December 16, 1828
. . . Bill left and Fagin began whacking his fire poker against the side of the chimney, once again, in fresh anger. I went to my room so as not to bother him any further.
I lied down on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. I began to focus intently on the plaster and found myself returning back to memories of my childhood; a time when I could spend hours counting the cracks in the ceiling. Those days were long gone now. I sighed. What I wouldn't give to be back at that cottage in Kent with my older sister (now diseased); us playing in the yard, reading in the garden, or just watching the rain hit the windowpanes during the winter storms! I wished that I could go back, even for a minute. Those had been the best days of my life. . .
My thoughts were interrupted by a rapping on my door. I sat up to find Fagin standing by my bed, staring at me.
"My dear," he began, "I want to discuss something that has been bothering me. . ."
My heart began to race.
"You see, you are not getting very far with Nancy . . . and I think I know what to have you do."
"I have tried to be exceptionally kind to her," I answered, "And she is not doing anything."
"I know, my dear. She is not easily goaded into helping herself," Fagin sat down on the edge of the bed, "You should do something about it tonight."
"How?"
"By going with Bill . . . and, supposing you don't return with Bill. Simply use your wits, my dear. One of the simplest things you can do. And, of course, Nancy will be grateful - If not right away, eventually. Just think on it," he stood up and left the room.
I remained where I was and thought about how I would avoid this horrible task. But, I could think of nothing. I was stuck. My luck had only gotten me so far. Now was the time to fling caution to the wind.
I got up walked out of the room, past the kitchen, down the passage, and out into the street. I headed down to The Three Cripples and went inside.
"Excuse me," I addressed the barman, "I need to find Bill Sikes. What room number is he?"
The barman told me he lived in room twelve on the third story. I went up two flights of stairs and came upon the room. I knocked. There was a scuffling noise and then there was Nancy at the door. She smiled and invited me in.
"What do you want?" she led me to a chair.
"Is Bill home?"
"Not right now but, he should be back in an hour. Can you wait?"
"I'm not actually interested in seeing Bill. I need to speak to you . . . It's urgent."
Nancy leant towards me and appeared a little worried.
I continued, "Fagin wants me to murder Bill tonight. I don't want to," I stopped, not knowing what to say.
"He wants Bill dead?" she began to tear up.
"I didn't think that would upset you so . . . I'm sorry," I grasped her hand.
"Bill's not always unkind - no matter what Fagin thinks. At least he used to be . . ."
"I had the same impression as Fagin, I'm afraid. What changed him?"
She looked me in the eye and lowered her voice, "Drinking, money, and Fagin."
I understood this partly. I understood the drinking (Bill drunk to excess), but I did not fully comprehend the rest, "Can you explain further?" I prodded.
"Yes, well when I met Bill he was living outside of London. He was working as a farmhand. He would take produce to market regularly for extra pay. I met him when I was thirteen. I had run away from a workhouse in the area and he gave me a ride. . ."
(She went into a fascinating story about her first encounter with Bill. I have written it in full below - not because it really pertains to anything, but because through reading it, the reader may understand the complexities of Bill.)
- - - - -
The cart bumped and thumped as it sped along the dirt road. The wheels creaked as they turned and Bill could not keep himself from constantly hitting the girl beside him in the shoulder. Every time the cart flew out of a rut, he would be chucked off the seat and would come back down at an angle against the poor passenger, making her clutch at the side of the seat so as to keep from being pushed clean off. This happened almost continually, therefore, it would be silly (although not entirely wrong) to continually say that he was honestly sorry for hitting her. So, he made a point to regularly apologize for the ride. When he did this the girl would simply shake her head, say that it was normal, and clutch the seat tighter.
"We'll be 'ere in just a few more hours."
The girl nodded, her eyes staring strait ahead frozen, holding on even harder than before with her fingers.
"What's yer name?" he asked in order to check that she did still have a voice. She had not spoken ever since they had started.
"Nancy Bently," she stated quickly and stiffened against another blow from Bill. Then she said quickly, "Can we stop!?"
Bill pulled on the reins and gave a short yell towards the horses. They stopped abruptly and caused the two riders to be flung backwards.
"Well, there yer are. Now what's the problem?...Nancy?...Miss. Bently?..." Bill had turned to look at the person sitting beside him, but she was missing. He turned his head from side to side, but after discovering nothing, he let some air out of his lungs in a low whistle and dismounted. "This is no time fer silliness, Nancy. I'm in a right spot. Got a deadline yer know..." He started to pull apart some bushes along the side of the road. "I've got business to do yer know..."
"So do I! Please don't come any nearer! Go back! I'll be there in a minute!" came the voice from somewhere ahead.
"Oh, I won't! Just you tell me next time before yer leave me with a puddle in my cart!" Bill headed back feeling extremely foolish, "Never ever follow a girl off into the bushes, you aught ter know that!" he reminded himself.
A minute later she reappeared. She looked at Bill, blushed, and climbed back in the cart smirking with her hand over her mouth. Bill looked over at her. She stifled a giggle and he quickly set the horses to trotting once again. He didn't speak again for a long time because he was still embarrassed and he knew what she was thinking. She was thinking that he was as dimwitted as a garden hoe and he did not like it one bit.
