My Dear Henry: A Jekyll & Hyde Remix

BEFORE

CHAPTER 1

1883

When my father found my grandmother dead, he let out such a cry that later our neighbor claimed to have heard it, even though his home was a full length of field from ours. I might have been convinced he was lying if I hadn’t heard my father’s wailing with my own ears. The sound of a man’s heart shattering into a million pieces was like the cry of a wounded animal—fear and suffering all mingled together. A chorus of pain rising to the heavens.

I went to see what had happened and it was then that I saw her—my grandmother, my father’s mother, her brown skin ashen and clinging to her bones like wet paper, her knotted hands balled into fists at her sides. The skin of her lips had curled back, exposing her teeth. Horrifying as those things were, they weren’t even the worst part. The worst of it was the look in her eyes. They were wide open, staring up into nothingness. I don’t claim to know much about the properties of one’s soul, but whatever life had lived in her had fled, and all that was left was an empty shell.

I was told the corpses I would eventually see as part of my medical studies would not be wide-eyed with gaping mouths. They would be people who had donated their bodies to the London School for Medical Studies, and their mouths and eyes would be sewn shut. My stomach lurched at the thought.

My father was the only reason I was pursuing medicine at all. He would see me become a doctor, though I might have been content to study law. My father didn’t care about being content, but not because he didn’t love me or because he didn’t want me to be happy. He simply chose to take the path of least resistance.

He focused on respectability and impressed upon me the importance of how I must be perceived by the people around me. Those were things I could control if I made the right choices, though it never made much sense. I couldn’t control how others viewed me, especially when they seemed hell-bent on ascribing to me any number of unfair or untrue attributes. My discontent was a weakness in my father’s eyes. He had no answers for me when I asked him why, if becoming a doctor would grant me respect, nearly every single one of the handful of Black graduates of the London School for Medical Studies couldn’t find a permanent position at any of the city’s hospitals unless they were orderlies, body haulers, or groundskeepers. He knew as well as I did that I would have what I was allowed, and nothing more.

My mother was meant to accompany me to the city, but my father convinced her that I could manage the journey on my own. She and I both understood it was because he couldn’t afford the extra train fare. I did everything I could to let her know that I would be all right without her, though I didn’t really believe that at all.

The train lurched through the London streets under carob-colored clouds. Smoke in shades of charcoal billowed from chimneys, blotting out the sun, and people pressed in on each other as they crowded the streets. London had a great many faces, some of which were unknown or, at the very least, unseen by the average Londoner. To be poor was to be frowned upon, stepped on. To be poor and Black was akin to being invisible.

A pang of anger knotted in my gut. What I would give to not see those terrible, twisted faces looking past me as they trampled me underfoot.

I disembarked and made my way through London’s bustling streets to the Laurie boardinghouse. My father had made arrangements for me to stay there during my studies, and as I came upon it in the early evening, after slogging through endless rivers of waste in the drizzling rain, it looked like something that should not exist. That it was still standing was a miracle considering the angle of the walls and the pitch of the roof. It was leaning on the building next to it, which was only slightly less dilapidated.

I knocked on the door and waited as heavy footsteps approached from the inside. A small viewing window slid open, and a pair of brown eyes stared out at me.

What do you want? the woman asked, her voice thick with suspicion.

My name is Gabriel Utterson. My father—

The woman slid the little opening shut before I could finish my sentence.

I stood there in the rain, clutching my bag and wondering if I’d somehow ended up at the wrong address.

The lock clicked and the door yawned open. The woman on the other side was small and round with a heavy brow. She must have used a footstool to peer out because she was a full head shorter than me.

You going to stand in the rain? Or you going to come in?

I quickly stepped inside and she slammed the door, locking it behind me.

Leave it open long enough and someone is liable to run in here. She narrowed her eyes at me. Your father told me all about you. Said you’re a bit of a bleeding heart, and so I feel compelled to remind you that you are not in the countryside anymore, Mr. Utterson.

No, ma’am, I’m not.

She nudged me into the narrow front room with a ceiling so low I could have reached it with my outstretched hand. It was warmed by a fire, its flames lapping at the damp bricks surrounding the hearth. There were chairs and wooden rockers all around and everything smelled of cooked meat and cigar smoke.

Welcome to Laurie’s, the woman croaked. I’m Miss Laurie. This is my place. My rules. Got it?

I nodded. Yes, ma’am.

You’re on the second floor. Room seven. No company, no loud noises. You’ll be out by noon on the last day you’re paid up for and not a second later, or I’ll have my brother toss you out. Meals are at eight, eleven, and seven. You’re not here, you don’t eat. Stay out my kitchen.

