrible death in that shadowy domain
where his memory still lingered like a palpable presence?

 
          
 
Hester's mouth firmed in resolution.

 
          
 
Locks were a temporary safeguard at best, but
she must limit her major expenditures at the moment.
When she
came completely into her inheritance that building would come down at once.

 
          
 
She only hoped it would be soon.

 
          
 
Hester reconsidered her options at the
breakfast table. There was no sun today, only gloom and a suggestion of fog.
Even when she did not draw aside a curtain to face the courtyard, she was
continually aware of the dark and noisome building. That must be changed, she
thought, her fingertips clawing the tablecloth.

 
          
 
There was no way of obliterating the looming
bulk that now, against all rules of perspective, appeared to throw a menacing
shadow over the house itself. No, but it could be emptied—that was entirely
possible. Swept bare of everything that might remind one of its former master
and the evil he had brought into the world therein.

 
          
 
It would be a formidable task, rightly enough.
One that she and Bertha could certainly not hope to tackle.
No, she would need men to bring all the chests, furnishings, stacked boxes, and
the like into the open. And where was she going to find those men? More to the
point, for the immediate future, where was she going to find a new cook,
housemaid, kitchen maid, footman, and all the rest of the help needed run this
house?

 
          
 
The door opened softly and Bertha came in with
a fresh pot of coffee.

 
          
 
"Bertha, where do I go to hire another
staff?" Hester asked impulsively. She knew that there were hiring offices
in
London
, but she had no experience with them. Of
course, she might appeal to Lady Farlie, but she felt it would be an
imposition. And she also preferred to conceal from Prothore's sister the reason
for her household
staffs
hasty departure.

 
          
 
Bertha set the coffeepot carefully on its
tray.

 
          
 
"Miss, there's Mrs. Kirby. She 'as others
'sides just us girls as needs work. There's some as 'as been left with no
places 'cause their people died, or went off to foreign parts. There's them too
as 'as bin turned off without no characters 'cause somebody in the family took
a dislike to 'em unfairly. Mrs. Kirby, she knows 'bout such, an' if she speaks
up for them you can be sure they
is
truly 'onest an'
good workers."

 
          
 
Mrs. Kirby, but of course! Hester could
understand that warmhearted woman's struggle to help out just such servants as
Bertha mentioned. Look at Bertha—why, what would she do without Bertha how? As
for the men needed to clear the laboratory and that unholy chamber above—why,
perhaps Captain Ellison could help her with that.

 
          
 
"I am going to take your advice, Bertha.
Summon a cab in an hour. I shall be off to Mrs. Kirby." She glanced to the
clock on the mantel. "Or is this too early to visit her?"

 
          
 
"Laws, no, miss. Mrs. Kirby usually
be
at her desk by
noon
, busy with accounts an' such."

 
          
 
Hester dressed in one of her old plain dresses
and put aside her new mantle for her waterproof. The air, when she stepped up
to Mrs. Kirby's door, was both moist and clammy, the nasty odors that clung to
pavement and ancient buildings in this part of the city seemingly more pungent
today.

 
          
 
It was not one of the girls who opened the
door this time, but a thin woman whose flushed face was covered with many tiny
bluish veins. Her nose was bent to one side as if it had once been broken and
never treated. And the few wisps of hair that escaped from under the edge of a
cap well pulled down on her head were of that brassy red so trying to anyone
sentenced to grow it. She was wiping coarse, reddened hands on a dingy apron as
she looked at Hester in open surprise. So blank was the stare that Hester was
somewhat daunted.

 
          
 
"Mrs.
Kirby,
is
she in?" she asked. "I am Miss Jekyll—"

 
          
 
Was it only her imagination or had there been
a flash of something like life in that blotched face when she mentioned her
name?

 
          
 
"Yus, miss." The woman spoke with so
thick an accent Hester could hardly understand her. "Th' missus
be
in th' parlor. I tell 'er."

 
          
 
Leaving the door open she padded off, her
misshapen feet showing clearly beneath a too-short skirt, shrouded in what
looked like very old soft slippers. Hester waited a moment and then stepped
inside, closing the door behind her. As that clicked into place the woman was
back.

 
          
 
"Missus says come in." Having
delivered that speech, she turned her back on Hester and shuffled off down the
hall, leaving the visitor to make an unheralded entrance into the parlor.

 
          
 
Mrs. Kirby was not at her desk, but rather in
a chair near the fireplace, thick shawl about her shoulders. She had none of
her usual
vigor,
her face was pale and strained.

 
          
 
"But you are ill!" Hester burst out
the first words that came to mind. "I should not be disturbing you!"

 
          
 
Mrs. Kirby smiled and sat up a little
straighten "Nonsense, my dear. I do feel a little poorly, yes, but having
a visitor will banish what my dear mother used to call the gloomies. I am sorry
that Murch had to answer the door but this is class time for the girls. Dear
Miss
Camely
, the daughter of the vicar at St. Giles,
comes one morning a week and teaches reading and writing. It is very kind of
her. Poor Murch has not had too good a life and she is a hard worker but not
what one would call a proper parlor maid. Now, what have you been doing, and
how is Bertha working out?"

