CONTAINING FRESH DISCOVERIES, AND SHOWING THAT SURPRISES, LIKE
MISFORTUNES, SELDOM COME ALONE.
HER situation was indeed one of no common trial and difficulty, for
while she felt the most eager and burning desire to penetrate the
mystery in which Oliver’s history was enveloped, she could not but
hold sacred the confidence which the miserable woman with whom she had
just conversed had reposed in her, as a young and guileless girl. Her
words and manner had touched Rose Maylie’s heart, and mingled with her
love for her young charge, and scarcely less intense in its truth and
fervour, was her fond wish to win the outcast back to repentance and
hope.
They only proposed remaining in London three days, prior to departing
for some weeks to a distant part of the coast. It was now midnight of
the first day. What course of action could she determine upon which
could be adopted in eight-and-forty hours? or how could she postpone
the journey without exciting suspicion?
Mr. Losberne was with them, and would be for the next two days;
but Rose was too well acquainted with the excellent gentleman’s
impetuosity, and foresaw too clearly the wrath with which, in the
first explosion of his indignation, he would regard the instrument
of Oliver’s recapture, to trust him with the secret, when her
representations in the girl’s behalf could be seconded by no
experienced person. These were all reasons for the greatest caution and
most circumspect behaviour in communicating it to Mrs. Maylie, whose
first impulse would infallibly be to hold a conference with the worthy
doctor on the subject. As to resorting to any legal adviser, even if
she had known how to do so, it was scarcely to be thought of, for the
same reasons. Once the thought occurred to her of seeking assistance
from Harry; but this awakened the recollection of their last parting,
and it seemed unworthy of her to call him back, when—the tears rose to
her eyes as she pursued this train of reflection—he might have by this
time learnt to forget her, and to be happier away.
Disturbed by these different reflections—inclining now to one course
and then to another, and again recoiling from all as each successive
consideration presented itself to her mind, Rose passed a sleepless and
anxious night, and, after more communing with herself next day, arrived
at the desperate conclusion of consulting Harry Maylie.
“If it be painful to him,” she thought, “to come back here, how painful
will it be to me! But perhaps he will not come; he may write, or he may
come himself, and studiously abstain from meeting me—he did when he
went away. I hardly thought he would; but it was better for us both—a
great deal better.” And here Rose dropped the pen and turned away, as
though the very paper which was to be her messenger should not see her
weep.
She had taken up the same pen and laid it down again fifty times, and
had considered and re-considered the very first line of her letter
without writing the first word, when Oliver, who had been walking in
the streets with Mr. Giles for a body-guard, entered the room in such
breathless haste and violent agitation, as seemed to betoken some new
cause of alarm.
“What makes you look so flurried?” asked Rose, advancing to meet him.
“Speak to me, Oliver.”
“I hardly know how; I feel as if I should be choked,” replied the boy.
“Oh dear! to think that I should see him at last, and you should be
able to know that I have told you all the truth!”
“I never thought you had told us any thing but the truth, dear,” said
Rose, soothing him. “But what is this?—of whom do you speak?”
“I have seen the gentleman,” replied Oliver, scarcely able to
articulate, “the gentleman who was so good to me—Mr. Brownlow, that we
have so often talked about.”
“Where?” asked Rose.
“Getting out of a coach,” replied Oliver, shedding tears of delight,
“and going into a house. I didn’t speak to him—I couldn’t speak to
him, for he didn’t see me, and I trembled so, that I was not able to go
up to him. But Giles asked for me whether he lived there, and they said
he did. Look here,” said Oliver, opening a scrap of paper, “here it is;
here’s where he lives—I’m going there directly. Oh, dear me, dear me!
what shall I do when I come to see him and hear him speak again!”
With her attention not a little distracted by these and a great many
other incoherent exclamations of joy, Rose read the address, which was
Craven-street, in the Strand, and very soon determined upon turning the
discovery to account.
“Quick!” she said, “tell them to fetch a hackney-coach, and be ready to
go with me. I will take you there directly, without a minute’s loss of
time. I will only tell my aunt that we are going out for an hour, and
be ready as soon as you are.”
Oliver needed no prompting to despatch, and in little more than five
minutes they were on their way to Craven-street. When they arrived
there, Rose left Oliver in the coach under pretence of preparing the
old gentleman to receive him, and sending up her card by the servant,
requested to see Mr. Brownlow on very pressing business. The servant
soon returned to beg that she would walk up stairs, and, following him
into an upper room, Miss Maylie was presented to an elderly gentleman
of benevolent appearance, in a bottle-green coat; at no great distance
from whom was seated another old gentleman, in nankeen breeches and
gaiters, who did not look particularly benevolent, and who was sitting
with his hands clasped on the top of a thick stick, and his chin
propped thereupon.
