Which was just how it happened. When I had the beds made up again, I went down to the kitchen to take back the sewing things and as soon as I opened the door, Cook called out, “Mary, come in at once. This is a dreadful business and I hardly know what to think. Can you believe it, the police is quite positive Sir Danvers Carew was murdered by our master’s assistant, Mr. Edward Hyde.”
What a confusion of feelings I had upon hearing this! My first thought was that when I went out this morning and he nearly run me down, he was coming from this murder, that he went straight to Master, and so Master knew before anyone, and that was why he was so taken. Another thought was an odd one. It was that this mun be the last we would see of the fellow, for now he mun run for his own life as there would be no place in all of England where he might show his face. But then, I wondered, how could the police be so certain, which I asked Cook, and she replied, “Why, the crime was overlooked. The underhousemaid at Mister Littleton’s house saw the whole thing from her window and she recognized the dreadful man, as who would not who ever saw him once, because he had visited her master. Then the police come up with his address somehow and went straight to his house in Soho where they found a broken piece of the weapon. But here is the worst of it, Mary, it was our master’s own walking stick they found there and Edward Hyde had used it to do the deed, and that is what sent the constables to our door.”
Then Mr. Poole come in, looking as if he’d just swallowed some unpleasant medicine, and leaned his back against the kitchen door. He looked at Cook, then at me, and Cook said, “I’ve told Mary what the police has come upon.” Mr. Poole flinched at the word “police” and said, “I did not think I should live to announce officers of the law into the drawing room of this house.”
“Have they gone?” Cook said.
“They have,” he replied. “And I hope they may have no cause to return.”
Cook agreed, then Mr. Poole said to me, “Mary, go up to the drawing room at once and see to the fire.”
I hardly need say how anxious I was to get to Master. I was out the door and up the stairs at once. The drawing-room door was open and I saw Master’s hand on the arm of the chair drawn up before the cold grate. I tapped on the doorframe and went directly in.
“Mary,” he said when he saw me. “I thought you would not be back yet.”
I curtsyed and tried not to stare at his face, which was so altered it shocked me. It was true, he had been weeping. His eyes could hardly open for the swelling around them. He was disarrayed as well—his hair had not been combed, his collar was all undone, and he was sunk so low in his chair he seemed to have been thrown down into it, wrung out by grief.
“I could not finish my business, sir,” I said. “And so must go back on Thursday, if I may have leave. I can make it up if I don’t take my half-day next week.”
“Oh,” he said. “That is no matter. Take whatever time you need and think no more about it. I’ll speak to Poole.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, and I did feel truly grateful. “I’ll see to your fire now.”
He nodded, then, lifting his hand weakly as if it was useless to him, he fluttered his fingers at the bottle on the table. “Would you pour me a glass of claret first,” he said. “I haven’t the strength to get up and get it myself.”
“Of course, sir,” I said. I went to the table, poured out a full glass and gave it him. He gave me a poor, weak smile as he took it, so that I felt such pity for him I had to turn away. I got to my knees and set to work on the fire, which took some time, as the grate was cold. Outside we could hear a wind whipping round the house, making the shutters groan on their hinges, and the light was fading fast from the room. When I was done I stood up and turned to Master who was, it seemed to me, so sunk in gloom that I said, “Shall I light a lamp for you, sir?”
He looked up at me. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I may not want much in the way of light this evening.”
I could not think what to say to this, so I stayed as I was while Master took another swallow of wine. “It sounds bitter out there,” he said, looking towards the window. “I’m glad you are not out walking in it.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “It was coming on as I came in. But perhaps a good storm will blow all this fog away and tomorrow will be bright and clear.”
Master nodded, still with his sad smile. “For a while, yes,” he said. “But how long before the fog returns?”
I said nothing. It seemed Master saw through my cheerful remark, as I did myself.
“I suppose downstairs is all abuzz with this miserable affair of Sir Danvers Carew,” Master said.
