Chapter-9
Upon the night when Nancy, having lulled Mr Sikes to sleep, hurried on her self-imposed mission to Rose Maylie, two persons upon whom it was expedient that this history should bestow some attention advanced towards London by the Great North Road.
They were a man and a woman. The former was one of those long limbed, knock-kneed, shambling bony people to whom it was difficult to assign any precise age. The woman was young but of robust and hardy make, as she was bearing the weight of the heavy bundle which was strapped to her back. Her companion was not encumbered with much luggage as there merely dangled from a stick, which he carried over his shoulder, a small parcel wrapped in a common handkerchief, and apparently light enough.
Thus they had toiled along the dusty road, taking little heed of any object in sight, save when they stepped aside to allow a wider passage for the mail—coaches which were whirling out of town, until they passed through Highgate Archway, when the foremost traveller stopped and called impatiently to his companion.
‘Come on, can’t you? What a lazybones you are, Charlotte!’
‘Is it much farther?’ asked the woman resting herself against a bank and looking up with the perspiration streaming from her face.
‘Much farther! Yet as good as there,’ said the long-legged tramper pointing before him. ‘Look there! Those are the lights of London.’
‘They’re a good two miles off, at least,’ said the woman despondingly.
‘Never mind whether they’re two miles off or twenty,’ said Noah Claypole, for he it was, ‘but get up and come on, or I’ll kick you, and so I give you notice.’
As Noah’s red nose grew redder with anger, and as he crossed the road while speaking, as if fully prepared to put his threat into execution, the woman rose without any further remark and trudged onward by his side.
‘Where do you mean to stop for the night, Noah? she asked after they had walked a few hundred yards.
‘How should I know?’ replied Noah, whose temper had been considerably impaired by walking.
‘Near, I hope,’ said Charlotte.
‘No, not near,’ replied Mr Claypole, ‘A pretty thing it would be, wouldn’t it, to go and stop at the very first public house outside the town, so that Sowerberry, if he comes up after us, might poke in his nose and have us taken back in a cart with handcuffs on,’ said Mr Claypole in a jeering tone. ‘No! I shall go and lose myself among the narrowest streets I can find, and not stop until we come to the very out-of-the wayest house I can set eyes on. You may thank yet stars I’ve got a head; for if we hadn’t gone, at first, the wrong road a purpose, and come back across country, you’d have been locked up hard and fast a week ago, my lady. And serve you right for being a fool.’
‘I know I am not so cunning as you are,’ replied Charlotte, ‘but don’t put all the blame on me and say I should have been locked up. You would have been if I had been anyway.’
‘You took the money from the till, you know you did,’ said Mr Claypole.
‘I took it for you, Noah dear,’ rejoined Charlotte.
‘Did I keep it?’ asked Mr Claypole.
‘No, you trusted in me and let me carry it, like a dear, and so you are,’ said the lady, chuckling him under the chin, and drawing her arm through his.
Mr Claypole went on without halting until he arrived at the Angel at Islington, where he wisely judged from the crowd of passengers and number of vehicles that London began in earnest. Just pausing to observe which appeared the most crowded streets and consequently the most to be avoided, he crossed into St. John’s Road and was soon deep in the obscurity of the intricate and dirty ways which, lying between Gray’s Inn Lane and Smithfield, render that part of the town one of the lowest and worst that improvement has left in the midst of London.
Through these streets Noah Claypole walked, dragging Charlotte after him. At length he stopped in front of one more humble in appearance and more dirty than any he had yet seen, and graciously announced his intention of putting up there for the night.
‘So give us the bundle,’ said Noah, unstrapping it from the woman’s shoulders and slinging it over his own; ‘and don’t you speak except when you spoke to. What’s the name of the house—t-h-r-three what?’
‘Cripples,’ said Charlotte.
‘Three Cripples,’ repeated Noah, ‘and a very good sign too. Now then! Keep close at my heels and come along.’ With these injunctions he pushed the rattling door with his shoulder and entered the house, followed by his companion.
There was nobody in the bar but a young Jew, who, with his two elbows on the counter, was reading a dirty newspaper.
‘Is this the Three Cripples ? asked Noah.
‘That is the dabe of this house,’ replied the Jew.
‘A gentleman we met on the road, coming up from the country, recommended us here,’ said Noah, nudging Charlotte perhaps to call her attention for this most ingenious device for attracting respect and perhaps to warn her to betray no surprise, ‘We want to sleep here tonight.’
‘I’d say certainly you can,’ said Barney, who was the attendant, ‘but I’ll inquire.’
‘Show us the tap and give us a bit of cold meat and a drop of beer while you are inquiring, will you?’ said Noah.