“Dear me,” said the gentleman, in the bottle-green coat, hastily rising
with great politeness, “I beg your pardon, young lady—I imagined it
was some importunate person who—I beg you will excuse me. Be seated,
pray.”
“Mr. Brownlow, I believe, sir?” said Rose, glancing from the other
gentleman to the one who had spoken.
“That is my name,” said the old gentleman. “This is my friend, Mr.
Grimwig. Grimwig, will you leave us for a few minutes?”
“I believe,” interposed Miss Maylie, “that at this period of our
interview I need not give that gentleman the trouble of going away. If
I am correctly informed, he is cognizant of the business on which I
wish to speak to you.”
Mr. Brownlow inclined his head, and Mr. Grimwig, who had made one very
stiff bow, and risen from his chair, made another very stiff bow, and
dropped into it again.
“I shall surprise you very much, I have no doubt,” said Rose, naturally
embarrassed; “but you once showed great benevolence and goodness to a
very dear young friend of mine, and I am sure you will take an interest
in hearing of him again.”
“Indeed!” said Mr. Brownlow. “May I ask his name?”
“Oliver Twist you knew him as,” replied Rose.
The words no sooner escaped her lips than Mr. Grimwig, who had been
affecting to dip into a large book that lay on the table, upset it
with a great crash, and falling back in his chair, discharged from
his features every expression but one of the most unmitigated wonder,
and indulged in a prolonged and vacant stare; then, as if ashamed of
having betrayed so much emotion, he jerked himself, as it were, by a
convulsion into his former attitude, and looking out straight before
him emitted a long, deep whistle, which seemed at last not to be
discharged on empty air, but to die away in the inmost recesses of his
stomach.
Mr. Brownlow was no less surprised, although his astonishment was not
expressed in the same eccentric manner. He drew his chair nearer to
Miss Maylie’s, and said,
“Do me the favour, my dear young lady, to leave entirely out of the
question that goodness and benevolence of which you speak, and of which
nobody else knows any thing, and if you have it in your power to
produce any evidence which will alter the unfavourable opinion I was
once induced to entertain of that poor child, in Heaven’s name put me
in possession of it.”
“A bad one—I’ll eat my head if he is not a bad one,” growled Mr.
Grimwig, speaking by some ventriloquial power, without moving a muscle
of his face.
“He is a child of a noble nature and a warm heart,” said Rose,
colouring; “and that Power which has thought fit to try him beyond his
years has planted in his breast affections and feelings which would do
honour to many who have numbered his days six times over.”
“I’m only sixty-one,” said Mr. Grimwig, with the same rigid face, “and,
as the devil’s in it if this Oliver is not twelve at least, I don’t see
the application of that remark.”
“Do not heed my friend, Miss Maylie,” said Mr. Brownlow; “he does not
mean what he says.”
“Yes, he does,” growled Mr. Grimwig.
“No, he does not,” said Mr. Brownlow, obviously rising in wrath as he
spoke.
“He’ll eat his head, if he doesn’t,” growled Mr. Grimwig.
“He would deserve to have it knocked off, if he does,” said Mr.
Brownlow.
“And he’d uncommonly like to see any man offer to do it,” responded Mr.
Grimwig, knocking his stick upon the floor.
Having gone thus far, the two old gentlemen severally took snuff, and
afterwards shook hands, according to their invariable custom.
“Now, Miss Maylie,” said Mr. Brownlow, “to return to the subject in
which your humanity is so much interested. Will you let me know what
intelligence you have of this poor child: allowing me to premise that
I exhausted every means in my power of discovering him, and that since
I have been absent from this country, my first impression that he had
imposed upon me, and been persuaded by his former associates to rob me,
has been considerably shaken.”
Rose, who had had time to collect her thoughts, at once related in
a few natural words all that had befallen Oliver since he left Mr.
Brownlow’s house, reserving Nancy’s information for that gentleman’s
private ear, and concluding with the assurance that his only sorrow for
some months past had been the not being able to meet with his former
benefactor and friend.
“Thank God!” said the old gentleman “this is great happiness to me,
great happiness. But you have not told me where he is now, Miss Maylie.
