Mary Reilly

by Valerie Martin

  Then we could have heard a pin drop on the carpet, the silence was that sudden and thick. I kept my eyes on the grate but I heard Master lift his glass from the mantel, drink from it, then set it back down very slow, and when he spoke his voice was the same, slow and careful. “We differ only on interpretation, Hastie,” Master said. “We always have. You see the exception and conclude it proves the rule. What I fear is that unless we make some effort to bring the light of reason to the labouring classes, that exception may well be the rule.”

  Dr. Lanyon, who seemed ashamed of what he had said, as well he might be, mumbled a few words to the effect that Master might have a point.

  “Can we agree on this, then,” Master said, “that as we gather here, comfortable, safe and warm after a good meal, with our fire and our port and you, Gabriel, with your pipe, a new world is coming into being just outside there.” Here Master lifted his glass to the window that faces the square. “And it is a world we know little about, one that may have no place for us in it, a world”—Master paused and all the gentlemen hung on his words, as did I—“we made ourselves but which is already beyond our control.”

  Dr. Lanyon spoke up at once. “Aye,” he said. “That is the truth.”

  They fell quiet again until Master said to Mr. Utterson, “Gabriel, your glass is empty. May I fill you another?” Then I took the opportunity to get up off my knees and slip out, feeling I’d overheard more than I could understand. As I went downstairs I went over what each gentleman had said and pondered what Master might mean by saying that the world might have no place for him in it. I was struck with how mild he had responded to Dr. Lanyon’s remark, for surely he had meant Master was in some way to blame for the murder of Sir Danvers Carew, because he had tried to do good among those who could not profit by it. In the kitchen I took off my apron and Mr. Poole told me he would close up and I might go off to bed, which I did, taking a fresh candle with me so that I would have light to set down these things I heard.

  It do seem as the days grow shorter there is less time and more to fill it with, so the hours go by and I am too weary of an evening to write in my journal and of a morning too busy. Master is in and out at all hours, but has not gone to his laboratory in many weeks, for he has so many of what Mr. Poole calls his “projects” afoot it is all he can do to keep up with them. The weather is cold, full of gloom, though the holiday season will be upon us soon and the shops bring out all manner of things to sell, earlier each year, so it is bright and pleasant to walk among them. Our garden is bloomed out and laid down for spring, so Cook says we will have little work in it for the next two months. We have dried a good many herbs and potted up some smaller ones to bring in.

  Days go by and Master hardly speaks to me, so I find myself waiting eagerly to be summoned to stir up a fire or carry some message downstairs and always come away feeling sad, for he only says what must be said and does not ask after me or seem to want my opinion, but has his mind always occupied with matters outside our house. Indeed he is in good spirits most of the time and he is by his nature such a thoughtful gentleman no one in his service could ever count himself ill used. Yet I feel somehow he does not like to see me, for I remind him of that house in Soho, which I wish I had never seen, and of his unhappy connection with one who betrayed his confidence and trust so cruel and open for all the world to see. Many times as I am going out of a room I look back to see him working at his desk or pacing about before the fire and I want to say, He is gone. Must he still stand between us?

  But I know there is no help for it. Mr. Edward Hyde will never leave us. Everything we do in this house is to cover the place where he is still. The way we never speak of him speaks of him. I never enter a room but I expect to find him there. Even now, sitting quietly at the end of day with my candle and my journal, I seem to hear his strange light footstep on the stair.