Barney complied by ushering them into a small back room and setting the food before them, having done which, he informed the travellers that they could be lodged that night and left the amiable couple to their refreshment. Now this back room was immediately behind the bar and some steps lower, so that any person connected with the house, undrawing a small curtain which concealed a single pane of glass fixed in the wall between, could not only look down into the back—room but ascertain with tolerable distinctness their subject of conversation. Barney had only just returned when Fagin, in the course of his evening’s business, came into the bar to inquire after some of his young pupils.
‘Hush,’ said Barney, ‘strangers in the next room.’
‘Strangers!’ repeated the old man in a whisper.
Fagin appeared to receive this communication with great interest. Mounting a stool, he cautiously applied his eye to the pane of glass, and turning his ear to the partition listened attentively, with a subtle and eager look upon his face, that might have appertained to some old goblin.
‘So I mean to be a gentleman,’ said Mr Claypole, kicking out his legs and continuing a conversation the commencement of which Fagin had arrived too late to hear. ‘No more jolly old coffins, Charlotte, but a gentlemen’s life for me; and if you like, you shall be a lady.’
‘I should like that well enough, dear,’ replied Charlotte, ‘but tills are not to be emptied every day, and people to get clear off after it.’
‘Tills be blowed!’ said Mr Claypole, ‘There’s more things besides tills to be emptied.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked his companion.
‘Pockets, women’s reticules, houses, mail coaches, banks!’ said Mr Claypole rising with the porter.
‘But you can’t do all that, dear,’ said Charlotte.
‘I shall look out to get into company with them as can,’ replied Noah, ‘They’ll be able to make us useful some way or another. Why, you yourself are worth fifty women; I never see such a precious sly and deceitful creature as you can be when I let you.’
‘Oh, how nice it is to hear you say so!’ exclaimed Charlotte, imprinting a kiss upon his ugly face. The sudden opening of the door and the appearance of a stranger, interrupted her.
The stranger was Mr Fagin, And very amiable he looked, and a very low bow he made, as he advanced, and setting himself down at the nearest table, ordered something to drink of the grinning Barney.
‘A pleasant night, sir, but cool for the time of year,’ said Fagin rubbing his hands, ‘From the country, I see, sir?’
‘How do you see that?’ asked Noah Claypole.
‘We have not so much dust as that in London,’ replied Fagin, pointing from Noah’s shoes to those of his companion and from them to the two bundles.
‘You a sharp feller,’ said Noah, ‘Ha! ha! Only hear that, Charlotte!’
‘Why, one need be sharp in this town, my dear,’ replied the Jew, sinking his voice to a confidential whisper. ‘A man need be always emptying a till, or a pocket, or a woman’s reticule, or a mail-coach, or a bank, if he drinks regularly.’
Mr Claypole no sooner heard this extract from his own remarks than he fell back in his chair, and looked from the Jew to Charlotte with a countenance of ashy paleness and excessive terror.
‘Don’t mind me, my dear,’ said Fagin, drawing his chair closer, ‘Ha! ha! It was lucky it was only me who heard you by chance. It was very lucky it was only me.’
‘I didn’t take it,’ stammered Noah, no longer stretching out his legs like an independent gentleman, but coiling them up as well as he could up under his chair, ‘it was all her doing; you’ve got it now, Charlotte, you know you have.’
‘No matter who’s got or who did it, my dear,’ replied Fagin, glancing nevertheless, with a hawk’s eye at the girl and the two bundles, ‘I’m in that way myself, and I like you for it.’
‘In what way?’ asked Mr Claypole, a little recovering.
‘In that way of business,’ rejoined Fagin, ‘and so are the people of the house, You’ve hit the right nail upon the head, and are as safe here as you could be. There is not a safer place in all this town than is the Cripples; that is, when I like to make it so. And I’ve taken a fancy to you and the young woman. I’ve got a friend that I think I can gratify your darling wish and put you in the right way, where you can take whatever department of the business you think will suit you best.’
‘You speak as if you were in earnest,’ replied Noah.
‘What advantage would it be to me to be anything else?’ inquired Fagin, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Here! Let me have a word with you outside.’
‘There’s no occasion to trouble ourselves to move,’ said Noah, getting his legs by gradual degrees abroad again.
‘She’ll take the luggage upstairs the while. Charlotte, see to them bundles!’
This mandate, which had been delivered with great majesty, was obeyed without the slightest demur, and Charlotte made the best of her way off with the packages while Noah held the door open and watched her out.
‘She’s kept—tolerably under, isn’t she?’ he asked as he resumed his seat, in the tone of a keeper who has tamed some wild animal.