You must pardon my finding fault with you,—but why not have brought
him?”
“He is waiting in a coach at the door,” replied Rose.
“At this door!” cried the old gentleman. With which he hurried out of
the room, down the stairs, up the coach-steps, and into the coach,
without another word.
When the room-door closed behind him, Mr. Grimwig lifted up his head,
and converting one of the hind legs of his chair into a pivot described
three distinct circles with the assistance of his stick and the table:
sitting in it all the time. After performing this evolution, he rose
and limped as fast as he could up and down the room at least a dozen
times, and then stopping suddenly before Rose, kissed her without the
slightest preface.
“Hush!” he said, as the young lady rose in some alarm at this unusual
proceeding, “don’t be afraid; I’m old enough to be your grandfather.
You’re a sweet girl—I like you. Here they are.”
In fact, as he threw himself at one dexterous dive into his former
seat, Mr. Brownlow returned accompanied by Oliver, whom Mr. Grimwig
received very graciously; and if the gratification of that moment had
been the only reward for all her anxiety and care in Oliver’s behalf,
Rose Maylie would have been well repaid.
“There is somebody else who should not be forgotten, by the by,” said
Mr. Brownlow, ringing the bell. “Send Mrs. Bedwin here, if you please.”
The old housekeeper answered the summons with all despatch, and
dropping a curtsey at the door, waited for orders.
“Why, you get blinder every day, Bedwin,” said Mr. Brownlow, rather
testily.
“Well, that I do, sir,” replied the old lady. “People’s eyes, at my
time of life, don’t improve with age, sir.”
“I could have told you that,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow; “but put on your
glasses, and see if you can’t find out what you were wanted for, will
you?”
The old lady began to rummage in her pocket for her spectacles; but
Oliver’s patience was not proof against this new trial, and yielding to
his first impulse, he sprung into her arms.
“God be good to me!” cried the old lady, embracing him; “it is my
innocent boy!”
“My dear old nurse!” cried Oliver.
“He would come back—I knew he would,” said the old lady, holding him
in her arms. “How well he looks, and how like a gentleman’s son he is
dressed again! Where have you been this long, long while? Ah! the same
sweet face, but not so pale; the same soft eye, but not so sad. I have
never forgotten them or his quiet smile, but seen them every day side
by side with those of my own dear children, dead and gone since I was a
young lightsome creature.” Running on thus, and now holding Oliver from
her to mark how he had grown, now clasping him to her and passing her
fingers fondly through his hair, the poor soul laughed and wept upon
his neck by turns.
Leaving her and Oliver to compare notes at leisure, Mr. Brownlow led
the way into another room, and there heard from Rose a full narration
of her interview with Nancy, which occasioned him no little surprise
and perplexity. Rose also explained her reasons for not making a
confident of her friend Mr. Losberne in the first instance; the
old gentleman considered that she had acted prudently, and readily
undertook to hold solemn conference with the worthy doctor himself. To
afford him an early opportunity for the execution of this design, it
was arranged that he should call at the hotel at eight o’clock that
evening, and that in the mean time Mrs. Maylie should be cautiously
informed of all that had occurred. These preliminaries adjusted, Rose
and Oliver returned home.
Rose had by no means overrated the measure of the good doctor’s wrath,
for Nancy’s history was no sooner unfolded to him than he poured
forth a shower of mingled threats and execrations; threatened to make
her the first victim of the combined ingenuity of Messrs. Blathers
and Duff, and actually put on his hat preparatory to sallying forth
immediately to obtain the assistance of those worthies. And doubtless
he would, in this first outbreak, have carried the intention into
effect without a moment’s consideration of the consequences if he had
not been restrained, in part, by corresponding violence on the side of
Mr. Brownlow, who was himself of an irascible temperament, and partly
by such arguments and representations as seemed best calculated to
dissuade him from his hotbrained purpose.
“Then what the devil is to be done?” said the impetuous doctor, when
they had rejoined the two ladies. “Are we to pass a vote of thanks to
all these vagabonds, male and female, and beg them to accept a hundred
pounds or so apiece as a trifling mark of our esteem, and some slight
acknowledgment of their kindness to Oliver?”
“Not exactly that,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow laughing; “but we must
proceed gently and with great care.”
“Gentleness and care!” exclaimed the doctor. “I’d send them one and all
to——”
“Never mind where,” interposed Mr. Brownlow. “But reflect whether
sending them any where is likely to attain the object we have in view.”
“What object?” asked the doctor.