Then I felt uncomfortable, but I thought why should Master care what we say? “Not downstairs alone, sir,” I said, “but all over the town. They was crying it on every corner as I came along.”
Master sighed. “My poor Edward,” he said.
I was speechless, though I thought quick enough, isn’t it the poor man struck down on the street who is to be pitied? Master seemed to read my thoughts, for he said, “And poor Danvers Carew. He was a harmless old hypocrite. Certainly he never did a thing to provoke such a”—Master’s voice broke, then he recovered—“such a merciless fury.”
“No, sir,” I said, for Master sat looking at me, seeming to plead for some answer. “I’m sure he did not.”
This response seemed to give Master some resolve. “I’ve had a letter from Edward Hyde,” he said. “Which I’ve given to Mr. Utterson for safekeeping. We will not see more of him in this house. He has gone … away.”
“I see, sir,” I said, though I did not see, unless Mr. Edward Hyde sat down and wrote it before Master’s eyes in the laboratory. To have Master lie to me made me so uneasy I wanted to leave, so I said quickly, “If that is all, sir?”
“Yes,” Master said, then, “no. I think I will have a light, Mary.”
While I was lighting the lamp, he finished his claret and when I brought the light to him he waved me away. “No, put it on that table,” he said. “I don’t think I can read.” I went to the table. “And would you pour me another glass of this claret. It is an excellent wine,” he said.
I took the glass. As I poured out the wine Master said, “I’m trying to think of something else, Mary,” he said. “Some request whereby I may keep you with me a little longer.”
“That is all you need say, sir,” I said. “I will not go.”
“You looked as though you wanted to get away just now,” he said.
If he can read my feelings, I thought, I may as well hold nothing back. “I’m sorry for that, sir.” I said. “I was uneasy because as I was going out this morning I saw Mr. Edward Hyde coming in at the laboratory door.”
Master’s eyebrows shot up, but he kept his voice calm. “He did not see you,” he said.
“No,” I said. “It was the fog, and he was running, sir.”
“Yes,” Master said. “Running for his life.” I said nothing. “It is marvellous, you see, Mary, how he does love his own life.”
“So do we all, sir,” I said.
Master responded very quick, as if I had contradicted him, “No. Not as he does.”
“I see, sir,” was all I said.
“Have you told anyone this, Mary?”
“No, sir,” I said. “I have not. Only you.”
Master looked down into his wine, then took a drink of it, thinking what to say to me, I’d no doubt.
“Of course I had him write the letter,” he said, “because I did not want it known he came to me.”
“I see, sir,” I said, and I did see very well, for not to have called the constables upon hearing such a tale must surely be a crime in itself.
“I told him I could not help him, Mary,” he said. “And he understood me very well. He promised to go away, and stay away.”
“Then that is just as well, sir,” I said.
“Yes,” Master said. “I have done all I can for him.” Master’s eyes filled with tears. He put his glass down and covered his face
with his hands. “Forgive me, Mary,” he said. “I have had such a lesson.”
I stood looking at Master and it seemed his sadness would become my own. I wanted to reach out to him, but could not, to speak, but the only words that come to me mun say what he already knew.
“It was my own folly,” he said. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, then looked at me again. “But good can come of it.”
“I hope so, sir,” I said.
“You may rely upon it,” Master said. “I will see to that.”
He’s like a child, I thought, saying, I will, I will. But how can he will a dead man back to life or save a murderer from the gallows? Master was looking to me to reply to his promise, and I said, “I will, sir.” Then I thought, now he has me saying it, and that made me smile. But when I met Master’s eyes the smile was struck from my face, for he was giving me such a cold look I felt I could not deserve it. “Does something amuse you, Mary?” he said, in a husky voice that hardly seemed his own.
“Sir?” I said. Then he did a thing so strange it made my blood seem to chill in my veins, though it was nothing, really. He looked at his hand, which he had rested on the arm of the chair, turned it over, palm up, as if he thought there might be something in it; then, with a wondering expression, he looked up at me. It seemed the whole room had begun to pound with noise, but then I understood it was my heart pounding in my ears. All I could think was, do not move and this moment will pass.
