Mary Reilly (2 page)

He didn’t say a thing for a moment but closed his book and sat looking at me with such a patient, kind, thoughtful look, such as I would never expect nor even want from a gentleman, until I was fair in suspense for his next words. “Go and wash, then,” he said, “and come back when you feel you can approach me.”

I wanted to cry out, Ah sir, that will never happen in this life, but it wasn’t my place to describe to him my place, if you see what I mean, and I told myself this sharp, that his request was not unreasonable and only my own cowardice might keep me from satisfying it. All this was crowding my head, but I did manage to say “Yes, sir,” and scurry off down the stairs to the kitchen where I boiled the kettle and washed me as vigorous as a new bride. There was no mirror but Mr. Poole had set out a bit of silver to be polished in the morning, so I took up one of the trays and scrubbed my face, making sure there was no black. Then I tucked my hair up in a fresh bonnet and changed my apron. My sleeves had a bit of black at the edges, so I rolled them back.

Mr. Poole had gone off to his room and Annie was already up in our attic, so I had the big, quiet kitchen to myself. It was cold, as the stove was out, yet I didn’t
feel anxious to return to the drawing room where Master sat waiting for me. How could I speak to him, especially on the subject he had proposed?

So I stood for a moment, letting the cold and quiet sink in and remembering my place, as Mrs. Swit used to say we mun do when we feel uncertain, and she was right on that for I begun to be calm and, seeing I had nothing to fear, went up to Master with a good will.

When I come in he’d lit the fire himself and was standing looking into it, nor did he turn to look at me, so I went right up until I was beside him, made a curtsy to get his attention and said, “Sir?”

He turned to me, slow, I thought, as if he was having a conversation with someone else and must attend to it to the last, and he looked at me close, as if it were of some interest that I should be there at all. This made me shy so I stepped back one and said, “I’ve come as you asked me to, sir.” Then he come to himself and remembered all about me and again I saw that kind, tender look in his eyes as he took my hands and drew me near the little table with the lamp.

I was timid and would have pulled away but he had such a manner about him, being a doctor I imagine, as seemed to make it all right, so I went along and stood very still while he held my hands near to the light.

My right hand has more marks than my left, mostly on the fleshy part of my palm, then down around to my wrist. These he examined carefully, moving my thumb back and forth and tracing the thick white track there with his forefinger. While he was looking at my poor
hands I took the chance to look at his, and a more refined, gentlemanly hand I think I’ve never seen. His fingers are long and delicate, almost like a lady’s, and the nails is all smooth and trimmed evenly, so I thought here are hands such as should never know work, and I wanted to hide my own rough red hands away.

“These go very deep here,” he said, pressing near my thumb. “Yet you have full use of your fingers.”

“I do now, sir,” I said. “For a while I could not get that thumb to working but it come back. When the weather’s changing I know it, but other than that I’m none the worse.”

“Let me see your neck,” he said.

I turned my head and pushed my hair up, though it wasn’t really necessary as the cap held it in place pretty well. Master bent his eye upon the marks near my ear very intent for some minutes until I was wishing this would be all over and I could go off to my bed. I knew what was coming but not why, so I was puzzled and worried, but I stood still and said nothing until Master spoke.

“These appear to be teeth marks,” he said. “Doubtless the bites of some animal.”

“That’s right, sir,” I replied. “And so they are.”

He touched the four marks that is close on my ear and his fingers was that cool and soft, I closed my eyes for a second, as I felt the blood rushing to my face. But Master didn’t notice my state. He drew his hand away and stepped back so I recovered myself a little, but I could not look at him when he spoke.

“Judging from the size and shape of these marks, I’d say the animal was a rodent and rather a large one.”

“He were a big enough rat, that’s true, sir,” I said, “though I never saw him. He was heavy as a dog.”

He made a sound I thought was a laugh so I looked up and found I was right, for he had still the traces of a smile about his mouth, though it was a quick one and gone already. Still his eyes smiled at me, but not with malice, so I felt bold to speak.

“Have I said something funny, sir?” I asked.

“Not what you said, Mary, but how you said it. You have a frank manner that is not without charm.”

