Welcome to my newest story, Doctor Blake and Mr Hyde. Regular readers will know that I'm a Bethyl shipper, but that I also love Philip Blake/Brian Heriot. He just about took over in They Seek Him Here (and got in a kiss before Daryl, the wicked man) so I thought it was about time he had his own story.

The stark difference between Philip and Brian is what gave me the idea for this story: what if the Philip and Brian personas were switching back and forth, uncontrollably, one good but troubled, the other psychopathic and hungry for power?

It's based on one of my favourite Victorian novels, The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. Not read it? Doesn't matter: it's the story of a man who creates an alter ego for himself so he can indulge his vices unchecked.

But I was never satisfied with why Doctor Jekyll wanted to liberate his dark side in the first place, or the way the story unfolds, so this fic will be a very loose interpretation of Stevenson's story that I'll take in my own direction. And I'm going to have to work pretty hard to make the Governor worthy of Beth, right?

Massive thanks to Nine Bright Shiners, who has helped me develop this story from its inception and is a terrible (wonderful) Philip/Brian/David Morrissey-enabler.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please leave me a comment and follow the story if you like it so I know whether it's worth continuing :)

...

There was a thick fog in London that night, and Beth sat close to the carriage window as it made its slow progress through the chilly streets of South Clerkenwell. The gas lamps cast eerie globes of light in the vapour and pedestrians appeared and disappeared outside the carriage window like ghosts.

She was on her way to the home of a man she was too young to remember meeting, whose character had been only crudely sketched by her father: Doctor Philip Blake; physician and scientist; gentleman. He'd once been a student and then a colleague of Doctor Hershel Greene's, and a professional correspondent of his since Doctor Greene and Beth had moved to Hampshire when Beth was six years old.

Now Hershel Greene had been called away to the continent, and he needed to find a respectable home for his daughter to reside in until his return. Beth would have been far happier with one of the ladies in the village, but her father had scoffed at that. They were his patients, not his friends. So instead she'd been sent to London, to reside with the only sort of friend her father had: another doctor.

Beth sighed and looked out the window once more. And then she started. There was a man walking beside the carriage, his long legs easily keeping pace with their trundling speed. He wore a top hat and the clothing of a gentleman. She couldn't see his eyes in the darkness but his head was turned toward hers and there was a fixed, sinister grin on his face, his lips pulled thin and his teeth showing. As she stared at him he mouthed three words.

Let me in.

Beth started back from the window in fear. She was about to knock on the roof and call out to the driver to stop, but then she checked herself. Perhaps she was being hysterical. The man might only be trying to amuse himself on a dull evening by frightening a young lady. She leaned forward to look out the window again –

The door opened, and in sprang the man. He clamped a hand over her mouth, secured the carriage door behind him, and pulled Beth close against his side. She struggled, but he was a large man and very strong.

Even though she couldn't scream she was making as much noise as she could in the back of her throat. Until he reached down into his boot and pulled out a knife. He showed it to her, turning it in his hand so the blade caught the meagre light. It was wickedly pointed at the tip and he pressed it into her side. It was sharp enough that it could slip between the whalebones of her corset and through the layers of silk and cotton she wore.

He gave her a warning prick with the point of the knife and then removed his hand from her mouth. His meaning was clear: scream even once, and you won't live to scream again.

'My how you've grown,' he said in a low voice, his lips close to her ear.

'Do you know me, sir?' she whispered. She didn't know him. She still couldn't see his face properly but she could see his mouth and the shape of his jaw out of the corner of her eye, and it was unfamiliar.

'What man wouldn't know an angel like yourself?' And he laughed softly. 'You have visited each of us in our dreams. Where is it you are travelling tonight, all alone?'

Beth's heart was pounding but she kept her head. 'Please, what is it that you want? There are some coins in my reticule, but I don't have much.'

'You don't?' he asked, mock concerned. 'That won't do. What else do you have?'

'Nothing, sir. I have nothing.'

He twisted the knife, and the point nicked her side. She winced.

'Tis a pity,' he said. 'I suppose I must be on my way, then.' She heard the smile in his voice as he said, 'But I must have something to remember you by.' He looked her over, and then grasped one of her hands in his large one. He held her pinkie finger against the blade of the knife, even that slight pressure drawing blood. 'A finger, perhaps?'

Beth struggled in his arms. 'Please, sir, I beg of you –'

He gave a low chuckle, his cheek pressed against hers. 'I wouldn't, sweet angel.' But he didn't move his knife and together they watched as her blood trickled along the blade.

'A kiss, then,' he whispered.

Beth's mouth opened and she felt her cheeks flame.

'What's this?' he asked, pulling back and smiling with cruel delight. 'Blushes? Is the maiden so innocent?'

'Sir, I am unmarried,' Beth said, still staring at the knife, not daring to refuse him outright while he held her finger so against the blade.

'That matters little, in my experience. But I am not without feeling. This time I will be content with a chaste lover's gift. A ribbon, perhaps, or a …' His eyes roved over the lace on her bodice, the small gold earrings in her earlobes, her cascade of curls. 'Ah,' he breathed. 'A lock of your hair.' He finally let go of her finger and, quicksilver fast, separated a curl from the rest and sliced it free. He shoved the knife in his boot and wound the curl round his finger. Blood from the knife glistened among the golden strands.

