After breakfast I had a deal of coal to get in, for the coalmonger had come, and soon I was as black as the air around me, but feeling good and warm in spite of it, for the shovelling is work such as cannot be done without drawing up some heat. I laid the grates downstairs, then filled a scuttle to carry up to Master’s room. Mr. Poole come in to say Master was up and in his library, where he would have his breakfast, so I thought, good, I can go up as I am without him seeing me, which I did. Then I was down, and seeing as Cook was done in the kitchen and off to the market and I was already black from my work, I thought to scrub out the kitchen floor, as the oven was up and it might dry out before she returned. I got my buckets and brushes, tied up my skirts and was hard at it when Mr. Poole come in, looking as vexed as if all his plans had been crossed, and told me Master wanted to speak to me in the drawing room at once. I looked up at him, for I was on my knees and said, “But I can’t go in to him like this. I’m black as a nigger and wet to the knees,” but Mr. Poole did not care for my difficulty and, saying, “Master won’t be kept waiting,” turned and walked away.
So I got up, washed my face and hands at the clean bucket, untied my skirts and wrung the water from them, wiped and dried my boots, put on a cap and a clean apron, which only looked foolish, I thought, as my skirt was black underneath, but it was the best I could do, so I went up to the drawing room door and tapped lightly, wishing I could make myself smaller somehow so that Master might not notice me at all.
Master called out, “Come in,” sounding impatient, so I opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind me. He was at his desk, writing away hurriedly, and I saw a cheque lying out beside the sheet of paper on which he was writing. He glanced up only to see it was me and said, “Come in, Mary,” very sharp, then turned back to his writing. I felt timid as I knew I had never seen Master in such a state, nor has he ever spoken to me sharply. It seemed the whole room was full of agitation and Master at the centre of it, filling a sheet of paper with angry words, and I knew at once why he had sent for me. It was to carry his anger out of the house.
Still he kept writing, so I made up my mind to be still and wait upon him. He reached out for an envelope, looking up at me again, but only for a moment, as if to make sure of me. His mouth was set and he looked at me so cold, I felt he hardly saw me, that I was some object to him, useful like his pen or his cheque, such as only exist to serve his will. A rush of anger came upon me, but I fought it down, remembering my place and my duty. Why, I thought, should he think of his own hands when he needs them? No more should he think of me.
Master signed the page, folded the cheque inside it and put them both in the envelope. I did not need to look at the name he wrote on the front, for I felt I knew it. Then he turned to me and said, “I must send you on an unpleasant errand this morning, Mary.”
“To Mrs. Farraday,” I said.
This startled Master. He sat forward a little and seemed to focus his eyes closely upon me, the way birds do when they see something to pluck in the grass. “How do you know?” he asked.
“I don’t, sir,” I said. “Only I can think of no other errand you might send me upon that might not best be carried out by Mr. Poole.”
Master looked as if he might answer, but his eyes fell on the letter in his hands and the sight of it seemed to distress him so that he forgot all other cares but that which it contained. He held it out to me, speaking as he did, “I rely on you entirely in this matter, Mary. Though I cannot tell you the nature of it, I can tell you that it is of such importance to me, of such importance …” Here Master fell silent and once again we was both of us looking on a letter I did not want to take. But I put my hand out, as if Master’s will was the same as my own and said only, as I tucked the envelope in my sleeve, “What am I to tell Mr. Poole?”
Master looked annoyed. “Why should you have to tell him anything?” he said.
“If I go out now,” I replied, “leaving my work undone.”
“I’ll take care of Poole,” Master said. “Set your mind at rest upon that.”
“I will, sir,” I said, though my mind was not at rest, nor would it be, I knew, for some time to come. “Will there be a reply?”
“Yes,” he said. “I don’t doubt that there will be.”
“Shall I go at once, then, sir?” I said.
Master nodded, his mouth set in such a grim line I felt too timid to speak. I wanted to ask if I might take the time to change my clothes, for I could feel the wet cloth soaking through my stockings, but it seemed a frivolous worry next to whatever had provoked Master to call on me so anxious. I made up my mind to change only my skirt and shoes, which I could do quickly in the kitchen, for I had a muslin skirt, too light for the weather but dry nonetheless, in the pantry, as well as my walking shoes. I gave Master a curtsy, which he barely took in, he was so distracted, and went out across the hall, hoping I should have the good luck not to encounter Mr. Poole, for I had no idea what I would say to him. Nor did I see him. Cook was still out, so I had the kitchen to myself. I changed quickly, put on my bonnet and cloak and went through the area to the front of the house. It was brown with fog out so I could barely make out the square, and that cold I hunched my shoulders up as if I could protect my chest by folding myself around it. I hurried along the side street, past the door that, unbeknownst to passersby, leads to Master’s laboratory. The fog was hanging just at my eye level, but it was patchy and through a broken bit of it a beam of sunlight shined on the door, showing it up dingy and unkempt, so dreary it seemed to soak up the light and turn it dull. I could not pause to look at it, though I half expected it to fly open and Mr. Edward Hyde to burst out, a thought which was like a little shove at me so that I hurried along, pulling in my skirts behind me.
