Mary Reilly

by Valerie Martin

  I had a moment to recover myself which I did by smoothing my hair and my apron. The chair was turned away from me and all I could see of him was his arm and hand. The back of his hand is covered with black hair, the fingers blunt, so although, like the rest of him, it is small for a man’s, still there is something brutish about it. I found I did not like to look at his hand any better than I liked to see the rest of him, yet there was something that seemed to hold me still and make me stare, as a rabbit will stare stunned by a torch light. He seemed to be making himself comfortable in Master’s chair, for he picked up a book from the side table, then turned another around to see the title, as if to give himself a choice.

  “Will you have a fire, sir?” I said.

  He leaned out over the wing of the chair to look at me, which made me shrink against the table. His eyes is so odd, for though he is young, they are not, and there is dark circles beneath them, caused by lack of sleep I’ve no doubt. “No,” he said. “I won’t have a fire.” His way of speaking is to mock what is said to him, I thought. “But bring me a pot of tea, Mary,” he added.

  Everything in me wanted to cry out, No, I will not serve you, so strong that I opened my mouth, then closed it again. He was watching me with his eyes narrowed, looking, I thought, as if he knew what was going through my head and was amused by it. I thought of Master’s words—I take a great interest in that young man—and it was that made me find my tongue and say, “Yes, sir. Will you have something to eat with it?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Very good, sir,” I said and went out.

  Mr. Poole was not in the hall so I thought Master’s assistant must have come in through the back stairs. When I got to the kitchen I found I was right for Cook had seen him through the window come across the yard and let himself in “as if this was his house,” she said. “And he was up the stairs before I could think of a way to warn you.”

  “Truly,” I said, “we shall have to find a way to make the bells ring upstairs. Perhaps Mr. Bradshaw can rig that out for us, he is so clever with his hands,” which sent Annie into a fit of giggles, though Cook thought it was no more funny than I did.

  “Where is he?” Cook asked.

  “In the library,” I said, “asking for a pot of tea, by your leave.”

  So Cook got the tea tray together while I changed my apron and put on clean cuffs, for it seemed I had got to serve it to him as Cook said Mr. Poole was out on an errand for Master. All the way up the stairs I wondered how Master could allow this man to use his books so and why, after reading what was written on those pages, he did not bar the fellow from our house. Indeed what he’d done to the book seemed worse in my mind than whatever happened in that room in Soho, not because I care more for books than for people, but because one didn’t expect to find anything but violence and grief in that other place whereas this was done in Master’s own house. But it seemed to me also that the sight of Mr. Edward Hyde must be enough to put off any person of sense. What had he to recommend him to Master in the first place? With these thoughts in my head I carried in the tray and set it down on the table. He had not left the chair but sat there with a book open in his lap. I did not think he was reading it. He kept tapping his finger against the arm of the chair as I poured the tea out. He was nervous, I thought, and not used to sitting so long. I held the cup out to him, which he took awkwardly, seeming not used to such a fine service. He tasted it, though it was so hot I thought it must burn his mouth, then handed the cup back to me saying, “More sugar.”

  I put in another full spoon of sugar so that it was sweet as treacle and gave it back to him. He held it over his lap by the saucer, as awkward as a schoolboy, though not with anything innocent about him, and taking up the cup by holding it round the top, drank it down in two gulps. Well, I thought, this does make Mr. Poole’s case that he is no gentleman, and the thought of how easily this question was settled made me smile.

  “Something amuses you, Mary?” he said, setting the empty cup down on the table beside him.

  His voice took the smile off my face quick enough and when I looked down at him, for I was standing across the table, I felt a line of ice run up my spine. He was leaning forward in the chair, fixing me with a look of such hatred I took a step back as if I could get clear of it. I looked down quickly and said, “No, sir,” but I could still feel his eyes burning a hole through me, nor did he move until at last I felt tears welling up in my eyes and such a sick, weak feeling in my stomach I feared I might fall down. I gathered up my courage to look at him again and saw that he had taken up the teacup, which he was turning round in his hands, though with his cold eyes still fixed on me. I thought, he’s going to throw it at me, but in the next moment I heard a cracking sound and saw the cup break into pieces in his hands.

