by Robert Bloch
Once back in her room she settled the lamp on the bedside table and went to the window. The only thing she disliked about the room was that its windows looked out on that ominous courtyard. Now she could not help herself, drawing aside both drape and curtain to look out into the night. The moon was full and for once no clouds obscured it. But there were shadows along the wall. From this height she could see a little of the back street, and though there were lights glowing in the higher windows of the buildings, it seemed unnaturally quiet and deserted.
Shadows—
Hester clutched the window curtain in a very tight grip. Had she seen a queer flutter of a . . . shadow coming toward the newly enforced gate? Nonsense—
She came away from the window highly annoyed at herself. Next she would be hearing housebreakers creeping up the stairs! A very small covered jug sat on her table. As her hands touched it she felt warmth, and then she saw a cup set out beside it.
Bertha—the girl must have brought it up when she returned from her own belated meal. This was a thoughtfulness that Hester had not expected. She uncovered the jug and sniffed tea with an herb scent. Pouring herself a cup, she drank and then retired to bed with Dickens firmly open to the first page, fully intending to escape into the world drawn by that master storyteller until drowsiness overtook her.
Hester's perception worked better than she had thought. She had read less than five pages before the book actually fell out of her hand. She laid it aside, put out the reading lamp, and settled into her pillows, sure that she would have a full night's sleep before her now.
Chapter 16
Hester awoke with an odd sense of having been elsewhere—in some dream, but without memory of it except that it was vaguely distressing. Bertha had opened the drapes and there was a cup of tea waiting for her.
Sunlight streamed into the room as Hester pulled herself up and Bertha turned smilingly to look at her.
"'Tis a rare fine mornin’, miss. Sun does change the look of things, don't it now?"
Hester took her watch from the pocket on the bed drapery. Nine o'clock! She had never before dawdled beneath covers as long as this that she could remember.
She drank her tea while Bertha fussed about the wash-stand, putting out a large fresh towel and moving a tall can of hot water. The sunlight had once more turned the room into the fairy-tale place she had first seen and Hester felt a surge of well-being and pleasure. This was not yesterday but today, and she had before her the meeting with Lady Farlie.
"There's this as came for you, miss. Brought around a half hour ago."
Bertha freed a square envelope from her pocket and laid it down on the bed.
Hester recognized Lady Farlie's handwriting.
"Dear Miss Jekyll," she read, "I know that this is extremely short notice, but there has been a change of plans and now I offer you a slightly different invitation. Our son, Robert, has returned home unexpectedly and suggested that we attend tonight the production of that amusing play, Pinafore, at the Savoy. Albert has not only produced tickets—which at such short notice is very commendable—but will accompany us. I hope you will consider my invitation to join us for dinner and go on to the theater. Perhaps this is an intrusion when we have not yet met. But we would very much like you to be our guest. We dine at seven, so that we may be on time for the play. If you do wish to accept this rather informal invitation, we would be most pleased."
Hester reread the note. It did seem strange that she would be asked to join what must clearly be a family outing, when she had never even met her hostess. Yet the tone of the note, judging by Lady Ames's world, was very cordial. Perhaps a refusal might even offer offense, and that she certainly did not want to do. She thought about it while she dressed and then ate a leisurely breakfast. At last she decided to accept. She had heard about the Savoy and its reputation as one of the "sights" of London. The Pinafore musical production had been many times mentioned. A real ship's deck was supposed to be laid on the stage. And Hester had never seen a real play. Any new experience that led to the widening of one's knowledge was to be cultivated.
Bertha had made a good choice in cutting out the dinner gown, and if they hurried and got it finished she would make a respectable appearance. She found Bertha already in the sewing room at work on the dusty rose taffeta. Hester smoothed one of the pieces with her hand; she had never before owned anything as gay in color. Yet judging by what she had seen in the shops this one was very subdued.