So it did. In the next Master said, “You may go now, Mary. I won’t detain you from your work any longer.”
I bobbed a curtsy, still unable to speak, and went out the door as fast as I could without seeming to bolt. In the hall I had to stop and lean against the wall, for my heart was racing so I could not get my breath, though now that I write it all down and think what really happened, I can’t say just why I should have been so afraid.
This morning I was up early and in good spirits, for the first thing I saw was a beam of yellow sunlight coming into our attic through the window and falling across the bed onto the floor as if it was spilled from a pitcher. When I looked out the window I saw the sky was still pink but it would soon be all blue for there was not a cloud to be seen, nor were the treetops rustling, so the wind had gone and left us with a fine October day. Cook was up when I got to the kitchen, seeming cheerful as well, and even Mr. Poole, when he come in, did not have his gloomy air about him, though I doubt it is in his nature ever to be light hearted. He said Master was up and would have his breakfast in the drawing room, for he was already working at his desk. I gulped down my tea standing near the stove, then put on my apron to go see to Master’s fire. Walking along the hall was a fine sight, for the sun was streaming through the stained-glass windows making beams of red and green and gold, so clear I could pick them out. I knocked at the drawing room and Master bid me come in. As I worked at the grate Master said, “Well, Mary, your weather prediction was accurate. It is certainly a fine day.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “It do lift the spirits.”
“It does indeed,” Master said, folding up a sheet of paper he’d been writing on and taking up another. Then, as he said no more to me, I finished my work and went back to the kitchen. All the way I could not help thinking, there is more to be grateful for than fine weather this morning, for we have all of us seen the last of Mr. Edward Hyde. And indeed when we sat down to breakfast in the kitchen, though we did not speak of it, I seemed to hear relief in our voices, even Mr. Poole’s. It was the absence of Edward Hyde we could feel, as if he’d been taking up the air so we could not breathe it and now we drank it in in great gulps, which seems odd, as we had none of us much to do with him when he was here. The only sharp note sounded among us came when I told Mr. Poole Master had given me leave to see to my mother’s funeral on Thursday. He remarked that it was not my place to ask for leave as it put Master on the spot, but I said, “I did not ask him, sir. He brought it up and all I said was it would be on Thursday and he said, then you must go.” Mr. Poole pursed his lips at me in a way I don’t like, but he said no more on the subject so I felt I’d got off easy.
The rest of the day I filled with work, and I could have filled another with ease. I did four tubs of laundry in the yard, all the table linens and bed sheets, as well as napkins and dish towels. I cleaned the silver Mr. Poole had put out, for he says Master is having seven to dinner Friday eve, so it is not too soon to start. I shook out the doormat, washed the front steps and did the brass. Then, as Master had gone out for the day, after lunch I dusted the drawing room and the library, swept out the carpets with tea leaves, also swept out the hall.
It did me good to work hard all day. At dinner I felt weary but in a pleasing way, so I thought, I will sleep well tonight. When Mr. Bradshaw come in he said he’d been out to the bootmaker and the newsmen was crying for Mr. Edward Hyde on every corner. “He will have left the country, if he’s any sense at all,” Mr. Bradshaw said. “Unless I miss my guess.”
I said nothing but Mr. Poole put in, “I hear the police have got to the bank before him, so he will not be able to draw the funds to make good his escape.”
Cook sighed. “Oh, I hope he is gone,” she said. “Or that he is soon apprehended. I only saw him that once, coming along near the court, but I have never got over the bad feeling it gave me. I believe I knew he was a cold-blooded murderer the moment I saw him.”
“It is a pity,” Mr. Poole said, “that our master’s generous heart was taken in by such a creature as this Mr. Edward Hyde. But thank the Lord, I believe he now sees the danger he was in.”