  Something is amiss, though I do not know what. Yesterday Master went out in the afternoon on some errand, saying he would not be back until dinner. Then, very close to dinnertime, a note was handed in to Mr. Poole from Master, saying he would not be back until very late but that Dr. Lanyon would be coming by to take something from his cabinet. Mr. Poole was to engage a locksmith to open the door. Even Mr. Poole, who never questions Master’s wishes, said to Cook, “It is odd he did not send the key,” but Cook said, “He has not been in his laboratory in so long, mayhap he has mislaid it.” So Mr. Poole did as Master asked and Dr. Lanyon came by after dinner, but I did not see him. Then we all finished our chores and sat about waiting for Master. I helped Annie cut out a dress pattern. At eleven Master still had not come, so Mr. Poole said we had all best turn in and he would get up if Master rung for anything. None of us heard him come in, but in the morning when Mr. Poole come down he said Master was asleep and we was not to disturb him. We crept about all the morning, until Mr. Poole came out and found me doing the brass on the street, to say Master wanted a fire in his room, for he was not feeling well enough to come down.

  So I went up and tapped at the door, and Master called out, “Come in.” He was huddled in his chair before the cold grate with the lap robe over his legs and another thrown around his shoulders. He gave me a weary smile as I come in and I thought he looked old of a sudden, as if his night out had taken years off his life. “Mary,” he said, “I think I’m frozen through.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “I was not certain whether to leave a fire last night but Mr. Poole said he would get up when you come in, so I did not.”

  “I did not wake him,” Master said. “I was so tired, I was asleep as soon as I got to my bed and I’ve only just waked up.”

  I knelt down before the coals and went to work. “Cook is sending you up a tray,” I said. “A cup of tea will bring you right.”

  Master sighed. “I wish that were true,” was all he said.

  It did not take long to get the coals going, then I went to draw the curtains for the sun was shining, though it was cold, and I thought the light might make Master feel less dreary. I noticed a drawer sitting on the floor near the window, which had some odd-looking bottles as for medicine, as well as papers such as is drawn up at the chemist’s, though not marked. It looked like the drawers in the press in Master’s cabinet and I thought it must be, so this was doubtless what Dr. Lanyon had come for and Master had met with him to bring it back. I stepped around it to reach the curtains but Master said, “No, Mary. Leave them closed.” Then Mr. Poole come in with the tray and began fussing over Master, so I went out. When Mr. Poole come down he told Mr. Bradshaw he was going out to fetch the locksmith again and Master was not at home to any visitors for the rest of the day.

  When the locksmith come in the afternoon, Master went out to his laboratory with him and they was busy there some time, replacing the lock what was taken off yesterday with a new one, so Cook told me. After our tea Mr. Poole come from upstairs to say Master wished to speak to me in the drawing room, so I went up at once. Master was just finishing his own tea when I come in and he looked better than he had in the morning, but he seemed anxious and even vexed, for he come straight to the point as soon as I come in. “I want you to give my cabinet a thorough cleaning, Mary,” he said. I know my mouth dropped open for I never thought to hear such a request from Master. He paid me no mind but fished out the key from his pocket and held it out to me. “I’ve told Poole this is your first priority.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “I’ll be spending a good deal of time there these next weeks and it’s very dusty from disuse. I’m sure you’ll find your work cut out for you.”

  “Yes, sir,” was all I said.

  “Put in some coal in the theatre, so I can get to it with ease.”

  “I will, sir,” I said. Then as I was going out he said, “Don’t bother to clean the theatre, Mary. Just the cabinet.”

  I looked back at him and glad I was that I did, for he gave me a most kind smile and said, “If I turn you loose upon the place you’ll have everything spark
ling in no time. Don’t touch those cobwebs in the theatre. I don’t want to be attacked by disgruntled spiders.”

  I laughed at this and went on my way, feeling my spirits much lifted by Master’s easy way as well as the opportunity to do some real service to him. I was soon among my buckets and brushes, choosing the best for each purpose, and I mixed up a special polish, for I thought I might make those smiling babies on the fender glow like lamps with a bit of effort. Cook laughed at me and said to Mr. Poole, who passed through the kitchen looking testy, for he hates anything like a change, “Mary thinks it a holiday to finally have a go at Master’s cabinet.” Then I went into the yard and began drawing water. It was cold out but fair and as I passed the garden to bring the buckets to the theatre door, I thought about the bulbs storing up food under the soil and waiting for the time when they knew it would be safe to push up. How odd it is that plants can have what we so often do without—good sense and judgement. I set down my buckets and took out the key Master give me, for I thought I should have a look at the room before I brought the rest of my things along, to decide how to proceed. The theatre door had been left open, so I walked in.

