The Good Doctor Is In
The cover of a suicide letter to Dr. Lanyon was the last attempt to find some normalcy in life. Escape from London was the only possibility besides death. Perhaps he could escape to some remote area; a home with miles of countryside around, or perhaps some remote island, any place where he could set up a laboratory to return to his work and find a cure for this...disease. Any place where no one would be in danger. Irony had it that he would end up at this desolate abode all due to a busted wheel. He decided to seek refuge as the driver sought to repair the problem, and looked upon the towering expanse of the mansion with some trepidation.
After ascending the weather-worn steps, he gave a solid knock upon the door before letting down his umbrella, protected by the eaves. The lack of an answer had a frown cross tired features and he turned back, reintroduced to the sight of the muddied road, yet without a soul upon it save for his baggage. Luckily it was not stolen, he thought with a mutter and went to collect the parcels that were numbed too many for a single individual.
Glass clinked and clanked heralding his arrival as he approached the door again, and tried the handle this time, only to find it open easily. "Hello...?" Slipping inside, drenched to the bones, he closed the door behind him with a nudge of heel. The presence of others -- especially the studious bird -- had him pause abruptly before moving closer to the inviting warmth of the fire, juggling cases and introducing himself politely as he went.
"Evening. I am Dr. Henry Jekyll. I...suppose I...we...shall be staying here for a time; my assistant and I. At least until the weather permits further travel." Clearing his throat he smiled uncomfortably, ignoring the nagging itch at the back of his mind, as if someone was looking over his shoulder in disapproval. "It is a pleasure to meet you all."