The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde

Incident of Dr. Lanyon

Time ran on; thousands of pounds were offered in reward, for the death of Sir Danvers was resented as a public injury; but Ms. Hyde had disappeared out of the ken of the police as though he had never existed. Much of her past was unearthed, indeed, and all disreputable: tales came out of the woman's cruelty, at once so callous and violent; of her vile life, of her strange associates, of the hatred that seemed to have surrounded her career; but of her present whereabouts, not a whisper. From the time she had left the house in Soho on the morning of the murder, she was simply blotted out; and gradually, as time drew on, Mrs. Utterson began to recover from the hotness of her alarm, and to grow more at quiet with herself. The death of Sir Danvers was, to her way of thinking, more than paid for by the disappearance of Ms. Hyde. Now that that evil influence had been withdrawn, a new life began for Dr. Jekyll. She came out of her seclusion, renewed relations with her friends, became once more their familiar guest and entertainer; and whilst he had always been known for charities, she was now no less distinguished for religion. She was busy, she was much in the open air, she did good; her face seemed to open and brighten, as if with an inward consciousness of service; and for more than two months, the doctor was at peace.

On the 8th of January Utterson had dined at the doctor's with a small party; Lanyon had been there; and the face of the host had looked from one to the other as in the old days when the trio were inseparable friends. On the 12th, and again on the 14th, the door was shut against the lawyer. "The doctor was confined to the house," Poole said, and saw no one. On the 15th, she tried again, and was again refused; and having now been used for the last two months to see her friend almost daily, she found this return of solitude to weigh upon her spirits. The fifth night she had in Guest to dine with her; and the sixth she betook herself to Dr. Lanyon's.

There at least she was not denied admittance; but when she came in, she was shocked at the change which had taken place in the doctor's appearance. She had her death-warrant written legibly upon her face. The rosy woman had grown pale; her flesh had fallen away; she was visibly older; and yet it was not so much these tokens of a swift physical decay that arrested the lawyer's notice, as a look in the eye and quality of manner that seemed to testify to some deep-seated terror of the mind. It was unlikely that the doctor should fear death; and yet that was what Utterson was tempted to suspect. Yes, she thought; she is a doctor, she must know her own state and that her days are counted; and the knowledge is more than she can bear. And yet when Utterson remarked on her ill-looks, it was with an air of great firmness that Lanyon declared herself a doomed woman.

"I have had a shock," she said, "and I shall never recover. It is a question of weeks. Well, life has been pleasant; I liked it; yes, my dear Jane, I used to like it. I sometimes think if we knew all, we should be more glad to get away."

"Jekyll is ill, too," observed Utterson. "Have you seen her?"

But Lanyon's face changed, and she held up a trembling hand. "I wish to see or hear no more of Dr. Jekyll," she said in a loud, unsteady voice. "I am quite done with that person; and I beg that you will spare me any allusion to one whom I regard as dead."

"Tut-tut", said Mrs. Utterson; and then after a considerable pause, "Can't I do anything?" she inquired. "We are three very old friends, Lanyon; we shall not live to make others."

"Nothing can be done," returned Lanyon; "ask herself."

"She will not see me," said the lawyer.

"I am not surprised at that," was the reply. "Some day, Utterson, after I am dead, you may perhaps come to learn the right and wrong of this. I cannot tell you. And in the meantime, if you can sit and talk with me of other things, for God's sake, stay and do so; but if you cannot keep clear of this accursed topic, then in God's name, go, for I cannot bear it."

As soon as she got home, Utterson sat down and wrote to Jekyll, complaining of her exclusion from the house, and asking the cause of this unhappy break with Lanyon; and the next day brought her a long answer, often very pathetically worded, and sometimes darkly mysterious in drift. The quarrel with Lanyon was incurable. "I do not blame our old friend," Jekyll wrote, "but I share her view that we must never meet. I mean from henceforth to lead a life of extreme seclusion; you must not be surprised, nor must you doubt my friendship, if my door is often shut even to you. You must suffer me to go my own dark way. I have brought on myself a punishment and a danger that I cannot name. If I am the chief of sinners, I am the chief of sufferers also. I could not think that this earth contained a place for sufferings and terrors so unmanning; and you can do but one thing, Utterson, to lighten this destiny, and that is to respect my silence." Utterson was amazed; the dark influence of Hyde had been withdrawn, the doctor had returned to her old tasks and amities; a week ago, the prospect had smiled with every promise of a cheerful and an honoured age; and now in a moment, friendship, and peace of mind, and the whole tenor of her life were wrecked. So great and unprepared a change pointed to madness; but in view of Lanyon's manner and words, there must lie for it some deeper ground.