by Robert Bloch
"She got wuss wiv the storm. Come on somethin' fierce, it did. There be naught I could do to ease 'er, so I sent word round to Captain Ellison, 'oping mayhaps she might be of 'elp." Murch drew breath with a wheeze. "An' Gor bless the good lady if she don't drive up straightaway in a cab to fetch the missus to her very own doctor."
"She's there now?" The inspector's query was lost amidst the growl of thunder, but his next words were audible. "Do you know the doctor's name?"
Again the frown and the shake of the head, broken abruptly by the sudden pause. "'Old on—I b'lieve Captain Ellison did make mention to the cabby when I 'elped bring the missus aout. A Dr. Warren, she said. At Number Seven, Oxhall Lane. Yus, that be it—"
"Thank you, Murch." Prothore made the acknowledgment quickly, conscious that Inspector Newcomen had already turned and was descending the steps. There was a flicker of lightning, and again thunder sounded over the sudden patter of rain.
Prothore turned and followed Newcomen back to the waiting hack. By the time he entered, the gentle patter grew into a downpour drumming against the cab's roof.
Was this a new storm or a continuation of the old? Even as it came, he dismissed the question as unimportant. What mattered now, as lightning flared and thunder boomed, was the knowledge of Hester's situation. When he left her, long hours ago, he had given his promise to return; what must be her apprehensions now? Would she realize that his absence was due to circumstances beyond his control? And even if she did, what comfort would that assure in the face of possible hazard at present?
These questions too must be dismissed, as he gave voice to others that rose after Newcomen had instructed Jerry of their destination.
"I'm curious, Inspector. Considering the girl's story about being carried off over the roof, mightn't we have had a look upstairs? We were already on the premises—"
"On, but not in." Newcomen jabbed a fat finger forward to emphasize the distinction. "Only one way to enter without permission, and that's with a warrant in your hand. Seeing as how this location is City, not Metropolitan, I'd get no help from the bench here, and no mercy if I forced my way in. Mrs. Kirby can answer questions about what's upstairs."
The rain hammered down and the cab swayed in its course as Jerry swerved to avoid the deeper pools in the pavement. Lightning split the sky, and the thunder responded with a roar of pain. Its echo was lost in the rain, the clop of hooves, the clatter of wheels, the creak of carriage springs.
Turning to the window at his right, Prothore faced the fury beyond.
"Hester—"
He wasn't aware the word had escaped his lips until Newcomen nudged him. "Don't trouble yourself about Miss
Jekyll, sir. We'll look in on her directly once we've spoken with Mrs. Kirby."
Prothore nodded. "It's just that I gave my word to return, without realizing how long this matter would take. By now she must be quite concerned, what with the child to care for and the storm—"
The hand that had nudged him now rose to gesture interruption. "Understood. Perhaps you'd ease your mind by going to the house directly."
"Then we'll not see Mrs. Kirby?"
"I can do so alone. No reason for you to delay further."
"In that case we shall need another cab." Once more Pro-thore's gaze went to the carriage window and the slash of rain beyond. "How can we find—"
Again it was the inspector's hand that interrupted as he banged to signal the cabby's attention. The conversation that | followed was brief, terminated by a grin from Jerry as he squinted down from the opening above.
"Right." His voice rapsed over the sounds of the storm. "Right as rain."
Fortune favored Prothore in his travels for a second time this evening. Within the space of a few minutes Jerry managed to hail and halt a cab that had just discharged its passenger at a residence on Fratney Place.
The seat was still warm when Prothore took the previous occupant's place. After giving the cabman instructions he could relax, secure in the knowledge that he was on his way.
"Oxhall Street's just ahead here," Newcomen had told him. "Once I've had a chat with the lady, I'll join you at the house. It shouldn't be long."
But time stretches in the clutch of impatience, and Prothore's journey seemed to him interminable. Thunder ruled the darkened, rain-drenched streets, and in its wake was the rattle of wheels, the thud of hurrying hooves, the crack of the cabman's whip.
