Norton, Andre - Novel 39 (28 page)

 
          
 
Then it came to him and he smiled quickly.
"
Murch,
isn't it?" he said.

 
          
 
"Yus."
The
eyes blinked assent.

 
          
 
"I am a friend of Miss Jekyll's, who came
here to visit Mrs. Kirby this afternoon. It is important that we speak with her
at once."

 
          
 
The woman frowned.
"Th'
missus 'as gone out."

 
          
 
"When?"
It
was Newcomen's interjection.

 
          
 
Murch shrugged. "Some'ut nigh a hour ago,
per'aps a bit more—"

 
          
 
"The rain was coming down in buckets then."
The inspector spoke sharply. "Why would she go out in the middle of a
storm?"

 
          
 
Murch hesitated; when she replied she directed
both her gaze and her answer to Prothore. "The lady 'oo was here— Miss
Jekyll—did she say as 'ow the missus took sick?"

 
          
 
"I believe she did mention something
about Mrs. Kirby suffering from headache."

 
          
 
"She got wuss wiv the storm. Come on
somethin' fierce, it did. There
be
naught I could do
to ease 'er, so I sent word round to Captain Ellison, 'oping mayhaps she might
be of 'elp." Murch drew breath with a wheeze. "An' Gor bless the good
lady if she
don't
drive up straightaway in a cab to
fetch the missus to her very own doctor."

 
          
 
"She's there now?" The inspector's
query was lost amidst the growl of thunder, but his next words were audible.
"Do you know the doctor's name?"

 
          
 
Again the frown and the
shake of the head, broken abruptly by the sudden pause.
"'Old on—I
b'lieve Captain Ellison did make mention to the cabby when I 'elped bring the
missus aout. A Dr. Warren, she said. At Number Seven, Oxhall Lane. Yus, that be
it—"

 
          
 
"Thank you, Murch." Prothore made
the acknowledgment quickly, conscious that Inspector Newcomen had already
turned and was descending the steps. There was a flicker of lightning, and
again thunder sounded over the sudden patter of rain.

 
          
 
Prothore turned and followed Newcomen back to
the waiting hack. By the time he entered, the gentle patter grew into a
downpour drumming against the cab's roof.

 
          
 
Was this a new storm or a continuation of the
old? Even as it came, he dismissed the question as unimportant. What mattered
now, as lightning flared and thunder boomed, was the knowledge of Hester's
situation.
When he left her, long hours ago, he had given
his promise to return; what must be her apprehensions now? Would she realize
that his absence was due to circumstances beyond his control? And even if she
did, what comfort would that assure in the face of possible hazard at present?

 
          
 
These questions too must be dismissed, as he
gave voice to others that rose after Newcomen had instructed Jerry of their
destination.

 
          
 
"I'm curious, Inspector. Considering the
girl's story about being carried off over the roof, mightn't we have had a look
upstairs? We were already on the premises—"

 
          
 
"On, but not in."
Newcomen jabbed a fat finger forward to emphasize the distinction. "Only
one way to enter without permission, and that's with a warrant in your hand.
Seeing as how this location is City, not Metropolitan, I'd get no help from the
bench here, and no mercy if I forced my way in. Mrs. Kirby can answer questions
about what's upstairs."

 
          
 
The rain hammered down and the cab swayed in
its course as Jerry swerved to avoid the deeper pools in the pavement.
Lightning split the sky, and the thunder responded with a roar of pain. Its
echo was lost in the rain, the clop of hooves, the clatter of wheels,
the
creak of carriage springs.

 
          
 
Turning to the window at his right, Prothore
faced the fury beyond.

 
          
 
"Hester—"

 
          
 
He wasn't aware the word had escaped his lips
until Newcomen nudged him. "Don't trouble yourself about Miss

 
          
 
Jekyll, sir.
We'll
look in on her directly once we've spoken with Mrs. Kirby."