  “What a pity,” he said, though still he did not move. I could not take my eyes from his hands, which he closed over the sharp bits, squeezing his palms together, then when he opened them I saw some of the shards had cut him and there was spots of blood on the white bits and more blood coming at the several cuts. “Accidents will happen,” he said, opening his hands even wider so that the broken pieces fell to the carpet, making a clinking sound, very soft, but it seemed a great clatter in my head. I did not know where to look or what to do. Of course, I wanted to run, but there was something so sickening in the sight of his bleeding hands, the harsh whisper of his voice, that I felt myself come over cold and clammy, the way it is when a fever breaks. I stood quite still as he got up and took the few steps that stood between us. When he leaned over the table, bringing his bleeding hand to my face, I felt an aching in my chest and a sob broke out from my mouth, but still I did not pull away. I knew the tears overflowed but I could not raise my hand even to brush them away. I closed my eyes when his hand touched my face, just at the corner of my mouth, and I kept my eyes closed while he dragged his bleeding fingers slow, slow, across my mouth, pulling my lips apart. I gritted my teeth and tried to take in a breath of air, for it seemed I was stifling, that the room was full of the smell of blood and the air could not be breathed for the thickness of it. I could hear his low laugh, and then his horrid, whispering voice. “Don’t you know who I am, Mary?” he said.

  I do not know how I did not faint, but I did not. I was still standing a few moments later, much to my own surprise, when I opened my eyes and found myself alone, with a sound almost of rushing air in my ears and the thick, salt taste of blood in my mouth.

  It is hard to write this, feeling as I do, afraid to set down what happened for fear of what comes next. I want to cry out, I will not stand for this, but I’ve stood for worse, that much is certain, and I’ve no right to speak now, nor have I ever.

  This was a day I looked forward to, because I can go out now, I’ve finished my work, and I was to walk in the park or look in the shops, with nothing on my mind but the pleasure of having my time to myself. But now I feel I could walk until I drop and no breath of fresh air will come to me, for everything round me is a cloud of lies I cannot find my way through. Nor may I speak to anyone of what I know, what I can make no sense of though I know it, but must carry these things about in my head where they seem to press out all other thoughts. So I write and write in my book, as if I could make the darkness come clear by setting it down on my page.

  I did make myself go out yesterday, for I could not sit in my room all day, indeed I don’t doubt Cook wondered that I stayed in as late as I did. It was cold, though fair, and I walked a long way, paying no mind to where or what I saw, for my head was so full of this strangeness in our house it seemed I took it with me. When I got to the park I sat on a bench and tried to watch the passersby, but they was all in a hurry to be somewhere, or if one or the other might loiter it was with ill intent. I pulled my cloak up close about me and hid my hands in my sleeves for warmth, then I sat, feeling I’d been thrown down on that bench from some high place and must wait to get my bearings before going on.

  I began to think on my whole life,
of the places I’ve worked and how I have always tried to do my best and bear my burdens without shirking or complaining, because it has seemed to me there is no other way and, in truth, I am too proud to do otherwise. I know this comes in part from my marm, who was of a like mind, so much that she will take no help from anyone, even from me; though I send her a little now and again, she always begs me not to do it. And I thought of how she is the only family I have, but because of how things fell out I hardly hear of her, nor she of me. When I do see her we don’t talk of the past, never of my father, though there’s many a scene comes to my mind of her suffering and my own, nor do I wonder why, once he was gone, Marm never went with another man. I know she is pleased that I take care of myself, have had a good character at every place I’ve been, and I think she feels it a great wonder that I can write, for she keeps my letters; though she cannot read them, she looks at them. So I feel I could never make her life harder by saying everything was not right with me.

