The Jekyll Legacy

  "Resurrection men?" she repeated without understanding.

  "A nasty business," Prothore said quickly. "One that should not be mentioned to a lady, but I knew that it might in some manner relieve your mind to know. Bodies have many times in the past been taken secretly from newly interred coffins and sold to unethical medical persons for the purpose of dissection. It was once a very prevalent practice. So much so that families were obliged to provide guards for graves to prevent it. Now it only happens occasionally, but two bodies have been taken during the past three years from graves not too far from Hyde's. So that could logically explain his own vacant coffin."

  "I see—" Hester began, when, without a knock, Bertha came into the hall from the morning room.

  "Please, miss," she said breathlessly. "It's Sallie, she's gone all to pieces."

  "Sallie! Oh—" Without realizing that she was doing so, Hester reached out and laid her hand on Prothore's arm. "Please, you will think that I bring nothing but difficulties to you but this is something ... I think something horrible! Can you find time to listen to—"

  He did not allow her to complete the sentence. Instead his other hand closed warmly over hers where it lay upon his arm and he came at once with them.

  Within the morning room Sallie was sunk far down in the chair to which Hester had earlier guided her. She no longer cried, made no sound at all. Hester swiftly disengaged herself from Prothore and crossed to the girl's side. She slipped her hand under Sallie's chin and brought her bruised face up into the light.

  Sallie stared straight before her, giving no indication that she was even aware of Hester's touch.

  Hester went down on her knees and drew the girl close.

  "Sallie, dear—Sallie!"

  The girl's head turned slowly and this time her eyes did focus on Hester. She tried to twist out of Hester's hold.

  "You don't want to hold me, miss." Her voice was steady but she spoke in an emotionless monotone. "I did fight, miss, I did. But they was too much—so they made me bad, real bad."

  "Sallie, dear." Hester spoke with all the warmth she could summon. "You are not bad—remember that! You are not bad. Can—can you tell me what happened to you?"

  Sallie's eyes were still on Hester's face and she spoke as might a young child reciting a lesson.

  "I—I felt poorly, miss, 'cause I fell in the kitchen, slipped on some spilled grease. Mrs. Kirby, she was upset— told me to go and lie down. Mrs. Kirby, she is always kind to us, always!" There was some emotion in that assertion, as if Sallie held to the thought desperately.

  "So I laid down for a little; that Murch, she came up with a cup of something she said would help the pain. I didn't drink it all—it tasted nasty—though I knows as 'ow things that are good for you usually do. But after I drank that I got sleepy. Then—" She swallowed as if she were having difficulty saying the words.

  "And then . . .".Hester prompted.

  "It was queer, like—like a dream, only it was real. There was two of 'em—men. They talked a little in whispers but it weren't any such words as I ever heard before. They had a big baglike thing an' they put me in it. I couldn't move then, miss, I couldn't. It was like all my bones 'ad melted like. An' I could make no noise, either. They carried me out of the room but I couldn't see nothin'. There was someone else there—a woman. She talked kind of muffled an' she used those other words, too.

  "I think they took me up to the roof, miss. Though that part is all muzzy. An' when we come down to the street again they must have 'ad a cab waitin'. We rode in that for a while an' they didn't take any more notice of me then, as if I were a bundle of wash or the like.

  "The cab stopped an' when they lifted me out the edge of the bag thing they had over my face fell off. I saw a street lamp an' there was a sign, too. It said Cadogan Square. They carried me around the back of a big house. There was a place there for carriages, I think.

  "Somebody 'ad a door open an' they took me in an' dropped me on the floor, 'ard. T'was then that I found I could move a little, but when I tried to get out of the bag, somebody gave me a clout 'cross my ear as made my 'ead ring an' I can't remember right after that.

  "When I knew things ag'in I was on a bed. An' he was there lookin' at me!"

  The glassy stare came back into her eyes.

