Mary Reilly by Valerie Martin

you cannot call Mr. Bradshaw out in your night shift, so I took my old cloak from the peg and wrapped myself in it. In this time I heard the intruder open a drawer, then fall silent.
    This is such boldness as will be met, I thought, and quick as I could I opened the door, made my way down to the landing, quiet and fast as possible, then stopped. Now the footsteps had begun again. He was leaving the drawing room, running to the stairs, and in a moment would be gone. If I hurried down the next flight I might run into him.
    I cast a hopeless look at the door to Master’s bedroom. Was he there? Had he come in without my hearing? Now my heart was thudding, for the footsteps was just below me. He was on the landing beneath mine and if I took one step forward he would look up to see me standing above him. Indeed he was not moving but seemed to have paused on the landing, waiting for me to make myself known. I felt he
would
be known, that he willed me to take that one step, yet I could not take it. Rather I stepped back, leaning against the wall to hold myself up, feeling my mouth go dry and my knees give way, so that my only thought was, don’t fall. In that moment he hurried down the stairs while I sank down onto the carpet, my face in my hands. I heard the kitchen door open, then close. Wave after wave of fear flowed over me and it was strange, for I knew he was gone and I had nothing more to fear. But I was crouched on the floor, quivering, trying to make myself small and cursing the tears in my eyes. He always hated me tocry, it enraged him more than anything I could do and I always paid for it if he saw me. I had the thought that came to me so often as a child, when I heard him coming for me, when he was in the room, but I hadn’t the courage to look up and see where, because if I kept myself small I hoped he would not notice me. So I thought, oh please, oh please, don’t let him see me, don’t let him think of me.
    Who was it I pleaded with?
    After a time I came to myself, dried my eyes and remembered where I was. The window over the landing is of stained glass and the dim morning light cast spots of red, like pools of blood, on the carpet, on my hands. I did not get up at once but sat giving myself some counsel. First I told myself this intruder must surely be Master’s assistant, as he came in with no difficulty, so he must have a key, and though it was an odd hour to be in our house, doubtless he was on some mission for Master. I got up, straightened my cloak over my shoulders and went downstairs quietly, for in another hour the house would be awake and many as sleep light in that last hour—I know I do. I went to the drawing room, which was dark as the curtains was still drawn, and I stood in the doorway looking to see if anything was amiss. Master’s desk under the window was open and the drawer pulled out. For some reason this gave me a shudder. I went to look at it and found Master’s big book of cheques lying open, the pen next it—not in the holder, as Master always leaves it, but laid aside and dripping ink onto the blotter. Without thinking I rightedthe pen, closed the book and slipped it into the drawer. Then I thought perhaps I should not have touched it.
    But most of all I thought why is Mr. Edward Hyde, for surely it was he, writing cheques in Master’s own cheque-book at such an hour and in such a hurry?
    I closed the desk and turned my back on it, feeling so uneasy it was as if I turned my back on a bad dog who might suddenly knock me sprawling, so I fairly crept out of the drawing room and up the stairs. On the landing I stopped and looked again at the door to Master’s bedroom.
    Was he asleep behind it?
    I knew he was not, though how I knew I cannot say. Nor why I felt then such anger and such boldness to do the strange thing I did. I went to the door and rapped softly upon it, having no idea what I would say if Master called out for me to enter, for I knew he would not. Then I opened the door,