Mary Reilly

by Valerie Martin

  There. I hear Master coming in from his laboratory, climbing through the dark, still house and thinking we are all of us asleep in our beds while he is left alone, awake. Can he feel that I am here, listening to him, sleepless on his account? Will he think of me as he goes into his room, lights the lamp I trimmed for him, sits on the bed I made for him, drinks the water I brought up for him, or perhaps lights the fire I laid for him and stands gazing at the burning coals until sleep finally finds us both?

  After we finished our tea today, Mr. Poole had a bell to the drawing room, but come back at once to say that Master had asked we all gather in Mr. Poole’s parlour, as he wished to speak to us as a group. Of course we was all taken by surprise, Cook saying it mun be something serious and perhaps Master had suffered a reverse in fortunes and couldn’t keep so grand a house, which had happened to her in her last position, but Mr. Poole told her to hold her tongue as no such thing was likely, only Master mun want some small change in the running of things, or perhaps he was going abroad.

  So we put up the tea things quickly, Mr. Poole opened his parlour door and we all filed in—Cook, Mr. Bradshaw, Annie, myself, Mr. Poole, and the knife boy, Peter, who was very nervous as this is his first position and he is scarce more than a child and shan’t find another with ease. We stood about, not wanting to take seats nor feeling we should be together in a group nor queued up, so we milled about the table, giving each other worried looks and Cook said she did not like it at all.

  At length we heard Master’s step on the staircase and he appeared at the door, seeming as he did yesterday, pressed but in good spirits, and he looked from one to another of us and said, “Good, here you all are.”

  Mr. Poole, who was propped against a china cabinet said in his stiffest manner, “We are all eager to hear what you have to tell us, sir.”

  Master looked at Cook, who had really gone white and was clutching at the back of a chair, and he said, “Good heavens, I’d say eager was the wrong word, Poole. Poor Mrs. Kent looks as though she may fall down.” Then he laughed and went to Cook, pulling out a chair for her, which she fell into obediently. “Please sit down, all of you,” Master said. “And be assured I haven’t called you together to deal some crushing blow. My news is rather indifferent and should cause no change, no change at all, dear Mrs. Kent, in the duties you all discharge so faithfully.”

  We took seats around the table, except for Mr. Poole who took the chair before his desk and turned it so that he faced Master but none of us could see him.

  “As you all know,” Master said—“as you, Mary, have often told me” (here I was glad I could not see Mr. Poole’s expression, though I was sure I felt his eyes burning into the back of my head)—“my work in the laboratory consumes so much of my time and energy that I scarcely have enough of either to carry it out. Indeed I cannot carry it out as efficiently as I would like, so after much thinking and searching about, I have decided to take an assistant.” Here Master paused, as if we might have some comment, which we had not. I was thinking it very odd that Master should do such a thing. It irritated me to hear it, though I couldn’t say why, even to myself.

  “I inform you all of this decision,” Master went on, “because it is important to me, and to my work, that this young man, Mr. Edward Hyde, have complete liberty in my house as well as in my laboratory, and that you all treat him with the respect and diligence in service that you show me.”

  As we all sat in dumb silence, Mr. Poole put in, “You may rely on it, sir.”

  “Good, then. I’ll say no more about it. Honestly I think he will have little to do in the house, and will for the most part confine his work to the laboratory, but I want to be sure he can come and go freely without occasioning any disturbance in your minds—and, of course, should he require your assistance I want you all to have the assurance that he has, by my wish, the same authority I have.”

  I found myself looking at Cook, who seemed to lose interest in Master’s remarks once she knew they did not mean anything must change in her own domain, so that while she kept her eyes raised attentively to Master, her hands was busy smoothing out her apron across her lap, running one finger along the hem, I thought, looking for a loose thread. I wanted to look at Mr. Poole, who was, I had no doubt, not pleased with the notion of a young man who might order him about or in some way disturb the routine of our house, but I couldn’t turn around to do so. It made me smile to think of it, and of how he must be making a nice bland face for Master’s benefit while underneath his thoughts was all havoc, and I looked up at Master to see he had stopped speaking and was looking right at me, smiling at me with an expression of amusement—almost, I thought, of affection, that I blushed to be receiving it in front of my fellows.

  “Good, then,” Master said without taking his eyes off me. “I will rely on you all, as I always do.” Then he went out and we heard him going up the stairs with a quick step. We all sat for a moment without speaking until Cook said, “Well, I don’t suppose he’ll be wanting his meals here,” and Mr. Poole replied quickly, “No, I shouldn’t think so.” We got up, pushing in our chairs, and went back to our duties, each, I have no doubt, trying to imagine the face and manner of this new, this young master, Mr. Edward Hyde.