 
          
 
Prothore nodded. "It's just that I gave
my word to return, without realizing how long this matter would take. By now she
must be quite concerned, what with the child to care for and the storm—"

 
          
 
The hand that had nudged him now rose to
gesture interruption.
"Understood.
Perhaps you'd
ease your mind by going to the house directly."

 
          
 
"Then we'll not see Mrs. Kirby?"

 
          
 
"I can do so alone. No reason for you to
delay further."

 
          
 
"In that case we shall need another
cab." Once more Pro-thore's gaze went to the carriage window and the slash
of rain beyond. "How can we find—"

 
          
 
Again it was the inspector's hand that interrupted
as he banged to signal the cabby's attention. The conversation that | followed
was brief, terminated by a grin from Jerry as he squinted down from the opening
above.

 
          
 
"Right."
His voice rapsed over the sounds of the storm.
"Right as rain."

 
          
 
Fortune favored Prothore in his travels for a
second time this evening. Within the space of a few minutes Jerry managed to
hail and halt a cab that had just discharged its passenger at a residence on
Fratney Place
.

 
          
 
The seat was still warm when Prothore took the
previous occupant's place. After giving the cabman instructions he could relax,
secure in the knowledge that he was on his way.

 
          
 
"
Oxhall Street
's just ahead here," Newcomen had told
him. "Once I've had a chat with the lady, I'll join you at the house. It
shouldn't be long."

 
          
 
But time stretches in the clutch of
impatience, and Prothore's journey seemed to him interminable. Thunder ruled
the darkened, rain-drenched streets, and in its wake was the rattle of wheels,
the thud of hurrying hooves, the crack of the cabman's whip.

 
          
 
All this he heard but did not heed, once
premonition possessed him. Something was amiss; something he could not; surmise
but merely sense with an intensity that grew by the moment.
Nerves,
of course.
Prothore tended to regard himself as one not given to
agitation, but that had changed now. So much had changed within so short a
span. How little he had known of the real world, or the miseries and mysteries
it contained! In his own fashion he had been as guileless and naive as Hester
herself.

 
          
 
Hester.
It was she
who unnerved him now, the thought of her in that huge and lonely house,
huddling against the storm and—what?
Something else.
Something lurking, something looming.

 
          
 
He peered through the window, past rivulets of
rain, and noted a hack curbed on the bystreet directly around the corner from
his destination.

 
          
 
As the cab pulled up before the front door
Prothore had already extracted a note from his wallet. Refusing both change and
the offer of umbrella-escort, he hurried up the walk and the sound of his
knocking rivaled the rumble of the thunder.

 
          
 
The door swung open, revealing reassurance.
Bertha stood in the hall, lamp held high.

 
          
 
"It's you, sir!" She too seemed
reassured now. "Please to come in 'afore you catch yer death! Such weather
as we
be
'aving—"

 
          
 
Prothore crossed the threshold and the maid
closed the door behind him, sliding the bolt into place. He glanced at her
quickly. "Miss Jekyll—is she all right?"

 
          
 
Bertha nodded. "I just looked in on 'er.
She's upstairs with Sallie. 'Ere, let me take them wet things."

 
          
 
Removing his hat, he handed it to the maid for
placement on a peg projecting from the rack in the corner beyond the door. He
turned and loosed the fastening so that she could remove his inverness. The
girl lifted the wet garment from his shoulders and he breathed a sigh of
momentary relief.
Momentary and premature.

 
          
 
For it was then that pain stabbed between his
shoulder blades and Albert Prothore fell forward as the knife drove deep.

 
          
 
Hester awoke to thunder, startled not only by
its roar but by the realization that she had dozed off in spite of her de-!
termination to remain alert.

 
          
 
The crash was still echoing as Sallie stirred
in response
,!
eyes
open and
oval in alarm. Hester!
s
hand moved quickly to the
girl's shoulder, arresting both her movement and her out-; cry.

 
          
 
"Don't be alarmed, Sallie. It's only
thunder."

