The Jekyll Legacy

For the first time during their conversation the solicitor replied without meeting her gaze. "I mentioned acting on impulse, but did not identify its nature. Poor Harry Jekyll's confession at first horrified, then moved me to pity for his misfortune. There seemed little point in making such disclosures; the cause of justice could not be served by so doing because the criminal, Edward Hyde, was already dead and so was his chief victim, my old friend Jekyll, whose good name would be forever tarnished by this testimony." Utter-son sighed again. "It is a decision that has weighed heavily upon my conscience, and one that I now deeply regret."

  "What of the other witnesses?"

  "Alas, none remain. Dr. Lanyon is dead and so is the butler, Edgar Poole. Lacking their testimony or other verification, if I were to come forward now with this account, it might be regarded as the ravings of a madman. My reputation, as well as my late friend's, could be ruined. Call it cowardice or caution, I see great harm but no gain in pursuing such a course."

  Reflecting upon his sentiments now, Hester found herself in agreement as she thought of what someone like Inspector Newcomen might make of Utterson's story. She herself believed the solicitor was telling the truth, which only served to shock her the more.

  Hester's reaction had not gone unnoticed. "Bless me," Mr. Utterson exclaimed, "I trust you realize that I have made these disclosures only because it was necessary to do so. But as Dr. Jekyll’s heir—or, rather, heiress—"

  Hester interrupted him with a swift gesture. "But you are named in the will. What is your true reason for renouncing a claim upon the estate?"

  "It is a question of principle," Utterson said. "Perhaps I delude myself that this decision is not prompted solely by the prickings of conscience, but the facts of the matter speak for themselves. You are Harry's kin and I am not. You are young and I am old. You are, bluntly speaking, presently impoverished, while my possessions are more than ample for my needs."

  Hester had listened without comment, and it was Utterson who again took up the thread of discourse. "Under the circumstances, it will be some time before Dr. Jekyll can be declared legally dead, but I intend to take action to hasten proceedings. And when the affair is settled you will come into an estate of roughly"—here the lawyer hesitated long enough for a dry cough—"fifty thousand pounds."

  It took a moment before Hester could catch her breath, but Utterson's voice still echoed in her ears. Fifty thousand pounds. The amount was staggering.

  Again it proved difficult for her to recall exactly what Mr. Utterson said next. He was doing his diplomatic best to inform her there was no longer any need to live in near poverty. As Dr. Jekyll's attorney and executor-to-be, he was empowered to disperse funds as he deemed fit. He intended to place her immediately on an allowance of two hundred pounds a month, payable in bank drafts drawn upon an account to be set up for that purpose.

  "I think this to be sufficient for you to live according to your station and properly maintain your establishment," he said.

  "Establishment?"

  "You may not find it necessary to employ a butler," Utterson said, "but if you wish a personal maid, I can furnish you with the name of a reliable agency. Poole's widow refuses to serve, which is understandable after her loss, but she did inform me as to the whereabouts of Bradshaw, the footman, and the cook, Mrs. Dorset. They are willing to enter your service and await your word. Meanwhile, here are the keys."

  "Keys?"

  "To Dr. Jekyll's house."

  And here they were now, right beside Hester upon the desk. The keys that would open the home of a man who, like Fate itself, was the embodiment of both Good and Evil.

  Chapter 12

  Though the weighty keys had been in Hester's hand during their ride, Utterson, who had accompanied her, did not make any motion for her to use them as he assisted her from the cab to face the imposing house he had declared was now hers. It was a handsome building of an earlier time, facing a square and effectively shouldered on either side by others of its kin—except the others bore signs of having come down in the world, being shabby-genteel as it were. The one she faced had been well kept up, the steps to the door scrubbed, the brass knocker on its surface well polished.

