22 Oliver Twist - Read By Stephanie Poppins

"Oliver Twist," written by Charles Dickens in the 19th century, tells the story of an orphan boy and his adventures in London's slums. In this episode, there is a shock in the night that disrupts the fragile peace of the darkened city streets, propelling Oliver into unforeseen challenges and encounters

Transcript

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 22 The Burglary Hello,

Cried a loud,

Hoarse voice as soon as they set foot in the passage.

Don't make such a row,

Said Sykes,

Bolting the door.

Show him a glimp,

Toby.

Aha,

My pal,

Cried the same voice.

Barney,

Again!

Show the gentleman in,

Barney.

Wake up first,

If convenient.

The speaker appeared to throw a boot jack or some such article at the person he addressed to rouse him from his slumbers,

For the noise of a wooden body falling violently was heard,

And then an indistinct muttering as if a man between awake and asleep was there.

Do you hear?

Cried the same voice.

There's Bill Sykes in the passage with nobody to do the civil to him and you sleep in there as if you talk laudanum with your meals,

And nothing's stronger.

Are you any fresher now,

Or do you want the iron candlestick to wake you thoroughly?

A pair of slipshod feet shuffled hastily across the bare floor of the room.

Mr Sykes,

Exclaimed Barney,

With real or counterfeit joy.

You get on first,

Said Sykes,

Putting Oliver in front of him.

Quick,

Or I'll tread upon your heels.

Then muttering a curse upon his tardiness,

Sykes pushed Oliver before him and they entered a low dark room with a smoky fire,

Two or three broken chairs,

A table and a very old couch.

With his legs much higher than his head,

A man was reposing at full length,

Smoking a long clay pipe.

Mr Crackett had no very great quantity of hair,

Either upon his head or his face,

But what he had was a reddish eye and tortured into long corkscrew curls through which he occasionally thrust some very dirty fingers,

Ornamented with large common rings.

He was a trifle above the middle size and apparently rather weak in the legs,

But this circumstance by no means detracted from his own admiration of his top boots,

Which he contemplated in their elevated situation with lively satisfaction.

Bill,

My boy,

Said this figure,

Turning his head towards the door.

I'm glad to see you.

I was almost afraid you'd given it up,

In which case I should have made a personal venture.

Hello.

Uttering this exclamation in a tone of great surprise as his eyes rested on Oliver,

Mr Toby Crackett brought himself into a sitting posture and demanded who he was.

The boy,

Only the boy,

Replied Sykes,

Drawing a chair towards the fire.

One of Fagin's lads,

Exclaimed Barney with a grin.

Fagin's,

Eh?

Exclaimed Toby.

What an invaluable boy you'll make for the old lady's pockets and chapels.

That's enough of that,

Interposed Sykes impatiently.

Now,

If you'll give us something to eat and drink while we're waiting,

You'll put some heart in his or mine at all events.

Sit down by the fire,

Oliver,

And rest yourself.

You'll have to go out with us again tonight.

Oliver looked at Sykes in mute and timid wonder,

And drawing his stool to the fire,

Sat with his aching head upon his hands,

Scarcely knowing where he was.

Here,

Said Toby,

As the young Jew placed some fragments of food in a bottle before the table.

Success to the crack.

Down with it,

He added.

Do you think I don't know what's good for you?

Tell him to drink it,

Bill.

They'd better,

Said Sykes,

Clapping his hand upon his pocket.

Burn my body if he isn't more trouble than an old family of dodgers.

Drink it,

You perversing,

Drink it.

Frightened by the menacing gestures of the two men,

Oliver hastily swallowed the contents of the glass.

Then they slept,

Or appeared to sleep for some time.

Oliver fell into a heavy doze,

Imagining himself straying along gloomy lanes or wandering about the dark churchyard.

When all of a sudden he was roused by Toby Crackett,

Jumping up and declaring it was half past one.

In an instant,

The other two were on their legs and all were actively engaged in busy preparation.

Sykes and his companion enveloped their necks and chins in large dark shawls and threw on their great coats.

Barkers for me,

Barney,

Said Toby Crackett.

