The Jekyll Legacy

  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.

  Chapter 18

  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."

  Sallie shook her head. "You don't know, miss." Her bruised face twisted. "You don't know as to what they did!"

  "You will tell me, Sallie. But do not try to talk now, child. It will all come right, I promise you it will!"

  Sallie's head still shook but she settled back against the seat, and when Hester again put her arm about her, she sighed and relaxed.

  Hester again commandeered the aid of the cabman to get Sallie up to the door of the Jekyll house. The door opened before Hester knocked and Bertha swept forward to
help the half-fainting girl. It took a while before Sallie was settled in the morning room, sipping at a cup of tea loaded with honey, which Hester held for her since the girl's hands shook so she could not control them.

  A loud knock on the outer door resounded through the hallway outside the half-open door and Sallie screamed, striking out so that the hot tea spattered across Hester's gown.

  "They's come! They'll take me! Oh, miss." She clutched at Hester in a grip that carried the pressure of her fingers through the material of Hester's sleeve to cut into the flesh beneath.

  For a moment or so Sallie's fear was so contagious that Hester wondered if the girl was speaking the truth. Could whoever had so mishandled the child followed her across the city to threaten her here? She bitterly regretted the loss of Bradshaw.

  Bertha had disappeared and now she came back. "I looked through the window, miss. It's Mr. Prothore," she reported.

  "Let him in at once."

  "Miss?" Sallie's hold grew even more desperate. Gently Hester pried the girl's fingers loose.

  "It is all right, Sallie. This gentleman is a friend. I will stay with you until Bertha comes back, and then I shall have to leave you for just a little while. But you must not worry. You are truly safe here."

  When she first saw Albert Prothore she knew for a single instant a silly desire to throw herself at him much as Sallie had done to her on Mrs. Kirby's doorstep. There was something about this rather stiff-appearing young man in his very correct morning coat that suggested the safety of normal life. She had confidence in what he might offer for Sallie's case.

  However, it would seem that he had come full of news himself.

  "I have heard from the inspector," he said so swiftly after he had spoken a formal greeting that she had no time for her own story. Instead she knew a sudden thrust of fear. What new trouble was going to descend upon her as thick as a fog?

  "He believes now that the body was taken from Hyde's coffin by Resurrection men—"