  Utterson did not have time to raise a hand to the knocker before the door was flung open and a tall man, in a dark coat that had no touch of livery about it, but which nonetheless gave the impression of a spruce and competent servant, bowed deeply at the sight of the solicitor. The man ushered them into the large, low-ceilinged hall warmed by a bright fire and furnished more as a drawing room than an entrance. There were chairs that suggested perfect ease for the sitter, as well as a number of cabinets along the walls. Hester caught glimpses inside of what must certainly be costly curios evidently collected by someone with a love for the old and the beautiful. Regularly spaced between the cabinets, burnished frames held appealing pictures. In all, the look of this entrance into her new domain was that of a place of wealth and taste, and she felt more than a little daunted, though she had determined on the way here that she would give no sign that what she found was either more or less than she expected.

  However, her attention was centered not so much on the hall itself now, but on the small group of people gathered there, all facing her with looks of avid curiosity. There was a middle-aged woman from under whose ruffled cap strayed a lock or so of grizzled gray hair. Her face was round and the rest of her decidedly plump. Hester did not need Bradshaw's rather affected words of introduction to guess that this was Mrs. Dorset, the cook, and, in the absence of a housekeeper, the most important female member of the staff. She was flanked by the thin, youngish Hannah in the decent black dress, ruffled apron, and cap of a housemaid's afternoon formal wear. In her shadow stood the much smaller, shrinking figure of Patty in blue cambric, twisting her apron with large, raw, work-swollen hands; her frame was that of an immature child and it was apparent that she was completely overawed by both her surroundings and situation. Not so the rather undersized boy in a buttoned-up jacket. Though he kept a wary eye on Bradshaw, he was very interested in all else within sight.

  Thus Hester met the staff of her new home, indeed a modest one for a gentleman's abode, especially one as well in the pocket, according to the saying, as Dr. Jekyll had been. With Poole dead, Bradshaw now stepped into his boots, for Mrs. Poole refused to return as housekeeper. Utterson had informed Hester of this, but it did not trouble her. Accustomed to running her father's household, she anticipated no problems. There would be no need for great entertainments, and to live quietly was all she desired.

  When she had spoken pleasantly to the gathered servants, she suggested tea be served to Utterson and herself before the fire. While it was being prepared the solicitor informed her he had taken the liberty of sending his clerk Pope around to settle accounts with Mrs. Carruthers and fetch Hester's trunk. Indeed, it arrived before their tea was ready, and Bradshaw deposited it, together with a bundle of garments gathered from the closet and bureau at the lodging, on the landing before the stairs.

  When at last they took their tea, Utterson fell into set-jawed silence, staring into the flames. It seemed to Hester that his thoughts were occupied with the dark and horror-filled story he had felt forced to share with her.

  If ever a house deserved to be haunted, perhaps it was this one. She gave herself a little shake, as if to dislodge the notion.

  "The staff..." Utterson spoke suddenly. "I trust it will be adequate. If you need others—though Jekyll found these most satisfactory—you have the right to hire such."

  Hester thought suddenly of Mrs. Kirby's Sallie. The girl's bright face, willingness to learn, and that intelligence her mentor had commented on, would make her an excellent addition to any household. Yes, she might well offer Sallie a place here. Even though Utterson had already advised her during their ride hither that she could not present Mrs. Kirby at once with funds enough to acquire the second dwelling wanted to shelter more girls, she could assist in modest ways—this being one of them.

 
Hester planned a visit to the Kirby establishment as soon as possible, perhaps the very next day. In the meantime the house itself afforded her matter for conversation.

  At her questioning Utterson arose further out of whatever dark study had held him for a while and informed her that the doctor had been a noted collector in several fields.

  They finished their tea, Hester noting with satisfaction that the bread and butter had been of the proper thinness, the cakes fresh and lightly made, and that Bradshaw was deft in his service. She ate hungrily but Utterson did not. And it was only too soon that he arose to go.

  As Bradshaw showed him out Hester stiffened her back. The hall room that had seemed so welcoming at first now overshadowed her. She longed for more light though there were candles aflame in two candelabra on a table nearby and several lamps aglow. The afternoon seemed to have faded far too fast into twilight.

