Chapter Text
Three weeks had passed since Utterson dined at the doctor's house—three weeks without so much as a word spoken or written between them. Of course, several attempts had been made on the lawyer's end to compose a letter, though each time his effort proved unfruitful. There was much to be said, far too much, and he could not bring himself to finish any of them.
His thoughts drifted to the incident yet again while on his routine Sunday walk with Enfield. His companion was being quiet as ever, allowing the lawyer to endlessly ruminate on the events in peace.
It was not love. Nor was it attraction or desire. It was a mistake, a faulty judgement made in the heat of the moment—born out of pity for his old friend. How could he possibly refuse Henry in such a sorry state, when he had looked at and spoken to the lawyer as if he were someone desirable? His mind wandered; was that sense of feeling desired the reason why he enjoyed it? Why he went back for more? No, it was not as if Utterson were a complete stranger to that sort of attention, at least from the fairer sex. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, he had never once welcomed it; not until it came from Henry. This thought nearly made him stop dead in his tracks. He tried to push down the wave of dread it brought on, not wanting to leap to any untoward conclusions. There must have been another, more reasonable explanation.
So why did he enjoy it? Well, simply put, such was the nature of sin—that was the phrase he had repeated to himself over and over again throughout the passing days. It was alluring, tempting; it drew one in and made him commit acts of debauchery he would otherwise condemn. The clawing feeling in the back of his mind—the devil on his shoulder—told him there was more to it. And yet he dared not acknowledge it.
“Utterson, sir?” Enfield's voice suddenly recalled him from his thoughts.
“Yes, Richard?” he replied, still moderately distracted.
“I've noticed something peculiar,” said the young man, a touch hesitantly. “Forgive me if this is the fault of an overactive imagination, but you seem… out of sorts as of late; I believe for the last couple of weeks.”
So it had been obvious to Enfield as well, not just Mr. Guest, who had pointed out the very same thing a fortnight prior. The lawyer heaved a sigh as he responded, “Out of sorts? How so?”
“You are clearly in low spirits, sir,” he said with a frown. “I cannot explain how I know—perhaps it is because the past few times we saw little Miss Jane playing out in the streets, you did not say hello to her as you normally do, or when I speak, you sometimes don't even seem to hear me until I repeat myself. Little things like that. You have an air about you like a man with a considerable weight on his mind. May I ask what's got you so down?”
“It's nothing,” was all Utterson could muster.
Enfield was silent for a few moments, and the lawyer could tell from his cousin's face that he was being scrutinised.
“Are you certain? You know you can confide in me, right?”
“I am fine, Enfield.”
The pair fell into another brief silence, but the man still wouldn't let the matter drop. He looked around once or twice, leaned in slightly, and spoke in a low voice: “I'm afraid I don't believe you, sir.”
Utterson was at once touched by his concern and irritated by it. “I thought you didn't like to ask questions.”
Enfield appeared to be somewhat taken aback by his attitude, and the lawyer continued, “I apologise; I’m aware you are simply worried about me. To tell the truth, you are entirely correct in your observations. I know I've been acting strangely, and I'm indeed in low spirits, but it is a private matter that I cannot discuss with anyone.”
“I see…” he replied. “It must be difficult, having no one to tell.”
“Yes, it is,” Utterson admitted.
“Well, I’d still like to help in some way.”
“But you cannot.”
“Maybe not through talking,” he said, thinking to himself. “At the very least I could buy you a drink and offer my companionship—perhaps even a story or two. It could help keep your mind off the issue for a little while.”
Utterson's heart warmed slightly at the suggestion. “I suppose that's not a bad idea.”
Enfield smiled, his eyes lighting up. “I'm glad to hear you're receptive; shall I consider that a yes?”
The lawyer nodded.
That very evening, Enfield sat with Utterson at a pub arbitrarily picked out by the former. He had ordered drinks for the both of them and was telling some story or other of his escapades in France, but Utterson was nonetheless too lost in his head to pay any attention.