  The afternoon light was thin and feeble, so it seemed to give out before it reached the floor, leaving much of the big room in darkness. The boxes and packing straw that stood about gave off a strong smell of damp and decay. I crossed to the stairs, thinking I should have to bring a lamp in as well, and slipped the key into the shiny new lock. When I opened it I found the cabinet darker still, for the curtains was drawn, so I went to open them at once. There was a thick, dry smell of dust, not of damp as in the theatre, and when I touched the curtains I knew at once that they would have to come down, for as I moved them aside the air was filled with dust. The windows here was not so blackened as those in the theatre, though they was by no means clean, and the light came streaming in, so I thought, best start with this so I can see to do the rest. When I looked back at the room it seemed a wonder that a few months of being closed up had caused so much dust, for I always think it is shoes that bring it in, but there was balls of dust in the corners and under the furniture. If I get the curtains and carpets out this evening, I thought, and work all day tomorrow, I could have it done by evening. I saw that the press had a drawer missing, so my guess was right. Master had for some reason sent for it, then brought it back with him. I heard footsteps in the court and looked out to see two gentlemen walking by and talking to each other very earnestly, though I could not hear what they said. I found a straight chair in the corner, which I drew up to the windows. When I climbed upon it I could just reach the tops of the curtains, so I began taking them down while the dust rose in a cloud about me and went straight up my nose. It made me dizzy, also my eyes began to water and all at once I had the feeling someone was watching me. When I turned round I saw it was my own reflection in the cheval glass, looking back at me with a frightened expression, so I felt I had been foolish and went back to my work feeling chided.

  I got the curtains down, the carpets hung up in the yard and the windows washed before it was dark. Then I brought in a lamp, cleared a space near the stairs and begun to put in the coal, as I thought there was no point in cleaning by lamplight. As I was carrying the last scuttle across the yard I heard the kitchen door open and Master came out. He had put his coat on and walked up to me at once. The scuttle was heavy, I was weary and black from my work, so I only said, “Good evening, sir,” and kept my eyes down while he fell into step beside me. When we had got inside, I put down the scuttle and rubbed my hands on my apron. Master was looking about the theatre, which seemed huge and full of shadows darting about in the lamplight. “So,” Master said, seeming to talk to himself, for he did not look at me, “the final act will be played out in this poor theatre.” Then he sighed and turned his attention to me.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” I said.

  But Master ignored my question. “How does your work progress?” he asked.

  “Well enough, sir,” I said. “I will be done by tomorrow eve.”

  Then Master said nothing but stood looking down at me, so I felt embarrassed, for I knew my face was smeared with black and my hair was straying from my cap. I put my hand up to push it back but still Master did not stop looking at me and I thought he had something in mind to say but did not say it. At last I could not bear the silence longer so I spoke. “I’m not fit to be seen, sir,” I said.

  Then Master put out his hand and touched my cheek. His fingers went at once to the scar near my ear and then to the other on my throat. “I was thinking how dear your face is to me, Mary,” he said. “And how sad it would make me if I were never to see it more.”

  I could scarce believe my ears to hear Master speak so, nor could I reply for a moment, only I shook my head to say no, that could not be. While his hand moved back to my cheek, he looked up at the cabinet door and his eyes seemed to fill with a sadness deeper still. Then he drew his hand away. “I’m afraid, Mary,” he said. “I’m afraid of what comes next.”

  “How can I help you, sir?” I said.

  For a moment he looked as if he was thinking over some plan, but then his eyes seemed to go hard and he said, “No one can help me.” He turned away and walked to the door, while I stood in such a state of confusion and fear, trying to understand what he might mean, I thought my head would burst, only I saw he was leaving and I could not bear it. Without knowing I was about to speak I called to him, but I used the name I always give him in my thoughts, though I have never spoke it to him before. “Master,” I cried out.

