I saw Hyde’s face in my dreams every night for a week. He was always lurking in the shadows or in some alleyway when I came upon him. He would see me watching him and burst forth, spinning and twirling like a puppet on a string.
I share everything with Henry.
I’d yell and scream that he needed to tell Henry that I wanted to speak with him, and he’d refuse and continue his dance.
I woke in a sweat, shivering until my bones ached.
Sir Carew recovered from his illness, much to my dismay. I knew my mother would tell me that it was wrong to wish ill on another man, but she didn’t know him. I returned to work but I continued to hope for his worst health, his most bitter defeat.
Henry and Hyde consumed my thoughts even in my waking hours. I couldn’t admit it to anyone except Lanyon and Enfield, who both implied that it was jealousy getting the better of me. Maybe they were right, but I felt that it was more than that. Hyde had not seemed confrontational so much as curious. He hadn’t questioned my feelings for Henry at all. It was a welcome, if unnerving, response. Despite his seemingly innocent nature, I could not let it go. But I decided not to make it Henry’s problem.
I stayed away from Leicester Square for a full week; when I found myself turning toward Henry’s street as I walked to and from Sir Carew’s office, I corrected course and went about my business.
One afternoon, as Miss Laurie was seeing off a group of her guests, she pulled me aside and asked if I’d go to Harrington’s Market to bring her the freshly butchered hog she’d arranged for. I agreed, knowing that if I didn’t, I’d just be wrestling myself away from Henry’s street anyway. I could almost hear Enfield’s voice in my head telling me to stop making such a fool of myself.
Harrington’s was near the docks, tucked among warehouses and shipyards that dotted the River Thames. It stuck out like a festering sore. I could smell it before I saw it and when I finally came upon it, I had to hold my sleeve against my nose. I was thankful it wasn’t yet summer—the smell would have been unbearable.
I pushed through the crowded stalls until I spotted my destination—a narrow building wedged between two others. A small shop with wide glass windows was situated on the ground floor. As I ducked inside I was grateful for the reprieve from the stink outside.
Cured meats and links of sausage hung from hooks in the low ceiling. Arranged on a wooden counter were other cuts of animals I didn’t recognize immediately. The shop smelled of wood and smoke and salt. A burly man with a neatly trimmed beard and one eye clouded milky white stood behind the counter.
“Miss Laurie sent me to pick up a hog,” I said.
The man’s expression softened immediately and he leaned forward on the counter. “Oh right. She told me you’d be stopping by. I was hoping she might change her mind and make the trip herself. A fine woman, that Miss Laurie.”
“She is,” I said, though I understood he didn’t mean it in the same way that I did. Miss Laurie had become something like a mother to me. I thought this man might fancy her as a wife. Little did he know that Miss Laurie spoke often of how she would never take a husband because she simply didn’t want some man living in her house and eating her food.
“I’ve almost got everything ready.” He looked me over, then glanced outside. “You sure you’ll be able to manage it? You didn’t bring a cart?”
“I can manage,” I said.
He shrugged and disappeared down a narrow stairway at the back of the shop. I was busying myself, trying to guess which meaty bits belonged to which animals, when a familiar face bobbed past the window.
Hyde. Who was shortly followed by the Jekylls’ butler, Mr. Poole.
I was tripping out the door before I could stop myself, all of my self-control out the window. Hyde leaned on a cane as he kept pace ahead of Mr. Poole. He vanished around the corner as Mr. Poole shouted something at him, but I couldn’t make it out in the crush of voices.
I started after them at once, abandoning the butcher shop. Mr. Poole followed Hyde around the corner and I in turn followed him, keeping as much of a distance as I could manage without losing them entirely.
We zigzagged through the stalls and cramped alleyways until we were in a section of the dockside market I didn’t recognize. There were far fewer people there, and by the time Hyde slowed his pace, I had to duck behind a stack of crates to avoid being seen.
“I can’t keep up!” Mr. Poole said angrily, sweat beading on his brow, chest heaving.
Hyde gave the cane a little twirl and tapped it on the ground. “You’re spry as ever.”
Had he known the Jekyll family so long? Henry had never once mentioned him and yet he seemed to be intimately aware of the littlest details. A wave of annoyance rolled over me.
“But we’re here, so you can rest,” Hyde said. “I’ll only be a moment.”
“Oh no,” Mr. Poole said, stomping up to him. “Dr. Jekyll said I was not to leave your side for a single second. And do you know what I find very funny?”
Hyde rolled his eyes and then leveled them at Mr. Poole. “Do tell.”
“You’ve been high-stepping from the very moment we left the carriage. You don’t even need that cane.”
Hyde tossed the cane up and caught it again, then pointed it at Mr. Poole. “My knee is still tweaked from my little encounter with that ravenous pack of dolts chasing me and making me injure that poor child.”
I was surprised to learn that he did seem to feel some remorse for what had happened.
“All of that aside,” said Mr. Poole. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to lose me on purpose.”
“And why would I want to do that?” Hyde asked.
“Because you don’t really want to help poor Henry.”
Hearing Henry’s name created in me the most familiar ache. I missed him, and I felt it in my bones.