Yes, ma’am. All I wanted to do was change my clothes and go to sleep. Only when she’d gone over the location of the outhouse and washroom, the laundry schedule, and the coal ration did she dismiss me and take up a seat directly in front of the blazing fireplace.

I dragged myself upstairs and found my room at the end of the hall. It was the size of a closet with a small fireplace and a sleeping mat stuffed haphazardly with hay, but the floor was freshly swept, and there was an oil lamp and set of clean folded linens waiting for me. The night was black outside the single window in the outer wall. I didn’t even bother changing my damp clothes before I fell exhausted onto the mat.

I lay there for a moment, waiting for sleep to find me, when I heard footsteps in the hall. I waited in silence as my eyes adjusted to the dark.

The steps moved to my door.

I waited for whoever it was to knock, but there was nothing. After a moment, the steps retreated down the hall and I heard a door open and close.

Breakfast prepared by Miss Laurie was a soft-boiled egg and a piece of dry toast. I ate without complaint even as the hard bread shredded the insides of my cheeks. Other boys staying at the boardinghouse filed into the dining room and sat down at the large table in ones and twos. Most of them were young and they were all brown skinned. The dormitory for premedical students was on the school’s campus, but it had a strict no Negro policy. Apparently, we were good enough to attend, but not good enough to live and eat with the white students.

As I sat lost in my own thoughts, a young man appeared in the doorway.

Jekyll! one of the other boys called out. The young man stepped into the dining room and as he looked toward his friend, his gaze met mine. He was tall, his shoulders slightly rounded forward. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, and he hesitated, as if he was unsure about continuing forward.

There was a pull in the pit of my stomach. A flutter of nerves. Heat rose in my face and I quickly looked away. I took a breath and raised my head only to find that he was still gazing at me.

Sit and eat, Miss Laurie ordered from her place at the head of the table.

The boy—Jekyll—sat, and Miss Laurie slid a plate of eggs and bread in front of him. I couldn’t bring myself to raise my eyes again and look at him even though I wanted to. I was an entire train’s journey from my father’s home in the countryside, but I could still hear his voice in my head: This is not something that will garner you any sort of respect. His words were like knives—they cut, and the pain of them never left me.

I finished my food and put my plate in a wash bin before hurrying back upstairs to change.

Jekyll’s face was burned into my mind. The rich brown color of his skin, just slightly ruddy at the planes of his high cheekbones. His dark eyes like ink. I shook myself out of my stupor and changed into one of three sets of clothing my mother had packed for me. Despite her best efforts, they were wrinkled and creased. I tried my best to press them flat. I laced my shoes, being careful not to pull them too tight. My mother had patched the soles for the sixth or seventh time right before I left home, and keeping them laced too tightly pulled at the already worn stitching. I put on a hat and went back downstairs.

As I reached for the front door, a hand clamped down on my shoulder.

Where’re you off to? Miss Laurie asked.

I’ve got to pick up some papers from the medical school and have them sent to my father, ma’am.

Her eyes moved over me. First impressions are important. There was still an edge to her voice, but her eyes were softer than they’d been the night before. Take your clothes off.

Confused, I clutched at my coat to keep it closed. Ma’am?

Miss Laurie raised her eyebrows and stuck out her neck. Your clothes need pressing. What? You thought my responsibilities ended with meals and room assignments?

I—no, ma’am.

Good. She held her hand out and I shrugged out of my jacket, passing it to her. I removed my shirt, and just as I was stepping out of my trousers—with Miss Laurie doing a piss-poor job of shielding me with a blanket—there was a flurry of footsteps on the rickety stairs. A group of boys came careening into the front room, laughing and talking among themselves. Jekyll trailed behind them and while the others seemed oblivious to my existence, his gaze found mine once again.

A rush of embarrassment crashed over me. I grabbed the blanket from Miss Laurie and wrapped it around my waist. But the commotion drew the attention of the other boys.

One of them cackled. Sorry! Didn’t know you were putting on a show!

They fell all over themselves as they laughed until they were out of breath. Jekyll shoved them through the kitchen doorway, then opened a closet under the stairs as Miss Laurie disappeared down the hall with my clothes. I pressed myself into the wall, wishing I could disappear, too.

Jekyll found what he was looking for—an oversize wool coat. He walked up to me and draped it around my shoulders without a single word.