‘Quite perfect,’ rejoined Fagin, clapping him on the shoulder, ‘You’re a genius, my dear.’
‘Why, I suppose if I wasn’t I shouldn’t be here,’ replied Noah, ‘But, I say, she’ll be back if you lose time.’
‘Now, what do you think?’ said Fagin, ‘If you are to like my friend, could you do better than join him?’
‘Is he in a good way of business; that’s where it is!’ responded Noah, winking one of his little eyes.
‘The top of the tree, employs a power of hands, has the very best society in the profession.’
‘Regular town-maders?’ asked Mr Claypole.
‘Not a countryman among them; and I don’t think he’d take you, even on my recommendation, if he didn’t run rather short of assistants just now,’ replied Fagin.
‘Should I have to hand over?’ said Noah, slapping his breeches pocket.
‘It couldn’t possibly be done without,’ replied Fagin, in a most decided manner.
‘Twenty pounds, though—it’s a lot of money!’
‘Not when it’s in a note you can’t get rid of,’ retorted Fagin, ‘Number and date taken, I suppose? Payment stopped at the Bank? Ah! It’s not worth much to him. It’ll have to go abroad and he couldn’t sell it for a great deal in the market.’
‘When could I see him?’ asked Noah doubtfully.
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘Where?’
‘Here?’
‘Oh!’ said Noah, ‘What’s the wages?’
‘Live like a gentleman—board and lodging, pipes and spirits free—half of all you earn, and half of all the young woman earns,’ replied Mr Fagin.
Whether Noah Claypole, whose rapacity was none the least comprehensive, would have acceded to even those glowing terms had he been a perfectly free agent, was very doubtful; but as he recollected that in the event of his refusal it was in the power of his new acquaintance to give him up to justice immediately (and more unlikely things had come to pass), he gradually relented, and said he thought that would suit him.
‘But you see,’ observed Noah, ‘as she will be able to do a good deal, I should like to take something very light. Something not too trying for the strength, and not very dangerous.’
‘The kinchin lay!’ said Fagin, laying his hand on Noah’s knee.
‘What’s that?’ demanded Mr Claypole.
‘The kinchins, my dear, are the young children that are sent on errands by their mothers, with six pences and shillings, and lay is just to take their money away, then knock, ‘them into the kennel and walk off very slow. Ha! Ha! Ha!’
‘Ha! Ha!’ roared Mr Claypole, ‘Lord, that’s the very thing!’
Next day Noah and Charlotte removed to the Jew’s house.
‘So it was you that was your own friend?’ asked Mr Claypole, “Cod, I thought as much last night!’
‘Every man’s his own friend, my dear,’ replied Fagin, ‘But don’t forget, to keep my little business all snug, you depend upon me and I depend upon you. It’s this mutual trust we have in each other that consoles me under heavy losses. My best hand was taken from me yesterday morning. He was wanted.’
‘Very particular?’ inquired Mr Claypole—or Mr Morris Bolter, to use the name he had given to the Jew on the previous evening.
‘No,’ replied Fagin, ‘not very. He was charged with attempting to pick a pocket, and they found a silver snuff-box on him—his own, my dear, his own, for he took snuff himself, and was very fond of it. They remanded him till today, for they thought they knew the owner. Ah! He was worth fifty boxes, and I’d give the price of as many to have him back. You should have known the Dodger, my dear, you should have known the Dodger.’
‘Well, but I shall know him, I hope; don’t you think so?’ said Mr Bolter.
‘I’m doubtful about it,’ replied Fagin with a sigh, ‘If they don’t get any fresh evidence, it’ll only be a summary conviction, and we shall have him back again after six weeks or so; but if they do, it’s a case of lagging, They know what a clever lad he is; he’ll be a lifer, They’ll make the Artful nothing less than a lifer.’
‘What do you mean by lagging and a lifer?’ demanded Mr Bolter, ‘What’s the good of talking in that way to me? Why don’t you speak so I can understand you?’
Fagin was about to translate these mysterious expressions into the vulgar tongue; and, being interpreted.
Mr Bolter would have been informed that they represented that combination of words, ‘transportation for life’, when the dialogue was cut short by the entry of Master Bates, with his hands in his breeches pockets and his face twisted into a look of semi-comical woe.
‘It’s all up, Fagin,’ said Charley, when he and his new companion had been made known to each other.
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’ve found the gentleman as owns the box; two or three more are coming to identify him; and the Artful’s booked for a passage out,’ replied Master Bates, ‘I must have a full suit of mourning, Fagin, and a hatband, to wish him in, afore he sets out upon his travels, To think of Jack Dawkins—lummy Jack—the Dodger—the Artful Dodger-going abroad for a common two penny-half penny sneeze-box!’