“I try to speak honest, sir,” I said, “as I’ve nothing to hide.”

“That’s as it should be, Mary,” he replied. Then he turned and went back to the fire where he stood with his back to me and his hands clasped behind. I waited in fair suspense, smoothing my apron like a schoolgirl. Then, as he seemed not disposed to say more, I asked, “May I go now, sir?”

Without turning to look at me he begun to talk, as if he was telling the fire about his concerns. “Yesterday,” he said, “as I was passing in the hall I noticed you were working in the library, Mary.”

“I was, sir,” I said. “Only dusting it out.”

“Well, I looked in but you didn’t see me.”

“No, sir,” I replied, not seeing the trap I was being led into, “I did not.”

“No,” he continued. “You didn’t because you were standing at the shelf looking into a book.”

I could hardly speak, so shocked I was to be caught out and ashamed too. But I found my voice and said, “Oh, sir, I do apologize. It was a book that was lying open and I couldn’t help but look into it and then when I saw what it was I did stop to read a page or two.”

“And what book was it, Mary?” he said.

I thought this was hard as I knew he knew what book it was, as he had left it open, there being no one else in this house as would be looking into his books. “It were a history sir,” I said, “of the kings and queens.”

“And what did you think of it?”

“I thought it was a most interesting book, sir, and so well writ that I was distracted from me duties and caused you to be displeased, so now I don’t think so well of it.”

He turned to me then and I saw that he was still mightily amused at something, which put me off as I was struggling not to burst into tears from the quizzing and didn’t see any humour in it.

“I’m not the least displeased with you, Mary,” he said. “I’m delighted to have a housemaid who can not only read but be distracted by Macaulay’s style.”

“I can read well enough, sir,” I said, “and I do whenever I can, but servants’ fare is mostly high-life novels, so I’m no student and have no way of judging what’s good or bad except as it pleases me.”

“And you can write as well, I suppose.”

“Of course, sir,” I said.

“Then I want you to write something for me, Mary,” he said. “Will you do that?”

“If it’s in my power I will try, sir, though I fear you’ll find my way of writing too mean to be of interest.”

“I’ll bear with that,” he replied. “I want you to write me an account of the manner in which you came by this rodent. That you could be so badly bitten and not have seen the animal has piqued my curiosity.”

“It was in a closet, sir, and it was black as Egypt, that’s all the mystery there is to that.”

“And why were you in a closet, Mary?”

“It were a punishment, sir.”

He took in his breath a little, as if I’d said something that confirmed him in his thought. “Write it out for me, then, Mary. As you can,” he said. “And bring it to me here tomorrow evening, so that I may read it at my leisure.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” I said.

“Good, then. I know you will.” He turned back to the fire and took up his fire-gazing, which he does more than any man I’ve ever seen. The fireplace in our drawing room is a big one and puts out enough heat to roast a haunch in my view, but Master is thin-blooded, as gentlemen are I suppose, and don’t mind the heat. I stood there watching him, thinking how odd it was that he should want me to write on my own history, but I couldn’t find any harm in it and already I was thinking just how to start that would make it interesting to him. Then I come to myself and said, “Sir, may I go now?” and he said, “Yes,” without moving a muscle but his mouth, so I ran out of the room and along the hall to
the back stairs. Then I went up to the attic very slow, as if I didn’t want to get to the top, milling over the whole business.

I’d have to get up an hour early as there would be no time to sit during the day, though I thought I might get in a little at tea if Mr. Poole didn’t come up with some errand or chore, as is often the case. At last I got to the room, undressed in the dark and climbed in with Annie, who was dead asleep and didn’t even know I was there.

I lay thinking about Master, who was down below me in his drawing room, gazing at the fire no doubt and thinking Lord knows what. Then I fell on thinking of his cool fingers against my neck, which was a thought I knew I had no business to be entertaining and I gave myself a talking to on the subject of a servant’s foolishness and how wrong it is ever to have fancies outside one’s station as it always leads to misery, as I’ve observed myself often enough, and in the midst of lecturing myself I fell asleep.