He couldn’t be much older than me, but he was a little taller, a little wider at the shoulders. I avoided his gaze as he backed away and left through the front door. I pulled the coat in around me and sat in one of the hard wooden chairs by the fire. I didn’t know what I was supposed to make of the gesture, but I knew it sparked something dizzying and exciting deep in the pit of my stomach.

A half hour later, Miss Laurie returned with my freshly pressed clothing. My shirt was starched so aggressively I was sure it would retain its shape long after I’d taken it off.

I mended the collar, Miss Laurie said. Is this the only one you’ve got?

No, ma’am. I have two others.

She looked thoughtful. Somebody loves you. Most of the boys here don’t have three shirts between them. She sighed. Bring me your other clothes. I’ll see to them and then you’ll need to keep it up. People will believe in you if you have a nice set of trousers, a stiff collar, and good shoes. Keep up appearances because appearances lead to other things. After I redressed, she came close to me and adjusted my jacket. Nothing is given. Not to us. Remember that.

Yes, ma’am, I said.

On your way.

I left Miss Laurie and headed into the dull gray daylight. The narrow street was crowded with people rushing off to work. The sounds of babies crying and carriage wheels rolling along the street filled the air. Thick plumes of black smoke rose from chimneys, blotting out the sky. I wove between people and horses and carts and made my way to Cavendish Square.

CHAPTER 2

HENRY

I sat in one of the empty classrooms as I was directed to do by the receptionist. There was an entire waiting room full of plush chairs and fine wood tables, but I was asked to wait in a classroom far down the main hall. Only the oil lamps in the front half of the room were on, casting the rear of the room in deep shadow. Long tables arranged in rows filled the room; I took a seat at the one nearest the front. There was a lingering scent in the air—sour, almost chemical. Something I couldn’t quite place.

A few moments later, a short man with skin as pink as a naked mouse came in. He stared at me for several awkward moments before speaking.

You must be Gabriel, he said enthusiastically. I stood up, and he reached out and took my hand in his sweaty palm. I’m Sir Hannibal Hastings. I oversee this fine establishment. He narrowed his eyes at me and smiled. You look quite like your father. Same strong chin. He released me from his grip and immediately took out a handkerchief to wipe his hands before tucking it away again.

My father asked me to meet you, I said. He said there was some paperwork I’m to retrieve for him regarding my enrollment.

The man nodded and patted his leather briefcase. Indeed. But I am glad we’ll have a chance to get to know one another before we get to the business of paperwork. Please have a seat.

He walked to the front of the room where a giant map was plastered on the wall. I come from a long line of very distinguished men. Members of Parliament, war heroes. My father fought against Napoleon himself. He gave a long, heavy sigh and turned to me. I must confess that when your father reached out to me, I was surprised. I hadn’t heard from him in quite some time. His mother—your grandmother—was the head cook on my father’s estate.

My heart ticked up. My father had never been very open about how he knew Sir Hastings, other than to say that he had a relationship to our family that stretched back several generations. The nature of that relationship suddenly became painfully clear.

After 1833, everything changed, Sir Hastings said. But I still saw your father quite often. Your grandmother stayed on with us for nearly ten years. She was an exceptional woman.

All I could see in my mind at that moment was the image of her sunken face and wide, lifeless eyes.

Sir Hastings cleared his throat. All of this is to say that I feel some kind of affection for your father in the way one does for a beloved pet or a prized racehorse.

I bit my tongue to keep from saying anything. The taste of salty iron wetted my mouth.

He approached me with his hands clasped together in front of him. I would have you here as a student so that you may find a station as a mortuary attendant or some such position to which you’re most suited.

My father wishes for me to practice medicine.

Sir Hastings laughed until his face turned an obscene shade of crimson. Little tears collected at the corners of his eyes and frothy white spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth. He wiped his face with his hand. Under whose employ? Come now. Let us be realistic. Your—your nature is built for hauling bodies, perhaps even assisting at the autopsy table. We’re always in need of good, strong men in that way. He readjusted his coat. Of course, you will be allowed to attend and take the classes you feel are best, as long as you can keep up with the program, which is quite rigorous. But understand that when you leave here, you will only be able to seek employment at establishments that permit Negroes. I’m sorry to say that not a single one of them would ever consider you for a position of physician’s apprentice.

The anger in my belly was hot as a raging inferno. It burned through my chest, made me light-headed.

We are who we are, young Gabriel, Sir Hastings said. There is no point in denying our true nature. I wish you all the best and I will of course keep my eye on you to ensure your enrollment does not cast any sort of blight on this fine institution. He slapped me hard on the back. "You’ll be a shining star if you can make it through. A shining example of what your kind can aspire to if they simply had the