All this he heard but did not heed, once premonition possessed him. Something was amiss; something he could not; surmise but merely sense with an intensity that grew by the moment. Nerves, of course. Prothore tended to regard himself as one not given to agitation, but that had changed now. So much had changed within so short a span. How little he had known of the real world, or the miseries and mysteries it contained! In his own fashion he had been as guileless and naive as Hester herself.
Hester. It was she who unnerved him now, the thought of her in that huge and lonely house, huddling against the storm and—what? Something else. Something lurking, something looming.
He peered through the window, past rivulets of rain, and noted a hack curbed on the bystreet directly around the corner from his destination.
As the cab pulled up before the front door Prothore had already extracted a note from his wallet. Refusing both change and the offer of umbrella-escort, he hurried up the walk and the sound of his knocking rivaled the rumble of the thunder.
The door swung open, revealing reassurance. Bertha stood in the hall, lamp held high.
"It's you, sir!" She too seemed reassured now. "Please to come in 'afore you catch yer death! Such weather as we be 'aving—"
Prothore crossed the threshold and the maid closed the door behind him, sliding the bolt into place. He glanced at her quickly. "Miss Jekyll—is she all right?"
Bertha nodded. "I just looked in on 'er. She's upstairs with Sallie. 'Ere, let me take them wet things."
Removing his hat, he handed it to the maid for placement on a peg projecting from the rack in the corner beyond the door. He turned and loosed the fastening so that she could remove his inverness. The girl lifted the wet garment from his shoulders and he breathed a sigh of momentary relief. Momentary and premature.
For it was then that pain stabbed between his shoulder blades and Albert Prothore fell forward as the knife drove deep.
Chapter 21
Hester awoke to thunder, startled not only by its roar but by the realization that she had dozed off in spite of her de-! termination to remain alert.
The crash was still echoing as Sallie stirred in response,! eyes open and oval in alarm. Hester! s hand moved quickly to the girl's shoulder, arresting both her movement and her out-; cry.
"Don't be alarmed, Sallie. It's only thunder."
"I know, miss."
Hester's fingers stroked the bare flesh of her charge's arm then halted. "Your skin is like ice, child! You need an extra blanket. And you might do with a nice hot cup of tea." Hester rose. "I'll go put the kettle on."
"Please, miss, let me come with you."
"I'd rather you stayed here. It will only take a moment.”
"Please—"
The entreaty echoed in her eyes could not be denied. She rose quickly as Hester nodded.
"Are you sure you'll not find it too chill?"
"No, miss." Sallie's bruised lips parted in the semblance of a smile.
"Come along, then." Hester took the girl by the hand and led her to the door of the morning room.
She strained to hear above the rush of rain. Surely Bertha must have reached Pembroke Place before the storm broke. By now she should be returning, unless something unforeseen had occurred.
Resolutely Hester put the thought aside when, hand in hand with Sallie, she started into the hall. And stopped, in sudden alarm, at sight of the figure rising from the shadows of the staircase and moving toward them.
Alarm gave way to reassurance as she recognized Bertha. "Thank goodness you're back!" Hester exclaimed. "And the
police—"
"There aren't any police," Bertha said. "You'd best come with me."
"With you? Where?"
"No questions." The girl's voice was flat.
"I don't understand." Hester frowned. "Look here—"
She broke off suddenly as Bertha stepped forward. Both hands moved swiftly, the left grasping Sallie's shoulder, the right rising to hold the knife blade against her throat.
The blade was bloody.
"Bertha—!"
"Shut your mouth." The girl's grip tightened as Sallie gasped. "You, too! One sound an' yer done for." She nodded at Hester. "Back stairs now. You first."
It was a nightmare, Hester told herself. That's what it was, that's what it had to be. At any moment the thunder would rise again and she would awaken in her chair at Sallie's bedside.
But the thunder was rising and she was here, descending those steeply slanting stairs with Sallie behind her. Sallie, Bertha, and the knife. The bloodstained knife.
Now, the kitchen, and Bertha thrusting the keys into her hand. "Unlock the door," she said.