Could it be that his own long-standing status as a bachelor had caused these conflicting emotions? If he had only taken a wife early in life, just as it was expected of him, then surely the only thing he would feel from the idea of kissing Henry would be revulsion. Perhaps that even extended to the doctor himself. They had both spent decades without a woman to love, so it would only be natural if their romantic affections, unspent and abounding with no one else to turn to, attached themselves to the person to whom they were closest.
That explanation was somewhat comforting and, contradictingly, also quite disquieting. If that was the case, what was he to do with these misplaced feelings besides repent and try his best to reign them in? He had already been doing both these things religiously but still felt as if he were a damned man. Could his sins ever be absolved? Must he find a wife now in his middle age?
He halfway realised he had been blankly staring at the same spot for a while now, and while Enfield apparently hadn't noticed, he certainly would if the lawyer did not move his eyes soon. He glanced briefly at his cousin and then absentmindedly ran his eyes over the other customers in the pub. Some were laughing and talking amongst friends, some debating or perhaps arguing, some just having a drink or two in peace, and a couple strewn about the many tables, seemingly stewing in their own misery. Utterson found himself feeling a bit sorry for the latter crowd, just as he felt sorry for himself. He wondered what they were so unhappy about, if any of them were dealing with the same issues as he was. Had any of them been weak in the same ways? Had any of them also not seen or spoken to their closest friend in weeks?
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a sudden chill when his eyes landed on a particularly small gentleman hunched over his drink. His back was facing the lawyer, and he was unable to see the man's face, but he knew the feeling all too well by now. The stomach-churning, foul mix of dread, hatred and disgust.
Who could it be but Mr. Hyde?
“Are you alright? You haven't even once looked me in the face for the past two minutes,” Enfield said sullenly.
“Forgive me, erm…”
He craned his head around Utterson, trying to see what he was staring at. “What were you—”
He cut himself off, eyes filling with alarm.
“Sir, that's Mr. Hyde!” he leaned in closer to the lawyer and whispered as loudly as he could. “The man I told you about—the one that trampled over that little girl!”
Utterson took a moment to respond, needing a second to adjust to the abhorrent mixture of emotions now filling him. “I know, Richard. We've met.”
“You have?”
The lawyer nodded without a word.
“What a dreadful coincidence that he’s here. Of all the damned places…” Enfield muttered to himself. He turned to the pubkeep, who was busy polishing a glass. “Sir, do you know that man?” he said, pointing to Mr. Hyde.
The pubkeep glanced at the subject of his question and grimaced in repulsion. “No. Don't think he's ever come here.”
“I know him,” another man sitting nearby chimed in. “That's that bloke that got thrown out of The White Stallion last week.”
“Did he?” asked Utterson.
“And that other pub down the street,” a second man at the same table said. “In fact, he's been kicked out of more pubs than I can count on my own two hands.”
“Really? Well, he hasn't caused any problems here yet,” said the pubkeep.
“I heard he got pretty scratched up at The Blackbird last month too. Sounds like old Bobby still likes to play knife!” chuckled the first man.
“He's that much of a troublemaker? Should I give him the boot?”
“Well, he don't look too troublesome now, do he?” the man laughed. “What a sorry sight he is. The man's practically crying over his gin, for Christ's sake!”
“Maybe I should throw him out; he's bringing the bloody mood down,” joked the pubkeep.
It seemed the conversation had reached Hyde's ears, as he turned around to face the group of gossipers. Everyone suddenly looked away, acting as if they were minding their own business. He glowered at the strangers until his eyes fell upon Utterson's. A series of several different emotions flashed upon his face—surprise, apparent dread, and then finally indignation. He quickly turned his back to the lawyer again.
“Was he looking at you, sir?” asked Enfield, with a slight tremor in his voice.
“I should speak with him,” was the reply. “We have matters to discuss.”
“You cannot be serious. Did you see the way he looked at you? Or what those men said?”
“He can be civil. And I have a feeling that he will be,” said the lawyer, getting to his feet. “You stay here and enjoy your brandy; I'll return to you shortly.”
Enfield frowned but made no further objections.