"It will be just right, miss," Bertha said, industriously sewing seams on the machine, "and that is truly your color. You ought to have pearls— M
"Pearls." Hester laughed. "No, there will be no pearls." It was impossible for her to imagine owning any jewelry except the cameo pin she believed had been her mother's. But Bertha was frowning.
"You must have something! Oh, I know." She jumped up from her chair, laid the material on the bed, and went rummaging among the fashion magazines and papers in which Hester had so recklessly invested. Flipping hurriedly through one of the magazines, Bertha came to a page and pointed out the fashion plate thereon. The lady, dressed in a gown similar to Hester's, wore about her throat not pearls but a ribbon holding an artificial flower for a charming touch.
"The very thing," Bertha said.
They spent a most labored day. Cook seemed to have recovered from the attack of nerves brought on by the report of "Fish" and was back in good form with the luncheon she served Hester. Hannah had taken her acceptance of the evening's entertainment to the Farlie house. Hester had almost thought to snatch it back at the last moment. Though she might be properly dressed, she did not know what a dinner might entail.
At Lady Ames's she had never been served anywhere except in her own room, and she could guess that the Farlie establishment would differ greatly from Mrs. Carruthers's boarding house. Life in Canada had not prepared her for such an occasion. Even as she stood at the fatal hour in her new gown, with Bertha giving a twitch of the overdrapery of the skirt, and looked into the wardrobe mirror to see herself fashionably clad for the first time in her life, Hester felt uneasy.
She knew that she would feel out of place, but she also worried that the Farlies knew of the story she had told Prothore. How long had they been back in England? Had they read of the Hyde case at all? Jekyll was not a common name. To hear it might awaken memories of something sensational, and that would certainly shadow any friendship she might wish to pursue.
There came a pounding at the door, which made Hester a little flustered as she caught up her evening purse and fan. Bertha smoothed the mantle across her shoulders, and she descended the stairs to see Prothore waiting in evening dress and looking more at ease than she had ever seen him before.
"Good evening," he greeted her and she replied with the same innocuous words. He was watching her so intently that Hester was disturbed. Had she chosen the wrong dress? Or was it that he could only see in her the worn respectable dowdiness of her earlier state.
When they were seated together in a carriage she felt that she must say something even though he was so silent.
"It was most kind and thoughtful of your sister to ask me."
"Margaret was pleased you would come on such short notice." But he did not even look at her, staring straight ahead.
"I am sure she is a very pleasant and kind person," Hester said, struggling to keep the conversation going.
He seemed to arouse then from his meandering thoughts, but it was not comments concerning his sister that he voiced now.
"Did you truly believe Utterson's story?" That came with the force of a demand.
"Yes. And I think you also would have believed it if you had heard Mr. Utterson when he told it." She clutched her fan tighter. Hester hoped that she would be allowed to forget for a little while all horrors the doctor's confession had aroused in her.
Prothore was frowning now. "It is too impossible, it can't be!"
"Mr. Utterson believed in it. He told me that he had a letter from Dr. Jekyll explai
ning it all. Perhaps the letter—"
"I shall start inquiries concerning that. But Miss Jekyll, do you wish to continue to stay in that house? I do not think that can be to your good. Sell the place and buy something more to your taste."
"Mr. Utterson told me it would be some time before my inheritance is legally recognized. Thus I must stay there." She smoothed one gloved hand over the other.
"At any rate," he was continuing, "I shall see that you have a new butler. Bradshaw's disappearance I cannot account for."
"He gave notice and I told him if he wanted a reference he must stay through the month. Then I heard that he was gone and had not even asked for the portion of his pay due him."
"What explanation did he give for wanting to leave?"
"That he was not used to service where the police came. I think that I was not respectable as he saw it." She laughed.
"Utter and complete nonsense." Prothore's voice was sharp.
"I was told that ambitious servants who wish to work themselves up in the world have a dislike for being part of an establishment where the police are apt to come." She hesitated and then asked the question that had lingered at the back of her mind ever since her conversation with Inspector Newcomen. "This Newcomen, will he continue to pay visits?"