Nancy was now clutching at the side of the seat once more, but she frequently looked over at Bill. She smiled, giggled, and then would look away in a shy, girly manner; the kind that drove Bill crazy.
He tried to concentrate on the road ahead. He took note of every pothole, every leaf, the way the grass overhung the road, everything.
"Only a few more hours," he reminded himself, "Then, I won't have ter see her again."
He leaned back in the seat and tried to look like he hadn't a care in the world. He was a man for goodness sake! He didn't need to heed a giggling creature who was younger than he and who didn't even have the right to be riding in his cart, HIS cart. He could chuck her out any time he wanted. See how she would like walking all the way to Leighton...
Unfortunately (or because of the grace of God), Bill was not as manly as all that. Halfway through his thoughts he started hearing a voice from inside his head. He was used to it; it was the same one that spoke every time he went into a pub, the same one that spoke whenever he tried to play poker, the same one that spoke when he raised the price of his onions...it was the voice of his mother.
"Never, ever drink, the Lord hates drunks. Never, ever gamble, the Lord hates people who throw away his blessings. Never, ever do dishonest business, the Lord hates people who cheat. Never lie, God hates liars. Never covet, the Lord gives as he sees fit. Never, ever disrespect women, God made them just like men..." and on for several more minutes.
One of the earliest memories of his mother was of her sitting out on the porch, opening pea pods, and giving this speech. She had repeated it so many times that Bill had memorized it and he could still hear her pronounce each syllable and with extra emphasis on the words "God", "Lord", and "Hates."
As these old words twisted themselves around in his brain, he looked over at Nancy and saw that she was now composed and clutching the seat.
"Sorry 'bout the ride."
"It's normal," she tossed her head and breathed in the fresh air.
Bill looked back at the landscape and wished that time would fly by a little quicker and that his mother would shut up on the way.
About an hour later, as the sun became erect over the land, Bill's stomach began to grumble and his head began to linger on the memory of a tuna sandwich he had stowed away in his bag. Suddenly the idea struck him that if he stopped his cart and ate, the inevitable would happen: he would have to share. Rats! Nancy carried no luggage so obviously she had no lunch. Bill heaved a sigh and reined in the horses. He stuffed his hand into the bag behind the seat, fished around, and pulled out his sandwich, wrapped in a handkerchief. He set it in his lap and started to unfold it slowly in order to see how Nancy would react. She looked over at his lap in a sort of uncomprehending way and folded her hands. Bill grabbed the sandwich and held it in his hands. Her eyes followed it. He waited a moment and then fetched a small, carving knife out of his pocket. As he cut the sandwich in half, Nancy began to smile once again and she even laughed gently as she thanked him for his kindness.
They sat quietly and chewed, both in thoughtful repose. Bill was trying to work out wether they would arrive at Leighton by evening when suddenly his thoughts strayed to a new idea altogether:
I wonder if Nancy, since she can't seem ter wait ter use the restroom, will not be able ter keep the food down? If she vomits in my cart...Oh, there'll be heck to pay then! But, why am I thinkin' about this?! Think, Bill, yer still have thirty-five miles approx. to go and yer need ter get there by six...Oh, I can't concentrate like this!
He came back to reality and found that he was chewing his tongue and that his brow was wrinkled into a tight knot. Nancy was attentively looking over at his face and he could see a sparkle of girly laughter in her brown eyes. He must have looked ridiculous.
"Ready to get going?" he asked.
"Yes. What were you thinking about?"
"Math. I'm trying ter figure how much time we 'ave."
"You mean the type where you use time and distance to figure speed? Wow, that's higher math isn't it? You must be really smart!"
Suckin' up ter me! Of course I'm smart; what do yer think I am, a guppy?!
"Yeah, I went ter school," he focused ahead and said no more.
(Nancy went further into the story but, I must stop here and let the reader learn a different aspect of Bill)
Nancy paused after a time.
"Where does Fagin come in?" I asked.
"Bill met Fagin after he moved to London a month later. Bill couldn't find any work and, therefore, Fagin's offers of food, sleeping quarters, and work were very tempting. After working in the pick-pocketing trade for about a year, his greed grew so much that he decided he wanted to strike out on his own. Fagin was fine with it as long as he still got some of the profits. The result was that Bill got into a partnership with Toby (Toby's a few years older than Bill) and Toby taught him everything about house-breaking. I eventually came to London, at about this time, and was insnared by Fagin, too. I then joined the pick-pockets until I started to get cold feet. Fagin was unhappy about my "guilty feelings" so he moved me in with Bill. I was supposed to help him, but my feelings are - that I was simply a gift for Bill to use as he liked. I didn't mind it at first. But, then, he began to drink heavily and to become abusive - he lost all feelings of remorse . . . ," she went on much longer until I decided that I should leave.
"I need to go before Bill gets back," I hastened to the door, "Don't worry about anything." I left and she closed the door. I headed as quickly as I could back to Fagin's. I still was not sure what I was going to do later that night . . .
Cheerio! This is a strange chapter, but it is interesting. I hope you liked it. This is my longest chapter so far! Please, leave feedback! - Elaine Dawkins