Mary Reilly (17 page)

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.

H
ow 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 Master’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.

“Mary?” Master said.

I turned to him, still on my knees. “Sir,” I said.

He was looking down at me over his glass. “Are you unwell?”

I got to my feet. “No, sir,” I said. “I’m well enough, only the heat made me dizzy for a moment.”

He sat gazing at me, his face full of concern, but he did not speak.

“I’m finished here, sir,” I said. “Will there be anything else?”

“I was sorry to hear from Poole of your mother’s passing, Mary,” he said. “You must take as much time as you need to settle her affairs.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

“Had she been ill?” he asked.

“That is what I don’t know, sir, though I will find it out soon enough when I get there. The note sent was from her landlord and he only said she was gone.”

“You have no other family to help you?”

“No, sir,” I said. Then I thought, my father is somewhere, but I’ve the good fortune not to know where, and as I had this thought I felt Master was thinking the same thing, for he looked as if something pained him of a sudden. He passed his hand across his eyes and when he took it away I saw there was drops of moisture on his forehead. He gave me such a searching look it was all I could do to keep from reaching out to him, then he said, “You weren’t afraid of him?”

“Afraid of whom, sir?” I said.

But Master looked away from me and had fixed his eyes on his own hand, which clutched the arm of the chair with such force as made his knuckles white.

“Sir,” I said, for he seemed not to know I was there.

Still he stared at his hand and now his whole brow
was deep furrowed and I saw he had clenched his jaw. It disturbed me to see him so, yet I could do nothing but wait, which I did for what seemed the longest time, then he recovered himself somehow and turned his face towards me. “What did you say?” he asked.

But I did not speak, only gave him a wondering look, which made him impatient so I wished I had been able to say something. “That will be all for now, Mary,” he said. It was as if we had not been talking. “Tell Poole I will be late in my laboratory tonight. He needn’t wait for me.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. Then I curtsyed to go out and Master, seeming completely relaxed now, said, “Good luck on your sad journey tomorrow, Mary.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said and went out, more troubled by the memory of our conversation than by the prospect of my trip to the East End on the morrow.

I
was up before dawn and dressed by candlelight in our room. I put on black stockings and my stiff walking boots and pinned my skirts up as best I could to keep them off the ground. I thought it might look unseemly to have them up so high, but I’d rather shock my fellows with the sight of my ankles than drag about in mud all the long day ahead of me. I put on my black shawl, pinned with an ebony brooch Mrs. Swit
gave me which I seldom wear, and my dark grey bonnet, as I haven’t a black one. Then I went down to the kitchen as quiet as I could so as not to wake Mr. Bradshaw, who sleeps under the stairs.

Cook had wrapped up a piece of mutton and another of cheese, also a bit of brown bread, first in cheesecloth and then in paper tied round with a string, which she put out for me last night, so after I put on my cloak I took up my lunch and went out the area to the front.

It was damp but not raining, and the air was chilly. The gas lamps was still lit though they could scarce do more than glimmer in the fog, which was thick, brown in patches then white in others and shifting about, for there was a breeze. I could hear birds rustling in the square, it was that still, and my footsteps seemed to echo out on the walk. When I come round the corner I heard another footstep, far off at first, but then all at once very close, coming towards me from the corner and at a good clip. I stopped, for there was something I did not like about being in the path of such a rush as this, and I stepped aside against the wall, just at the corner. In the next moment he was passing by me, seeming very close, so that I heard his harsh breath and felt all the air rush about, and I saw him, though not entirely, for the fog was between us. He did not see me, or if he did he did not care, for he was running hard, his head down in his coat like a man pursued, and I knew at once that he was going to let himself in at the laboratory door. I listened as the footsteps came to a
halt, then I heard the door open and through the gloom I could just make out a darker bit of fog, which was him, no doubt, going in.

What is he running from? I thought. And does Master know about it? I listened for a moment to hear if anyone was following, but there was nothing, so I went on my way, feeling that to begin the day with the sight of such a wretched creature was surely no good omen.