The claimant now shook his head grimly, as though he could barely continue.
‘Now I do not need to tell you gentlemen that it was during these dark periods, when he was not taking my corrective medicines, that he gave himself over to the most violent of rages. It was certainly during this time that some of you encountered him, and clearly could not help wondering about the nature of my business with such a beast. Indeed, his evil seemed even more pronounced than it had been previously, as if the devil inside were trying to make up for lost time. And it was in one of these rages, I regret to say, that he struck down and murdered Sir Danvers Carew …’
The silence throughout the house was now uncanny—even the clock, it seemed, had ceased ticking.
‘I was shattered. I had never expected it to come to this. Of course I vowed to have him arrested forthwith—how could it be any other way? And yet when Hyde appeared before me, after the crime, he blamed the potions I had prepared for him, saying they had given him the most violent headaches and nausea, which in turn had made him lose control of his senses. He was in a state of pure delirium, he said, when he attacked Sir Danvers—he did not even know what he was doing. And I could see how this might be so—that the sudden change in dosage might have caused him to unravel—and I further saw that, if that were indeed the case, then I myself was partially responsible for his actions. And so, for better or worse, I elected to continue my treatment of Mr. Hyde, if only so I could reel him back from iniquity while there was still time, and then throw both of us before the mercy of the law.
‘So I redoubled my efforts, with appreciable success; and just when I was thinking I had done all that I could possibly do, I became aware of some others, former associates of the fellow’s, who seeing their old companion living in such luxury, had set their minds on taking advantage of him.’
The claimant looked around with pained eyes.
‘Now this caused Hyde much anxiety, for he had no desire to be dragged back into their midst; and it gave me even greater distress, for I could not allow these blackguards to undo everything I had been striving to achieve. So when these rogues summoned Hyde to Soho, in order to perpetrate some sort of blackmail, I foolishly went in his place, armed but alone, intending to put an end to the matter once and for all. But I had not gone long into the confrontation—of which I remember very little—when they blackjacked me and dumped my body on a coal-steamer moored in the Thames. And so it was that I awoke in Lisbon, with no idea how I came to be there, unable to remember who I was or where I had come from—insensible to anything but the gnawing suspicion that it would be unsafe for me to return to London.
‘Hyde meanwhile gave himself over to suicide—I did not learn this until very recently—and I was classified as missing. And missing I was indeed for many years, gentlemen, even to myself. I had the good fortune, however, to fall in with a small community of English fugitives—even now I do not know their real names—who gave me shelter and sustenance for a while, and slowly my skills in surgery returned, so that I was able to apply myself gainfully to my trade, becoming a roving physician, engaging in many surgeries and adventures across the breadth of the Peninsula. And eventually the fragments of my memory reassembled sufficiently for me to recall who I was, and what had happened to me, and I resolved to return at once to London, and reclaim my former existence, apologise to all I needed to apologise to, face up to any punishment that was necessary, while working tirelessly to restore my good name.’
The claimant looked around the table imploringly, then raised a glass in his yellowed fingers.
‘So here I am before you now, gentlemen, seeking redemption for my days of shame. And if some of my memories occasionally sputter, and if some of them remain shrouded for ever in oblivion, I trust you will forgive me. For I am fractured, yes, and incomplete, no doubt, but I remain in word and spirit your true friend Henry Jekyll—and I propose we make a toast of it.’
And such was his conviction during this remarkable performance that the other men at the table, most of whom were by varying degrees inebriated, raised their glasses approvingly—Roderick Godfreys even muttered ‘Hear, hear’—and toasted the good doctor and his unimpeachable ambitions. But after the glasses clinked and were lowered again, no one was surprised to see that Mr. Utterson had remained rigid in his seat, his glass untouched, his mouth compressed and his eyes burning like coals.
The Warmth of Fire and Wine
THE OTHERS RETIRED by degrees, though Hubert Tilley lingered disagreeably for a while; but finally, with the house staff also gone, there remained just two men in the old house, not accounting for whoever might have been lurking in the shadows of neighbouring rooms.
The lawyer and the claimant took their places besides Jekyll’s hearth, where a well-stoked fire was blazing, and the master of the house poured some wine, which Utterson swilled in his glass before taking a few experimental sips; and—just as he had on innumerable occasions in the past, after an excellent dinner—he listened attentively as the doctor made a confession.
‘This is very awkward, Utterson. It seems that I have the support of everyone in my circle, and yet you, my closest friend, remain the inflexible sceptic.’
Utterson smirked. ‘I have found from past experience that it pays to be the inflexible sceptic.’
‘Of course it does; and in many ways I would have expected nothing less. Still, under the circumstances I cannot just tip my hat to you at the crossroads, as it were, but rather make it my intention to win you over; for only then will I feel that I have truly returned.’
‘You will not win me over, whoever you are,’ replied Utterson. ‘Your scheme will break apart and this house will never be yours—you may depend on it.’
