Oliver Twist
whose conduct, it is but justice to say, there was nothing very
conspicuous or peculiar: inasmuch as there are a great number of
spirited young bloods upon town, who pay a much higher price than Mr.
Chitling for being seen in good society: and a great number of fine
gentlemen (composing the good society aforesaid) who established their
reputation upon very much the same footing as flash Toby Crackit.
“Now,” said Fagin, when they had left the room, “I’ll go and get you
that cash, Nancy. This is only the key of a little cupboard where I
keep a few odd things the boys get, my dear. I never lock up my money,
for I’ve got none to lock up, my dear—ha! ha! ha!—none to lock up. It’s
a poor trade, Nancy, and no thanks; but I’m fond of seeing the young
people about me; and I bear it all, I bear it all. Hush!” he said,
hastily concealing the key in his breast; “who’s that? Listen!”
The girl, who was sitting at the table with her arms folded, appeared
in no way interested in the arrival: or to care whether the person,
whoever he was, came or went: until the murmur of a man’s voice reached
her ears. The instant she caught the sound, she tore off her bonnet and
shawl, with the rapidity of lightning, and thrust them under the table.
The Jew, turning round immediately afterwards, she muttered a complaint
of the heat: in a tone of languor that contrasted, very remarkably,
with the extreme haste and violence of this action: which, however, had
been unobserved by Fagin, who had his back towards her at the time.
“Bah!” he whispered, as though nettled by the interruption; “it’s the
man I expected before; he’s coming downstairs. Not a word about the
money while he’s here, Nance. He won’t stop long. Not ten minutes, my
dear.”
Laying his skinny forefinger upon his lip, the Jew carried a candle to
the door, as a man’s step was heard upon the stairs without. He reached
it, at the same moment as the visitor, who, coming hastily into the
room, was close upon the girl before he observed her.
It was Monks.
“Only one of my young people,” said Fagin, observing that Monks drew
back, on beholding a stranger. “Don’t move, Nancy.”
The girl drew closer to the table, and glancing at Monks with an air of
careless levity, withdrew her eyes; but as he turned towards Fagin, she
stole another look; so keen and searching, and full of purpose, that if
there had been any bystander to observe the change, he could hardly
have believed the two looks to have proceeded from the same person.
“Any news?” inquired Fagin.
“Great.”
“And—and—good?” asked Fagin, hesitating as though he feared to vex the
other man by being too sanguine.
“Not bad, any way,” replied Monks with a smile. “I have been prompt
enough this time. Let me have a word with you.”
The girl drew closer to the table, and made no offer to leave the room,
although she could see that Monks was pointing to her. The Jew: perhaps
fearing she might say something aloud about the money, if he
endeavoured to get rid of her: pointed upward, and took Monks out of
the room.
“Not that infernal hole we were in before,” she could hear the man say
as they went upstairs. Fagin laughed; and making some reply which did
not reach her, seemed, by the creaking of the boards, to lead his
companion to the second story.
Before the sound of their footsteps had ceased to echo through the
house, the girl had slipped off her shoes; and drawing her gown loosely
over her head, and muffling her arms in it, stood at the door,
listening with breathless interest. The moment the noise ceased, she
glided from the room; ascended the stairs with incredible softness and
silence; and was lost in the gloom above.
The room remained deserted for a quarter of an hour or more; the girl
glided back with the same unearthly tread; and, immediately afterwards,
the two men were heard descending. Monks went at once into the street;
and the Jew crawled upstairs again for the money. When he returned, the
girl was adjusting her shawl and bonnet, as if preparing to be gone.
“Why, Nance!” exclaimed the Jew, starting back as he put down the
candle, “how pale you are!”
“Pale!” echoed the girl, shading her eyes with her hands, as if to look
steadily at him.
“Quite horrible. What have you been doing to yourself?”
“Nothing that I know of, except sitting in this close place for I don’t
know how long and all,” replied the girl carelessly. “Come! Let me get
back; that’s a dear.”
With a sigh for every piece of money, Fagin told the amount into her
hand. They parted without more conversation, merely interchanging a
“good-night.”
When the girl got into the open street, she sat down upon a doorstep;
and seemed, for a few moments, wholly bewildered and unable to pursue
her way. Suddenly she arose; and hurrying on, in a direction quite
opposite to that in which Sikes was awaiting her return, quickened
her pace, until it gradually resolved into a violent run. After
completely exhausting herself, she stopped to take breath: and, as if
suddenly recollecting herself, and deploring her inability to do
something she was bent upon, wrung her hands, and burst into tears.
It might be that her tears relieved her, or that she felt the full
hopelessness of her condition; but she turned back; and hurrying with
nearly as great rapidity in the contrary direction; partly to recover
lost time, and partly to keep pace with the violent current of her own
thoughts: soon reached the dwelling where she had left the
housebreaker.
If she betrayed any agitation, when she presented herself to Mr. Sikes,
he did not observe it; for merely inquiring if she had brought the
money, and receiving a reply in the affirmative, he uttered a growl of
satisfaction, and replacing his head upon the pillow, resumed the
slumbers which her arrival had interrupted.
