This is a story I began years ago when I was 14 or 15. I wanted to delve deeper into the character of Emma, and so this journal begins the day of her mother's funeral and before she has met Henry Jekyll. I want to show her growing up and realizing her feelings. In the future, I may come back to these entries and flesh them out a bit more.

Obviously this is based heavily on the musical by Frank Wildhorn. Original story belongs to Robert Louis Stevenson.

I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to leave me your critique.

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Date: 6th November, 1882

My name is Emma Carew.

This diary was a gift, although had the events of this day not occurred, I would not have received it. It was a present in the hopes that it might lighten my spirits. You see, today was my mother's funeral. She had been very ill for some time and finally passed away two days ago. She was only thirty-seven years of age and a very lovely, kindhearted lady. I know she will be missed by many, especially by myself and by Father.

When we arrived back at our house after the funeral service at the church, people were offering us their condolences; some had brought me gifts, as if somehow that could take away the pain and sadness I felt. However, I thanked them rather prettily for their kindness and consideration.

I knew everyone who was there except for the very person who gave me this diary, and I didn't get to meet him either. My father knows him quite well however; the man's father has been a patient at St. Jude's Hospital where my father, Sir Danvers Carew, is on the board of governors. His father has some sort of mental illness and won't say a word to anyone. Father says he wraps himself heavily in blankets and silence.

The man, the giver of this diary, I mean, is a doctor and also a scientist who does testing for the hospital. Well, rather he is an assistant in the laboratory, but he's made a good reputation for himself. His name is Dr. Henry Jekyll. Such an unusual last name, is it not? I think I should have liked to meet him. Father says he's a pleasant young man, and Mother once told me he was rather good looking too. He also has a brilliant mind, and it is said he is always dreaming of ways to improve life around the world.

He was at the funeral, and at the party, for lack of a better word, as well, but he did not approach me with the gift as did the others. Instead, he left it on a side table in the front hall and then disappeared. Father says Dr. Jekyll left a note, apologizing and saying that he would have given the diary to me himself, but he had suddenly thought of some rare drug that would help him develop some new medicine or something of the sort. So that's how Father knew who the gift was from.

But I digress. As I said before, this diary was given to me in the hopes that it might lighten my spirits. But I would rather not have this diary given to me for the reason it was if only my mother could still be alive. In fact, for a few childish minutes, I was reluctant to even let my pen touch the pages as though by accepting this diary I would truly ensure that my mother would never come back.

But this is not a contract from the Devil; it's a diary given to me by a man of great kindness. He has given me a place to reveal my innermost thoughts and feelings, whatever they might be. Even if he had not given me this book I would still want to meet him. I have for a very long time, but it seems he is never available for dinner or some such arrangement; or when he is not preoccupied, we are. But I feel I shall meet him soon. You see, inside the covers of this diary, aside from blank pages, was a letter from Dr. Jekyll. I shall paste it here:

To Miss Emma Carew,

We have never met before, but still I wish to offer you my deepest sympathies towards the passing of your mother. I, too, know how it feels to lose someone so dear to you. I hope that this diary will help you overcome this time of grief. I truly know that one can never be rid of the pain of loss, but perhaps it will help you live with it and continue on with your life, so full of prospect, I am certain.

Also, I do believe that I must arrange a meeting with your father about a new method of treatment. Perhaps afterwards we will be able to have a proper introduction. I look forward to it.

Sincerely,

Dr. Henry Jekyll

P.S. I am adding this to apologize for not being able to present this diary to you personally. I have just thought of a rare drug that could bring about the cure for a patient with a serious terminal illness. I must leave early in order to obtain it before the store closes. Too many times I've jumped about screaming outside for them to open for just a short while. Again, my apologies.

There is his letter. Even though I do not know what he looks like, I can picture a young man dressed for a funeral hopping about in front of the chemist's shop, shouting to be let in. And in the cold night air, no less! The thought makes me laugh, which I was certain I could never do again. But now it is late, and I should be getting to bed. This has certainly been a long entry. But in truth, it has made me feel a little better. Dr. Jekyll has given me the cure to becoming my old cheerful self again. I think I shall write him a letter saying how he has helped me.

