Norton, Andre - Novel 39 (26 page)

 
          
 
And he was gone before she had a chance to
answer him.

 
          
 
Hester's hands were shaking while she helped
Sallie take a warm bath and used what remedies Bertha could find to spread across
the welts that had broken the skin of that thin young body. Having wrapped the
girl in one of her own nightgowns, she put her to bed, but left a lamp turned
low on the near table.

 
          
 
Once back in her own chamber she rang the bell
for Bertha and prepared to once more inspect the fastening of the house. Though
good sense told her it was hardly likely that Sallie's assailants would have
traced the girl here, she could not put aside an apprehension that seemed to
grow by the moment. The house was so very large and there were only the three
of them. Hester did not believe that Inspector Newcomen would appear at this
hour; he would be far more likely to come in the morning.

 
          
 
When Bertha arrived she gave her one of the
lamps that had been placed on the desk, and she herself took up the larger one.
They started down the stairs.

 
          
 
"Sallie, she said as 'ow them men took
her out of 'er bed. But that be very queer.
Missus Kirby, in
'er 'ouse things don't 'appen."

 
          
 
"Mrs. Kirby has been ill, Bertha."
But even as she spoke, Hester struggled with an unvoiced question. Sallie's
bruised and torn flesh bore witness that she had indeed undergone the ordeal
she described, but how had she been taken out of a house of refuge, and carried
away? On the other hand, why should Sallie have made up such a story? There was
a real mystery here.

 
          
 
Prothore's comment, which she remembered more
vividly
now, would suggest that he actually knew Sallie's
attacker. And if Sallie told the same story to Inspector Newcomen, would he
believe it? The word of a battered child might not be enough to hold against a
denial from a so-called respectable member of the upper ranks of society.

 
          
 
"Murch."
Bertha's voice cut through her worried thoughts. "She's been with the
missus for a time
. '
Most two years now. She was a
nurse once, they say, only she gave the wrong pills to a lady as she was takin'
care of.
They didn't prove nothin' against 'er.
Only
no doctor would send 'er on a case again.
T'was 'ard luck
until the missus took 'er on.
She'd do anythin' for the missus, she
would. But she ain't
no
fool, neither. If any man came
trampin' in the 'ouse to carry someone out, she'd 'ave known it. Miss, I ain't
a-sayin' as 'ow Sallie didn't 'ave any bad time, but what she said 'bout bein'
carried out—that don't sound true." Bertha's voice held an indignant note.
"There's somethin' wrong!"

 
          
 
"We shall go over the whole matter in the
morning. Sallie is in no state to be closely questioned again tonight."
Hester tried the front door. It was indeed firmly locked and Bertha had also
remembered to shoot the bolt after she let Prothore out.

 
          
 
But when Hester gave Bertha the second lamp to
hold and pulled aside the drapes to inspect the window fastenings, she noted
not only that the twilight faded very quickly indeed, but that there was a
storm already in progress. She could hardly see the nearest street lamp, so
thick was the curtain of falling rain. And she was suddenly aware of the blasts
of wind that lashed the heavy downpour against the wall and windows. Hester
shivered. The fire she had ordered kept going in the hall fireplace had near
smoldered
away,
and she told Bertha to put down her
lamp and build up the flames.

 
          
 
Even though the flames came to life again,
Hester looked uneasily around her. The light from the revived fire and the two
lamps they had brought with them did very little to banish the shadows creeping
out from corners and walls.

 
          
 
She drew a deep breath and suddenly felt
ashamed. Was she to be daunted by wild fancies? The house was like any other,
and she was a reasonable human being with a mind that had been trained not to
give room to fancies.

 
          
 
They continued their checking of the locks.
The whistle of the wind outside became louder as they eventually reached the
serving quarters of the house. There were live coals in the cookstove and
Hester, putting her lamp on the table, raised the teakettle from the hob. It
was full enough to give them each a cup of tea. She had not eaten since lunch
and realized she was very hungry.

 
          
 
With no thought this time of demeaning herself
in the position of mistress, she helped Bertha bring out of the stores enough
for a meal, which they shared seated at the kitchen table. The bread was more
than a day old but not too dry, and there was some cold sliced beef and butter,
even part of a slightly stale cake. Hester took note that they must replenish
their stores on the morrow.

 
          
 
They had finished stacking their dishes when
Bertha gave a sigh.

 
          
 
"It
do
be 'ard
on the missus, these bad 'eads.
She 'as such pain with 'em.
She 'asn't got no one as seems to take note 'cept Murch and she's no
doctor."

 
          
 
"We must find out in the morning how she
is," Hester agreed. "I do not think that she will feel able to tell
me about any staff. I think I shall have to ask Lady Farlie for aid. We cannot
continue without help."

 
          
 
The rain still beat fitfully against the
windows, which were dark squares on the shadowed walls. This house of gloom was
not where she wished to make her home. It seemed somehow to reject anyone or
anything that disturbed its dusty silence. If her claim to Jekyll's estate
proved legitimate, she would sell it.