It was fortunate for her that the possession of money occasioned him so
much employment next day in the way of eating and drinking; and withal
had so beneficial an effect in smoothing down the asperities of his
temper; that he had neither time nor inclination to be very critical
upon her behaviour and deportment. That she had all the abstracted and
nervous manner of one who is on the eve of some bold and hazardous
step, which it has required no common struggle to resolve upon, would
have been obvious to the lynx-eyed Fagin, who would most probably have
taken the alarm at once; but Mr. Sikes lacking the niceties of
discrimination, and being troubled with no more subtle misgivings than
those which resolve themselves into a dogged roughness of behaviour
towards everybody; and being, furthermore, in an unusually amiable
condition, as has been already observed; saw nothing unusual in her
demeanor, and indeed, troubled himself so little about her, that, had
her agitation been far more perceptible than it was, it would have been
very unlikely to have awakened his suspicions.
As that day closed in, the girl’s excitement increased; and, when night
came on, and she sat by, watching until the housebreaker should drink
himself asleep, there was an unusual paleness in her cheek, and a fire
in her eye, that even Sikes observed with astonishment.
Mr. Sikes being weak from the fever, was lying in bed, taking hot water
with his gin to render it less inflammatory; and had pushed his glass
towards Nancy to be replenished for the third or fourth time, when
these symptoms first struck him.
“Why, burn my body!” said the man, raising himself on his hands as he
stared the girl in the face. “You look like a corpse come to life
again. What’s the matter?”
“Matter!” replied the girl. “Nothing. What do you look at me so hard
for?”
“What foolery is this?” demanded Sikes, grasping her by the arm, and
shaking her roughly. “What is it? What do you mean? What are you
thinking of?”
“Of many things, Bill,” replied the girl, shivering, and as she did so,
pressing her hands upon her eyes. “But, Lord! What odds in that?”
The tone of forced gaiety in which the last words were spoken, seemed
to produce a deeper impression on Sikes than the wild and rigid look
which had preceded them.
“I tell you wot it is,” said Sikes; “if you haven’t caught the fever,
and got it comin’ on, now, there’s something more than usual in the
wind, and something dangerous too. You’re not a-going to—. No, damme!
you wouldn’t do that!”
“Do what?” asked the girl.
“There ain’t,” said Sikes, fixing his eyes upon her, and muttering the
words to himself; “there ain’t a stauncher-hearted gal going, or I’d
have cut her throat three months ago. She’s got the fever coming on;
that’s it.”
Fortifying himself with this assurance, Sikes drained the glass to the
bottom, and then, with many grumbling oaths, called for his physic. The
girl jumped up, with great alacrity; poured it quickly out, but with
her back towards him; and held the vessel to his lips, while he drank
off the contents.
“Now,” said the robber, “come and sit aside of me, and put on your own
face; or I’ll alter it so, that you won’t know it agin when you do want
it.”
The girl obeyed. Sikes, locking her hand in his, fell back upon the
pillow: turning his eyes upon her face. They closed; opened again;
closed once more; again opened. He shifted his position restlessly;
and, after dozing again, and again, for two or three minutes, and as
often springing up with a look of terror, and gazing vacantly about
him, was suddenly stricken, as it were, while in the very attitude of
rising, into a deep and heavy sleep. The grasp of his hand relaxed; the
upraised arm fell languidly by his side; and he lay like one in a
profound trance.
“The laudanum has taken effect at last,” murmured the girl, as she rose
from the bedside. “I may be too late, even now.”
She hastily dressed herself in her bonnet and shawl: looking fearfully
round, from time to time, as if, despite the sleeping draught, she
expected every moment to feel the pressure of Sikes’s heavy hand upon
her shoulder; then, stooping softly over the bed, she kissed the
robber’s lips; and then opening and closing the room-door with
noiseless touch, hurried from the house.
A watchman was crying half-past nine, down a dark passage through which
she had to pass, in gaining the main thoroughfare.
“Has it long gone the half-hour?” asked the girl.
“It’ll strike the hour in another quarter,” said the man: raising his
lantern to her face.
“And I cannot get there in less than an hour or more,” muttered Nancy:
brushing swiftly past him, and gliding rapidly down the street.
Many of the shops were already closing in the back lanes and avenues
through which she tracked her way, in making from Spitalfields towards
the West-End of London. The clock struck ten, increasing her
impatience. She tore along the narrow pavement: elbowing the passengers
from side to side; and darting almost under the horses’ heads, crossed
crowded streets, where clusters of persons were eagerly watching their
opportunity to do the like.
“The woman is mad!” said the people, turning to look after her as she
rushed away.
When she reached the more wealthy quarter of the town, the streets were
comparatively deserted; and here her headlong progress excited a still
greater curiosity in the stragglers whom she hurried past. Some
quickened their pace behind, as though to see whither she was hastening
at such an unusual rate; and a few made head upon her, and looked back,
surprised at her undiminished speed; but they fell off one by one; and
when she neared her place of destination, she was alone.
It was a family hotel in a quiet but handsome street near Hyde Park. As
the brilliant light of the lamp which burnt before its door, guided her
to the spot, the clock struck eleven. She had loitered for a few paces