  "'E was a gentlemen so 'e was. But 'e—'e was worse than m'dad, 'cause when I tried to fight 'im 'e 'it me. 'E—went to a table an' got a little whip, miss. An' then 'e used it. 'E used it till I couldn't fight 'im anymore an' 'e did it, 'e used me, miss. An' all the time 'e was talkin' 'bout what 'he was goin' to do to me—awful things, miss. I knowed badness all my life but not such badness as that! Please, miss, it's true— I fought 'im as long as I could. An' 'e kept sayin' as 'ow 'e liked 'em as 'ad spirit. An' 'e laughed, an' laughed! It is all true, miss, I swear it is so!"

  "I believe you, Sallie." Hester felt sick. She had heard of such things, even though no lady was supposed to know that this filth existed. But to have it happen to someone like Sal-lie—

  "Cadogan Square!" For the first time Prothore spoke.

  "You do not know which house, Sallie?" His tone when he addressed the shivering girl was gentle.

  "No, sir. But 'e—'e was dressed like a gentlman, 'e was. 'E 'ad a red silk wrap 'bout 'im an' a fine shirt an' 'e talked grand like a real nob. 'E 'ad gray hair an' long wide whiskers alongside his jaws. An' there was a scar under 'is one eye. I do remember true, sir. Seems like I'll never forget 'im—'e was a devil, so 'e was."

  Suddenly Sallie's taut form relaxed in Hester's hold. It was as if the telling of her slavery had released her from some bondage.

  "How did you get free, Sallie?" Hester asked quietly.

  "Oh—that. I was so 'urted I could only think as 'ow I must get away before that one came back again with 'is whip an' all. I was sure 'e locked the door, but all of a sudden it opened an' a woman came in— Miss, this be truth—she was a lady an' she 'ad been crying, 'er 'air was loose, it was gray an' atangle, but 'er robe was all ruffles an' lace.

  "She said I must come quick an' she was near as afraid as I were, miss. But she 'elped me get on my clothes an' then she took me down the stairs an' through a place near a kitchen, I think. Then she opened a back door as was bolted an' gave me a push out.

  "Told me, she did, to go as quick as I could 'cause she could not 'elp me anymore. I—walked an' I walked an' sometimes I just fell down an' 'ad to wait till I was a bit rested. I knew if I could get back to Mrs. Kirby she would 'elp. I don't know 'ow long I was walking so . . ."

  "How can it be possible!" Prothore was standing, staring at the wall as if he saw pictured there all Sallie had told them.

  Hester was quick to answer. "I propose to believe Sallie, sir."

  "Faulkner!" Prothore exclaimed. "I had heard rumors, yes. But to believe any gentleman could sink that low! Listen," he said now, directly to Hester. "Can you keep Sallie here overnight? I am going to Newcomen. This certainly is of greater importance than a plundered coffin. And I have been led to believe that if anyone can do something, it will be the inspector. You know"—he looked at Hester now as if he were seeking to offer apology—"I had heard that such things happen, but I also believed that nine tenths of such stories were merely infamous gossip. Gossip in certain circles can be extremely lurid and have little or no foundation in fact. But this is one time when perhaps we can make sure that such a crime will be answered for. As soon as I can I shall see you again, Hester."

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

  Chapter 19

  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 hav
e 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.

  “Thank you, miss. Drink your tea 'fore it gets cold now. Good night."

  "Good night," Hester returned, but she was more aware of the fact that though her portion of gruel was not yet finished, Sallie seemed to be lapsing into slumber again.

  As Hester set the bowl aside, the girl gave a little sigh and settled back amongst the pillows as though at last ready for rest.

  Hester poured herself a cup of the waiting tea after she had drawn her shawl closer about her. She took a small sip. It was sweet, as if loaded down with honey, the same type of restorative they had pressed on Sallie earlier. Only Hester found it far too sweet to her taste, much as she did not want to hurt Bertha's feelings.