ROSE MAYLIE. SHE FAILS.
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. She remembered
that both the crafty Jew and the brutal Sikes had confided to
her schemes, which had been hidden from all others: in the full
confidence that she was trustworthy and beyond the reach of their
suspicion. Vile as those schemes were, desperate as were their
originators, and bitter as were her feelings towards Fagin, who had
led her, step by step, deeper and deeper down into an abyss of crime
and misery, whence was no escape; still, there were times when, even
towards him, she felt some relenting, lest her disclosure should
bring him within the iron grasp he had so long eluded, and he should
fall at last--richly as he merited such a fate--by her hand.
But, these were the mere wanderings of a mind unable wholly to
detach itself from old companions and associations, though enabled
to fix itself steadily on one object, and resolved not to be turned
aside by any consideration. Her fears for Sikes would have been more
powerful inducements to recoil while there was yet time; but she had
stipulated that her secret should be rigidly kept, she had dropped
no clue which could lead to his discovery, she had refused, even
for his sake, a refuge from all the guilt and wretchedness that
encompasses her--and what more could she do! She was resolved.
Though all her mental struggles terminated in this conclusion, they
forced themselves upon her, again and again, and left their traces
too. She grew pale and thin, even within a few days. At times,
she took no heed of what was passing before her, or no part in
conversations where once, she would have been the loudest. At other
times, she laughed without merriment, and was noisy without a moment
afterwards--she sat silent and dejected, brooding with her head upon
her hands, while the very effort by which she roused herself, told,
more forcibly than even these indications, that she was ill at ease,
and that her thoughts were occupied with matters very different and
distant from those in the course of discussion by her companions.
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. Eleven.
‘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 sighed, and shook his head despondingly.
‘We must make up for lost time when we’ve got things into a good
train. That’s all I know,’ said Sikes.
‘That’s the way to talk, my dear,’ replied Fagin, venturing to pat
him on the shoulder. ‘It does me good to hear you.’
‘Does you good, does it!’ cried Sikes. ‘Well, so be it.’
‘Ha! ha! ha!’ laughed Fagin, as if he were relieved by even this
concession. ‘You’re like yourself to-night, Bill. Quite like
yourself.’
‘I don’t feel like myself when you lay that withered old claw on my
shoulder, so take it away,’ said Sikes, casting off the Jew’s hand.
‘It make you nervous, Bill,--reminds you of being nabbed, does it?’
said Fagin, determined not to be offended.
‘Reminds me of being nabbed by the devil,’ returned Sikes. ‘There
never was another man with such a face as yours, unless it was your
father, and I suppose _he_ is singeing his grizzled red beard by
this time, unless you came straight from the old ‘un without any
father at all betwixt you; which I shouldn’t wonder at, a bit.’
Fagin offered no reply to this compliment: 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. ‘Nance. Where’s the gal going to at this time
of night?’
‘Not far.’
‘What answer’s that?’ retorted Sikes. ‘Do you hear me?’
‘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 up to the top of an old press. ‘There,’ said the
robber. ‘Now stop quietly where you are, will you?’
‘It’s not such a matter as a bonnet would keep me,’ said the girl
turning very pale. ‘What do you mean, Bill? Do you know what you’re
doing?’
‘Know what I’m--Oh!’ cried Sikes, turning to Fagin, ‘she’s out of
her senses, you know, or she daren’t talk to me in that way.’
‘You’ll drive me on the something desperate,’ muttered the girl
placing both hands upon her breast, as though to keep down by force
some violent outbreak. ‘Let me go, will you,--this minute--this
instant.’
‘No!’ said Sikes.
‘Tell him to let me go, Fagin. He had better. It’ll be better for
him. Do you hear me?’ cried Nancy stamping her foot upon the ground.
‘Hear you!’ repeated Sikes turning round in his chair to confront
her. ‘Aye! And if I hear you for half a minute longer, the dog shall
have such a grip on your throat as’ll tear some of that screaming
voice out. Wot has come over you, you jade! Wot is it?’
‘Let me go,’ said the girl with great earnestness; then sitting
herself down on the floor, before the door, she said, ‘Bill, let me
go; you don’t know what you are doing. You don’t, indeed. For only
one hour--do--do!’
‘Cut my limbs off one by one!’ cried Sikes, seizing her roughly by
the arm, ‘If I don’t think the gal’s stark raving mad. Get up.’
‘Not till you let me go--not till you let me go--Never--never!’
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 further. 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 housebreaker wiping the perspiration from his face.
‘Wot a precious strange gal that is!’