  I thought of the places I’ve been and the ways of people I’ve seen there, of Mrs. Swit, who was so kind to me, and of the masters and mistresses I have served, none of them ever seeming to see me, though their eyes was quick enough to notice any work left undone, and of how my fellows always thought me cold or too silent, or not gay enough, for when the talk turned, as it always did, to having a sweetheart or going out of service by way of the altar, I could not enter in with some story or other about my own experience. Once Sarah Jacobs, at K_____________ Place, persuaded me to go out with her where there was dancing and soldiers about, and she said with a little luck here was where we would find a good time and a husband, and so I believe she did, for after an hour of standing about in the cloud that hangs over me, she was off with two or three fellows, nor did I see her again. So I remembered how I walked back to our room alone that night, counselling myself, Mary, this will never be your way, so best take things as you find them and not have a notion you can be what you are not.

  And then of how I come to Master’s house and found everything so quiet and suited to me, and his ways so like my own that I felt I’d stepped into a harness that fit me at last, and that I could stay safe from the light ways that I have never understood and be valued rather for what I am. So I was happy truly in my place and it did not seem odd to me but natural that Master should take an interest in me and rely upon me to speak plain or keep silent by turns. And though he is so far above me, it was to me as if we was equal, for we live in much the same way and know each other’s habits and though he has friends enough and goes in and out and has his work, I felt he was like me, not touched by the need for something more.

  Like me, not touched.

  And then, as I was sitting there on the bench with all the world of people coming and going about me and the cold stinging my cheeks, I felt such a sadness come over me, for though I understand why I cannot be like others and look forward to the future, making plans and provisions for a shared life, still it is hard to bear. Tears welled up in my eyes, so I rubbed at them with my fingertips. All I could see then was blackness and I could feel his hand pressing against my mouth and the sickening weakness that rushed over me. I heard my own heart racing in my ears, his laughter, the sob catching at my throat, and then at my lips I found the taste of blood. When I opened my eyes I sensed that he was near me, so I looked hard at the strangers nearby, but none of them was like him. Then I knew he was behind me, yet I was afraid to look. How long did I sit like this? At last I stood up and turned to face the bench. There was a child running alongside his nurse, and a tall man in a top hat; then, far off by the big gate, I thought I saw a little man, like a shadow, disappear into the busy crowd of the street.

  How cruel it strikes me that I have been thinking so of my marm these last few days and feeling I must find a way to get out to see her, though it takes more leisure to make the trip than I can ever call my own these days, and then to learn this day that I shall never see her more.

  This afternoon before tea Mr. Poole come into the kitchen where I was laying out the dishes, holding a letter in his hands and giving me such a look, as if I had no business to receive a letter in my life, that I knew it mun be for me. It were a poor document, written on dirty paper and sealed with a bit of candle wax, my name and our house number printed across the front in big letters such as a child makes. I opened it up at once, though I knew what it mun say, and read the few words writ, I could see, with difficulty, both for the sadness of the message and the uneasiness of the writer with pen and paper. It said, Your misus Reilly passed on these three days. Please to come at once to Mr. James Haffinger, at lodgings to settle affairs. Yours very truly Mr. James Haffinger.

  I read it quick and felt saddened and angry as well, for I knew Mr. Haffinger meant Marm owed him money, otherwise he would not have bothered himself to let me know of it, and also I felt very confused by his message, for I could not tell how long Marm had been gone or what he had done with her and I wanted her to have a proper burial as she had not had a proper life. Mr. Poole gave me his cold-fish look and then Cook, seeing me holding the letter but not reading it, said, “Mary, what is it? Have you had bad news?”

  “My marm has passed on,” I said.

