The Doppelgänger

by Pip Murphy

When you come from nothing, you appreciate what you have more. Or at least, that’s what I believe. If you’ve always had everything you want then a comfortable living, a bustling social calendar, fine food and drink, well, these things don’t hold any special significance for you. They’re just there. Accepted. Your life.

‘Have you ever heard the term doppelgänger?’

Startled, the glass of port I had been swirling during my ruminations nearly slipped from my fingers. I reasserted my grip just in time to save the glass itself, but a few dark drops escaped to splash upon the polished mahogany of the occasional table.

The man who had jolted me out of my pseudo-philosophical musings leapt forth to wipe up the droplets with his monogrammed handkerchief.

‘Sorry, old boy,’ he said, his bemused smile belying his apology. ‘I thought you’d heard me come in.’

‘No. No, I confess I did not.’ I forced a tweak of my lips in return, and watched as the man — Harold Timbers, an affable face familiar to anyone who frequented Black’s Club — settled himself into the armchair next to mine.

He reached for the port bottle and refilled my glass before pouring himself his usual generous measure. Leaning back, he gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Ahh, that’s the stuff. Now, where was I? Oh yes, doppelgängers.’

Despite my best efforts, I gave a sudden shiver, and my companion glanced immediately and accusingly towards the fireplace. The embers were still glowing but it was a weak, futile effort to battle the late autumnal chill.

‘I say, what are the staff thinking, allowing the fire to go out like that? They can’t have added any coal for hours.’

‘They were probably imagining that I might quit my post and go home before the need arose,’ I said wryly. The hour was late, the members still about were few, and for my part I did not think it was an unreasonable assumption.

I wondered if it was indeed time for me to take my leave, to escape the cold and, yes, Timbers’s question, but some morbid, stubborn aspect of myself kept me fixed to my seat. Or perhaps it was simply a desire not to be alone, to see myself reflected in another’s eyes.

‘Dash it all!’ exclaimed Timbers. ‘What do our members’ fees go on, if they’re too miserly to stump up for a few miserable pieces of coal. Who’s going to pay their wages if you expire from the cold? Porter!’ The last word was roared in a voice so loud that my already frayed nerves quivered afresh. ‘More coal for the fire!’

As the porter hurried to obey, with a fluttering of apologies, Timbers settled back once more into his chair. He opened his mouth, and I knew that I could not avoid his question any longer. Before he could utter that loathsome word once again, I hastily put in, ‘I might have heard it before. It is German, is it not?’

Timbers nodded. ‘Quite right, old boy. A doppelgänger is a double, a fetch, a spirit or some such that has the exact same appearance as a flesh and blood man.’

‘I see.’

Not wanting to meet his eye, I looked instead into the rekindled fire, watching the flames dancing with renewed hope and strength. My hands I kept low, the better to hide the tremble in them.

‘Well, what would you say, old boy, if I were to tell you that on the way here, barely a dozen yards away from this establishment, I passed your very own doppelgänger?’

I froze. I longed to speak, to laugh off his claim, but I knew that my voice would betray me at once. But of course, my silence itself was a Judas. I stole a quick glance in Timbers’s direction, and saw him observing me with no trace of his usual ebullience. Instead, his face was as grave as I — and possibly anyone — had ever seen it.

‘You don’t seem surprised, old boy,’ he said, his tone a mixture of compassion and curiosity.

‘I …’ I swallowed. ‘I am not … not completely astonished to hear you say such a thing.’

‘Indeed?’

I hesitated. ‘This is not the first time in the last few months that one or other of my friends and acquaintances has told me of seeing my double.’ I managed a feeble smile. ‘As a matter of fact, perhaps I should congratulate you on holding out so long. If it is not too troublesome for you to recount it, would you mind telling me the place and the manner in which you saw this man who resembled me so closely?’

‘Of course,’ he said, still in the same sympathetic tone of voice. ‘But there is nothing much to relate, I fear. I merely encountered him on the street as I was on my way here. And yet …’ He shook his head as if to clear it, then continued. ‘The night is chill and inky, and by chance there were few people around, so the sound of approaching footsteps carried clearly in the still air. We both neared the glow of the streetlight at the same time, from opposite directions, and in the brightness I saw his face clearly.

‘In fact, I say his face, but at the time there was no question in my mind that it was you I was looking at, and I hailed him as such. He did not respond, but stared at me — no, through me — with the queerest look in his eyes. I admit, it quite unsettled me. My own steps faltered, then stopped, and the night’s cold pierced through me. Time seemed to shift and expand. As I shivered, rooted to the spot, I suddenly realised that he had already passed me, and when I looked round he had gone, swallowed up by the night.

‘Coming to my senses, I am ashamed to admit that I damned you for your rudeness and hurried on here, a complaint already forming on my tongue. Upon meeting Harris at the entrance, I loosed the complaint with full force, only to have him tell me that he’d left you by the fire not two minutes prior.’

He looked at me soberly. ‘When I told him of my intention to apologise to you for thinking so ill of you, he told me that I shouldn’t trouble you with the story. I had assumed he was simply recommending that I keep my idiocy to myself, but I realise now that I had misunderstood his meaning entirely.’