 
          
 
This city was not all of
England
, and what she had seen of it certainly had
not been to her liking.
London
itself had a dual nature—the smiling Dr. Jekylls of polite society
masking the presence of the malevolent Mr. Hydes lurking in the lower depths.
No, this was not for her. There must be some other town, where she could find
days of real sunshine and gentle breezes, a garden, a small house. For a moment
she allowed herself to dream of living in a small house where she and perhaps
both Sallie and Bertha could be in peace, away from the grime and horror of
this city. Why, they might even be able to establish a refuge such as Mrs.
Kirby had done, taking children out of the dark into the light and seeing that
they had a chance for a good life!

 
          
 
"Bertha, do not worry about washing
up," she said, getting up a little stiffly from the hard kitchen chair.
"I shall be—"

 
          
 
She was not to finish that sentence. A scream
tore through the house, clearly audible above the moaning wind. Hester snatched
at the nearest of the lamps. There was no need to return to the hall in order
to reach Sallie. The servants' backstairs were close to hand. Gathering up her
trailing skirt in one hand and holding the lamp in the other, Hester hurried up
the steep stairs.

 
          
 
She could hear Bertha behind her, but another
throat-racking cry of fear led her to nearly drop the lamp. Then she was out on
the carpeted hall above. A figure clung to the wall there, edging toward her,
and a breath later the light of her lamp showed her Sallie, her hair in wild
locks about her shoulders, the nightgown so entangled about her feet that the
girl fell forward even as Hester set down the lamp on the floor and hurried to
her.

 
          
 
Sallie's eyes held that blank stare, as if she
looked beyond into a place filled with such terror that she could not abide
with it and was wit-blasted by what she had seen.

 
          
 
"Sallie!" Hester caught the girl in
her arms. They were both on the floor now as Sallie fought to free herself from
Hester's hold.

 
          
 
"No! Please . . . please—"

 
          
 
"Sallie—" Hester raised her voice,
tried to reach the girl's wandering mind. "You are safe, child!"

 
          
 
Sallie whimpered and then a shadow of
intelligence was back in those blank eyes. She gazed up at Hester.

 
          
 
"E was comin'—" she stammered.

 
          
 
"No, Sallie, there is no one here but
Bertha and me. You are entirely safe."

 
          
 
Sallie's shaking hands closed over her arm in
a tight grip. "'E can't come?"

 
          
 
"No one is coming to hurt you again,
Sallie. You have had a bad dream. And you are chilled." The girl was
shivering so hard she also shook Hester. "Bertha will bring some hot
gruel." She glanced to the other girl. "Help me get her back to bed,
Bertha."

 
          
 
Sallie was close to a limp weight but they
once more got her against the pillows and well covered. Hester moved a chair to
where she could sit and hold Sallie's hand in hers as she spoke to Bertha.

 
          
 
"Do you mind going down again,
Bertha?"

 
          
 
"I got the lamp, miss. An' I'll put the
other at the top of the stairs, since you got that one 'ere." She nodded
toward the lamp on the table, which Hester had not turned up to its highest
gleam.

 
          
 
Both lamps in hand, she left and Hester
continued to watch Sallie. That small bruised face turned on the pillow so once
more her eyes met Hester's fully.

 
          
 
"They can't get me now, can they,
miss?"

 
          
 
"Of course they can't!" Hester
reassured her.

 
          
 
The wind howled loud enough to be heard
through window and muffling drapery. There was a slight swaying that Hester did
not
like,
some draft must have found its way in. But
she did not try to break Sallie's hold to see what caused it. Nor was this any
time to ask more questions of Sallie. How had Sallie really gotten into the
hands of her assailant? That story of being carried from Mrs. Kirby's—

 
          
 
Sallie's eyes had slowly closed but her hold
on Hester had not relaxed. Hester shifted a little in her chair and Sallie's
eyes opened instantly, her grip tightening even more.

 
          
 
“Miss—!"

 
          
 
"I'm not going to leave you,
Sallie," Hester promised as the door opened and Bertha came in, a bowl and
spoon on a small tray. "Now, Sallie." Hester got up, freed her hand,
and lifted the girl a little on the pillows. "Bertha has made you some
gruel. I am sure you will feel better when you have finished it."

 
          
 
But when Sallie tried to spoon some of the
mixture into her mouth, her hands shook so that Hester had to feed her. Her
swollen lips made it a painful business and Hester took it very slowly.

 
          
 
Bertha had gone, but, before the bowl was
emptied, she was back, this time with a small teapot and a single cup and
saucer, which she set down on the bedside table.

 
          
 
"For you, miss." With efficiency she
built up the fire, and then, passing through the connecting door, she brought a
shawl she draped about Hester's shoulders.

 
          
 
"That is kind, Bertha," Hester told
her gratefully. "You get some rest now. Take the room where we have been
sewing and sleep there." She did not like to think of Bertha alone in one
of the small servant rooms at the top of this gloomy house.