  At dinner Mr. Bradshaw and Mr. Poole talked over Master’s announcement while the rest of us listened like dumb animals. Mr. Bradshaw, who has been here five years, wondered if Master ever needed such help before and Mr. Poole, who never tires of reminding us he has been here twenty, pointed out that no such person had been required for twenty years. Mr. Poole had plenty of ideas about why such a plan would appeal to Master now. First, his humanitarian work, of which he and Mr. Poole are justly proud, takes up more of his time than previously, so that he has less time for his researches and mun work into the night, as we see, endangering his health. Second, Master is getting to be elderly and it might reasonably occur to him that if his work is to proceed, there mun be some person who can understand it and carry it on in his absence. Third, and this one surprised me, Master is a bachelor and a wealthy one, without an heir. He has perhaps found some young gentleman who can serve as both an assistant and the eventual recipient of all Master’s concerns, and Master wants to have him about as much as possible, to be sure he has made the right choice.

  Mr. Bradshaw agreed with all this and wondered if the assistant was actually in Master’s employ, as we were, or would he be more of a reliable friend to our Master, to be treated, for example, as his solicitor, Mr. Utterson.

  Mr. Poole said this was a delicate question and the answer mun in some part depend upon the young man’s situation. He did feel that this assistant, whether he be paid or no, was clearly in Master’s mind by no means a servant, as he was to have perfect liberty in the house. Mr. Bradshaw, who will tease, said that it seemed to him Mr. Poole had perfect liberty in the house, so how could this young man have more.

  Mr. Poole puffed up and bristled. He can never tell when Mr. Bradshaw is joking or no, though the rest of us can, and said that he understood Master’s wish to be that we should all be prepared to take orders from this Mr. Hyde and that he was himself fully ready to do so.

  Then they fell silent and Cook said again she did not like it, but supposed she mun make the best of it. That was the end of our discussion.

  After dinner Mr. Poole went into his parlour and closed the door. Mr. Bradshaw went off to his room while Cook and I sat at the table drinking our beer and poor Annie did the rough business of scouring her pots. Suddenly the door opened and Mr. Poole looked in on us, scowling mightily, and said, “Mary, I’d like a word with you before you go up,” so I bolted my glass and went in at once, he following me, closing the door on Cook and Annie, who must have wondered what terrible thing I had done, though I thought I knew it and I was right. Mr. Poole took his seat at his desk and I stood before him, my hands folded under my apron, for all the world like a child caught out and feeling it too.

  “I feel I must tell you, Mary, that your behaviour
in this house is perplexing, even distressing to me, and a remark Dr. Jekyll made in his talk to us today has made me think it must fall to me to direct you in your duties, as he, evidently out of kindness, has not done so.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Do you have an idea what I’m speaking of?” he asked, trying to get me to accuse myself of something, I’ve no doubt, which made me so weary I decided to have done with it as soon as possible.

  “I believe I do,” I said. This surprised him a little, I saw, which pleased me.

  “And what is your idea?”

  “That Master said I told him he taxed his health with working so much at his researches, and that it was not my place to have spoken to him on such a subject.”

  “Well, that is it, of course, Mary. And how do you feel about having done so?”

  “That I was too forward, sir, and won’t ever be so again.”

  Then he was silent, and looked me up and down impatient. I could feel how much he does not like me, but I kept my eyes down, for I knew if I looked at him my feelings would be in my face and then he would find some way to get rid of me altogether.

  “We are all of us concerned for Dr. Jekyll’s health, Mary,” he said. “None more so than another. We can show our concern by making his house run smoothly and not increasing his burden with calling attention to our opinions.”

  I could think of no answer to this as it did not contain a question but was rather his way of driving home a point, so I stood looking at the carpet.

  At last he said, “That’s all I have to say for the present, Mary. You may go.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “Thank you, sir,” and I went out, straight past Cook and Annie and up to my room, as if I had been punished, feeling at each step a great weight of despair settling over me, for if Mr. Poole decides he is my enemy, he will see to it that Master cannot be my friend.

  Cook has seen him.

  She went out to the market early this morning and as she came round the corner she saw him hurrying along the street. The sun was hardly up, the lamps was still lit and the fog so thick, as it has been these three days, that she said he seemed to come out of the black as if he was made of it. At first she paid him no heed, as she does not look at every stranger on the street, but then she saw he was holding a key and his eye was bent on the passage door to Master’s laboratory, so she stopped to have a good look at him.

  She told us this at breakfast, when Mr. Poole was out at the chemist’s, for he would not like us gossiping about Master’s assistant, though I’m sure he’s as curious as we. “What sort of gentleman is he?” Mr. Bradshaw asked.

  “Why, it’s hard to say,” Cook replied. “I saw him so sudden and then he was in at the door and never did see me. But he’s a very small gentleman, hardly taller than you, Mary; in fact he may not be as tall” (which I thought must mean he is small indeed as I am not tall by anyone’s measuring and rarely see a man smaller than myself). “But he’s not slight, nor heavy.”