I
t was hard to get up the next morning because it was so rainy and dark, but I knew I had my writing to do and with the rain there would surely be no time to do it during the day as Mr. Poole is always in a state when it rains (which is much of the time) and
seems to have a passion for sending those under him out into it and then fussing if a bit of mud comes in the door. So I got myself out of bed and wrote up my story as best I could. Annie woke up and spoke to me in the dark (I was working by candle as we’ve no lamps in our room) but I told her I was just at my journal, which I do keep for my own pleasure, so she thought little of it and went back to sleep. Annie is a good girl and a hard worker, but I believe her health is not good as whenever we’ve a free moment she is asleep and seems to have no life but working and sleeping, which is sad.

All day I had heavy work: carried up coal and water, scrubbed the kitchen floor out on my knees, cleaned the pantry, polished the silver Mr. Poole had left out and took up the rugs in his parlour, but couldn’t hang them out for the rain. So I took them all and hung them in the backyard where there’s an overhang, and while I was beating them I saw Master cross the yard to his laboratory, his head down and his shoulders slumped as if he was being trod on by the rain.

I was behind the carpet, so he didn’t notice me, though I kept beating at it, making a thudding sound. Yet he didn’t look my way. When I saw him I thought I might sing out that I’d done as he asked and would bring it along in the evening, but many other thoughts, and something about the worried, tired look of Master as he hurried along to be at his work (which Mr. Poole says is very scientific and important, not like a common doctor who sets bones and tells sick folks they mun stay in bed, for Master sees no one and is interested in the
cause of things, not how to tinker and mend, as Mr. Poole says), something in all this kept me quiet and I even stopped my beating to watch him go by. He let himself in with a key (we are none of us ever allowed in Master’s laboratory and sometimes I think we should be as surely it must need a cleaning such as he cannot do himself), but just before he went in he stopped and looked back towards the house with a look so sad, as if there was something there he was leaving and he wished he never had to go. He looked all up and down the house, but not at me as I was off to the side in the overhang where the two wings come together, and then he went in and closed the door.

So I worked all day with the thought of giving my writing to Master in the evening like the promise of a fine day out before me and I thought over my writing to see had I left anything out or said anything too crudely so that he would be offended. But at dinner Mr. Poole told us that Master was taking his meal in his cabinet, as he does sometimes when he is working hard, and there would be no need to lay the fire in the drawing room, so once the dishes was put up we could all be off to bed. Mr. Bradshaw asked leave to go to his mother’s in P__________ Street, as she is ill and has no one to look in on her, and so he got consent and went off directly. I sat with my beer after everyone had got up, trying to think of a way to see Master without telling Mr. Poole my reason, for though he never said it, I felt he wouldn’t want Mr. Poole to know we had our conversation the night before and also Mr. Poole is very
disapproving of the servants ever speaking to Master, or calling themselves to his attention in any way as he says Master should never be distracted from his work and that he is always working in his head, even when he looks like he’s at rest, which is surely true.

Mr. Poole was at the sideboard making up Master’s tray and complaining that he had to go into the cellar for a bottle of claret which is Master’s particular favourite and Cook had served up the plate too soon so the food would be cold. I thought this were an opportunity at least to speak with Master about how I should deliver my writing so I said, “Mr. Poole, I can take the tray out now if you like and you can come behind with the claret.” But he only stopped and gave me one of his cold, dead looks, like a fish’s eye when you know it’s none too fresh and said, “Mary, you know Dr. Jekyll forbids anyone but me to go to the cabinet door. I wonder you could forget this simple direction.”

So I just ducked my head over my beer and said I was sorry but I had forgotten. After he went off I said to Cook it seemed to me someone ought to go in and clean for Master. She agreed with me and told me the side door and steps was a disgrace and every time she walked by them on the street she felt relieved that none of Master’s friends knew they belonged to our house (for the corner house comes between). But I said, Master didn’t have much in the way of friends that I ever saw, except his solicitor Mr. Utterson, who comes around now and then, but Cook said before I come Master sometimes gave large dinner parties and doubtless he
would again when he was ready to take a rest from his work.