Mary Reilly (23 page)

So I looked down and saw my bare toes sticking out beneath my skirt, which seemed a shocking sight, so I drew them back and said, “Oh, sir. I do beg your pardon.”

But Master was smiling at me now, as if nothing could be more pleasing than my bare feet, and I felt so confused I came over red I’m sure. I took a few steps back, trying to keep my skirt over my feet, which was very awkward, and as I did we heard the clock strike three.

“Go to bed, child,” Master said. “You’ve done all you can do for me tonight.”

“Sir,” I said, “are you sure you are well enough?”

“Yes,” Master said. “Go along.”

“Then good night, sir,” I said and made a curtsy and as I went out Master said, “Good night, Mary.”

I went along the hall feeling I could not sort out my thoughts. On the stairs I said, “He called me ‘child,’ ” and I looked back down the steps thinking I did not like to leave him. When I was back in my bed I listened to hear him go up to his room, but I must have fallen asleep, for I did not hear another sound until I woke this morning.

T
here is no doubt Master is very ill and stays so much in his cabinet from being too weak to come into the house. He sends Mr. Poole out two or three times a day with orders to chemists so he is still at his work. Yesterday, when Cook was complaining that Master hardly ate the food she sent him and spent all his time doing his experiments, working his life away, Mr. Bradshaw said, “Perhaps he is working at something to make himself well.” We was at dinner and all of us, even Mr. Poole, fell silent and looked at Mr. Bradshaw with surprise, for first none of us has ever gone so far as to say Master is ill, and second it seemed that this was a very good explanation for the strangeness
we all feel. After a moment Mr. Poole said, “Mr. Bradshaw, I think you may be right.”

So we finished our meal without saying more about it. Master never did come in from his laboratory last night. He took his breakfast near noon, which he had Mr. Poole bring out to him. When the tray came back this afternoon, Cook looked into all the dishes and muttered to herself, “A man cannot live on toast and tea,” she said. “Look at this kipper. He has not touched it.”

Poor Master. Cook put the kipper aside and sent it back again with his tea.

T
hree days has passed and Master has not come out of his laboratory. Even Mr. Poole has not seen him, though he goes back and forth, bringing his meals and carrying away his orders, which Mr. Poole finds on the stairs. He told Cook he always knocks when he brings the trays but Master only calls out, “Leave it, Poole. I can’t come to the door now.” Cook says his appetite is better, at least, for as often as not the dishes come back empty. All his visitors are turned away, even Mr. Utterson, who used to be let in without a question, but Mr. Poole has orders that no one must disturb Master so he only says Master is not to home.

We all feel something is amiss. It is like a fog rising up from the carpets, standing in every turning of the
staircase. We carry on with our duties as best we can, for how can we do otherwise? but I think there is not an easy heart in this house.

Today I noticed that Mr. Poole leaves the key to the theatre on a nail in the pantry, for he goes in and out so often he mun have it close by. The key to the cabinet, which used to be on that ring, is not there.

I
wish I was one who could find solace in prayer, but I am not. To put things down, that is my way, but I fear this time nothing will help me and I wonder is it safe even to
write
what I now know?

Last night I could not sleep. I lay awake waiting for the day to come but it seemed it never would. I went over all the events of these past weeks and especially of what Master said to me in the theatre, that I am dear to him and he should always want to see my face, and also of how sick he was in the library, and how he called me “child.” Now he has been shut up in his cabinet for days and Mr. Poole says he only speaks when he has to and then sounds weak and peevish, so surely he is very ill. And I thought of how today was so unseasonable warm and clear, the sun seemed to pour into our windows like butter, so it seemed surely Master would want to sit outdoors, but then I wondered, does he even open the curtains in that room? It is as if he is in a tomb, shut
away from all light and gaiety, what might do him more good than any medicine he can mix up on his laboratory table.