Here they are,

Replied Barney,

Producing a pair of pistols.

You loaded them yourself.

All right,

Replied Toby,

Stowing them away.

The persuaders?

I've got them,

Replied Sykes.

Crepe,

Keys,

Centre bits,

Darkies,

Nothing forgotten.

All right,

Bring them bits of timber,

Barney.

That's the time of day.

With these words,

Sykes took a thick stick from Barney's hands,

Who,

Having delivered another to Toby,

Busied himself in fastening Oliver's keep.

Now then,

Said Sykes,

Holding out his hand.

Once outside,

They hurried through the main street of a little town,

Which at that late hour was wholly deserted.

A dim light shot at intervals from some bedroom window and the hoarse barking of dogs occasionally broke the silence of the night.

But there was nobody abroad.

They had cleared the town as the church bell struck two.

Quickening their pace,

They turned up at a road,

Upon the left hand.

They stopped before a detached house surrounded by a wall,

To the top of which Toby Crackett,

Scarcely pausing to take breath,

Climbed in a twinkling.

The boy next,

Said Toby.

Hoist him up.

I'll catch hold of him.

And before Oliver had time to look around,

Sykes had caught him under the arms and in three or four seconds,

He and Toby were lying on the grass on the other side.

Sykes followed directly and they stalled cautiously towards the house.

Now for the first time,

Oliver,

Well-nigh mad with grief and terror,

Saw that housebreaking and robbery,

If not murder,

Were the objects of the expedition.

He clasped his hands together and involuntarily uttered a subdued exclamation of horror.

A mist came before his eyes.

The cold sweat stood upon his ashy face and his limbs failed him.

Get up,

Murmured Sykes,

Trembling with rage.

Get up or I'll throw your brains upon the grass.

For God's sake,

Let me go,

Cried Oliver.

Let me run away and die in the fields.

I'll never come near London again.

Never,

Never.

Hush,

Cried Toby.

It won't answer here.

Say another word and I'll do your business myself with a quick on the head.

Sykes,

Invoking terrific imprecations upon Fagin's head for sending Oliver on such an errand,

Plied the crowbar vigorously but with little noise and after some delay,

A little shutter swung open upon its hinges.

It was about five feet and a half above the ground at the back of the house,

Which belonged to a scullery.

The aperture was so small,

The inmates had probably not thought it worthwhile to defend it more securely,

But it was large enough to admit a boy of Oliver's size.

There's a bolt at the top you won't be able to reach,

Said Toby.

Stand on one of the ball chairs when you're through.

Keep quiet,

Can't you,

Replied Sykes with a threatening look.

Go softly up the street straight before you and along that little hall to the street door.

Unfasten it and let us in.

Sykes imperiously commanded everyone to be silent to get to work.

Toby complied,

First by producing a lantern and placing it on the ground,

Then by planting himself firmly with his head against the wall beneath the window and his hands upon his knees so as to make a step.

Once in through the window,

Oliver looked around more dead than alive.

Before Sykes said,

Hark!

What's that?

Whispered the other man and they listened intently.

It's nothing,

Said Sykes,

Releasing his hold of Oliver.

In the short time he had to collect his senses,

The boy had resolved that whether he died in the attempt or not,

He would make last an effort to dart upstairs from the hall once inside and alarm the family.

Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead stillness of the place and by a sudden loud cry which followed it,

Oliver let his lantern fall and knew not whether to advance or to fly.

Then the cry was repeated.

A light appeared.

A vision of two terrified half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes and he staggered back.

Sykes had disappeared for an instant then,

But suddenly he was up again.

Standing at the now open street door,

He'd fired his own pistol after the men who were already retreating and he dragged the boy up towards him.

Clasp your arm tighter,

Said Sykes as he drew him through the window.

Give me a shot here,

They've hit him,

Quick!

How this boy bleeds!

Then came the loud ringing of a bell mingled with the noise of firearms and the shouts of men and the sensation of being carried over uneven ground at a rapid pace.

And then the noises grew confused in the distance and a cold,

Deadly feeling crept over Oliver's heart as he saw or heard no more.