Hyde shifted his grip on the cane, looming over Mr. Poole. I realized then that its handle was shaped like an eagle’s head. The glinting ruby eyes caught the light.
Dr. Jekyll’s cane.
Hyde gripped the walking stick. “The only thing I want to do is help Henry. Same as Dr. Jekyll.”
“Are you sure about that?” Mr. Poole asked. “Call me cynical but I don’t think that’s what you want at all.”
Hyde huffed and stepped around him. “Stay here.”
Hyde turned and went to a narrow door in one of the buildings. He knocked three times and a moment later, a stout older woman in a black dress opened the door. Hyde disappeared inside, leaving Mr. Poole alone.
I crouched lower, my heart racing. The way Mr. Poole had said Henry’s name—it was as if he pitied him. And Hyde’s insistence that all he wanted to do was help seemed out of place. Henry could have confided in me about anything. I would have listened and tried to help in any way I could. I wasn’t sure I believed Hyde when he said he wanted to help Henry, but I hoped it was true. I gathered myself and stepped from behind the stack of crates.
Mr. Poole’s eyes widened. “Mr. Utterson? What on earth are you doing here?”
I glanced toward the door. The last thing I needed was for Hyde to go off and tell Henry he’d had another run-in with me.
“I came to see about a hog for Miss Laurie,” I said. “I saw you and Hyde go by the window and—”
“You should not be here,” Mr. Poole said suddenly. He rushed forward and tried to usher me back down the narrow alleyway. “You need to leave this instant.”
“Mr. Poole, please,” I said, planting my feet firmly. “Is something wrong with Henry? I’m sorry, but I overheard some of your conversation and I’m worried.”
“It’s nothing to worry about.” Mr. Poole was a terrible liar. He glanced over his shoulder at the door Hyde had disappeared behind, then sighed and hung his head. “I saw you speaking with Hyde the other night outside the Jekyll residence.”
The weight of embarrassment nearly folded me in half. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t want to intrude but—”
“You should cease all communication with him at once,” Mr. Poole said flatly. “You have no idea what is happening and if I’m being honest, neither do I.”
Something in him broke. His shoulders rolled forward and for a moment I thought he might faint. I put my hands on his shoulders to steady him and he grasped my wrist.
“This is the first time I’ve been asked to go with Hyde on this errand,” Mr. Poole whispered. “This task has been previously handled by Dr. Jekyll himself or Henry. But now Henry is holed up in the lab with his father and they toil day and night. The only one permitted to enter at his leisure is Hyde. I have been in the paid service of the Jekylls for twenty years, and now they task this strange young man with important errands. Dr. Jekyll and Henry trust him implicitly.” He stopped himself and cupped his wrinkled hands over his mouth. “I’ve said far too much. Please do not breathe a word of what I’ve shared with you to anyone. I beg of you.”
“I won’t,” I said. I pitied the man; whatever was going on, he seemed very upset by it. “But I don’t understand. Hyde speaks as if he is the one closest to Henry. He is comfortable enough to go in and out of their residence, their lab, as he pleases—”
Mr. Poole nodded. “You find it strange and you should. It is! This is madness and I am afraid, Mr. Utterson. Afraid!”
I didn’t know Mr. Poole well enough to know if he was prone to exaggeration. My interactions with him had been mostly formal, but he seemed levelheaded. As he stood in front of me I saw a man stricken to his core by some terror he could not fully express.
There came the sound of heavy footsteps, and Mr. Poole shooed me away. I scampered behind the crates just as Hyde reemerged from the building carrying a small parcel wrapped in brown paper tied with string.
“Keep up, Mr. Poole,” Hyde said as he sauntered down the street in the opposite direction, away from my hiding spot.
Mr. Poole did as he was told, and I waited until they were out of sight to leave my perch. I knew Miss Laurie was waiting for me to deliver her hog, and so I made note of the location of the crooked little house and returned to the butcher shop. As I wove through the maze of interconnected streets, my mind ran in circles.
I didn’t know if I’d be able to keep the promise I’d made to myself—to give Henry the space he needed. Mr. Poole’s demeanor had made me fear for Henry’s safety.
I lugged the hog back to Miss Laurie’s. She laughed as I set it down on the table.
“It’s nearly as big as you are,” she said. “And how is Mr. Loft?”
I raised an eyebrow. “He’s well,” I said. “He was hoping you’d come to get the hog yourself.”
She waved her hands in the air. “Can you imagine me carrying that thing from there to here? I’d be laid up for a week. If he was any sort of gentleman, he’d have delivered it.”
“I don’t know if he was a gentleman or not, but I know I smell like an outhouse.”
She pinched her nose. “Go get that stink off you.” As I made my way upstairs she called after me. “A letter arrived for you. I stuck it under your door.”
Suddenly the odor of rotting meat and congealed blood that clung to me wasn’t such a pressing issue. I stumbled up the last few steps and raced to my room. On the floor was a letter with my name scrawled across the front in Henry’s hand.
Meet me tomorrow night at 183 Dorset Street, Christ Church. Come alone.
I pressed the letter to my chest. Tomorrow night could not come soon enough.