So I sat and said nothing, but I thought, no doubt he come to this house to get enough money from Master to make his escape. And then I thought, however much it was, in my view it was money well spent.
BOOK 3
This is a new book I bought at Lett’s for sevenpence.
Today I was up early and worked until ten, for there was a deal to do in the house to have it ready for Master’s dinner party tomorrow. I got all the folding done and ready for ironing, which I will do in the morning. It was a fine clear day like yesterday, a great relief to me as I had to cross the town, and also as I thought a funeral in the rain or fog would be so gloomy I could not bear up under it. I put on my dark skirt and grey bonnet and my mourning bands, also my heavy cloak, for there is a chill in the air though it is bright. Cook gave me a slice of mutton pie she had left from yesterday’s lunch and a piece of brown bread which I wrapped up to take along.
So I went off and made my way through the busy streets. The bright day seemed to put the whole population in a good humour, and even the horses weaving through the traffic with their carts and cabs had a festive look about them. As I was standing at a crossing before Russell Square, a big grey fellow who was drawn up next me stretched out his long neck and took up a bit of my cloak in his lips, as if he wanted to have a look at it. When I started, he did too, throwing up his head, and the driver shouted down to me, “He’s taken a fancy to you, miss,” so I laughed and the big horse hung his head down as if he was ashamed.
I stopped near noon and ate my lunch at Finsbury Square, then drank a cup of milk from the man there and went on to Marm’s lodgings.
Mr. Haffinger had done himself up in an outlandish costume which he seemed to think was very fine. He’d an old top hat, very high, such as one rarely sees these days, and a shabby cutaway coat that had seen better days. His waistcoat was too tight for him and his shirt had a high stiff collar, which he’d wrapped round three or four times with a black cravat so wide it came to the tip of the collar, so he looked as if he could neither breathe nor turn his head. He was pleased to see me, he said, and we was to go at once to the funerary furnishers, for they’d come to take Marm early in the morning and said they would be ready to proceed to the churchyard at one sharp. As we walked along he told me something that fair made me fall down in the street. He said that after I’d come to see him a gentleman visited him as well, asking after my marm. He would not give his
name but said he was her relation and Mr. Haffinger took him down to his hole in the wall to look at her. The gentleman seemed very moved, Mr. Haffinger said, and asked after the funeral arrangements, which he was pleased to tell him was all settled by the daughter of the deceased. “Ah, Mary,” the gentleman said, “so she has taken care of it.” Mr. Haffinger told him the time of the funeral and suggested that he attend but the gentleman declined saying, “I do not think Mary would want to see me there.” Then he gave Mr. Haffinger a sovereign to spend on feathers and went away.
“How can this be?” I said. “My marm had no relations that I know of, certain none as would know me by name.”
“I cannot say,” he replied. “Only I’m telling you what the gentleman said.”
“But what was he like?” I said.
Here Mr. Haffinger brought out a long description: he was elderly, though perhaps not, but only worn down from hard work and illness, for he had a cough that never let up so he could scarcely carry on a conversation; his hair was dark, though perhaps it was grey, he had not marked it. He believed he was clean-shaven though there may have been some whiskers. His clothes was neat but not fashionable, a workingman’s clothes, he thought, or perhaps a tradesman. He was not tall nor short, and so on until I thought I would scream at him. My head was pounding with the thought it must have been my father, though it were an outrage he should turn up at this unhappy time in the guise of a concerned relation; in fact, I could not bear to think on it. The description Mr. Haffinger gave me could have been anyone, so it could have been him, and I remembered with a shudder that he had always a cough.
No, I thought, half of London has a cough. This must surely be some cousin or uncle of Marm’s that I know nothing of. But why then would he think I would not care to see him? Mr. Haffinger dug in his coat pocket and came out with the sovereign. “Here it is,” he said. “You see, just as he gave it me.” We had reached the funeral establishment and Mr. Haffinger stood holding out the sovereign to me at the doorway.
Mary Reilly Page 15