  Hester faced up to what she felt to be her first duty when Bradshaw returned. "I would like to see the house."

  He at once picked up one of the smaller lamps. "Of course, miss."

  She was introduced into a library where the cold of the unlit fireplace seemed to reach out into the whole of the chamber. There was the large desk of a man of business and more cabinets of curios, as well as two long walls lined with books, their covers a uniform dull mud color, which looked as if they had never been read and no one would ever desire to take one from its proper shelf. Yet there was the smell of polish in the room, and she had a feeling that no dust had been allowed to settle there.

  The dining room was a much more cheerful place and apparently had been in continued use. A second fire blazed there, and over the mantel hung an almost life-sized portrait to which Bradshaw gestured.

  "That was the master—when he was younger. Mr. Poole said it was very like him."

  He held the lamp higher so that she could see better. This man pictured here, how could he have been the protagonist of that evil and haunting tale Utterson had told her? He was handsome in an open way that pleased the eye, his mouth curved in a gentle smile. Looking at him she felt an odd warmth and fleeting desire to have known him. That he could have been led into such darkness—that hardly seemed possible.

  "He looks as though he were very kind." She spoke the thought aloud.

  "That he was, miss. A proper gentleman, and yet with a thought for them as weren't so high in the world. Many a time he gave aid to them as were ailing and could not pay. A good man, miss."

  Bradshaw sounded sincere, but then he did not know his master's secret. Perhaps it was for the best.

  Hester decided to postpone inspection of the offices, kitchen, and pantry. That would be reserved for the morning when she must interview Mrs. Dorset and make plain the intention to run her own house.

  Instead she instructed Bradshaw to conduct her upstairs. He did so, carrying the trunk and the parcel of clothing without further orders, then setting them down in the upper hallway while she confronted the task of choosing a bedchamber.

  The first room to which Bradshaw now ushered her most certainly would not do. The bed was huge, with curtains of a figured green stuff to match the carpet of a similar shade. It was, Hester realized, a room in which she would never feel comfortable.

  Bradshaw verified her unspoken guess. "This was the master's room."

  "Yes. But it will not do for me . . ."

  "No, miss," he agreed at once. "Hannah has turned out the old mistress's room for your approval."

  "Dr. Jekyll's mother?"

  "Oh, no, miss. Dr. Jekyll bought this residence from Dr. Donner's heirs. T'was Mrs. Donner as had this room."

  He had brought her to a second door and now flung that open. She did not need the lamp he carried to see what was here, for a fire was lit and candles in four branched sticks stood on the mantel, as well as two lamps and lit candles in the holders on either side of the dressing mirror. The room itself brought a gasp of delight from her. It was a place of fancy such as one might find in one of the fairy tales she had read surreptitiously as a child. The walls were covered with painted fabric decorated with birds and butterflies. This bed also was curtained but the draperies were roped back, while the head and foot so displayed were black inlaid with mother-of-pearl, silver and gold touches. In the bed Hester recognized the papier-mache so esteemed by an earlier age. Slender-legged chairs held dark-colored cushions decorated with faded but beautiful embroideries, which also adorned the draperies now pulled over two wide windows.

  Near the well-lighted dressing table, only half showing around the edge of an oriental screen, was a washing stand. The tall standing wardrobe was patterned in fanciful designs like the screen's.

  "This is . . . very suitable." She disciplined her voice firmly. "And the other rooms?"

  Of a sudden she wanted to get this inspection trip behind her, return alone to luxuriate in this fairy-tale room.

  "The master had few guests, miss. Nothing has been allowed to go, but much is kept in wraps."

  His words were verified as she glanced quickly into four other rooms, where the furniture was shrouded; all of them cold with a suspicion of damp. It might be well to have fires in them now and then, too.

  Bradshaw brought trunk and belongings to the chamber she'd selected, then departed, and at last she was alone in her own room. Her own room!

  Hester reached out to run her hand down the side of the wardrobe, as if to confirm its tangible reality. In all her life she had never aspired to such a turn of fortune. Though what it was founded on summoned a chill the fire could not dispel.