 
          
 
"I know, miss."

 
          
 
Hester's fingers stroked the bare flesh of her
charge's arm then halted. "Your skin is like ice, child! You need an extra
blanket. And you might do with a nice hot cup of tea." Hester rose.
"I'll go put the kettle on."

 
          
 
"Please, miss, let me come with
you."

 
          
 
"I'd rather you stayed here. It will only
take a moment.”

 
          
 
"Please—"

 
          
 
The entreaty echoed in her eyes could not be
denied. She rose quickly as Hester nodded.

 
          
 
"Are you sure you'll not find it too
chill?"

 
          
 
"No, miss." Sallie's bruised lips
parted in the semblance of a smile.

 
          
 
"Come along, then." Hester took the
girl by the hand and led her to the door of the morning room.

 
          
 
She strained to hear above the rush of rain.
Surely Bertha must have reached Pembroke Place before the storm broke. By now
she should be returning, unless something unforeseen had occurred.

 
          
 
Resolutely Hester put the thought aside when,
hand in hand with Sallie, she started into the hall.
And
stopped, in sudden alarm, at sight of the figure rising from the shadows of the
staircase and moving toward them.

 
          
 
Alarm gave way to reassurance as she recognized
Bertha. "Thank goodness you're back!" Hester exclaimed. "And the
police—"

 
          
 
"There aren't any police," Bertha
said. "You'd best come with me."

 
          
 
"With you?
Where?"

 
          
 
"No questions." The girl's voice was
flat.

 
          
 
"I don't understand." Hester
frowned. "Look here—"

 
          
 
She broke off suddenly as Bertha stepped
forward. Both hands moved swiftly, the left grasping Sallie's shoulder, the
right rising to hold the knife blade against her throat.

 
          
 
The blade was bloody.

 
          
 
"Bertha—!"

 
          
 
"Shut your mouth." The girl's grip
tightened as Sallie gasped.
"You, too!
One sound an' yer done for."
She nodded at Hester.
"Back stairs now.
You first."

 
          
 
It was a nightmare, Hester told herself.
That's what it was, that's what it had to be. At any moment the thunder would
rise again and she would awaken in her chair at Sallie's bedside.

 
          
 
But the thunder was rising and she was here,
descending those steeply slanting stairs with Sallie behind her.
Sallie, Bertha, and the knife.
The
bloodstained knife.

 
          
 
Now, the
kitchen,
and
Bertha thrusting the keys into her hand. "Unlock the door," she said.

 
          
 
The voice came clearly, not in the drone of
dreams; the metal key was cold and solid to the touch.
Outside
the surge of rain swirled across the courtyard as they hastened to the shelter
of the bulk, which was no longer totally black.
In nightmare or reality,
light flickered from the windows of the upper level at the rear, and smoke
billowed from the chimney that rose on the roof above.

 
          
 
Then they were inside and for a moment Hester
halted. Sallie cried out as the tip of the knife blade grazed her throat.
Bertha ordered them on and they moved forward into the dark laboratory, along
the narrow path bordering the wall, then up the sagging stairs at the far end,
the stairs that led to Dr. Jekyll's cabinet.

 
          
 
That's where the light issued from; the light
of flames dancing in the fireplace, the light of the tall candles on either end
of the desk.

 
          
 
Crouched behind the desk, but turned so as to
gaze into the flare of the fire, was the cloaked figure casting its sable
shadow against the weathered
wall.
Hester stood
staring while Bertha moved forward, holding threat to throat as her captive
trembled.

 
          
 
The figure nodded. "Good work, girl! And
now we shall conclude it."

 
          
 
At the sound of the words, Sallie cried out.
"That's
the 'un
!
The 'un
what 'ad me took by them slavers!"

 
          
 
Hester didn't recognize the voice but now, as
the figure rose and turned, she recognized something all too familiar. Despite
the stunted body and the distorted face, there could be no mistake. The
creature was Mrs. Kirby.