‘You may say that, Bill,’ replied Fagin thoughtfully. ‘You may say
that.’
‘Wot did she take it into her head to go out to-night for, do you
think?’ asked Sikes. ‘Come; you should know her better than me. Wot
does it mean?’
‘Obstinacy; woman’s obstinacy, I suppose, my dear.’
‘Well, I suppose it is,’ growled Sikes. ‘I thought I had tamed her,
but she’s as bad as ever.’
‘Worse,’ said Fagin thoughtfully. ‘I never knew her like this, for
such a little cause.’
‘Nor I,’ said Sikes. ‘I think she’s got a touch of that fever in her
blood yet, and it won’t come out--eh?’
‘Like enough.’
‘I’ll let her a little blood, without troubling the doctor, if she’s
took that way again,’ said Sikes.
Fagin nodded an expressive approval of this mode of treatment.
‘She was hanging about me all day, and night too, when I was
stretched on my back; and you, like a blackhearted wolf as you are,
kept yourself aloof,’ said Sikes. ‘We was 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 Sikes that there was no fear of her relapsing, Fagin took
up his hat and bade him good-night. 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 sight-seers.
Show him a light.’
Nancy followed the old man downstairs, with a candle. When they
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?’
‘What do you mean?’ replied the girl, in the same tone.
‘The reason of all this,’ replied Fagin. ‘If _he_’--he pointed with
his skinny fore-finger up the stairs--‘is so hard with you (he’s a
brute, Nance, a brute-beast), why don’t you--’
‘Well?’ said the girl, as Fagin paused, with his mouth almost
touching her ear, and his eyes looking into hers.
‘No matter just now. We’ll talk of this again. You have a friend
in me, Nance; a staunch friend. I have the means at hand, quiet and
close. If you want revenge on those that treat you like a dog--like
a dog! worse than his dog, for he humours him sometimes--come to me.
I say, come to me. He is the mere hound of a day, but you know me of
old, Nance.’
‘I know you well,’ replied the girl, without manifesting the least
emotion. ‘Good-night.’
She shrank back, as Fagin offered to lay his hand on hers, but said
good-night again, 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
and by degrees--that Nancy, wearied of the housebreaker’s brutality,
had conceived an attachment for some new friend. Her altered manner,
her repeated absences from home alone, her comparative indifference
to the interests of the gang for which she had once been so zealous,
and, added to these, her desperate impatience to leave home that
night at a particular hour, all favoured the supposition, and
rendered it, to him at least, almost matter of certainty. The
object of this new liking was not among his myrmidons. He would be a
valuable acquisition with such an assistant as Nancy, and must (thus
Fagin argued) be secured without delay.
There was another, and a darker object, to be gained. Sikes knew too
much, and his ruffian taunts had not galled Fagin the less, because
the wounds were hidden. The girl must know, well, that if she shook
him off, she could never be safe from his fury, and that it would
be surely wreaked--to the maiming of limbs, or perhaps the loss of
life--on the object of her more recent fancy.
‘With a little persuasion,’ thought Fagin, ‘what more likely than
that she would consent to poison him? Women have done such things,
and worse, to secure the same object before now. There would be
the dangerous villain: the man I hate: gone; another secured in
his place; and my influence over the girl, with a knowledge of this
crime to back it, unlimited.’
These things passed through the mind of Fagin, during the short time
he sat alone, in the housebreaker’s room; and with them uppermost in
his thoughts, he had taken the opportunity afterwards afforded him,
of sounding the girl in the broken hints he threw out at parting.
There was no expression of surprise, no assumption of an inability
to understand his meaning. The girl clearly comprehended it. Her
glance at parting showed _that_.
But perhaps she would recoil from a plot to take the life of Sikes,
and that was one of the chief ends to be attained. ‘How,’ thought
Fagin, as he crept homeward, ‘can I increase my influence with her?
What new power can I acquire?’
Such brains are fertile in expedients. If, without extracting a
confession from herself, he laid a watch, discovered the object of
her altered regard, and threatened to reveal the whole history to
Sikes (of whom she stood in no common fear) unless she entered into
his designs, could he not secure her compliance?
‘I can,’ said Fagin, almost aloud. ‘She durst not refuse me then.
Not for her life, not for her life! I have it all. The means are
ready, and shall be set to work. I shall have you yet!’
He cast back a dark look, and a threatening motion of the hand,
towards the spot where he had left the bolder villain; and went
on his way: busying his bony hands in the folds of his tattered
garment, which he wrenched tightly in his grasp, as though there
were a hated enemy crushed with every motion of his fingers.