“Simply the discovery of Oliver’s parentage, and regaining for him the
inheritance of which, if this story be true, he has been fraudulently
deprived.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Losberne, cooling himself with his pocket-handkerchief;
“I almost forgot that.”
“You see,” pursued Mr. Brownlow, “placing this poor girl entirely
out of the question, and supposing it were possible to bring these
scoundrels to justice without compromising her safety, what good should
we bring about?”
“Hanging a few of them at least, in all probability,” suggested the
doctor, “and transporting the rest.”
“Very good,” replied Mr. Brownlow smiling, “but no doubt they will
bring that about themselves in the fulness of time, and if we step in
to forestal them, it seems to me that we shall be performing a very
Quixotic act in direct opposition to our own interest, or at least to
Oliver’s, which is the same thing.”
“How?” inquired the doctor.
“Thus. It is quite clear that we shall have the most extreme difficulty
in getting to the bottom of this mystery, unless we can bring this
man, Monks, upon his knees. That can only be done by stratagem, and by
catching him when he is not surrounded by these people. For, suppose he
were apprehended, we have no proof against him. He is not even (so far
as we know, or as the facts appear to us) concerned with the gang in
any of their robberies. If he were not discharged, it is very unlikely
that he could receive any further punishment than being committed to
prison as a rogue and vagabond, and of course ever afterwards his mouth
is so obstinately closed that he might as well, for our purposes, be
deaf, dumb, blind, and an idiot.”
“Then,” said the doctor impetuously, “I put it to you again, whether
you think it reasonable that this promise to the girl should be
considered binding; a promise made with the best and kindest
intentions, but really—”
“Do not discuss the point, my dear young lady, pray,” said Mr. Brownlow
interrupting Rose as she was about to speak. “The promise shall be
kept. I don’t think it will in the slightest degree interfere with
our proceedings. But before we can resolve upon any precise course of
action, it will be necessary to see the girl, to ascertain from her
whether she will point out this Monks on the understanding that she
is to be dealt with by us, and not by the law; or if she will not or
cannot do that, to procure from her such an account of his haunts and
description of his person as will enable us to identify him. She cannot
be seen until next Sunday night; this is Tuesday. I would suggest that,
in the mean time, we remain perfectly quiet, and keep these matters
secret even from Oliver himself.”
Although Mr. Losberne received with many wry faces a proposal involving
a delay of five whole days, he was fain to admit that no better course
occurred to him just then; and as both Rose and Mrs. Maylie sided very
strongly with Mr. Brownlow, that gentleman’s proposition was carried
unanimously.
“I should like,” he said, “to call in the aid of my friend Grimwig. He
is a strange creature, but a shrewd one, and might prove of material
assistance to us; I should say that he was bred a lawyer, and quitted
the bar in disgust because he had only one brief and a motion of course
in ten years, though whether that is a recommendation or not, you must
determine for yourselves.”
“I have no objection to your calling in your friend if I may call in
mine,” said the doctor.
“We must put it to the vote,” replied Mr. Brownlow, “who may he be?”
“That lady’s son, and this young lady’s—very old friend,” said
the doctor, motioning towards Mrs. Maylie, and concluding with an
expressive glance at her niece.
Rose blushed deeply, but she did not make any audible objection to this
motion (possibly she felt in a hopeless minority), and Harry Maylie and
Mr. Grimwig were accordingly added to the committee.
“We stay in town of course,” said Mrs. Maylie, “while there remains
the slightest prospect of prosecuting this inquiry with a chance of
success. I will spare neither trouble nor expense in behalf of the
object in whom we are all so deeply interested, and I am content to
remain here, if it be for twelve months, so long as you assure me that
any hope remains.”
“Good,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow, “and as I see on the faces about me
a disposition to inquire how it happened that I was not in the way
to corroborate Oliver’s tale, and had so suddenly left the kingdom,
let me stipulate that I shall be asked no questions until such time
as I may deem it expedient to forestal them by telling my own story.
Believe me that I make this request with good reason, for I might
otherwise excite hopes destined never to be realized, and only increase
difficulties and disappointments already quite numerous enough. Come;
supper has been announced, and young Oliver, who is all alone in the
next room, will have begun to think, by this time, that we have wearied
of his company, and entered into some dark conspiracy to thrust him
forth upon the world.”
With these words the old gentleman gave his hand to Mrs. Maylie, and
escorted her into the supper-room. Mr. Losberne followed, leading Rose,
and the council was for the present effectually broken up.