Date: 10th November, 1882

My letter is on its way. It goes something like this:

To Dr. Jekyll,

I wish to thank you for the wonderful diary you gave me. It is a much more thoughtful gift than the ten handkerchiefs I received from various people. Although I know it was kind of them to bring me something, having that many handkerchiefs about my person might give the impression that I am one of those people who has to blow their nose every ten minutes, which I am not, I might add.

In any case, that's beside the point. Writing in the diary has already helped me to feel better. You are very clever when it comes to finding cures, even for a young lady who has lost her mother. I also found your comment about jumping outside the chemist's shop most humorous. You seem to know the perfect words to say to anyone in any situation. I, too, look forward to our meeting.

Sincerely,

Emma Carew

Just after it was posted, my words suddenly seemed very childish and unimpressive. I am fourteen and feeling as though I should seem less like a child and more like a young lady. My father has been treating me as though I were much younger since Mother died. He asks if I want a new doll, or something special for dinner, or if I want him to read me a bedtime story. I have not played with dolls for two years now and the last bedtime story I heard was the one I read to Mother, to soothe her nerves, the night before she died.

I know he is terribly upset, but I wish that he would treat me like the young lady I am. I really feel that I am being quite mature about all this.

And now for some exciting news: Dr. Jekyll is coming to meet with Father in two days. I shall finally be able to meet him!

Date: 12th November, 1882

I am so angry with my governess this evening. I hope for her sake she does not enter my room, for if she does I am ready to throw my brush at her!

Here is how I came to be so angry:

Today was the day Dr. Jekyll was meeting with Father, and I was promised that when their business was settled Father would call for me and then I would be introduced to the young doctor. After the introductions were made we would have tea together.

I was so very excited; I could hardly sleep last night! However, about fifteen minutes before he was due to arrive, my governess insisted we go for our daily walk right then. I was slightly annoyed, but she said we would walk while they discussed their business and be back in time for me to put on my nice dress and join them for tea. So we went for our walk through the park, which was quite lovely, and returned to the house an hour later. I went upstairs and freshened up; then sat in my chair waiting to be called down.

Two hours later, I was called down to supper. I had first thought that they'd had a curiously long meeting. But when I arrived at the table, only my father was waiting for me. He asked very concernedly how I was feeling, to which I replied that I felt perfectly fine. I then asked where Dr. Jekyll was and was given the answer that he had gone home an hour ago!

Well, you can imagine that I was quite surprised. When I asked why, Father said that my governess had told him when I had gone upstairs that I had been feeling ill and was going to take a nap.

I was astonished, and more than a little angry. Why would she lie to my father? Did she not want me to meet Dr. Jekyll? I shall find out.

Date: 15th November, 1882

It has taken me several days, but I have found the answer. My governess, it seems, is a relative of Mrs. Stride, who is the mother of Simon Stride. I do believe I heard from one of the maids that the Strides want for me and Simon to marry! I suppose they thought that my father wanted me to meet Dr. Jekyll as a potential husband. So they had my governess lie to my father, saying I was unwell so I would not be called down.

Dr. Jekyll sent me a note, which would appear to be a get-well card, but inside he wrote how he had suspected that I was perfectly fine as he had seen two females walking along the street and up the walk to our house, although he had not seen our faces clearly. But, of course, who else could it have been? And also, he said that when my governess reported to Father of my illness, she had been blinking very frequently and never looking directly at my father but at the floor or out the window.

He then proceeded to write of the dinner party my father was to have in a few days, and that he would see me then. I would rather meet him privately, but I suppose a meeting is better than none at all.

A thought has just occurred to me: has my father been looking for a husband for me? I hope not. The thought frightens me. I have heard stories of arranged marriages where the groom is at least ten years older than the bride. Most of those men take wives for their pleasure and entertainment. I do not want to be one of those brides. I want to marry a man who loves and respects me, like my mother did. She was quite lucky; I hope I will be too.

Date: 16th November, 1882

I don't have much time to write today; I just wanted to note that my governess has been dismissed and Father is going to find a new one. I hope she is kind and not planning to prevent things from happening in my life.