‘Harris is a good chap and well-intentioned.’ I glanced towards the door. ‘But all the same, I think it is better to know. Thank you for telling me.’

‘You’re made of sterner stuff than me, old boy. He left me quite unnerved and he wasn’t even my double.’ Shaking his head, Timbers stretched out his hand to the port bottle and made to pour me another glass, but I declined. Best that my mind was clear, if nervy.

‘The frequency of his appearances seem to have been increasing of late,’ I said. ‘Or at least, the frequency with which they are being reported to me has increased.’

An awkward chuckle escaped Timbers’s throat. ‘Ah, well, that might be due more to your own humour, old boy.’ He grimaced. ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, you weren’t the most approachable of fellows when I first met you. Until earlier this year I had barely exchanged more than a handful of words with you, and even those I had regretted.’

‘Was I really so awful as that?’ It was rare for someone to complain to me so directly, even when in their cups.

‘I’ll say. Never less than irritable, and often downright unpleasant. Fentiman used to say you thought yourself too good for the rest of us. You’d barely acknowledge anyone of lower rank than yourself, and if you did it would be with a sneer.’ He took a swig of his port, then regarded me contemplatively over the table. ‘You know, you’ve really mellowed over these last few months. I would never have dreamed of approaching you like this a year ago, no matter how many of your doppelgängers I’d chanced across. In fact, as hostile as that double was, he might have seemed like an improvement!’

It was hard not to wince at this assessment. ‘Not such a gentleman,’ I murmured, avoiding his gaze. I looked into the fire again, watching the ever-dancing, ever-changing flames. Could people truly change? Certainly not as easily, as effortlessly as that. I wondered what I should say. Finally I managed, ‘I am sorry you had to put up with such detestable behaviour for so long.’

Timbers waved his free hand. ‘No, no, old boy. What’s done is done and what’s past is past. And what’s present is present, for that matter. I think there are more pressing concerns now, eh? What—’

‘I say!’ An inappropriately energetic exclamation burst forth from the doorway. ‘How the blazes did you manage that?’

By some miracle, I had just set my glass down on the table, but Timbers was not so lucky. It was his turn to jettison his drink, and unfortunately for him his glass was — or rather had been — fairly full. He let forth a groan, looking in consternation at the stain rapidly spreading across his tweed jacket.

‘Oh, sorry, Timbers,’ said Fentiman, barely throwing a glance in my companion’s direction before turning back to me. ‘But really, dash it all, how did you do it?’

‘How did I do what?’ I asked, confused.

‘Move like that, that’s what! One moment I was talking to you outside, then the next you’re in here ahead of me. It’s like you bally well jumped through the walls or some such! Really, you must tell me your trick.’

Timbers froze, his handkerchief dangling forgotten from his fingers. We both stared at Fentiman in horror, in no doubt as to the source of his confusion. I wanted to question him, to find out how near my other was, but my words failed me.

It was Timbers who choked out hoarsely, ‘Where was he, when you saw him first?’

Bemused by our reactions, Fentiman said, ‘Why, he was loitering near the entrance, under the shadow of the eaves. Honestly, when he loomed out of the darkness at me like that, face all contorted in rage, well, I thought my time was up! “Take it!” I cried. “Take my wallet, my pocket watch, the clothes off my back if you like, just spare me my wretched life!”’ He grinned as he related this, stepping back and dramatically clutching one hand to his chest in an overblown mime of terror.

‘And?’ demanded Timbers, in no mood for the man’s theatrics. ‘What did he do? What did he say?’

Delighted at his unusually receptive audience, Fentiman drew himself up into a villainous pose. ‘“See if he’s in there,” said he, in the gruffest of gruff voices, jerking his thumb towards the club. “See if he’s in there, and if he is, tell him to come out.”’ Switching back to a trembling falsetto, he continued, ‘“Who, sir? Who is it I am to look for?” Then he stepped forth, into the streetlight, and I saw his face clearly for the first time. ‘“Me,” he said, in a voice that made my blood run cold. “It is I you must fetch.”’ He glanced in my direction and gave a self-deprecating chortle. ‘So like the meek little lamb I am, I fled into the reassuring glow of the club, only to find you sitting here comfortably, as inoffensive as anything.’ He made to pull up a seat. ‘And now you must do me the honour of telling me how you managed it, because it was a dashed good trick. You really had me going.’

As if his counterweight, as he lowered himself into his chair, I myself shot to my feet, so quickly I almost overbalanced and had to reach out a hand to steady myself.

‘Old boy, you can’t be thinking of—’ began Timbers in alarm.

‘I’m sorry,’ I murmured, although whether my words were at all distinguishable I could not have said. ‘I must go.’

‘Don’t be like that,’ protested Fentiman, but Timbers cut across him with a sharp rebuke.

To me, he said, ‘Come now, stay. We can send one of the staff to fetch a constable.’

I managed a faint curve of my lips. ‘I’m not sure that the police can really help in such a matter as this. It is my own reckoning, and I must go to it.’