The voice came clearly, not in the drone of dreams; the metal key was cold and solid to the touch. Outside the surge of rain swirled across the courtyard as they hastened to the shelter of the bulk, which was no longer totally black. In nightmare or reality, light flickered from the windows of the upper level at the rear, and smoke billowed from the chimney that rose on the roof above.
Then they were inside and for a moment Hester halted. Sallie cried out as the tip of the knife blade grazed her throat. Bertha ordered them on and they moved forward into the dark laboratory, along the narrow path bordering the wall, then up the sagging stairs at the far end, the stairs that led to Dr. Jekyll's cabinet.
That's where the light issued from; the light of flames dancing in the fireplace, the light of the tall candles on either end of the desk.
Crouched behind the desk, but turned so as to gaze into the flare of the fire, was the cloaked figure casting its sable shadow against the weathered wall. Hester stood staring while Bertha moved forward, holding threat to throat as her captive trembled.
The figure nodded. "Good work, girl! And now we shall conclude it."
At the sound of the words, Sallie cried out. "That's the 'un! The 'un what 'ad me took by them slavers!"
Hester didn't recognize the voice but now, as the figure rose and turned, she recognized something all too familiar. Despite the stunted body and the distorted face, there could be no mistake. The creature was Mrs. Kirby.
Chapter 22
"You know me, eh?"
The voice issuing from the twisted lips was deeper and more resonant than Hester remembered it to be. The bulging brows, slanting cheekbones, and jutting jaw rendered the face feral. Now the woman nodded, splayed hands busy on the desk before her.
"Here." One hand pushed papers forward, the other dipped a pen in the inkstand and extended it. "I require your signature."
Hester peered down at an unfamiliar sight that was nonetheless recognizable; a document prepared by means of a typewriter. As she reached toward it, Mrs. Kirby's broad hand covered the surface, then peeled the topmost sheet back to reveal a second, which displayed a blank space at the bottom of the page.
"No need to read it." The pen jabbed down. "Your name goes here."
"What am I signing?"
"Call it a stay of execution if you like." The woman's chuckle rose above the hiss and crackle of the flames on the open hearth. "Sign and the child will be spared. If not—"
The pen rose in a slashing gesture.
The eyes of Hester's companions told the story; Sallie's wide with terror, Bertha's slitted and intent upon the blade pressed against her captive's throat.
The creature behind the desk was gazing at them too, and in a moment she nodded, her voice knife-sharp. "As you wish. Now, Bertha, now—"
"No!" Hester reached for the pen, reversing it quickly to scrawl her name at the bottom of the second page. As she flung the quill onto the desktop, Mrs. Kirby's mouth slitted to a vuipine grin.
Blotting the signature, the woman laid the document on the desk to her right, then glanced past Hester as she spoke.
"What kept you?" she said. The grin had disappeared. "What kept you? I told you to give her the draught."
"She didn' drink 'er tea."
"No matter. You had the knife."
"I'd not go up against 'er poker." Bertha spoke rapidly. "She spied lights over 'ere and sent me orff to fetch the rozzers."
"But you didn't go?"
The girl shook her head. "She give me the keys when I went out. I waited a bit to be sure she'd gone upstairs again. Then I let meself back in."
The woman nodded, smiling. "What happened?"
Bertha glanced at Hester. Pushing Sallie forward at knifepoint to the side of the desk, she bent forward and whispered her reply.
As the seated figure listened, the grin broadened. "Excellent, my dear. Excellent!"
"Thank you, m'am."
"Take the girl downstairs, Bertha. Go by way of the other door, the one Monsieur Philippe pried open when we came in tonight. He's waiting with a cab on the bystreet. Victor and I will meet you later at the appointed place."
Listening, Hester arrived at fresh perception. The side door gave access to the laboratory below from the bystreet. It was the one that both Poole and Mr. Utterson had referred to when describing the comings and goings of Mr. Hyde.
As for the names Mrs. Kirby mentioned just now, they were doubtless accomplices, the men Sallie had spoken of in her account of abduction. That much seemed evident.