Date: 22nd November, 1882

After three days of Father meeting with women applying for the job and talking with them, I finally have a new governess. Her name is Annette Baxter. She is very pretty and kind. She speaks very softly and gently and her words are always delicately chosen. She has beautiful dark brown hair and although she keeps it neatly tucked into a bun during the day, at night it comes tumbling down in ringlets to the middle of her back. She has lovely green eyes. I wish I had her eyes; mine are blue. Plain boring blue. She thinks I'm pretty though; she told me that as she brushed my hair before I went to bed.

Miss Baxter also thinks it's wonderful that I keep a diary. She says it shows intelligence. I told her how I received it as a gift from Dr. Jekyll and then continued on to express how much I want to meet him. She agrees with me that he sounds very charming. Now she wants to meet him as well!

Only five more days until the dinner party. Miss Baxter is going to help me prepare for it.

Date: 23rd November, 1882

Miss Baxter says I may call her Annette. Four more days until the dinner party.

Date: 28th November, 1882

Is there some unknown force trying to prevent me from meeting Dr. Jekyll? Or maybe it's known to me, but I must discover which force it is. Or maybe I just have bad luck, although I don't really believe in luck.

I am so angry over the events of last night. Here is what happened:

Annette and I had spent the morning shopping for any last minute items that were needed. We arrived home, ate lunch, and then went upstairs to bathe. While in our dressing robes, Annette fixed my hair and then I brushed through hers. After our hair was done, the maids helped us into our dresses; mine was royal blue and Annette's was emerald green. Annette wore a gold chain about her neck, and Father had allowed me to wear Mother's pearl necklace.

When we had come downstairs, Father, in his very handsome suit, told us how lovely we were. Then the guests began to arrive, and it was very hard to contain my excitement. Every time a young man walked in, my heart began to pound wildly. But it would either turn out that he was accompanied by a young lady or not handsome.

The Strides arrived, and instantly Simon was pushed in my direction by his mother, nosy old woman that she is. Simon is eight years older than me, with dark sandy hair, pinched cheeks and the beginnings of a mustache. Even though he is so old, his mother still bosses him around. When I was younger, I thought him handsome and fancied him. It didn't last long, however; he may have been good looking but he is very loud when it comes to expressing his opinions and he does so in an obnoxious manner. I do not like Simon and have no intention of marrying him, so I was annoyed that he was keeping me from watching people arrive.

I still tried to be polite, of course. He told me how lovely I looked and asked of my well-being. This continued on for awhile, easily the most tedious conversation in my life, until Annette saw me yawning quite obviously and pulled me away from Simon, apologizing for stealing me away. Honestly, I could not thank her enough!

As it turned out Lady Beaconsfield, who is on the board of governors with my father, had requested to hear me play the piano. Annette and I played a duet we had been practicing for the last few days. As the guests gathered around the piano, I found my eyes wandering over their faces, looking for that handsome face of Dr. Jekyll's. Somehow I felt I would know him the instant I saw him. But Annette's elbow bumped mine and I had to focus on the keys once more, lest I should ruin the piece.

After we had received applause and praise for our musical talents, Father announced that our dinner was ready and that we should all gather into the dining room. As I passed through the doorway, I noticed Mrs. Stride motioning for me to join her, but Annette tugged me along by my elbow to our seats near the head of the table, where Father sat. I was very grateful for the assigned seating.

Our cook had outdone himself; the meal was lovely. But I could hardly concentrate on the delicious taste of the roast; I was puzzled. Dr. Jekyll had assured me we would meet tonight. So why had Father not introduced us? Or why had the doctor not approached me? Again, I found myself shamelessly casting glances around the table, searching once more for the face I did not know. Instead I met Simon's gaze; he was staring at me quite intently, and quite rudely, I thought. At once, I snapped my eyes back to my plate.

After dessert, we were ushered back out to the main hall and the parlor. Annette and I had one more piece to perform. I would sing, and she would accompany me on the piano, joining her voice with mine at the chorus. As everyone began to gather once more, I felt a lump forming in my throat. Performing at my father's dinner parties had never made me nervous before, but now I was shaking. All I could think was, "What will Dr. Jekyll think? Will he like my singing? Will he think I'm awful?"