  “Well,” said Mr. Bradshaw. “Now, that’s a clear picture, Mrs. Kent. He is small but not small.”

  “I believe he is stooped a little,” said Cook. “Or perhaps his legs is too short for the rest of him.”

  “Well,” Mr. Bradshaw said. “Is he a dwarf?”

  “No,” said Cook. “Not a dwarf, but something odd about him.”

  “Did you see his face?” Annie put in, to my surprise, for Annie rarely has the energy to wonder about anything.

  “Only in shadow,” Cook said. “I could make out that he is dark and his hair is long, curly, coarse stuff, more of it than most gentlemen would care for. He is clean-shaven and he was well dressed, though he looked the worse for wear to me and I had the feeling he had not changed but was coming in straight from a night out.”

  “That won’t set well with his new employer,” Mr. Bradshaw said. “Perhaps he won’t last long.”

  Then we was silent, for we heard Mr. Poole coming in at the door, but I thought we was all of the same feeling and Mr. Bradshaw had said what we wished was true. Master’s assistant has not been in the house at all and already we was bothered with him. I put my plate away and went out to fill my buckets, as I wanted to get the front steps done, but when I got there it hardly seemed worth the effort as the fog was so thick I could scarcely see across the yard, so it seemed unlikely anyone would see our steps, yet such work must be done regular. When my buckets was filled I set to tying up my skirts, for I don’t care to drag them about in the water, though I’ve seen others as don’t seem to mind and would rather be soaked to the knees than have their ankles exposed, which seems like false modesty to me, and as I did this I heard the theatre door open and someone step out into the yard. It struck me at once that now I was to see Mr. Edward Hyde, though I could make out nothing yet for the fog, and I felt it awkward to meet him thus—even, I think, I was annoyed. Then I heard a few steps going toward the house and I thought, no, that is Master’s step. A moment later my question was answered for I heard a clatter, then Master’s voice said, “Damn!” quite sudden and distressed. Without thinking I ran towards the sound to find Master on his hands and knees, having tripped over a raised bit of flag and gone down completely.

  “Lord, sir,” I said. “Have you hurt yourself?”

  Master rolled over sideways, then sat up, his legs stretched out before him. “I think I have, Mary,” he said. “I heard my ankle snap as I fell.”

  “Don’t move, sir,” I said. “Shall I go for Mr. Poole?”

  “No,” Master said. “Let me just sit a moment and see what I’ve done. I think it may be only a sprain.”

  “Shall I take off your shoe?”

  Master laughed. “If you can find it in this soup, Mary, yes I suppose we should have a look at it. It’s my right foot.”

  I knelt down at Master’s feet and began unlacing his boot, pulling the leather apart carefully and grasping it by the heel to pull it off as easy as I could, but still it made Master moan, “Oh.”

  “Should I go for a doctor?” I said. “Perhaps it is broken, sir.”

  “I believe we have a doctor in the house,” Master said, which made me laugh.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Just hold it by the heel,” Master said. “And move the foot in a circle very gently, Mary, then I can tell what I’ve done.”

  I did as he bid me, feeling nervous as it seemed I mun be hurting him, but he was silent, then said, “That’s enough. It’s not so bad, I think, but I won’t be able to walk on it.” I was kneeling on the flags and I let Master’s foot rest in my lap, wondering what we should do to get him into the house; though I felt I was strong enough to support him if he was willing to lean upon me, still it seemed it was for Master to decide. We was both of us looking at his poor foot, which I was thinking really is so long and slender, I could feel the bones through the stocking and it seemed to me they was too fine to carry a man of Master’s height. Then I looked up to see Master was looking at me and I felt shy because I did not have on my bonnet or apron and my hair had come loose, so I smoothed it back with my hands and said, “I was just getting my buckets for the front steps.”

  Master’s face was pale and he bit his lip as I spoke, so I thought he must be in pain and should be in his bed. The fog was around us so thick that we could not see the house or the theatre door and seemed to be in a world of cloud, as if we’d fallen into the sky. “How strange I feel,” Master said. “I think I must lie down,” and with that he lay back on the damp flags and closed his eyes, but continued to speak to me. “Just for a moment, Mary,” he said. “Then with your help I’ll go into the house. I did not sleep last night and this fall has taken whatever there was left of me.”

  This made me feel helpless and I thought, if Master cannot even sit up I shall never get him in, he is too big for me. Then I thought his assistant mun still be in the laboratory, as Cook had seen him go in, and surely Master would want him to know of his condition. I s
aid, “Sir, you are in a bad way. Shall I go for your assistant?”

  Master’s eyes flew open. He rose up on his elbows and gave me a wondering look. “My assistant?” he said. “No, he isn’t here.”

  “Oh,” was all I said, not wanting Master to know how we all sat about talking the moment one of us had a look at the man.

  “Mary,” Master said. “I must get to my room. If you will stand here and allow me to lean upon you, I think it can be accomplished.”