The pleasures which I made haste to seek in my disguise were, as I have said, undignified; I would scarce use a harder term. But in the hands of Edward Hyde, they soon began to turn toward the monstrous. When I would come back from these excursions, I was often plunged into a kind of wonder at my vicarious depravity. This familiar that I called out of my own soul, and sent forth alone to do his good pleasure, was a being inherently malign and villainous; his every act and thought centered on self; drinking pleasure with bestial avidity from any degree of torture to another … The women writhed and twined themselves about the floor, fucking, screaming and shouting in ecstasy—Shut up—my loving mistress partook of the universal excitement with the rest—Shut up!—placing herself in the most lascivious positions, throwing up her legs—SHUT—outstretching her arms, she would invite me, in the most licentious terms, to enter the amorous lists—WAKE UP!—how tight did her cunt clasp my prick—DREAMING, YOU’RE DREAMING—as my piston-rod shoved in—WAKE—and out—MUM—I had gone to bed Henry Jekyll, I had awakened Edward Hyde—MUMMY!
—Wilberforce!
Light. Blinding. Woman above.
—Like waking the dead, she declared.
His heart pounded. His cock pounded. Sweat trickled down his—
—Bath’s drawn, just there.
The woman indicated a door by the window, which admitted a painful light.
—Breakfast, half an hour.
Where was he? When?
—Speak so I know you’re awake.
—Half an hour. M—Mrs.—Matron?
—Mrs. Hallows.
—Mrs. Hallows.
* * *
He washed the sweat, the night, and the last two days from his body. The tepid water regulated his temperature. He drank liberally from the tap. The blue tiles reflected the morning light like the sea, not that he had ever been under the sea, but he imagined it as something like this, a half-remembered softness.
That man, the Bishop, had said in the morning. Morgan sometimes knew when disasters were coming. He’d known it with Spaulding, and he recognized in this morning the unquestionable taint of calamity. Could he not simply slip beneath this sea and …
—Listen, you, it’s time to buck up.
Droit stood before the looking glass, slicking his hair back with brilliantine.
—Leave me alone, Morgan said.
Droit looked at him with a wounded expression and demanded to know why Morgan should treat him thus. Morgan launched into a litany of Droit’s unwelcome utterances, not least the rubbish with which he’d been oppressed all night. Droit took offense. Was he the one who had provided the foul story of Jekyll and Hyde? Was he the supplier of Lydon’s tasteless morsels?
Morgan had to admit that he wasn’t. That was correct, Droit confirmed, he wasn’t. If Morgan had retained the most appalling selections from his reading, he could look elsewhere for someone to blame, for he, Droit, insisted on quality in his amusements and had been slaving all term to reform Morgan’s taste.
The nauseous atmosphere was dispelling. Morgan wished he could have a cigarette. He did have some in his tuck box, but he wasn’t sure he dared smoke them in the bathroom of a Rectory.
Droit parted his hair and bade Morgan finish his bath and listen carefully: Morgan must on no account allow himself to be seduced by the glamour of this house or its inhabitants. That uneasy feeling Morgan had sprang from his rather developed instincts. This was no time for false modesty. They both knew that Morgan often understood things about people that people didn’t understand themselves. The point was this place. Morgan mustn’t let down his guard. They would attempt to seduce him into every kind of nefarious thing, but Morgan must defend himself.
Morgan got out of the bath and dried off, not at all sure what Droit meant.
—You know precisely what I mean, Droit retorted. Why else would they have brought you to a soothing little house in the country if not to lull you into a false sense of security? And why else should they haul you clear across the country to see a bishop if they didn’t hope to succeed where S-K failed?
Morgan’s stomach turned at mention of his aborted confirmation. He forced himself to breathe calmly as he put on the clean shirt someone had laid out for him. Did Droit mean to suggest that Burton and Grieves had colluded with Dr. Sebastian to coerce Morgan into the sacrament of confirmation? Wasn’t that rather far-fetched?
Droit did not think it far-fetched, actually, but in any case, that was not what he was saying. Droit was simply saying that these men had taken advantage of Morgan when he was weak. They had humiliated him and abducted him. They were on no account to be trusted, not Sebastian, not the Flea, not Grieves, and certainly and above all not this sickening Bishop person. Whatever they had in mind, he was not a child, and he must not permit himself to be maneuvered. That was all.