Annette began the introduction and I had no choice but to open my mouth. I guess my nerves must not have shown, because my voice escaped my mouth without so much as a quiver. The guests smiled approvingly. It has long been passed around my father's social circle that I had inherited my mother's musical abilities.

The song seemed to go on forever, but at last, our soprano notes faded and the piano struck the final chord. The guests were even more exuberant with their praise this time, approaching me in turn and congratulating me on this triumph.

"Ah, my dear," said Mrs. Stride, seizing my hand with hers, "that was simply divine. I always wished my daughter would show the slightest hint of musical talent, but the girl is a dry well, I'm afraid. I can only hope that my son will one day marry a woman with your abilities." She gave me a pointed smile and then sauntered over to my father, telling him the exact same thing. Subtle!

Suddenly there came a loud knock at the door. Our butler, Rivers, answered, and returned a moment later with someone behind him. "Dr. Jekyll has arrived, Sir Danvers," he said grandly. My heart pounded wildly and I craned my neck to see the man behind Rivers.

Suddenly there came a loud gasp from Annette, followed by the sound of shattered glass. I felt cold suddenly, and soon realized why; someone had bumped Annette, and her wine glass had flung from her hand, spilled its contents on my new dress, and crashed to the floor. "Oh, Emma, I am so sorry!" she said, her hand flying to her mouth.

Mrs. Frost, our housekeeper, came over knowingly with some napkins, blotting the wet stains upon my sleeves. "You must hurry upstairs, my dear, and change out of that damp dress," she said, and took me by the elbow and led me out of the parlor and to the kitchen, where we climbed the back staircase and entered my room. The wine had not only dampened my gown, but landed in my hair as well, so I smelled strongly of alcohol. Mrs. Frost insisted that I bathe again, because it was unreasonable for a young lady to stink of the bottle, as she said.

As she lathered my hair and scrubbed my scalp raw, I could feel the anger churning in my stomach. I knew it was not Annette's fault, but I was so furious at being denied the chance once again to meet Henry Jekyll.

Finally, I was dubbed suitably cleaned and allowed to put on my undergarments. As Mrs. Frost combed through my hair, she assured me over and over that she would get my gown clean as new again. I was about to put on a fresh gown when Mrs. Frost said, "Oh, no, my dear, it is time you went to bed."

I was stunned. I had expected to return to the party once I had freshened up. "But it's not even late," I protested.

"You've had enough excitement for one night; now into bed with you," she said. She approached me with my nightgown, meaning to slip it on over my head, but I dodged her. "Miss Emma, don't be unreasonable."

"I am going back down to the party!" I cried. "I was promised I would meet the doctor!"

"You'll meet him some other day," she said, as if to soothe me.

"Mrs. Frost, I will go to bed when my father tells me I must. But until he does, I am returning to that party," I told her, drawing myself up.

With a heavy sigh, she replaced the nightgown upon the bed. "As you wish," she said, and was about to leave the room when Annette entered.

"Oh, Emma, I am so very sorry about your dress! Whoever it was bumped me so hard I almost lost my balance!" she said. "But other than that, it was a splendid affair."

"What gown should I put on, Annette?" I asked her.

Her forehead creased. "What for? The party is over," she said. Mrs. Frost took one look at me and left the room, shutting the door behind her with a gentle click.

"What?" I cried.

"Oh, Emma, I'm so sorry. I know you wanted to meet him so very much, and he did apologize quite profoundly that he was so late in arriving…" She trailed off.

"You met him?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. Your father was right; he is such a charming young man, and so handsome too!" she said, smiling at the thought. "And, oh, the brilliant things he has to say!"

My head became a blurring of thoughts. Father had promised me I would meet the doctor over and over again, and over and over again, circumstances arose that prevented our meeting. And yet, here stood Annette, whom I had thought my friend, who had now started telling me the details of their conversation!

I sank onto my bed, which caused Annette to cease her chatter. "Emma, are you unwell?" she asked with genuine concern.

"I feel ill. I should rest now," I lied.

"Oh, of course. Sleep well, and I will see you in the morning," she said, leaving the room in the same fashion as Mrs. Frost.

Once she had gone, I cried myself to sleep. All I could think was Mother would never let this happen.

But now, I have grown tired recounting what has happened. It makes me angry and sad all over again.