‘Never mind, Charley,’ said Fagin soothingly, ‘it’ll come out. They’ll all know what a clever fellow he was; and he’ll show it himself, and not disgrace his old pals and teachers. Think how young he is too! What a distinction, Charley, to be lagged at his time of life!’
Adept as she was in all the arts of cunning and dissimulation, the girl Nancy could not wholly conceal the effect which the knowledge of the step she had taken wrought upon her mind.
It was Sunday night, and the bell of the nearest church struck the hour. Sikes and the Jew were talking but they paused to listen. The girl looked up from the low seat on which she crouched, and listened too.
‘An hour this side of midnight,’ said Sikes, raising the blind to look out and returning to his seat, ‘Dark and heavy it is too. A good night for business, this.’
‘Ah!’ replied Fagin, ‘What a pity, Bill my dear, that there’s none quite ready to be done!’
‘You’re right for once,’ replied Sikes gruffly, ‘It is a pity for I’m in the humour too.’
Fagin offered no reply, but pulling Sikes by the sleeve, pointed his finger towards Nancy, who had taken advantage of the foregoing conversation to put on her bonnet and was now leaving the room.
‘Hallo,’ cried Sikes, ‘Nancy. Where’s the gal going at this time of night?’
‘I don’t know where,’ replied the girl.
‘Then I do,’ said Sikes, more in the spirit of obstinacy than because he had any real objection to the girl going where she listed, ‘Nowhere. Sit down.’
‘I’m not well; I told you that before,’ rejoined the girl. ‘I want a breath of air.’
‘Put your head out of the winder,’ replied Sikes.
‘There’s not enough there,’ said the girl, ‘I want it in the street.’
‘Then you won’t have it,’ replied Sikes. With which assurance he rose, locked the door, took the key out, and pulling her bonnet from her head, flung it to the top of an old press. ‘There,’ said the robber, ‘Now stop quietly where you are, will you?’ And he seized her by the wrist.
‘Let me go,’ screamed the girl. Sikes looked on for a minute, watching his opportunity, and suddenly pinioning her hands dragged her, struggling and wrestling with him by the way into a small room adjoining, where he sat himself on a bench and thrusting her into a chair, held her down by force. She struggled and implored by turns until twelve o’clock had struck, and then, wearied and exhausted, ceased to contest the point any longer. With a caution, backed by many oaths, to make no more efforts to go out that night, Sikes left her to recover at leisure and rejoined Fagin.
‘Whew!’ said the house-breaker, wiping the perspiration from his face, ‘What a precious strange gal that is!’
You may say that, Bill,’ replied Fagin thoughtfully, You may say that.’
‘What did she take it into her head to go out tonight for, do you think?’ asked Sikes. ‘Come, you should know her better than me. What does it mean?’
‘Obstinacy; woman’s obstinacy, I suppose, my dear.’
‘She was hanging about me all day and night too, when I was stretched on my back; and you, like a black-hearted wolf as you are, kept yourself aloof,’ said Sikes, ‘We were very poor too, all the time, and I think one way or other it’s worried and fretted her; and that being shut up here so long has made her restless—eh?’
‘That’s it, my dear,’ replied the Jew in a whisper. ‘Hush!’
As he uttered these words the girl herself appeared and resumed her former seat. Her eyes were swollen and red; she rocked herself to and fro, tossed her head, and, after a little time, burst out laughing.
‘Why, now she’s on the other tack!’ exclaimed Sikes, turning a look of excessive surprise on his companion.
Fagin nodded to him to take no further notice just then; and, in a few minutes, the girl subsided into her accustomed demeanour. Whispering to Sikes that there was no fear of her relapsing, Fagin took up his hat and bade him goodnight. He paused when he reached the room door and looking round asked if somebody would light him down the dark stairs.
‘Light him down,’ said Sikes, who was filling his pipe, ‘It’s a pity he should break his neck himself and disappoint the sightseers. Show him a light.’
Nancy followed the old man downstairs with a candle. When he reached the passage he laid his finger on his lip and, drawing close to the girl, said in a whisper,
‘What is it, Nancy dear? If he is so hard with you (he’s a brute, Nancy, a brute-beast), why don’t you come to me, I say, come to me?’
Nancy shrank back as Fagin offered to lay his hand on her, but said goodnight in a steady voice, and answering his parting look with a nod of intelligence, closed the door between them.
Fagin walked towards his home, intent upon the thoughts that were working within his brain. He had conceived the idea—not from what had just passed, though that had tended to confirm him, but slowly by degrees—that Nancy, wearied of the house-breaker’s brutality, had conceived an attachment for some new friend.
