The Jekyll Legacy

  Once she was seated in Mrs. Kirby's cozy sitting room and held a cup of freshly brewed and most acceptable tea in her hand, she told of her inheritance. While she could not play lady bountiful to the full of her desires, she was determined to aid all she could in the work her hostess was carrying through. In proof of the matter she had handed Mrs. Kirby an envelope containing five pounds, impulsively counted out of her first month's allowance. The sum was exclaimed over with much thanks and the assurance that it would go far to provide shelter for at least one more girl.

  Still, when Hester outlined her own situation and expressed her desire to hire Sallie, Mrs. Kirby's bright smile faded and she looked quite distressed.

  "I know that Sallie would be very happy with you, my dear Miss—Jekyll." She stumbled a little over the name as if still finding it difficult to believe in this sudden change. "However, she has already been hired by the Donaldsons. It is only because they are presently out of town that she is not right now under their roof. We work on the apprentice principle with our girls—their term of service is laid down beforehand and cannot be changed except for some grievous fault on their part, or some reasonable alteration of plan on the part of their employer. I would most gladly have seen her go to you. Dr. Jekyll was one of our patrons, as I may have told you. He was most generous ..." Hester thought that she saw the luminosity of tears in the other's eyes. "Your own interest and generosity is of such benefit that I am very unhappy that I cannot send you Sallie."

  Hester's disappointment was acute. From the first she had taken a strong liking to the girl, and since she felt some apprehension about a staff she did not altogether trust, she had looked forward to having Sallie with her. But plainly Mrs. Kirby intended to abide by her rules.

  It was wise to change the subject. Hester spoke frankly of her need to assemble a new wardrobe. At once Mrs. Kirby's smile returned. She lifted both hands from her lap as if to applaud, a gesture Hester would have thought too effusive from this very controlled woman.

  "Now we have the very answer to your problem, Miss Jekyll. When you visited us before, Bertha was not here. She came to me two months ago but has been assisting Captain Ellison at the workroom. She is sixteen, older than most of our girls, steady and reliable. When she was eleven she was apprenticed to a dressmaker. I regret to say that this was a shop with a reputation for fashion among those who do not care what goes on in the back rooms of such an establishment. Bertha showed talent for the needle and was quick to learn. Because her work was outstanding she was given more and more to do. During the 'season' it was not unusual for her to work until midnight and rise at five the next morning to begin again. She and her companions were poorly fed and allowed little rest.

  "In addition"—now Mrs. Kirby's voice fell a little and she looked away from Hester, as if what she had to say was very unpleasant, almost unmentionable in company—"the establishment had another and most evil side. Females, supposedly of standing in the world, used it as cover for meeting— But Miss Jekyll, need I go further? All of us know that in this day there is much that is morbid and even filthy hiding under covers seemingly above suspicion.

  "Unfortunately Bertha was brought into the shop one day to do some fitting and caught the eye of a so-called gentleman who was waiting for his wife/' Mrs. Kirby's lips tightened and her eyes flashed. "After this man had left, Bertha's mistress reported to her that she was to be 'nice' to the gentleman on his next visit.

  "When Bertha utterly refused, she was made a prisoner, even beaten, finally turned into the street, where she was found totally destitute by one of the Army followers who took her to Captain Ellison, and so she came to me.

  "She is quick and willing, neat about her person, able to help with the work of the house, and most accomplished as a needlewoman. She would, I believe, be most eager to come to you."

  Thus it was that Hester left, not with Sallie to whom she bade a regretful good-bye but to share the waiting cab with a slender girl in a neat dress and an attractive bonnet, who seemed almost tearfully willing to come on trial as a member of the house staff.

  Though Bertha appeared at first very subdued, inching back into one corner of the cab as they jolted away from Mrs. Kirby's, she changed greatly as Hester spoke frankly of her need for an entire new wardrobe, and as quickly as possible.