The trip across the city was a long one and full of strange sights, for the fog would lift and then settle of a sudden, so there was never any knowing what might appear—a tired face, or a horse’s snorting head, or a carriage wheel so close it threw up the mud upon the passersby. I went through a low passage leading into S__________, where I clung as close as I could to the damp, brown wall, for the carriages came through at a vicious clip, making a deafening clatter of wheels and hooves, and the horses was nearly mad from it, so that one could be trampled as easily as seen, nor did I have a doubt that no carriage would stop, though its passengers were carried over a solid floor of broken bodies. Then I crossed the dingy square, past the gin palace and the low eating house, keeping my eyes mostly down to see my way through the fog, and not to see the dirty, mean residents of that street, until I come to the door I knew to be Mrs. Farraday’s. As I drew up to it I saw a young woman, a girl really, dressed to show her scant figure as well as her profession, passing out. She did not see me for she was clutching a handkerchief to her face and weeping into it as if her heart was broken. I stepped aside as she passed me, and it made my heart sad to see her, spiritless and beaten-looking, though she had surely been, and not that long ago, a fresh, pretty young maid with only innocent sorrows to wear her down. I felt it was no surprise, however, that such a poor creature should come out of Mrs. Farraday’s house and I set my resolve that she should not abuse me or imagine for a moment that my bearing Master’s letter meant I would have any dealings with her were it not my duty to my Master, who was, I thought, displeased with her as well. I stepped into the doorway and tapped hard against the wood, but scarcely had I done it when the door flew open and the dreadful woman herself was upon me like a fury, for she recognized me at once and fairly howled at the sight of me, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me inside, across a dark hall and into a little drawing room that was, I saw, even though I could scarce see anything for the uproar she was making, well appointed with fine carpets and good furniture, as well as pictures, a room one did not ever expect to find in such a street. “And has he sent his little milk-faced housemaid again,” Mrs. Farraday was hissing as I tried to get my wits about me. “If he thinks he can smooth this one over with a letter and a few
pounds, he’s badly mistaken. He thinks he can buy his way out of anything, your master, and that no one who takes his money has a right to speak out against him, him and his bloody favourite he has set loose among us here like a mad dog.” She went on to this effect, in such a state I despaired of saying a word, so I unfastened my sleeve, drawing out Master’s letter, which she snatched at, crying, “Here, give it me,” and then, turning her back on me, she went to the fireplace and tore the envelope open. I saw she read the cheque first and thrust it into her bodice, seeming, I thought, marvellous calmed by the sight of it. Then she opened out the letter and began to read it. I heard the front door open, footsteps, very light and quick, followed by a tap at the door. Mrs. Farraday only turned her head and said, “What is it?” loud, then the door opened and a young woman peeked in, very like the other I had seen on the street, her eyes ringed in red from crying and a handkerchief clutched ready at hand. “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am,” she said. “I come to see—”
But she didn’t finish, for Mrs. Farraday cut in sharp, “They’ve taken her an hour since. There’s naught to be seen here,” to which the girl responded, “Beg pardon, ma’am,” and went out.
So I stood with my hands folded, looking at Mrs. Farraday’s stiff back and wild silver hair, which was all disarranged, as though she had not combed it in days. The fire burned low and the room had a chill in it, so I wondered she was not shivering, for she had on the same thin dress, cut low to show off her sallow flesh, both in front and back, that she wore the last time I saw her. It took her some time to read the letter. She made sounds of contempt, even grumbled a word or two, though I could not make out what she said. The house was still, but I could hear the sound of voices and footsteps on the street outside, a sound, I thought, one could never escape, living in such a place, no matter how many carpets was put down or how thick the drapery. At last Mrs. Farraday folded up the letter, returned it to its envelope and turned to me. But she did not speak, only stood looking at me with a strange, angry light in her eyes. “He calls upon the goodwill I bear him of old,” she said. “And well he might.” She tapped the letter across her palm, but kept her eyes on me. “But that Harry Jekyll is a different one from this, who sends his housemaid because he hasn’t the courage to come hisself.”
There was no reply for me to make to this, only I was left pondering what it might mean, nor did I care for any of the possibilities that came to mind. I stood my ground waiting for her to decide, which she seemed to be doing by looking at me as hard as she could make her eyes look. Then she smiled in an odd way, not from pleasure but from some dark idea that had come to her. “I suppose you know naught of this matter,” she said.
“Nor do I,” I replied.
“Nor will anyone else, I’ll wager. Anyone who might matter, to your master’s way of thinking.”
I said nothing.
“Come with me,” she said. “I have something to send your master by way of a reply.” Then she passed me, going out of the room, and I followed her into the dark hall and up the stairs. She stopped at the first door, giving me a hateful look as she stood aside so that she could open it before me. “I haven’t had time to do up this room this morning,” she said. “You may find it a little awry, not to your standards, I’m sure,” and with that she threw the door open. I stepped forward, then as I took in the scene before me I froze where I stood.