 
          
 
"Bertha," declared
Hester,
"is a treasure. I do not know what I would do
without her, especially now. It was Bertha who suggested that I come to you for
advice." Quickly she expressed her need for a new household staff as soon
as possible, but she did not explain more than that the servants who had been
with Dr. Jekyll were no longer with her.

 
          
 
"I see." Mrs. Kirby nodded.
"And what do you need in the way of a household?"

 
          
 
"A cook, of course, and
a kitchen maid, also a parlor maid.
The house is large but many of the
rooms are closed up and I do not use them.
Then a butler, or
if that is not possible at least a dependable footman."
She
repeated what Bertha had said about the needs of servants who had lost their
chance for future employment through no fault of their own.

 
          
 
Mrs. Kirby had slipped a little farther down
in her chair again, and to Hester she seemed paler than when the girl had first
entered the room.

 
          
 
"Bertha is very right. And I do know of
several who have been having a very difficult time of it."

 
          
 
"There is one other thing." Hester
did not know what impulse made her speak, but she voiced her desire to clear
the laboratory building completely as soon as she could, and asked Mrs. Kirby
if she thought she might gain the aid of laborers from the Salvation Army.

 
          
 
"There are surely some who will be very
glad for a few days' work," her hostess agreed. "Now I shall just
look at my ledger and find—" But she was never to finish that sentence.
She had struggled free of her shawl and was standing up when suddenly she
caught desperately at the back of the chair to support herself. Hester moved
quickly to her side, at the same time calling out for help as she steadied Mrs.
Kirby against her. But the weight of the other woman was more than she could
handle and she was afraid both of them would fall.

 
          
 
The door opened so quickly it slammed back
against the wall, as Murch came in with a long stride far different from her
earlier shuffle. She frowned blackly at Hester and almost dragged Mrs. Kirby
from the girl's hold.

 
          
 
"Now, dearie," she said in her husky
voice, "up t' bed with you it 'tis!
You 'ad no cause to
come out of it noways this day."

 
          
 
Hester moved to offer help again but a second,
very angry scowl warned her off. Slight as Murch seemed she was fully equal to
the task of maneuvering her mistress out of the room, though it was plain that
Mrs. Kirby was no longer fully conscious. Hester watched her raise Mrs. Kirby
from one step to another as she led her aloft. The girl hesitated, unwilling to
leave until she was sure just how the older woman fared.

 
          
 
At length Murch came down the stairs. She
still frowned and
burst forth as she went to throw open
the front door.

 
          
 
"Don't you come worryin' 'er agin, you
'ear.
She 'as been 'aving one of them
'eadaches of 'ern.
Tear 'er near to pieces they do. She is better in 'er
bed and there she's goin' to stay." She left Hester no time for any
comment or question but slammed the door firmly and decisively behind her.

 
          
 
Then, before Hester could go down the step to
the walk, she was nearly whirled off her feet by a slight form that flung
herself at her and clung, her body shaking with tearing sobs.

 
          
 
Instinctively Hester held her, or the girl
would have fallen to the ground. It was as if upon reaching Hester she had
exhausted the last of her already overtaxed strength. Her head fell back and
Hester saw, to her horror, Sallie's face, now disfigured by bruises, a trickle
of dried blood from a split lip dried across her chin.

 
          
 
"'Ere now, wot's all this?" The
cabman who had been told to wait for Hester looped his reins about the stock of
his whip and climbed stiffly down from his perch.

 
          
 
"Oh, miss, please . . ." Sallie's
hands kept a tight hold on Hester's skirt. "They'll be cominthey will! Oh,
please—"

 
          
 
She gasped and went limp. Had not Hester
already taken a good hold on her, she would have collapsed on the pavement.

 
          
 
Hester made a quick decision. She doubted if
Murch would even open the door now should she knock again. And Mrs. Kirby was
in no shape to take on what seemed to be a major problem. She spoke quickly to
the cabman.

 
          
 
"Help me get her inside and then drive back
as quickly as you can to my home."

 
          
 
For a second or two the man looked dubious and
then, after Hester had gotten in, he lifted Sallie so that she could hold the
half-conscious girl against her.

 
          
 
She begrudged every moment they spent snarled
in the heavy traffic of the main streets it was necessary to cross. However,
before they reached their destination, Sallie roused, and she raised her head
from Hester's shoulder, looking about her with a dull lack of understanding
until some fresh terror seemed to strike her and she pulled away.

 
          
 
Hester caught both the girl's hands in hers.
"Sallie!"

 
          
 
"Oh, miss—I was tryin' to get to Mrs.
Kirby. She let me out and told me to run—she didn't 'old with such doings. Oh,
miss, what will I do, what will I do?" Her words became the wail of a
heartbroken child.

 
          
 
"Sallie, you are coming home with me.
Mrs. Kirby is ill and I do not think she can care for you at present. There is
nothing to be afraid of, truly."