  Bertha Tompkins came to life. The pallor of her face showed the faint beginnings of a flush when Hester, smiling, said: "Now, Bertha, as I am new to London you must tell me just where we are to begin. Mrs. Kirby has been kind enough to give me the names of several shops, and if these are not too out of our way, perhaps we might begin at this hour to lay in what we may need."

  "Oh, miss ..." Bertha breathed, her eyes shining. "Oh, miss . . . yes! I know about patterns, and the places where

  Madam Emilee bought things—they have the best. I know the names of those who are in charge—and the proper prices, too!" She nodded vigorously. "They needn't try any of their tricks. They have sometimes two prices, Miss Jekyll, one for them as is mindful of what they spend, and another for them as never looks at the bills carefullike."

  So followed a breathless couple of hours. Hester, never in her life having been able to be unmindful of what she spent, was dazzled by lengths of materials, spools of ribbons, festoons of lace, baskets of flowers meant to bloom forever on dresses or hats. But she trusted that she kept her countenance and did not show her ignorance, and she was more than impressed by how deftly Bertha could manage to point out the best selections.

  To her surprise, their last stop—at a hat shop—was in the street directly behind her new home, the old houses there having been remodeled into a number of modish, small shops, their bowed windows displaying fripperies enough to catch and hold any feminine eyes. When their cab rounded the corner at last and they disembarked at the Jekyll house, it required the services of both Bradshaw and Ratsby to unload the mound of boxes. Hester introduced her companion, and suggested that Bertha go with Ratsby who carried her own small battered box, to the other side of the baize-covered servant's door. Hannah had been summoned to help with the packages, but when Hester started to follow her up the stairs she was detained by Bradshaw.

  "There is someone to see you, miss. He is waiting in the consulting room." And the tone of the servant's voice speedily reduced Hester from the euphoria of shopping to a state of apprehension.

  The consulting room was a small and very darkish rear den off the hall that had not been used since Dr. Jekyll had given up his active practice some years ago. The only light came from a window where Bradshaw had drawn aside the drapery, and that opening looked out upon the grimness of the courtyard shared by the laboratory. Standing foursquare at that window was the broad-shouldered, beefy man whom she had last seen and instantly disliked in Utterson's office. He was alone, and at the sound of the closing of the door behind her, he swung around to face her fully. The set of his mouth and jaw, the boring stare of his small eyes, brought her to a quick stop. She could conceive of no reason why she must entertain a visit from Inspector Newcomen.

  "You wished to see me?" Hester put all the chill she could summon into her question.

  "Miss Jekyll . . ." He seemed to drawl out the name and to her mind his tone was either a sneer or mockery. "You've settled yourself well in, I see. Heard from the doctor? Seems as if you'd be in mourning, miss, if what Mr. Utterson says is truth, now ain't that a fact? There's been them in the past as has tried games—what they thought of as very clever games, Miss Jekyll—and yet there is always something what brings them down in the end."

  There was, Hester thought, menace in his voice. Anger began to rise in her, a hearty antidote to the fear this man could cause her.

  "Inspector Newcomen"—she was glad to hear that her voice was still cold and steady—"I am totally at a loss as to the purpose of your visit here."

  He took two steps away from the window so that they now faced each other across a small table.

  "What brought me here? Why, a need to know broug
ht me here." He turned around a little to wave at the pane behind him. "Look out that window there. You see that building? A man died there, and not too long ago. They said he drank poison—which was perhaps better than a rope about his neck—because he was a murderer. He was also a friend of Dr. Jekyll's, so good a friend as Dr. Jekyll gave him the run of this house, paid good money once to keep him out of trouble, told his servants to obey him as if he were master here.

  "And that man poisoned himself in the doctor's own room and maybe, just maybe, with something the doctor himself gave him. That Hyde—there are questions yet to be answered about him."

  He was leaning forward across the table now, his heavy face not far from hers, so that Hester pulled away. The inspector smiled a far from pleasant smile.

  "Jumpy, ain't you, Miss Jekyll?"