'Next time it will be a kiss, I promise,' he said. He tipped the finger wrapped in the curl to his hat. Then he opened the carriage door, jumped lightly out, and disappeared into the fog.

He was gone as quickly as he'd appeared. The entire incident couldn't have lasted more than two minutes. Beth sat back against the upholstery, her heart pounding. Tears threatened to collect on her lashes but she breathed in sharply and tilted her head back, refusing to let them fall. It was an ordeal precipitated by the fog, the slowness of the carriage and the necessity of travelling alone, conditions she would never allow to arise again. As she'd always been told, London was a dangerous place. Her father himself had told her as much, and yet he'd been the reason she'd been abroad this night.

Daddy, how could you let this happen? How could you leave me alone like this?

But tears threatened again when she thought about her father, far away across the continent by now. No matter what that hateful man had said, Beth would take precautions, and there wouldn't be a next time.

Not twenty seconds after the sinister man had left the carriage the driver called the horses to a halt. He clambered down and opened the carriage door.

'Fifty-two Clerkenwell Street, miss. Can I help you down?'

…

Doctor Philip Blake awoke with a throbbing head and a groggy feeling that told him the worst had happened again, before he'd even opened his eyes. How long had it been since his last transformation? Two weeks, he thought. There was no pattern to this madness. Sometimes it happened every night for a week. At other times he had peace for a month of days together.

He opened his eyes and looked up at the velvet canopy overhead, trying to remember what he'd done. As always, there was nothing but blackness; blacker than the dark of dreamless sleep. But unlike sleep, which brought only refreshment, this blackness was cloying and sinister, for he knew that the other part of his psyche had taken over the reins of consciousness and walked in his skin.

Blake got out of bed and took stock of his person. As Hyde, he seemed to have undressed before he'd got into bed and his clothes were in an untidy pile on the floor. There were no unexplained cuts or bruises on his body. No whore's perfume on his chest. No muddied feet. With luck Mr Hyde had spent an uneventful night. He'd be able to allay his fears further once he'd read the morning paper.

He drank a draft of water from the ewer, splashed water over his face and put on fresh undergarments and a linen shirt. Yesterday's trousers, waistcoat and jacket would do. He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. He couldn't face shaving, and he wouldn't be going out anyway. He didn't like to leave the house after a night spent as Hyde. A superstitious habit, as if he could hide from the things he'd done.

When he went downstairs there was a blonde girl sitting at his dining table, eating breakfast. His reaction was gruff and immediate. 'Who the devil are you?'

She looked up, startled, and he saw that she was a young woman, not a girl. She was also exceedingly pretty with clear blue eyes and porcelain skin. She stood, her expression a little timid in the face of his unfriendly greeting.

'Doctor Blake? Your housekeeper admitted me last night when you were out. I am Miss Beth Greene, Doctor Greene's daughter.' She gave him an uncertain half-smile. 'I believe you were expecting me.'

Greene? Of course, Hershel Greene's daughter. Was it yesterday she was coming? He'd lost track of the days. And he hadn't been expecting a young woman of eighteen or so years. In his mind Doctor Greene's daughter was still a child. How she'd grown.

Damn Greene and his letter that had come too late to allow a refusal. When it had reached him Blake noted from the dates that Doctor Greene had already sailed and the girl was on her way. He didn't want the girl in his house.

He could feel himself scowling but hadn't the energy or presence of mind to do anything about it. 'Yes. Well. How do you do.'

And he turned abruptly to the sideboard to serve himself some breakfast.

…

Beth drank her tea in silence and covertly watched Doctor Blake read The Times. He seemed in no mood for conversation, and read in a rather agitated manner. He scanned the first page of the newspaper while holding his breath, and then the subsequent two. Then he seemed to relax. He put the paper down, spread marmalade on a piece of toast, took a large bite and then settled back to read in the more usual, leisurely manner.

What a strange man, Beth thought. Outwardly he was not peculiar. He was in his prime, the age at which a gentleman usually takes a wife; but Beth knew that there was no wife. He was tall and robust, and had one leg crossed over the other as he lounged in his chair. His hair was thick and brown, neatly styled, and he wore a plain, dark suit, white shirt and plainly tied neck-cloth. The only signs that all was not as it should be in Doctor Blake's life were that his face was lined with exhaustion, and there was dark stubble, slightly salted, on his chin.

Beth wondered what had happened the previous night to make him forget the arrival of his house-guest and keep him up so late.

She preferred to study Doctor Blake rather than think about the incident in the carriage, which set her heart thumping painfully whenever it intruded on her mind.

…

Blake finished his breakfast and retired to the library, taking curt leave of the girl.

He stood by the window and looked out onto the street. There'd been nothing untoward in the morning paper. No murders. No attacks or thievery. No police had come knocking on his door. He felt himself begin to relax. Perhaps he would go out after all. What hour was it? He felt in his pocket for his pocket watch but his fingers touched something else. Something soft.

He pulled it out. It was a lock of blonde hair, curled into a circlet. Dark, rusty blood was visible among the strands.

…

Please do comment and let me know what you think of Doctor Blake and Mr Hyde so far and if you're keen to see more!