  Then they was both full of sympathy and told me I must sit down for the shock and Cook brought me a cup of tea saying, “My poor girl,” and also that she remembered when her own ma had passed on she felt she’d lost her childhood forever, which I thought an odd thing to say, then it struck me she must mean happy memories. I said, “I mun go out to the East End to see to her funeral, but how can I?” and Cook said, “Why, Mr. Poole will speak to Master and you shall go in the morning,” so I saw that it was understood I had good cause. “I never had to see to a funeral,” I said; “I don’t know a thing about it.” But Cook said, “You may find that out when you get there. It may already be arranged.” Then Mr. Poole said, “Perhaps your mother had a burial society,” but I replied, “That’s unlikely, sir. She could scarce get enough to stay alive, so she could not lay by to die.” Then he looked away and I thought, he is thinking on his own arrangements which, no doubt, is laid out as careful and neat as his cuffs.

  “I shall speak to Master after tea,” he said.

  All the afternoon I could think of nothing but Marm, who may be left on her mattress until I can come for her, or else turned out into some storage place so that her room can be let at once, and also I thought, now I am an orphan, for I have no one in the world who knows me. My only comfort was the little money I have laid by, which has taken me so long to save, but there’s nearly eight pounds, which Cook told me should be enough for a proper funeral, for a coach at least and a good, lined coffin, a proper pall as well as bearers.

  After dinner Mr. Poole called me into his parlour and bade me close the door as I come in. “I’ve spoken to Master,” he said. “And you have his leave to go and attend to your mother’s funeral tomorrow. You may leave as early as you like.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said.

  “How will you go?” he asked, as if he thought I would take a hansom.

  “I can get the omnibus partway, sir. The rest I can walk.”

  “I shall instruct Cook to leave you something to take for your lunch.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. I wondered he was so cordial, though it was just like him to put on a show of proper feeling whether he felt it or no.

  “Has your mother other relations to assist you?”

  “No, sir,” I said. “She had a sister in Holborn but she’s passed on these five years. So there is only me.”

  “I’m sorry for it,” Mr. Poole said. “It will be a sad business for you then, on your own.”

  I looked up at him, thinking it a marvellous thing that the passing of a woman he would not have spoken to in life should so affect him he would now speak kindly to her only relation. Perhaps he saw that his sympathy did not touch me, for he stiffened and made to turn away. But then he seemed to have a second thought and said, “Cook tells me Ma
ster’s assistant was in the house while I was away on Tuesday.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. And I thought, so that’s what is on his mind.

  “And you attended on him.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. Then I took pity on him, for he wanted to know all about it, I could see, and not have to drag it out of me, so I went on. “He was in the library and ordered up a pot of tea, which he drunk at once and then went out.”

  “I see,” Mr. Poole said. “Cook told me a cup was broken?”

  I wonder I did not turn pale when he said this. I could see the cup coming apart in his hands and feel his eyes on me, oh, as if he was there before me. I knew I could not speak of it, even to someone as might care for me, even to Master himself, so, as it is hard on me to lie, I looked down at the carpet and said, “I dropped it, sir.”

  Mr. Poole was ready for this. “On the carpet?” he said.

  Of course it wouldn’t be likely to break on the carpet, I thought. “No, sir,” I said. “By the fender. It slipped off the tray.”

  Mr. Poole said nothing. I continued staring at the floor as I know the sight of me hanging my head vexes him and I wanted him to send me away at once.

  “Very well, Mary,” he said after a moment of this. “You may go back to your duties. Master will want a fire in the library this evening.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said and went out.

  I finished my beer at the table with Cook and then put on a clean apron and went up to the library. Master was still in the dining room so I thought I could get the fire up and be off without seeing him, which strange to say I felt best, for I feared he would speak to me of Marm and I did not want to talk about her. But just as I was finishing he came in and took his chair behind me. It was raining out. Even with the curtains drawn I could hear the tapping of the rain against the windowpanes, so I thought it must be raining hard and I would have to make my journey east through no end of mud and filth. I raked out the coals slow then, feeling now I did not want to finish, though the heat was such as made my cheeks like flames. I heard Master take up his decanter and the sound of the port pouring into his glass, but he said nothing. I wiped my hands on my apron, then touched them to my face. I felt I could not move.