"He is a determined man. I have made some inquiries concerning him and they were all agreed on one point, that the inspector, once onto a case, never lets go until he is satisfied."
Hester felt a sudden chill, and pulled her cloak closer about her shoulders. To have her house haunted by Newcomen was not a prospect she faced with any pleasure.
The cab had stopped before a house with brilliantly lighted first-story windows. "Ah, here we are," Prothore announced. He offered her his arm as they went up steps to the door.
Before he had a chance to use the knocker a boy, perhaps just in his teens, threw the door wide open.
"Uncle Albert! You are the tops for getting the tickets. Mamie and Mother are all primped up and it's going to be really great!"
"Robert, you have a guest," Prothore said in a voice that dashed the other's enthusiasm.
The boy colored and gave a small bow in Hester's direction. "I'm sorry, Miss Jekyll."
"But you need not be," answered Hester. "The treat we have been offered tonight is something to be very excited about."
"This is Robert, my nephew," Prothore said. And the boy gave another stiff little bow.
"Mother's in the drawing room." He was quite subdued and Hester made a guess that Robert greatly desired his uncle's good opinion.
Hester straightened as Prothore took her mantle and gave it to a footman. Placing the required tips of fingers on Pro-thore's arm, she allowed him to escort her to meet Lady Farlie. Was she about to face another Lady Ames? But to her relief the lady who arose to meet them halfway across the room was certainly quite unlike that plump and arrogant female.
She was tall and her complexion dark. Her hair, of which she had an abundance, had been braided and then wound around her head to form a crown into which had been inserted a pin in the form of an exotic bird, a peacock whose eyes and tail glittered in the lamplight.
Her earrings were also of glittering stones and matched a necklace made of drops, with pearls in each. The gown was dark blue but patterned on the bodice and in her overdress were golden flowers and leaves.
She looked regal, Hester thought. But the smile on her hostess's face was far too welcoming to make one uneasy. She took Hester's hand in hers with a grip nearly as firm as a man's.
"Miss Jekyll, it is very good that you have consented to share our outing. I have been away from home too long. You will forgive me if I do not quite know the rules anymore."
"I never did know them," Hester blurted out. "I am from Canada."
Lady Farlie laughed. "I see that this may be a case of blind leading the blind. But doubtless we can assure each other."
Hester felt warm and she also felt more at ease than she had with anyone but Mrs. Kirby.
The four Farlies met at the dining table. Colonel Sir Henry Farlie was a silent man but could smile at the talk about him, and sometimes interpose a shrewd remark or two. He was obviously somewhat older than his wife for there were gray streaks in his hair and his clipped mustache. The children were Robert, who had opened the door, and Mamie, who was wearing a white dress that did not become her dark complexion. She seemed shy and did not look at Hester except when they were introduced.
Most of the talk around the table was of the coming treat. "They, say," Robert declaimed, "that a whole ship's deck sits on the stage and the theater has the new electric lights and—"
"A number of wonders, eh?" commented Prothore. "The lights are worth seeing."
"And we won't be seeing them unless we hurry," said Lady Farlie.
Lady Farlie, the children, and Hester had the family carriage, and Prothore and the colonel would come by cab. Though they arrived in good time they had to take a place among the cabs and carriages discharging passengers.
They waited for the rest of the party in the circular foyer where the famed lights made the white, yellow, and gold of the walls glitter and the decorations gave Hester the feeling she had entered a palace. Surrounded by bejeweled ladies in their fashionable gowns, for a moment she felt awkward and ill at ease, then dismissed her concerns. She was here to see a show, not be one. They were at last ushered into a box, where the chairs were covered with blue velvet facing, and when the gold satin curtain finally rose Hester pushed all her worries away and allowed herself to enjoy the show.