The claimant nodded gravely. ‘Then it is even worse than I thought,’ he said. ‘And yet I can see how my reappearance might be unwelcome to you, for various personal reasons. Nonetheless, you must know that I am prepared to reward you richly for your assistance, should you agree to help me—for you remain, apart from anything else, my trusted legal adviser.’
‘Reward me richly?’ Utterson could scarcely believe it. ‘You think this is all about finances, do you? And you really think I would be prepared to counsel you, and act on your behalf? By Jove, you are more brazen than I thought.’
‘Utterson, you must believe me, it is not a matter of buying you off. Perhaps I’ve expressed myself poorly. It’s just that you must have had certain plans, I understand that, and I am fully prepared to compensate you for your inconvenience. As a businessman and a friend.’
Utterson chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Then I must congratulate you, sir.’
‘Congratulate me …?’
‘Congratulate you, yes, on how far you’ve managed to proceed with this flagrant little charade. No one could ever accuse you of lacking audacity—or of being ill-prepared, for that matter. Indeed, if I did not know better even I might have been taken in. But you must know that could never happen. Because I alone am in possession of a certain document, you see—a document written by the one and only Henry Jekyll. The real Henry Jekyll.’
The claimant nodded. ‘In point of fact, I wrote that will when I was heading out to confront Hyde’s blackmailers. I did not want the burden of my estate resting on Hyde’s shoulders, making him vulnerable to the schemes of his friends, so I altered the terms of my will so that you became my sole beneficiary. But had I returned from that fateful meeting I would certainly have destroyed the document—it was never meant to be implemented, I regret to say.’
‘Oh, I’m not talking about the will,’ Utterson said, and the fire crackled wickedly. ‘And this is where all your preparation will do you no good, whoever you are. For there is another document I collected from the dissecting rooms on that terrible night—another document written by Henry Jekyll.’
‘Another document?’ asked the claimant.
‘Indeed,’ said Utterson. ‘A statement—a confession, if you like—written in the hand of Henry Jekyll.’
> ‘A statement?’
‘That is what I said.’
‘And you are in possession of this statement?’
‘Safely secured.’
‘And what is the substance of this statement?’
‘Surely you can tell me.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Well, Henry Jekyll wrote it, so Henry Jekyll must know its contents.’
The claimant shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I remember nothing of a second statement.’
Utterson smirked. ‘Of course you don’t—because you never wrote it.’
For a while the only sounds came from the fire and the whistling wind. Then the claimant shook his head. ‘This is a most serious business, Utterson.’
‘I cannot disagree with that.’
‘You seem to be suggesting that this document is significant.’
‘It is very significant.’
‘Significant enough to be used against me in court?’
‘It would demolish you,’ said Utterson.
‘I see.’ The claimant looked into his wine. ‘Then I really wish I could remember writing such a document.’
‘Try as hard as you like, you will never succeed.’
‘Of course, I cannot fully account for my state of mind at the time. But I do seem to recall, during my meeting with the blackmailers, having some blank paper thrust in front of me.’
‘Oh,’ said Utterson, chuckling, ‘so you intend to claim that you wrote the statement under duress, is that it?’
‘If I wrote it at all, that seems the most likely explanation.’
‘You wrote it, all right,’ insisted Utterson, before correcting himself: ‘I mean … Jekyll wrote it.’
The claimant shrugged. ‘Well, it could have been Hyde’s work, of course. He was, in point of fact, very practised in the forger’s art.’
‘Oh really?’ said Utterson. ‘And what possible reason would Hyde have for forging such a statement?’
‘Well, I don’t know what the statement says—since you refuse to tell me—but I can conceive of any number of reasons. He may, for instance, have been trying to protect himself.’
‘There is nothing in the statement that could protect Hyde,’ Utterson assured him.
‘Or perhaps he was forced into writing the statement—forced by his blackmailers, I mean, in order to account for his suicide. And for my own disappearance at the same time.’
‘Well that, too, is …’
But Utterson trailed off, realising that such an explanation might indeed be dressed up to sound credible in court. A ludicrous farrago of lies, my lord, designed to throw the law off the scent. He needed to be more prudent; he had conceivably revealed too much already.
‘It matters not,’ he said instead. ‘The statement itself attests to your lies. But there are numerous other ways your story can be dismantled.’
‘If you refer to my memory, dear Utterson, I have already spoken of the fragmentary nature of that.’
‘Yes, and very convenient that is, too. Do you recall, by any chance, our days at Cambridge?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘And do you happen to remember the night we took a shortcut through the graveyard of St Giles?’
‘I have a vague memory of such a thing …’
‘Then you will remember what happened there, amid the graves.’
The claimant looked uncomfortable. ‘Is this really important?’
‘You remember nothing at all?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘What about the sexton who rescued us? Do you not remember his name?’
‘Nor that, as it happens. But all this was many years ago, Utterson, and not worth remembering, even if my memory had not been impaired.’
‘Not worth remembering, you say? Henry Jekyll would never forget the events of that night.’
‘Perhaps Henry Jekyll doesn’t want to.’