Utterson walked over and wordlessly sat down next to Hyde. Neither of them spoke for a brief few seconds before the lawyer cleared his throat. “Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Hyde.”
But the man wouldn't even look at him. His head was somewhat turned away from Utterson so that only the now unbandaged and mostly healed wound was visible on his cheek.
“You’re healing well,” Utterson said, trying to veer into the matter of his interest.
“Sure,” replied Hyde. His voice was rough and whispered as always.
“Has Dr. Jekyll been treating you?”
His brows furrowed slightly when he heard the doctor's name. “Could say that.”
“He's done a fine job.”
The man huffed a bitter laugh. “And for all that, I'm still walking around with this damned scar for the rest of my life.”
“That's a shame,” said the lawyer.
Hyde only grunted in response.
“You seem…” Utterson hesitated, “a bit low.”
“And what of it? I doubt you honestly care for my wellbeing. You sat with me; you must have something to say that's worth the displeasure of doing so. Well, go on, my good man, speak—I've no wish to hear any more of this meaningless drivel.”
Utterson shifted in his seat and heaved a sigh. “Very well then, I wish to know why you arranged the dinner between Jekyll and me. I thank you for doing so, but I do not understand your intentions.”
“If only I understood them myself,” he said bitterly, the alcohol in his system affecting his speech.
“You don't?”
“I'm afraid not,” Hyde murmured. He did not look Utterson in the face, instead gloomily running his finger along the rim of an empty glass.
The lawyer frowned. He had not gotten an answer to his question, and now he did not know what else to say. He was itching to get back to Enfield and out of this man's presence, but would it really be appropriate to stand up and leave him be at this moment? Or was that precisely what he wanted? Yes, it was likely that Hyde wished to be left alone; he had not even made an effort to speak to Utterson in the past minute of uncomfortable silence, and he appeared to be lost in his own head. But just as he was about to excuse himself, Hyde suddenly looked to him and spoke.
“Do you regret it?”
“Pardon?”
“Do you regret that dinner with Dr. Jekyll?”
Utterson swallowed, an uneasy feeling growing in his gut. All of a sudden Hyde appeared to be reinvigorated.
“Why should I? No, of course not,” said the lawyer.
This answer seemed to please Hyde, and he smiled for the first time since their conversation began. It was a small, seemingly surprised smile at first, but then almost immediately a wry, sinister grin took its place and reminded Utterson of a cat toying with its next meal.
“Is that so?” He laughed under his breath.
“Why do you ask?” Utterson replied firmly.
“Well, I'm surprised. I really thought you would.”
“Why's that?”
“Because…” Hyde's smile grew. “Perhaps it didn't go well.”
Utterson bristled. “What are you talking about?”
“I think you know.”
The lawyer felt his face drain of colour at those words. There was no possible way he could know what occurred in the privacy of that room, was there? Jekyll would never tell, would he?
“I do not,” he lied, and his voice thankfully did not betray the lack of confidence and fear he was truly feeling.
“Lie all you like, but we both know what we know. Nothing will change that.”
“And how exactly did you come to know then?”
“Oh,” he drew out the word, leaning in close as he did so, “I know a great many things, Utterson.”
A chill ran through the lawyer's spine, and for once his cool demeanour crumbled slightly. His frown deepened and he could no longer look the ghoulish man in the eyes. Hyde was laughing to himself again, and Utterson had never hated him more than in that moment.
“Well,” he continued, “what's wrong, my dear? Afraid your little secret with Henry isn't so secret after all?”
“He would not tell you. He would not have told you if you did not force him,” Utterson spat, trying to keep his voice steady.
“I'd hardly call it forcing. Henry tells me everything—and willingly too.”
“Lies! What possible reason could he have?”
“You want to know? Well, perhaps it's because I am not ashamed of what I am, of what we are, unlike the coward I'm currently speaking to,” he retorted, ire now twisting his already despicable countenance.
Utterson recoiled slightly, the mix of bewilderment and shock from what those words implied leaving him briefly tongue-tied.