  He stopped and turned to me while the word hung in the air between us, and he smiled a little as he thought upon it. “Yes, Mary,” he said.

  “I will not leave you,” I said.

  “Good,” he replied. Then he went out into the cold, dark yard and without looking back at me, crossed it and let himself into the house at the kitchen door.

  Today is grey, wet, so cold it seems to go through to the bones. After breakfast the first thing I did was to get a fire in Master’s cabinet, for I thought if I did not my hands would freeze up on me and I would not be able to work. These last weeks, as it grows colder, I’ve had a numbness in my fingers what worries me. I did the windows first, so what miserable daylight there is could come into the room. Then I set to work on the floors. I worked all morning and by noon I had made a difference and the room begun to look as if someone cared for it. At lunch Mr. Poole said Master was not feeling at all well and planned to spend the day in his room or in the library, for he wanted some books packed up and brought out to the cabinet. Again he told Mr. Bradshaw Master was not at home to any callers.

  We all looked at one another having the same thought. Master is going back to his work. Cook would have no dinner parties to get up, Annie no big pots to scrub, Mr. Poole no gentlemen to talk about, Mr. Bradshaw no evening clothes to lay out and I would not have to wait at table or run out on errands because all hands was filled. Instead we will go back to our old way and our work will be to keep Master in good health, for he does not care for himself.

  In the afternoon I got the curtains, which I brushed last night, back up and the carpets down. I could not stop thinking of what Master said to me yesterday and my feelings was a jumble, for I know not what Master means, or what he is afraid of, and seeing him so disturbed makes me sad, yet his kind words to me, especially his saying that I am dear to him and the memory of his cool hand against my face, these make my heart race and I feel, I cannot deny it, so happy for it, it is almost like a pain.

  I saved the brass for last and though it was all clean enough it had been a long time since any polish had been put on. It gave me a great pleasure to polish the laughing babies on the fender and when I was done it was such a difference to stand before the grate it made me laugh, for their faces is that gay they seem like two children romping in the sun, all golden from it.

  By evening I was done and I began hauling all my cleaning things down to the theatre. Then I went back up to t
he cabinet to look at my work.

  It was still like two rooms, one the comfortable sitting room of a gentleman, the other, where the long table stood on the bare floor, the workplace of a man of science. There was not too many bottles and strange tubes upon the table, but what I found there I had washed up so they was sparkling, but the light they gave off was not pleasing. I wished I had a big vase of roses, such as we put in the dining room in the summer, to set in the middle of that table, which of course I could not get this time of year and no doubt I would not even have the nerve to do it, though Master would say nothing, only move them away.

  As I was going out Mr. Bradshaw come into the theatre carrying a box of books Master wanted from the library. He said Master was in a strange way in his view, wanting everything changed up and the cabinet fitted out as if he was moving house. “He has gone about this livelong day carrying that drawer of his,” he said, “as if he thought someone would take it from him, and when Mr. Utterson come to the door he run up the stairs saying he was not at home, as if he thought we might say he was, when he’d given orders this morning that he was not.”

  “It must be he plans to take up some work as will not bear interruption,” I said.

  “You may say so,” Mr. Bradshaw said, then we parted and he went to the cabinet and I to the yard.

  After dinner I went up to the library to see to Master’s fire. I found him sitting in his chair, gazing into a book and what Mr. Bradshaw said is true, he had the drawer from his cabinet on the floor next his chair. He asked if I was finished my work and I said, yes, it was done.

  “Good, then,” he said. “Tell Poole I will be working tonight. He needn’t wait up for me.”

  That was all our conversation. When I had finished my work I went out. A little while later, as we all sat in the kitchen, though Mr. Poole was in his parlour, we heard Master go down the back stairs and out across the yard.