Utterson huffed. ‘Well, what about our visit to Brighton, then—our famous sojourn to Brighton? Do you remember that?’
‘Again, most vaguely.’
‘And do you recall the name of the young lady you courted there?’
‘It was Lucy Thicke, was it not?’
‘It was Lizzie Thorn—how could you not remember that?’
‘Lizzie Thorn?’ The claimant frowned.
‘None other. The real Henry Jekyll would never have forgotten that.’
‘But I’m afraid you’re mistaken, dear Utterson.’
‘I’m mistaken?’
‘Why yes,’ the claimant said. ‘Lizzie Thorn was the name of a young maiden at Bristol—do you not remember? But it was Lucy Thicke, certainly Lucy Thicke, whom I romanced in Brighton.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Utterson. ‘Oh yes?’
But then—in a moment of unspeakable horror—Utterson realised that the claimant was right.
‘I take no pleasure in correcting you, dear Utterson,’ the man said, with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘But it only proves, does it not, that all men’s memories can become unreliable in the haze of the past?’
Utterson suddenly felt starved of air. The fire was leaping and laughing. The clock was ticking thunderously. And the claimant himself … the claimant had such a malicious, mocking curl to his lips that suddenly Utterson could not tolerate it. A strange impulse seized him.
He lunged forward and stabbed a finger at the claimant’s cheek, then dragged it across the dusky skin and held it up triumphantly, expecting to see a smear of powder on the tip.
But there was no powder. There was nothing at all.
The claimant, investigating his face as though for a wound, looked perplexed. ‘My dear Utterson,’ he said, ‘is there some kind of point to this?’
But Utterson, inhaling a lungful of the heated air, could not answer. He straightened but felt remarkably dizzy; he swayed on his feet and the room tilted around him; he glared at the claimant through swimming eyes.
‘You will never get away with it,’ he declared. ‘You will never get away with it, I tell you!’
Then, lest he topple over, he wrenched himself from the room, bustled down the stairs, collected his hat and monkey-headed cane, and burst from the vestibule into the cold of the street, where his breath rose like the clouds of a steam engine.
Day of Agitation
UTTERSON’S SLEEP THAT night was so profound that he became convinced that something had been stirred into his drink. For how else could he explain it? With his mind as agitated as it had ever been, it was inconceivable that he would plunge so quickly into oblivion. Moreover there had been a metallic undertaste to the wine that in retrospect seemed highly suspect. And Jekyll had always been adept at mixing potions (no—not Jekyll, he forcibly had to remind himself, but the impostor who’s taken his place).
In any case, he remembered nothing in the morning save a vivid dream in which Jekyll had not killed himself in the person of Mr. Hyde, but had survived, confessed his crimes to the world, and engaged Utterson to defend him in the Old Bailey.
‘Gentlemen of the jury’—Utterson was in wig and gown for the first time in decades—‘you see before you a man of peerless integrity, of the highest order, a Fellow of the Royal Society no less, who has been charged with some of the most heinous crimes ever to have been brought before this court. But I ask you, is it really Dr. Jekyll who should be here in the dock today? Or is it the second being, the one who is called Mr. Hyde? For it was Hyde, was it not, who enacted the crimes for which Jekyll is now being tried? It was Hyde who murdered, bludgeoned and thieved. And yet where is this Mr. Hyde I speak of? Is he visible before you? No, indeed, he is not. For Hyde is concealed deep within Dr. Jekyll, and safely imprisoned there at that. He is a scoundrel and a malefactor, true, but no more evil or dangerous than all the other scoundrels and malefactors that today lie hidden in this very court. For whom among you does not harbour his own Mr. Hyde? And who does not sometimes hear his Hyde pounding against the walls of his cell? Who does not daily, hourly, suppress th
e urges of his horrible Hyde?
‘No,’ said Utterson, ‘Henry Jekyll’s only crime, it seems to me, was to experiment upon himself in order to test the security of the prison; and that Mr. Hyde escaped so violently only justifies the urgency of the inspection. So while you have every reason to deliver a verdict on Mr. Hyde, you can no more condemn Dr. Jekyll than you can condemn yourselves. We are all Jekylls, yea, but equally we are all Hydes.’
Presently the bells sounded nine o’clock. Utterson jolted—he had not overslept in years—and dressed in uncommon haste, buttoning his clothes even as he was stumbling down the stairs.
‘Is sir unwell?’ asked Poole in the hall.
‘Why do you ask, Poole?’
‘I heard you crash around last night, and collapse onto your bed.’
‘I was out of sorts, it’s true.’
‘And afterwards I heard you moving about.’
‘It’s possible,’ Utterson admitted, though he remembered no such thing. ‘But I’ve no time to talk now, Poole—I’m late for church.’
When he arrived at St Mary’s the deacon was already reading from Genesis.
‘And Jacob said to Rebekah his mother, Behold, Esau my brother is a hairy man, and I am a smooth man; my father peradventure will feel me, and I shall seem to him a deceiver; and I shall bring a curse upon me, and not a blessing.’
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Seek Page 5