“And I happen to care for the man. I don't wish to torment him,” Hyde said with a scowl. “Do you?”
“No—I…” The lawyer's heart sank at the thought. “Wait, then are you two involved in—”
“Keep your voice down,” he growled. In the same moment he grabbed hold of Utterson's hand and sank his nails into the skin, inciting a sharp hiss of pain from the lawyer. At once he ripped it away and began to soothe it with the other.
“There is something deeply wrong with you,” he muttered as he rubbed the back of his hand, but Hyde did not react to the insult. His eyes were focused on Utterson's wrists.
“What a pretty pair of cufflinks you have,” he said, reaching out.
The lawyer drew back and nearly stood to his feet. “Don't touch me.”
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” They heard a voice say from behind them. Enfield was now standing there with his arms crossed, evidently having seen how things were progressing.
“Oh,” Hyde tilted his head as he spoke, “it's you.”
“Yes, really a great pleasure to see you again, Mr. Hyde,” he said peevishly.
Utterson put his hand up. “Richard—”
“Mr. Enfield, is it not? There's certainly no problem, I assure you. Mr. Utterson and I were simply having a friendly chat, isn't that right?”
The lawyer did not speak, and Hyde continued, “In fact, I think we are almost done here. I've only a couple of little things left to say.” He looked at Utterson expectantly.
“Wait outside for me, Enfield.”
The young man hesitated for a second, pursing his lips. “Well then,” he said at last. “I shall take my leave. My sincerest apologies for the intrusion.”
Utterson watched him swiftly collect both their belongings and walk out as Hyde cleared his throat. “Your cufflinks. May I see them?”
The lawyer felt a twinge of irritation at the sudden politeness of his question but obliged so as to end this wretched conversation quicker.
“My, what a work of art,” he murmured, examining one closely. The malicious smile had left his face; his expression now almost rueful in a way. He mumbled something Utterson could not hear.
“What was that?”
Hyde seemed to remember himself, his eyes meeting the lawyer's, and he put that horrible smile back on his face as if it were nothing. “You're not ashamed to walk around in these?”
“Not at all.”
“They're a gift from Jekyll, I heard.” He leaned in to say the next part in a low voice: “You should be ashamed. They ought to be mine.”
Utterson ripped his hand away, pulling his jacket cuffs over his wrists.
“Oh, not to worry, my good Utterson; I'll let you keep them. I've no need for a mere trifling token of affection after all.”
“I think it is getting late, Mr. Hyde.” The lawyer suddenly stood from his seat.
“Very well,” Hyde said, remaining in his chair. “Go, but I implore you—ask Dr. Jekyll about me.”
“Certainly,” he replied coolly and left without a farewell.
Once he left the pub, he took his hat and greatcoat off of Enfield, who was leaning against the wall outside.
“I'm sorry to make you wait in the cold, Richard.”
“Nevermind that, sir—what was happening back there? Did he hurt you?”
Utterson shook his head. “Don't worry, I am perfectly fine. Let us go before we catch our death out here,” he said, stepping past him.
Enfield huffed and pushed himself off the wall, walking alongside the lawyer. “What a—” he stammered for a bit, struggling for words. “What kind of a scoundrel is that man? If I had only known he would grace us with his presence, I never would have taken you there.”
“No, no, Richard—I'm glad you did. Mr. Hyde and I needed this talk.”
“Really?”
“It was illuminating,” he replied flatly.
Enfield stared at him, looking as if he were holding back a growing number of questions. “I… I see,” he said. “I've never seen you so agitated at anyone in my life.”
“Is that so?”
“Undoubtedly. Not that I blame you at all, sir; you remained rather calm—calmer than I would've been, I'll say.”
“Then it is good I kept my head. I am sure he was seeking a reaction,” said Utterson, and Enfield nodded in agreement.
Their walk continued on mostly in silence, and when it came time for the two to part ways, Utterson bid him goodbye and hurried the rest of the way home.
As soon as he made it inside and put his things down, he went to his desk and pulled out a pen and paper, finally determined to finish his long overdue letter to Dr. Jekyll.