It was a bedroom. I know now that it was, like the drawing room downstairs, well furnished with such quality as was a surprise in such a place, even to the wallpaper, which was a dark green but most fresh-looking. I took this in without noting it, for all I saw was the twisted sheets and blankets on the bed, which was all soaked in blood, and the stains down the wall, as of fingers dragged along, which had turned almost black on the dark paper but was surely blood, as was the dark, damp patches on the carpet nearby. Also on the carpet was a white night shift, like my own I use for summer, though it could barely be seen to be white for it was soaked in blood, which had dried brown and stiff. It was ripped at the neck and all the lace pulled away and there was also rents in the skirt. Next it was a linen handkerchief in a like condition.
I could not speak but took in my breath and clutched the frame of the door while Mrs. Farraday stood next to me pouring poison into my ear. “It’s quite shocking, isn’t it my girl,” she said. “Such housekeeping as this. I’m sure you’ve nothing like it in Harry Jekyll’s fine house on the square. You see, we need a maidservant here, such as yourself, to help us with the cleaning and making things up, and the fires as well. Look at that grate, as cold as Job’s comforters.”
I did not move. She went past me into the room. She stood on the carpet near the bed, looking about her as if the dreadful scene was the setting of some theatre piece she mun do her part in. “And the linen,” she said. “It’s in a shocking condition here for lack of help.” She bent down and took up the handkerchief, holding it out towards me, nor could I look away from it, for it seemed to fascinate me. She approached me slow, saying, “Take this, my girl. Take this to Harry Jekyll from Mrs. Farraday.” I kept my hands pressed against my skirt but she took one up roughly in her own. I did not resist her but let her press the stiff cloth into my palm. “And tell him all will be as he wants. His precious name is safe. No breath of scandal as will come to his door, though the doings in this house may stink to heaven.” I backed away from her, clutching the handkerchief and feeling such a tide of horror I could scarce keep myself from running, for I saw in the corner of the cloth, embroidered in blue thread that now was deep brown with blood, the monogram HJ I knew so well. Mrs. Farraday saw what I saw, and she gave a little snort of laughter. “Give it back to him,” she said. “And tell him this is such linen even his old friend Mrs. Farraday cannot clean for him.”
I could not move though I wanted naught but to be gone from that hateful place. “What does it mean?” I said, but speaking to myself, as I knew Mrs. Farraday would not give me the answer to my question, even if she knew it. I folded the handkerchief as best I could and thrust it into the pocket of my cloak where I seemed to feel the weight of it pressed against my side. Mrs. Farraday had turned away from me to close the door to the bedroom and when I heard the click of the lock it seemed to release me from my stupor, for I turned at once and went down the stairs to the front door, which I opened, not looking back until I had closed it behind me and stood safe on the street.
Then I couldn’t think, I could not let myself think, so I made my way home as fast as ever I could, barely looking right nor left, telling myself only that when I spoke to Master he would make all this darkness light for me.
But when I come in, Cook told me Master had gone out to his solicitor in a great hurry and sent Mr. Poole on a score of errands, and even Mr. Bradshaw had been called on to run off somewhere, so there was no one in the hall, nor had there been all morning and we might have only the three of us, Cook, Annie and myself for tea, which Cook said was just as well to her as she was feeling done in.
As we’d three quarters of an hour to tea, I told Cook I would go up to my room to change and so I sat here to get everything down as I could, for my head is so full of fear for Master I must do whatever I can to stay calm, so that, when this is all made clear to me, I may find the best way to serve him.
I hate to set down what I must now set down. No more can I keep it to myself. I spent this day so low from what passed between Master and me last night that I could scarce do my work. It seems a great weariness like a heaviness has come over me and I am so clumsy from it that when I knocked over a vase of flowers in the drawing room, breaking the vase and the water spilling everywhere, I only stood there looking at it as if I could not think how to set it right. I go over Master’s words to me again and again, but it is as if they was not spoken to me in my own language, and so I make no sense of them no matter how often they pass through my head. Indeed, at Mrs. Swit’s we had a French girl with us awhile and she would often watch us talking with a knitted brow, straining
to make out what we said, for we might be talking of our work or a fire in the next room for all she knew, and that is just how I feel about what Master said to me. I cannot make it out, but I fear it.
Cook, Annie and I had our tea alone yesterday, as Cook thought we might, though near the end Mr. Bradshaw come in and then Mr. Poole, but they just took a cup standing and went off to their duties. As we was cleaning up, Mr. Bradshaw looked in to say Master had come in and ordered up his dinner at the usual time in the dining room. Cook said she’d a bit of sole for him which would not take long to do so I might finish out the kitchen floor as I’d started in the morning and she would do her pantry and shopping lists. I was glad to take up some occupation, for my thoughts was such a jumble, and indeed as I pushed the brushes back and forth I began to calm a bit, thinking of possible explanations for what I saw at Mr. Farraday’s. One that come to me was that a babe coming makes a lot of blood, and perhaps Master had only assisted some poor soul into the world, but that did not explain why Mrs. Farraday was so angry, though I thought perhaps the mother had died and Mrs. Farraday blamed Master for it.
Mary Reilly Page 10