She was still a little bedazzled when the end came. Lady Farlie smiled at her. "There now, that is an excellent feast for someone who has been away from it all. Henry," she said, turning her head toward the colonel, "I believe I shall favor going to theatrical performances."
The colonel smiled. "Right enough, Margaret. And you, Miss Jekyll, will you too become a theater-goer?"
"Perhaps I shall be tempted," she said. "But right at present I thank you for the invitation to see this performance and providing a memory that will linger a long time. Vou are most kind and generous."
"We all have to thank Albert, it was his idea—and an excellent one to be sure," said Lady Farlie. She held out her hand to rest on Mr. Prothore's arm. "I think my little brother has turned out very well!"
Prothore laughed. He seemed more at ease than usual and was nearly another person this evening. Among his family he dropped some of that arrogant attitude Hester disliked so much.
This time she took a cab with Prothore, who was humming one of the tunes from the show. "Thank you again for a wonderful evening, even more for introducing me to your sister and family. She has asked me to go shopping with her tomorrow, and also to Mundies. She wishes to take out a subscription. I shall do the same."
"You have a preferred author, Miss Jekyll? Rhoda Broughton, or Marie Corelli?"
"I have heard of the writers you mention," she said, "but I prefer books on travel."
"You do?" Then he mentioned a volume that had been one of her father's discards, and she was able to make a serious comment or two. "Egypt can be a fascinating place," he agreed. "It might be an excellent thing for you to investigate the chances of a Cook's Tour to such a country."
"If Dr. Jekyll's estate is settled in my favor, I might indeed do that!" Hester was excited at the thought.
They had swung around into the square where she lived and she was glad to see that the lantern affixed directly above her door shone very clearly. Another cab was pulled up not too far away, as if waiting for a fare to come out.
Hester drew out her key, ready to use it, when the door of the cab opened and she saw a strange figure standing there. It was not until he spoke that she knew him to be New-comen; she heard Prothore draw a deep breath.
"Inspector!" Hester snapped. This man frightened her a little. She also experienced a flash .of irritation that he should end her pleasant evening by appearing like a carrier of bad news. "Inspector, what is
the meaning of this intrusion?"
"Why, I hunt a murderer, as everyone in the house knows. I am after Hyde."
"But Hyde is dead." She was bewildered. "I told you—"
"You told us a wild story—something out of the dreadfuls. You may not have had a hand at the beginning of this affair but you are taking a part in it. I want Jekyll and I want Hyde—both of them!"
"But they are dead" she returned, still unable to understand what the inspector was saying.
"Are they now? Well, I can give you proof that Hyde still walks this earth. We opened his coffin today, you see. And, miss—it was empty!"
Chapter 17
“Naught to worry, miss."
Hester shook her head. "I'm all right, Bertha. And it's high time you were off to bed." She placed her cup on the tray as she spoke. "Please take this with you."
"Yes, miss." But Bertha made no move to withdraw. "Would you want for me to stay until you falls asleep?"
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary." Hester masked her true feelings with a smile. "Good night, Bertha."
"Good night, miss."
This time the girl picked up the tea tray and carried it with her to the door, which closed behind her noiselessly. Lying propped up against the pillows, Hester strained to hear the sound of footsteps in the hall and on the stairs beyond.
Nothing was audible, nothing at all. By this time the hall and stairway were empty. She was alone here on the upper floor of the house. There was a lock on her door, but using it meant Bertha would have to pound for admittance in the morning, for there were no duplicates of the keys that rested beside Hester's pillow.
She stared at the silvery symbols of security. That's what they were, of course—mere symbols. Doors that were locked could be opened by other means. She remembered Utterson's account of how Poole had battered down the red baize door to Dr. Jekyll's cabinet and discovered the body of Mr. Hyde.
With the memory came disturbing realization. They were dead now, all of them dead. Poole and Utterson, victims of violence. Dr. Jekyll a suicide, by his own hand. Or could it be called his own hand, once transformed into that of Edward Hyde's? And was Hyde actually dead after all?