  For the first time she felt an acute dislike for that name. Unlike Mr. Utterson, the inspector seemed to use it as an accusation.

  "Well as you might be, well as you might be," he was continuing. "I was hunting Hyde, but he slipped through my fingers because he was hiding here, and you cannot make me believe that Dr. Jekyll did not know that! Interfering with the law the doctor was, aiding a murderer! Then he goes away clip and clean—and what happens next? Why, you come out of Canada and Mr. Utterson says as how you are the doctor's kin and that he's dead and you're the heir. 'Tis a web you've been spinning. I want to know when the doctor died, and where, and how—that's what I want to know, and I'm going to learn that, so I warn you."

  He had stepped around the table now and was advancing toward her again. For all her desire to stand up to the man, Hester could not quite make it. Instead she turned and opened the door wide.

  "Inspector Newcomen," she said, her voice still steady, "you take altogether too much upon yourself. If you have any questions, ask them of Mr. Utterson! I do not think that your superiors would take kindly to a report that you have spoken this way to a lady."

  The mockery was back in his voice. "Yes, ma'am, perhaps I was a bit sharp now, but this is a sharpish case and we shall get to the bottom of it, never fear." He nodded. "I'd best have another word with your solicitor presently. He'll not put me off any longer."

  "Bradshaw?" Hester raised her voice, hoping that the servant had remained in the hall. "Inspector Newcomen is leaving, will you please show him out?"

  Bradshaw was there and he had the outer door already open as the inspector crammed on his hat and strode down the hall toward the gathering dusk of the evening outside. Hester watched the door close firmly behind him and then turned to the staircase. But before she had put her foot on the first step Bradshaw spoke.

  "Miss Jekyll."

  "Yes?" She was impatient to get back to her room, to be able there perhaps to collect herself and put this interview from her mind.

  "I wish to tender my notice. Ratsby has asked me to speak for the same for him."

  "Your notice?" Hester was astounded. "What leads you to this, Bradshaw? Mr. Utterson told me that you were very willing to come here as a butler. You know the house and the routine well. And is it not true that this advance in position is very favorable for you?"

  "A man cannot be easy in any position, miss, when the police come to the door, when he is asked questions by them he cannot answer. I ask for my notice to be taken, miss. It is my right." His face was flushed and he looked down, refusing to meet her eyes.

  Why did Bradshaw fear the police? she wondered. And then rumors of the gossip in Lady Ames's establishment came to her mind. An ambitious servant disliked being in a house threatened by scandal that might wipe away respectability. Had this suddenly become that sort of an establishment? She and Utterson were the only ones who knew the true story—which, indeed, was beyond the bonds of all respectability. There had been a most unpleasant death here—if not under this roof, then only across that slip of courtyard. And the last days of Jekyll-Hyde must have caused many tongues to wag in the servants' hall.

  "And Ratsby?" There was a note of sarcasm in her voice as she asked that. There could be no one lower on the general scale of the house hierarchy than he who was known generally as "the boy," unless it was a scullery maid.

  Now Bradshaw truly colored, and his eyes shifted from side to side. "He did not—" he began and then apparently could not give her an outright lie. She thought of the errand she had sent the boy on that day, the message to Mrs. Kirby. And she nodded to herself. Of course, a lady should have no dealings at all in that part of town. Not only the history of the house but her own actions had brought this about.

  "And the others?" she forced herself to ask quietly. Was she to be abandoned in this huge house that was growing darker and more menacing by the moment?

  "I don't know, I am sure, miss. We chooses for ourselves."

  She accepted that but she did have one weapon left, and from her acquaintance with it on her own behalf she knew it to be a powerful one.

  "You will give me the month, Bradshaw. Otherwise, having had your services so short a time, I cannot honestly write you any recommendation."

  Having left him that to think about, she turned and went up the stairs.

  She now had much to think about herself.

  Chapter 13

  "Will that be all, sir?"