Unable to bear any more objections, lest my nerve fail me, I finally quit that cosy refuge, leaving Fentiman’s confused outbursts and Timbers’s irritated rejoinders in my wake.

Mechanically, I plodded to the cloakroom and retrieved my outer layer, directing an abstracted smile in the direction of the attendant. I only realised how badly I must have faked my good humour when his concerned features swam into my line of sight. I blinked a few times, trying to focus both my eyes and my mind.

‘I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, sir,’ he said. ‘But if you’ll beg my pardon, are you feeling quite well?’

I stared at him stupidly, not sure how to respond to this simple question. There was no alteration to my physical condition, and yet with the knowledge of the terrible encounter that was to come, how could I possibly answer in the affirmative? Moistening my dried lips, I said finally, ‘Not as such, no.’.

‘In that case, sir, you should take a scarf,’ he advised. He hastened to the back of the room and returned almost immediately. ‘This one here has been without an owner for more than a year, and the nights are getting awfully bitter. It wouldn’t do for you to come down with something on your way home, especially if you’re not feeling at your best already.’

Touched, I accepted, the kindness rekindling a little hope, a little warmth in my breast. Would he have made such an offer to the ill-mannered me of a year ago? Would he even have dared to tell him that he was looking unwell?

I fixed the symbol of acceptance about my neck as my feet drew me on to the front door of the club.

The face of Jenkins, the commissionaire, lit up as he saw me, but upon seeing my countenance, the same shadow shrouding my expression became mirrored in his.

‘You’ll be taking a cab, sir?’ he asked.

My eyes flitted towards the Hansom cab standing invitingly nearby. While there was nothing physically preventing me from accepting his offer and escaping into its shadowed interior, I knew I could not.

‘Thank you, Jenkins, but not tonight,’ I said, and before he could protest, I hurried down the steps and into the inky blackness. The streets seemed strangely devoid of life. Even the moon didn’t show her face.

One hand clutching at my scarf for reassurance, I set out, walking neither fast nor slow, neither towards fate nor away from it. It would find me no matter my speed or direction.

When I heard the footsteps begin behind me, there was no sense of surprise, and certainly no question as to their owner. I had been expecting them. My whole short life had been leading up to this one moment, this one encounter. It was as inevitable as the dissatisfaction a disagreeable and unpleasant man must generate and foster in those around him. A dissatisfaction that might well lead to a desire for change. A desire for him to be an entirely different kind of person.

I didn’t stop, but proceeded calmly onwards, strangely disconnected, almost relaxed now that the climax was upon me.

As the two of us neared the river, the footsteps sped up, heavy, clumping, angry. A hand grabbed roughly at my shoulder, spinning me around to face — myself. This was my first time seeing him so close. As Timbers, as Fentiman, as everyone had said, we were identical in every particular. A small, conceited part of myself felt almost proud.

‘You damnable thief!’ The words were slurred but distinguishable. His breath came out in a snarl. He had been drinking, far more so than I. ‘Taking everything from me. Well, I’ll put a stop to that!’

For a moment, a shaft of moonlight broke through the clouds, illuminating the blade gripped in his shaking hand.

So this was it. The place he had chosen to kill me, to put an end to this other self.

I stood there on the riverbank unmoving, unquestioningly awaiting my fate. But as that angry, vitriolic, unloved man rushed at me, knife raised to strike, a chill breeze whipped at my scarf, tugging the end into my line of sight. In my mind’s eye I saw the faces of the attendant, Timbers, Harris, Fentiman and the others and thought — but do they not prefer me? And as if propelled to live by their very affection for me, I stepped aside.

Taken by surprise, the man tried to twist back towards me, but this was too much coordination for his inebriated state to cope with and he fell hard against the stone of the parapet. A sickening crack sounded. Somehow, he staggered upright, the knife still clutched in his hand, then his limbs failed him. As I watched, his body tumbled backwards, his drink-fuddled eyes screwing up in confusion as he tried to grasp his situation.

Then he was gone.

The splash that followed seemed too short, too quiet for such a momentous moment.

I stood there, and as if a barrier had been broken, the rest of the world flooded in. Running footsteps, alarmed voices, and kind hands laid on my arm.

‘I say!’ cried one man, peering over the edge. ‘Blighter tried to rob you, did he? Are you alright?’

‘Yes,’ I said, hearing the surprise in my own voice. ‘Yes, I am.’

*

‘There you are, old boy!’ Ignoring the disapproving tuts of the other club members, Timbers rushed to greet me, a look of relief washing over him. ‘You gave me quite the turn last night. I was doubting if I would ever see you again, and now here you are.’ He clapped me on the shoulder so hard that it was all I could do to maintain my balance. ‘You look as if a weight’s been lifted from you!’

I smiled, and the smile came naturally to me this time. It was as if the warmth I felt inside was leaking out. ‘I think it has, rather.’

After all, the tension and uncertainty had finally gone. It was over. Now, as someone who had come from nothing, from a mere wish, I had all the time in the world to appreciate what I had.