DR. JEKYLL WAS QUITE AT EASE

von Robert Louis Stevenson · 2026-04-08

Two weeks later, by sheer luck, the doctor hosted one of his enjoyable dinners for a few old friends—five or six intelligent, respectable men who knew their wine well. Mr. Utterson managed to stay behind after the others had left. This wasn’t unusual; it had happened many times before. People liked Utterson, and they appreciated his company. Hosts often wanted to keep the reserved lawyer around when the more carefree guests had already made their way to the door. They enjoyed sitting with him for a while, finding comfort in his quiet presence after the excitement and chaos of the evening.

Dr. Jekyll was no exception to this. As he sat across from the fire—a well-built, smooth-faced man in his fifties, with a hint of mischief in his eyes but also a clear sense of kindness—it was evident that he held a genuine affection for Mr. Utterson.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Jekyll,” Utterson began. “You know that will of yours?”

If someone had been paying close attention, they might have noticed that the subject made the doctor uncomfortable, but he brushed it off with a lighthearted tone. “My poor Utterson,” he said, “you’re unlucky to have such a client. I’ve never seen anyone so troubled by my will—unless it was that stubborn pedant, Lanyon, with his complaints about my scientific ideas. Oh, I know he’s a good guy—you don’t need to frown—an excellent fellow, and I always intend to see more of him. But he’s still a pedant, an ignorant, loud pedant. I’ve never been more let down by anyone than Lanyon.”

“You know I’ve never approved of it,” Utterson pressed on, ignoring the change of topic.

“My will? Yes, I know that,” the doctor replied, a bit sharply. “You’ve mentioned it before.”

“Well, I’m mentioning it again,” the lawyer continued. “I’ve been learning some things about young Hyde.”

Dr. Jekyll’s handsome face paled, and a shadow crossed his eyes. “I don’t want to hear more,” he said. “This is something I thought we’d agreed to drop.”

“What I heard was terrible,” Utterson insisted.

“It doesn’t change anything. You don’t understand my situation,” the doctor replied, his manner becoming increasingly disjointed. “I’m in a very strange position, Utterson; it’s one of those things that can’t be fixed by talking.”

“Jekyll,” Utterson said, “you know me. I’m someone you can trust. If you confide in me, I’m sure I can help you.”

“My good Utterson,” the doctor said, “that’s incredibly kind of you, and I can’t thank you enough. I believe you completely; I would trust you over anyone else, even myself, if I had the choice. But it’s not as bad as you think; it’s not like that. Just to ease your mind, I’ll tell you this: whenever I choose, I can be rid of Mr. Hyde. I promise you that. Thank you again, and let me add one more thing, Utterson: this is a private matter, and I ask you to let it be.”

Utterson paused, staring into the fire.

“I have no doubt you’re right,” he finally said, standing up.

“Well, since we’ve touched on this topic, and I hope for the last time,” the doctor continued, “there’s something I want you to understand. I have a genuine interest in poor Hyde. I know you’ve met him; he told me so, and I fear he was rude. But I truly care about that young man, and if anything happens to me, I want you to promise that you’ll look after him and ensure he gets what he deserves. I think you would if you knew everything, and it would ease my mind if you could promise.”

“I can’t pretend I’ll ever like him,” the lawyer replied.

“I’m not asking for that,” Jekyll said, placing a hand on Utterson’s arm. “I only ask for fairness; I just need you to help him for my sake when I’m no longer around.”

Utterson let out a deep sigh. “Alright,” he said, “I promise.”