  "Yes, Pope." From without, the winds that funneled down Gaunt Street carried the echo of distant church chimes. There was no need to note their number; the time was eight o'clock. Pope had seen to it that his master's postprandial libation was served to him in the library several minutes before the hour as long-established nightly ritual decreed.

  "You may go now," Utterson said. That too was part of the ritual.

  "Thank you, sir." A slight inclination of the head, a deft turn, followed by inconspicuous withdrawal from the room and the closure of the door behind him, completed Pope's participation in the ceremony.

  Or almost so. Utterson sipped his gin, listening for the telltale sounds that would betoken Pope's hasty departure for the evening. During eighteen years in his household,

  Pope had never volunteered particulars as to his nightly destination, nor had Mr. Utterson seen fit to question him in that regard. It was, of course, a rather unusual arrangement for a manservant to absent himself in this fashion. But then, Utterson conceded, he was in some ways a rather unusual master.

  Such was his wont that he preferred to remain solitary within the precinct of his own premises. Although cook, scullery maid, and housemaid retired to quarters of their own behind and above the kitchen once duties were completed, they were sequestered from Utterson's domain. Following dinner he'd not see them again until after his morning repast, which Pope would serve him in his bedchambers. Precisely at what hour of the night the manservant returned to the house was again a matter of conjecture; he too had a rear room upstairs, and the privilege of carrying a key to the backstairs entryway. Aside from the Popish nature of his name, Utterson could find no fault with the man and respected his privacy, as he did his own.

  When, on rare occasions, he found it necessary to entertain friends or business associates, dining out proved a simple solution. Inasmuch as he absented himself from the premises daily in pursuit of his profession, he felt no need to employ a larger staff just to keep up appearances. Pope was charged with full responsibility for maintaining the household and Mr. Utterson had little personal contact with its members. Indeed, there were times when he was hard-pressed to recall the names of those who served him, and he possessed no knowledge of what took place within the confines of the kitchen area or above. It had, he reckoned, been a matter of some several years since he had last ventured to set foot upon a staircase in this rambling old house of his.

  And you are a rambling old fool, Utterson told himself. He leaned forward, feeling the heat from the fireplace as he reached for his glass to empty it without further ado. Now the warmth without was matched by warmth within.

  Alone, he permitted himself two unaccustomed luxuries— a smile, and another drink. Smiling had never
been his habit, nor had overindulgence in spiritous liquors, but despite his austere ways, there were times when Mr. Utterson found himself in need of cheer. And he'd best provide it for himself, for there was little left to be gained from other sources.

  Such a thought banished the smile from his lips, but not the glass. This time he gulped his drink, striving to alleviate a sudden chill that the flame from the fireplace could not dispel.

  Where did they vanish, those friends in whom he had once found cheer and comfort? Within less than a year all were gone. How he missed those Sunday strolls with his cousin! Richard Enfield, though a distant relative, had probably been his closest companion since school days. And Dr. Hastie Lanyon, who had once shared the secret of yet another departed friend, Harry Jekyll. Now each of them had passed on, leaving him with a burden of knowledge too great to be borne alone.

  Was that the real reason he had revealed the truth to Hester Jekyll?

  Utterson considered the question as he stared irfto the firelight. There had been something about the pawky, awkward young woman in straitened circumstances that aroused his sympathies, and of course she was both morally and legally entitled to know the particulars of her uncle's demise.

  But were these actual reasons or mere excuses for his conduct? Questions came quickly, answers slowly. He gazed deeper into the fire, deeper into himself.

  Yes, upon first reading Harry Jekyll's testament he was tempted by the thought of acquiring the bequest, but conquered his impulse. Not so much out of moral considerations, but because he had no need of such a fortune—and, more importantly, might put himself at risk in appropriating it lest there be other, unexpected claimants. Such had proved to be the case, and in many ways he felt relieved; cleansed of temptation, rid of responsibility, free of guilt. Nor would he necessarily go unrewarded along the path of virtue; doubtless young Hester Jekyll might retain him as solicitor to guide her interests in prudent investment. Granted, that is, if she survived to do so.