Hello.
Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,
Your go-to romantic podcast that guarantees you a calm and entertaining transition into a great night's sleep.
Come with me as we immerse ourselves in a romantic journey to a time long since forgotten.
But before we begin,
Let's take a moment to focus on where we are now.
Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.
Now close your eyes and feel yourself sink deeper into the support beneath you.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.
Happy listening.
Chapter 21 The Expedition It was a cheerless morning when they got into the street,
Blowing and raining hard and the clouds looking dull and stormy.
The night had been very wet.
Large pools of water had collected in the road and the kennels were overflowing.
There was a faint glimmering of the coming day in the sky,
But it rather aggravated than relieved the gloom of the scene.
The sombre light only serving to pale that which the street lamps afforded,
Without shedding any warmer or brighter tints upon the wet house tops and dreary streets.
There appeared to be nobody stirring in that quarter of the town.
The windows of the houses were all closely shut and the streets through which they passed were noiseless and empty.
By the time they turned into Bethnal Green Road,
The day had fairly begun to break.
Many of the lamps were already extinguished.
A few country wagons were slowly toiling on towards London.
Now and then a stagecoach covered with mud rattled briskly by,
The driver bestowing as he passed an admonitory lash upon the heavy waggoner who,
By keeping on the wrong side of the road,
Had endangered his arriving at the office a quarter of a minute after his time.
The public houses with gas lights burning inside were already open.
By degrees other shops began to be unclosed and a few scattered people were met with.
Then came straggling groups of labourers going on to their work.
Then men and women with fish baskets on their head.
Donkey carts laden with vegetables,
Chaise carts filled with livestock or whole carcasses of meat,
Milk women with pails,
An unbroken concourse of people trudging out with various supplies to the eastern suburbs of the town.
As they approached the city,
The noise and traffic gradually increased.
When they threaded the streets between Shoreditch and Smithfield,
It had swelled into a roar of sound and bustle.
It was as light as it was likely to be till night came on again and the busy morning of half the London population had begun.
Turning down Sun Street and Crown Street and crossing Finsbury Square,
Mr Sykes struck by way of Chisel Street into Barbican,
Thence into Long Lane and so to Smithfield,
From which latter place arose a tumult of discordant sounds that filled Oliver Twist with amazement.
It was market morning.
The ground was covered,
Nearly ankle deep with filth and mire.
A thick steam perpetually rising from the reeking bodies of the cattle and mingling with the fog,
Which seemed to rest upon the chimney tops,
Hung heavily above.
All the pens in the centre of the large area and as many temporary pens as could be crowded into the vacant space were filled with sheep.
Tied up to post by the gutter side were long lines of beasts and oxen,
Three or four deep.
Countrymen,
Butchers,
Drovers,
Hawkers,
Boys,
Thieves,
Idlers and vagabonds of every low grade were mingled together in a mass.
The whistling of drovers,
The barking dogs,
The bellowing and plunging of the oxen,
The bleating of sheep,
The grunting and squeaking of pigs,
The cries of hawkers,
The shouts,
Ohs and quarrelling on all sides,
The ringing of bells and roar of voices that issued from every public house,
The crowding,
Pushing,
Driving,
Beating,
Whooping and yelling,
The hideous and discordant dim that resounded from every corner of the market and the unwashed,
Unshaven,
Squalid and dirty figures constantly running to and fro and bursting in and out of the throng rendered it a stunning and bewildering scene which quite confounded the senses.
Mr Sykes,
Dragging Oliver after him,
Elbowed his way through the thickest of the crowd and bestowed very little attention on the numerous sights and sounds which so astonished the boy.
He nodded twice or thrice to a passing friend and resisting as many invitations to take a morning dram pressed steadily onward until they were clear of the turmoil and had made their way through Hosier Lane into Holborn.
Now,
Young'un,
Said Sykes,
Looking up at the clock of St Andrew's Church,
Hard upon seven,
You must step out.
Come,
Don't lag behind already,
Lazy legs.
Mr Sykes accompanied this speech with a jerk at his little companion's wrist.
Oliver,
Quickening his pace into a kind of trot between a fast walk and a run,
Kept up with the rapid strides of the housebreaker as well as he could.
They held their course at any rate until they had passed Hyde Park Corner.
Were on their way to Kensington when Sykes relaxed his pace until an empty cart,
Which was at some little distance behind,
Came up.
Seeing Hounslow written on it,
He asked the driver with as much civility as he could assume if he would give them a lift as far as Isleworth.
Jump up,
Said the man.
Is that your boy?
Yes,
He's my boy,
Replied Sykes,
Looking hard at Oliver and putting his hand abstractedly into the pocket where the pistol was.
Your father walks far too quick for you,
Don't he,
My man?
Inquired the driver,
Seeing that Oliver was out of breath.
Not a bit of it,
Replied Sykes in deposing.
He's used to it.
Here,
Take hold of my hand,
Ned.
In with you.
And thus addressing Oliver,
He helped him into the cart.
The driver,
Pointing to a heap of sacks,
Told him to lie down there and rest himself.
As they passed the different milestones,
Oliver wondered more and more where his companion meant to take him.
Kensington,
Hammersmith,
Chiswick,
Kew Bridge,
Brentford were all passed and yet they went on steadily as if they'd only just begun their journey.
At length,
They came to a public house called the Coach and Horses,
A little way beyond which another road appeared to run off.
And here the cart stopped.
Goodbye,
Boy,
Said the man.
He's sulky,
Replied Sykes,
Giving him a shape.
A young dog,
Don't mind him.
Not I,
Rejoined the other,
Getting into his cart.
It's a fine day after all.
And he drove away.
Sykes waited until he had fairly gone and then,
Telling Oliver he might look about him if he wanted,
Once again led him onward to his journey.
After settling into an old public house with a defaced signboard,
Sykes ordered some dinner by the kitchen fire.
It was an old,
Low-roofed room with a great beam across the middle of the ceiling and benches with high backs to them.
By the fire were seated several rough men in smock frocks,
Drinking and smoking.
It was quite dark when Oliver was awakened by a push from Sykes,
Rousing himself sufficiently to sit up and look about him he found that worthy in close fellowship and communication with a labouring man over a pint of ale.
So you're going on to Lower Haliford,
Are you?
Inquired Sykes.
Yes,
I am,
Replied the man who seemed a little bit worse for wear.
Could you give my boy a mere lift as far as there?
Demanded Sykes,
Pushing another ale towards his new friend.
If you're going directly,
I can,
Replied the man.
Are you going to Haliford?
We're going on to Shepperton,
Replied Sykes.
I'm your man as far as I go,
Said the man.
After a long drive,
Sykes alighted the cart,
Took Oliver by the hand and they once again walked on.
They turned into no house at Shepperton,
As the weary boy had expected,
But they still kept walking on in mud and darkness,
Through gloomy lanes and ever cold open wastes.
On looking intently forward,
Oliver saw there was water just below them and they were coming to the foot of a bridge.
Sykes kept straight on until they were close upon the bridge then he turned suddenly down a bank on the left.
The water,
Thought Oliver,
Turning sick with fear,
Has brought me to this lonely place to murder me.
He was about to throw himself onto the ground and make one struggle for his young life when he saw that they stood before a solitary house,
All ruinous and decayed.
There was a window on each side of the dilapidated entrance.
But no light was visible.
The house was dark and dismantled.
To all appearances,
It was uninhabited.
And with Oliver's hand still in his,
Sykes softly approached the low porch and raised the latch.
The door yielded to the pressure and they passed in together.
