45 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.

In this episode, Fagin considers Nancy's behaviour.

Written by S D Hudson
Performed by Stephanie Poppins
Music by Jean-Miles Carter
Published by Neworld Books

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 44 The time arrives for Nancy to redeem her pledge to Rose Mailey. 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 Sykes 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 into an abyss of crime and misery, Whence there was no escape, Still there were times when, Even towards him, She felt some relenting. Lest her disclosure should bring 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 Sykes would have been more powerful intrusions 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 encompassed 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. Sykes and Fagin were talking, But they paused to listen. The girl looked up from the low seat on which she crouched and listened too. Eleven o'clock. An hour this side of midnight, Said Sykes, Raising the blind to look out and return 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 Sykes, Gruffly, It's a pity for I'm in a humour too. Fagin sighed and shook his head despondingly. We must make up for lost time when we got things in a good train, That's all I know, Said Sykes. 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 Sykes. Well, So be it. Pulling Sykes by the sleeve, Fagin pointed his finger towards Nancy, Who had taken advantage of the foregoing conversation to put on her bonnet and was now leaving the room. Hello, Cried Sykes. Nance, What's the gal going to at this time of night? Not far. What answer's that? Do you hear me? Retorted Sykes. I don't know where, Cried the girl. Then I do, Said Sykes. Sit down. He rose, Locked the door, Took the key out and pulling the 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 mannit 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. . . Said Sykes, Turning to Fagin. She's out of her senses, You know, Or she didn't talk to me in that way. You'll drive me on to 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, For this mannit? No, Said Sykes. Tell him to let me go, Fagin. He better, It'll be better for him, Do you hear me? Cried Nance, Stamping her foot. Hear you, Repeated Sykes, Turning round in his chair. And if I hear you for half a minute longer, The dog will have a grip on your throat and tear out some of that screaming voice. What's come over you? What 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're doing. You don't, Indeed, For only one hour. Cut my limbs off one by one, Cried Sykes, Seizing her roughly by the arm. If I don't think this girl's stark raving mad. Now, Get up. Not till you let me go. No, Never, Never, Screamed the girl. Sykes looked on for a minute, Watching his opportunity, And suddenly, Pinning her hands, He dragged her, Struggling and wrestling with him by the way, Into a small room where he sat himself on the bench and thrust her into a chair, Holding her down by force. She struggled and implored by turns until twelve o'clock struck. Then, Wearied and exhausted, She ceased to contest the point any further. With a caution, Backed by many oats, To make no more efforts to go out that night, Sykes left her to recover at leisure and rejoined Fagin. Woman's obstinacy, I suppose, My dear, Said Fagin. You may say that. I suppose it is, Growled Sykes. I thought I'd tamed her, But she's as bad as ever. Worse, Said Fagin thoughtfully. I never knew her like this for such a little cause. Then the girl herself appeared and resumed her former seat. Her eyes were swollen and red. She rocked herself to and fro and tossed her head. And after a little time, She burst out laughing. Now she's on the other tack, Exclaimed Sykes, 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 Sykes 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 Sykes, Who was filling his pipe. It's a pity he'll break his neck himself and disappoint the sightseers. 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, He said, What is it, Nancy, Dear? What do you mean? Replied the girl in the same tone. The reason of all this, If he, Fagin pointed with his skinny forefinger up the stairs, Is so hard with you, He's a brute, Nancy, A brute beast. Then why don't you. . . Well, Said the girl as he paused. No matter just now, We'll talk of this again. You have a friend in me, Nancy, A staunch friend. I have the means and quiet and close if you want revenge on those that treat you like a dog. Worse than a dog, For he humours him sometimes. Come to me, I say, Come to me. He's the mere hound of a day, But you know of me, Old Nancy. I know you very well, Replied the girl, Without manifesting the least emotion. Good night, Fagin. 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 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 a matter of certainty. And he would be a valuable acquisition with such an assistant as Nancy. He must, Therefore, Fagin argued, Be secured without delay. There was another and darker object to be gained. Sykes knew too much, And his ruffian taunts had not galled Fagin the less because the wounds were hidden. The girl must know well, If she shook him off, She could never be safe from his fury and that it would be surely wrecked 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. 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 her that. But perhaps she would recoil from a plot to take the life of Sykes and that was one of the chief ends to be attained. How can I increase my influence with her? Thought Fagin as he crept homeward. What new power can I acquire? If, Without extracting a confession from herself, He were to lay a watch, Discover the object of her altered regard and threaten to reveal the whole history to Sykes, Could he not secure her compliance? I can, Said Fagin, Almost aloud. She dares not refuse me then. Not for her life. Not for her life.