It’s very easy to overlook this moment in Stevenson’s Gothic classic.

Utterson and Poole have finally discovered the truth about Dr Jekyll. The evidence is there, the mystery is all but solved, and the consequences of Jekyll’s actions are becoming increasingly difficult to avoid.

But Utterson’s chief concern isn’t for justice, or even the truth.

What interests him most is the preservation of his friend’s reputation.

We may at least save his credit.

It’s worth pausing over that last word. Credit. Jekyll is a respected physician, a gentleman of considerable standing, a do-er of ‘good deeds’, and a member of the very society which is now being asked to confront his crimes. And Utterson, despite everything he has discovered, is still anxious to protect that standing.

Meanwhile, Sir Danvers Carew, MP, is dead.

This aspect of The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde is one of the most interesting for me. The novel is, quite rightly, read as an exploration of the divided self, of the darker impulses which might lurk beneath an outwardly respectable exterior. But I think Stevenson is also asking some rather uncomfortable questions about the society which surrounds Jekyll.

Who and what is the law really for? And what happens when one of its own breaks it?

There’s a huge distinction, after all, between the way society treats those who are perceived as outsiders and the way it responds when one of its most respectable members is discovered to have transgressed. Hyde is pursued and condemned; Jekyll’s reputation is something to be preserved. The two are, of course, the same person.

As I mentioned recently when talking about Bram Stoker, I was exploring some of these arguments an undergraduate essay comparing Jekyll and Hyde with Stoker’s Dracula. In both novels, questions of law, authority and moral responsibility are more complicated than they might initially appear. Than perhaps they should be. In Stoker’s novel, the ‘Crew of Light’ assume the authority to act outside the law because they believe their cause justifies it. In Stevenson’s, the respectable gentlemen become reluctant to apply the law when doing so might damage one of their own.

In my essay, I called them ‘The Conspiracy of Silence‘. Respectable people covering up for the crimes of someone they consider one of their own.

Perhaps the more disturbing question isn’t simply what happens when respectable people behave monstrously, but what happens when the people around them decide that preserving their respectability matters more than holding them accountable.

After all, people like us don’t do things like that.

Do they?