  What would her father have made of these circumstances? Had he known, or perhaps suspected, his cousin's propensity for the morbid, if not the secret itself? Had that been the reason for their alienation, for the changing of his name?

  Nonsense, she must not let herself dwell on the past. It was the future that mattered now. Hester hunted out the key to her trunk and frowned when she inspected its contents. The frown deepened as she faced the long mirror on one of the wardrobe doors. If Father saw her now, he'd say that shabbily dressed stick of a girl had no place here. She must have the proper clothes and very soon. Surely the servants had already marked her drab appearance. A governess, a servant little higher than themselves, that was what she looked like.

  But how did one go about finding clothing in London?

  She needed advice. Now if Mr. Utterson had only possessed a wife. But there was no way of appealing to any other acquaintances, or any that pride would allow her. Miss Scrimshaw? Lady Ames? Captain Ellison? Oh—Mrs. Kirby! The latter's elegance—or what had seemed so to her at their meeting—was quiet, very much that of a lady, and suggested that she had good taste and would have access to such aids as Hester needed, say, the address of a seamstress. Not one of high fashion perhaps, but able to understand the needs of a lady—or rather of an heiress who had no mind to shine in any society, but needed garments befitting her new station.

  Hester was still sorting through her clothing, putting most of it in a discard pile to be passed along to Captain Ellison's charities, when the sound of a gong summoned her to dinner.

  She dined alone in state at the head of the long dinner table, amazed at the variety of dishes offered her, unable to do much more than nibble at a few of that wide array. Mrs. Dorset was undoubtedly set upon impressing her new mistress with her process. However, the girl determined that she would not be so burdened with formality again.

  There was a tall can of hot water awaiting her in her room. Hester settled into drowsy content by the fire, a tablet and pencil in her hand, to make lists of what she must do in this new life, as far as she could guess. However, she should go slowly, feel her way, as one walking down an ill-lighted path. This all seemed very much of a dream.

  It was not until the following afternoon that she had Bradshaw call her a cab, and she had some trouble in maintaining her independence then, since the ex-footman took it as a matter of course that she would command his company. But she held to the firmnes
s she had assumed that morning when she had confronted Mrs. Dorset, taken over the tradesmen's books (to the manifest displeasure of the ruler of the kitchen), and inspected for herself not only that domain and the stores' cupboard, but gone over the linen supplies with Hannah and agreed to the employment of a day woman for the "rough,"

  Hester had noted that the service quarters gave upon a neglected back garden and a grim-looking courtyard. Across the courtyard stood the building of ill repute that had been the center of Utterson's story. The small building had another entrance on the bystreet, but Utterson had assured her it was kept well locked, and Bradshaw bore him out, saying it was not only securely locked but had been boarded up and there was no way into the old laboratory save by way of the courtyard. Even so, she was glad there was a sturdy manservant under the roof.

  Hester looked forward to the coming of Sallie. If she was to have a new wardrobe, she would need someone good with her needle. Also, though most of the household washing was sent out, there must be a maid to wash and iron the finer things. Hannah had stolidly said that such a duty was not her place. And truly Hester did not want the severe-looking woman about her. Hannah doubtless was a worthy female and a good worker, but in a house that already seemed to have too many shadows, she was not a cheerful asset.

  Hester had sent a note ahead to Mrs. Kirby via the boy. Thinking of that now she frowned. Though she knew very little of Ratsby, the boy, she had sensed something strange about him on his return with Mrs. Kirby's reply. He had stared quite openly at her when he thought she was not looking. Or was that only part of her unease with these servants with whom she had so little contact?

  Under Lady Ames's roof she had been neither fish nor fowl, as the old saying went, perched as a governess most precariously and unhappily between two states of being, that of a gentlewoman and that of a servant. She was very much aware that all servants' quarters were hotbeds of gossip, and they must certainly have much to say and speculate concerning her right now. She would need all the allies she could assemble and she was determined that Sallie must be one of them.