These thoughts went through my head for hours until I wanted to pull my hair out from going over them so often. At last I could stand it no longer and got up and lit a candle. I sat at the window for a few moments looking out at the rooftops and the stars, which was bright and it seemed so numerous I wondered had I ever seen so many. Then I only felt more restless and paced about in our room, trying not to wake Annie, until I decided I must get out and walk about, for I felt I was very large and the room was like a cage to me. I pulled on my wool stockings and put on my cloak over my shift. Then I went downstairs, carrying my boots, all the way to the kitchen, which was still warm from the oven, so I knew it could not be too late, though past midnight for I’d heard the clock strike when I lay awake.

I sat at the kitchen table and put on my boots, thinking all the time of the key Mr. Poole leaves in the pantry. I had it in my head to take it down, go into the theatre and knock at the cabinet door; in fact, I knew I had this thought in my head the first time I noted the key there, so it was this plan that now kept me up and I would not sleep until I carried it out. I slipped into the pantry as quiet as I could, took down the key and went out to the kitchen door. It has a latch that makes a noise when it is pulled—I hear it often enough when Master comes in—but I turned it very slow and careful so it
did not make a sound and then I opened the door and stepped outside.

As soon as I did I heard something so odd I could not move before I had puzzled it out. Of course I looked to see where it was coming from but it was that dark I could make out nothing, so I had to trust my ears a moment longer. Then it come to me, it was weeping. Someone was weeping very low and going on and on, the way a child will sob, but it was too deep to be a child. My eyes began to find their way in the darkness and I made out a figure all wrapped in black, lying flat on the flags. He was on his back, looking up at the stars, though doubtless he could not see them for the tears, his arms stretched out at his sides as if he had been flung down there from a great height, and the strangled sobs that came from his throat poured out into the night, filling all the air with sadness. It must be Master, I thought, but somehow I knew it was not. He did not seem the right size, but much smaller and even as I had that thought I took a step forward. In doing so my boot made a sharp sound against the flag, he turned his face towards me and we knew each other.

I think I said, “Oh,” and fell back against the door. He leapt to his feet in a whirl of motion, making a snarling sound like an animal, so I crouched down against the door for I thought he would run towards me, but instead he took a few steps backward towards the theatre door, then stopped. I put my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming and when he saw this his terror
disappeared. He dashed the tears from his eyes with his fists and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Mary,” he said. “Don’t run. I won’t harm you.”

My heart seemed to be bursting through my chest and I had not the power of speech, so I stood another moment waiting for it to come to me. He did not move but watched me—wary, but I thought not angry. When I could speak I said, “What have you done to my master?”

He gave a snort of laughter and said, “Your master?” most contemptuous. “Better ask what he has done to me.”

“Does he know you are here?” I said.

He looked over his shoulder at the theatre door, then back at me. “Come closer, Mary,” he said. “I cannot hear you.”

I could not think what to do. I could run back into the house and wake Mr. Bradshaw, but in the meantime he would be at liberty and might run away—or worse, do some harm to Master. He stood glaring at me, opening and closing his hands at his sides, and I thought, if I go closer what is to keep him from using them on my throat? But then I thought he would not, for he could not harm me without pointing a finger at himself, and once he was forced from Master’s protection he knew as well as I, he would find no other hiding place but must run straight to the gallows. I cannot say all these thoughts came to my mind, only that I knew he would not dare to hurt me and so I came out from under the eave of the house and crossed the yard. I went towards
him very slowly, holding my cloak tight about me. Though it was not a cold night, I felt chilled through and through and as I walked I clenched my jaw, for my teeth was chattering. He was on the far side of the garden and when I come to the edge of it, just out of his easy reach, I stopped. “Can you hear me now?” I said.

He drew himself up and gave me a horrid smile so his teeth seemed to flash like a knife in the darkness. “Quite the fearless little servant, aren’t you Mary,” he said. “Is there nothing you wouldn’t face down for this master of yours?”

“Does he know you are here?” I said again.

He looked impatient, as if my question bored him, and before he spoke he sent his eyes running over me, which I felt like so many fingers of ice, and his upper lip lifted for a moment as if he’d as soon snarl as speak. “Of course,” he said.

“You promised him you would go away,” I said.

“I’m afraid that’s easier said than done.”

“You know he is ill,” I said.

He laughed. “His life is in less danger than mine.”