But not to the child. There was no hint of comprehension in her vacant stare as Bertha guided her past the shattered, scattered fragments of paneling from the smashed-in door. Sallie seemed in a state of shock, completely unaware of her surroundings, and realizing this caused Hester to remain silent. Under the circumstances unawareness could be a blessing, but it was one that Hester herself was denied.
Once Bertha and Sallie departed she was only too mindful of the situation in which she found herself; alone with this woman she knew but did not know, this being that should not be.
The storm raged outside, the blaze within. Logs must have been brought to feed the fireplace, for the flames leapt high and Hester fought giddiness in the mounting heat, conscious of the scrutiny from across the desktop.
She forced herself to confront that stare, found voice with which to challenge it. "How could you bring yourself to this? Have you taken leave of your senses?"
"Quite the contrary." The deep voice held a hint of mockery. "My senses have come to me, after a lifetime of suppressing them." The speaker shook her head. "The years I wasted mending the woes of the unfortunate, tormenting myself over the misery of others! Small wonder I endured the agonies of constant megrims until remedying my own suffering eased and opened my mind. Then I knew."
"Mrs. Kirby—please, listen to me—"
Hester faltered, for the woman took no heed, continuing without pause as she stared into the feeding flames. "That which we call 'evil' is only our natural state. The truth is we're animals with animal instincts that cry out for gratification.
"Is this how you justify what you have done to Sallie?" Hester formed and firmed her accusation. "It was you who sold her, wasn't it?"
Cloaked shoulders shrugged. "What if I did? She's not the first, nor will she be the last. There's no shortage of waifs in the world, nor any lack of demand on the part of those who desire to possess them."
"I don't understand," Hester murmured. "Surely you must have some compassion, some feeling of remorse—"
Again a chuckle sounded. "Those so-called pangs of conscience vanished with the megrims, thanks to Dr. Jekyll's medicine."
"Dr. Jekyll!"
Mrs. Kirby nodded. "In the past he had attended to the ailments of my young charges. When my own affliction became unbearable I sought his help. He compounded a simple elixir that relieved me of distress."
H
ester's frown was framed in firelight. "There can be nothing simple about medication that brings about results such as these." Then realization came. "That was no headache remedy—it had to be the potion Dr. Jekyll was administering to himself."
"Not in the beginning. On several occasions I sent one of my charges round for a fresh bottle of the compound, but it was only after the last time that the changes began. On this occasion I entrusted Murch with the errand, and it was she who made the mistake.
"In light of what happened, I questioned her later. Dr. Jekyll concocted the mixture and poured it into a bottle. Upon doing so he was called away by his manservant. Murch tired of waiting, took the bottle and departed. There were, she admitted, several similar bottles resting side by side atop the desk, none bearing labels. It is not difficult to realize which one she brought me."
Hester's frown deepened. "You weren't aware of the difference at the time?"
"Indeed I was, but since it promptly rid me of my affliction, I thought Dr. Jekyll had merely substituted a stronger preparation. As you can see, I soon had reason to learn its strength when the changes began." Again the rasping chuckle.
To Hester, its import was more eloquent than words. Dr. Jekyll had been terrified by his transformation; Mrs. Kirby seemed exultant. When the supply of ingredients ran out the doctor gave way to despair. But under similar circumstances this woman appeared to embrace her altered state.
As if divining her thought, Mrs. Kirby shook her head. "The changes came, but I knew no fear, once I realized their source. I soon surmised the concoction was for Dr. Jekyll’s private use, in which case he must also have prepared something to reverse its consequences."
"Yet you made no effort to inquire," Hester murmured.
"Do you take me for a fool? If Jekyll discovered I'd learned his secret, how long do you think it would be before I had a visit from Mr. Hyde?" The woman shrugged. "Nor was I in need of antidotes at first. The drug's effects lasted for but a few hours, disappearing completely once I had slept. By the time I'd consumed the contents of the bottle, it was a different story. I take it Dr. Jekyll found himself in the same predicament; the effects were now involuntary and there was no further means of obtaining an antidote.