I looked toward the theatre and I saw the door stood partly open. I thought of making a run for it, but I feared he would catch me and I did not want him to touch me or think of me for one moment as his prey, for I knew if he did he would not be able to stop himself and if Master did not come out in time my life would be forfeit. He seemed to read my thoughts for he said, “You know, Mary, I’m a desperate man.”

I looked back at him. It was then I noticed he was
wearing Master’s clothes entire and that they was all too big for him, so he had rolled up the legs and the sleeves. Yet strange to say I had the feeling he was grown, for they did not seem as big as they should; in fact, though the arms of the coat was much too long, the shoulders was nearly fitting, so there was more breadth across his shoulders than I remembered. I wondered how old he was, and then who he was, and it made me angry to see him dressed so, pretending to be a gentleman, so I felt no fear of him. “That is you own doing, isn’t it, sir,” I said, very cold.

This pleased him. His face took on a look of amusement, almost natural, though there is something so wrong about him, simple pleasures is not in his range of expression. “Ever the serious moralist, aren’t you Mary,” he said. “And no pity in that hard heart for anyone who strays from your narrow little system of just deserts.”

My temper flared the more, for I saw he had contempt for me. “How should I pity you?” I said.

“Why, I am run to the ground here,” he replied. He looked around the yard, then down at his feet, which was on the edge of the garden. He took a step forward, so that he was standing on the hard dirt and I thought, he is right on my crocus, which was an odd thing to come to mind, but it did. He went on talking. “This yard is my last prison.” He dug the toe of his boot into the soil. “I may as well dig up this strip of dirt and lie down in it. It would serve as well as a grave and I’ve no doubt everyone in this house would like to see me in it.”

I looked at his boot as he spoke and then I looked up to his face and strange to say, he was so haggard and his eyes, though filled with rage, seemed also to be weary, full of pleading as well, and I thought, he is worn out from running. I could almost feel pity for him in that moment, as one feels pity for some dangerous animal what has caught his leg in a trap, so I did not want to help him for fear of my life, still it were no pleasure to see him struggle. I did not speak and he looked away at last, towards the house. “Will you tell them you have seen me?” he asked.

“Let me speak to my master,” I said.

He fixed me with another of his dreadful sudden smiles, gone almost as soon as it come, “
I
am your master, Mary,” he said. “Don’t you know that yet?”

“Never,” I said quickly. “That can never be. Let me speak to him and I’ll do as he says. I will not take my orders from you.”

My anger only amused him more and made him want to mock me, for he stepped back, holding his hands up as if he needed to defend himself against me. “What a temper, Mary,” he said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t approve. I can’t let you see him unless you ask me proper.” Then, while he stood sneering I fought down my feelings, which was all a mix of anger, pride and fear. “Please, sir,” I said at last. “Let me see my master.”

He frowned and that dark look come into his eyes which is so dangerous, bored and impatient and full of hatred, though why he should hate me I could not say.
Then he lifted his chin toward the theatre. “Very well,” he said. “Lead the way.”

I did not like to walk with him behind me and of course he followed so close I could hear his breath as clear as my own. When we got inside the theatre he reached up and caught me by my hair, which was loose, so I felt a sickness in my stomach and my knees went weak, for I thought, he has only brought me in here to kill me. He said, “This is far enough, Mary,” so I stood still while he wound his hand tight through my hair. His other hand came around my throat and in a moment he had unfastened my cloak and pulled it back over one shoulder. I could not move for he had one hand at my throat and the other holding my head down, pulling my hair so tight I thought it would come out. He bent over my shoulder, pushing the sleeve of my shift aside with his mouth. Then I heard him draw in his breath so sharp it made a sound like a groan, and in the next second I felt his teeth sink into my shoulder, just at my neck, not hard at first but then very hard, so that I cried out. The pain was bad but my terror of what mun come next was worse and I felt my knees give out. His hand left my throat and his arm came about my waist, holding me up against him, but his teeth was still sunk in my shoulder, deeper and deeper until I thought they might meet over the bone. I could hardly see for the pain but I found my voice and said, “Please, sir. Do not do this.”