CHAPTER SEVEN

Arriving in London

I had heard from everybody in England that London was a wonderful city. So I was quite surprised to find narrow dirty streets with people crowded into tiny houses. I thought it rather ugly. The size of London frightened me. Going to Smithfield, the meat market, shocked me—there was dirt and blood everywhere. Then I walked past Newgate Prison where prisoners were hanged. A drunken man excitedly told me that four men would die there tomorrow. This news disgusted me. I don't think my first impression of London could have been any worse.

I finally managed to find Mr Jaggers' office, where several other people were waiting for him too. After some time he appeared and walked towards me. When his clients saw him, they all rushed together at him. Some he spoke to and others he pushed away. One man held on to his sleeve.

"Please, Mr Jaggers," he cried, "the police say my brother has stolen some silver. You are the only person who on save him! I'm ready to pay anything!"

"Your brother?" repeated the lawyer. "The trial is tomorrow? Well, I'm sorry for both you and him, but I'm the side of the court."

"No, Mr Jaggers!" begged the man with tears in his eyes. "I'll pay anything! Don't say you're against him!"

"Out of my way," said Mr Jaggers. We left the man begging on his knees.

Mr Jaggers then turned to me and said that on Monday I would be going to Matthew Pocket's house to begin my studies, but until then I would be staying with his son, Herbert. Herbert lived nearby.

Mr Jaggers' clerk, Wemmick, led me to Mr Pocket's rooms. Wemmick was a short man with a square face that gave no expressions. He was between forty and fifty years old. His mouth was so wide it reminded of a post-box, and this made him look like he was smiling all the time.

As we walked, I tried to make conversation with him. "Is London a very wicked place?" I asked.

"People are robbed or murdered in London, but that can happen to people anywhere, if the criminal can profit by it."

With people like Wemmick accepting crime so calmly, I was not sure about living in London.

The building that Herbert Pocket lived in was the dirtiest I had ever seen, with broken windows and dusty doors. In the middle was a little square with dying trees all around. I gave a look of horror at Mr Wemmick.

Not understanding my look, he replied, "You must be pleased. Its quietness must make you think of the country. I do agree. Goodbye, Mr Pip."

I went up the stairs and found a note on Mr Pocket's door, saying "Returning soon." I heard footsteps about half an hour later, and a young man, quite out of breath and of my age, appeared at the door. "Mr Pip?" he said. "I'm very sorry I'm so late!"

I was unable to believe my eyes, and looked at him in confusion. Suddenly he looked closely at me and started in surprise.

"You're the boy I fought with at Miss Havisham's!"

"And you," I said, "are the pale young gentleman!"

We shook hands and had a good laugh together.

"Well!" he said, "I hope you'll be kind enough to forgive me for knocking you down that day." Actually, I had knocked him down but I did not tell him so.

"I had been invited to Miss Havisham's to see if she liked me," he began. "I suppose she didn't have a good impression of me. Otherwise, I could be a rich man now and may be even engaged to Estella."

"Were you disappointed?" I asked.

"That I'm not engaged to Estella? Oh no! I wouldn't want to marry her! Miss Havisham raised her to be proud and hard so that she can break men's hearts, as a revenge on all men."

"Is she related to Miss Havisham?" I asked.

"No, only adopted. So tell me why you were at Miss Havisham's."

"The same as you—to make my fortune! But I was lucky."

"Mr Jaggers is Miss Havisham's lawyer. I'm very glad that he suggested my father to teach you. My father is Miss Havisham's cousin, you know."

I could tell that Herbert Pocket was an open and honest man, and he made an excellent impression on me. His character had nothing secret or mean and we soon became close friends. I told him of my former life in the village, and my future expectations.

"Call me Herbert," he said. "Would you mind if I called you by the nickname Handel? Handel wrote a wonderful piece of music called The Ironworker and it reminds me of you." I agreed of course, and during dinner, Herbert told me Miss Havisham's sad story.

"Her mother was married to a very rich and proud man, but she died at a young age. Miss Havisham was their only child. Then the father married his cook, and they had a son together. This son, Miss Havisham's half-brother, was not a good person, and his father did not leave him as much money as he left Miss Havisham. Her half-brother wanted revenge because he thought that she had influenced her father against him."

"Anyway, a certain man came and pretended to be in love with Miss Havisham. It's true she was certainly in love with him, for she gave him whatever money he asked for. My father was the only one of her relatives to tell her that she should not trust this man. This made her so angry that she told my father to leave the house immediately, and to this day he has never seen her again. Because her other relations were only interested in getting some of her wealth, they said nothing. The wedding day was fixed, guests were invited, and her dress and the cake were brought to the house. The day arrived, but the man did not. Instead, he wrote a letter—"

"Did she receive this letter at twenty to nine, when she was dressing for her wedding?" I said.

"Yes, and since then her clocks have been stopped and her windows not opened. She was very ill for a while. Nobody knows what happened to the man, but people think that her half-brother sent him to get money from her, and that he shared the profits. Perhaps he hated her for taking most of the Havisham fortune. So now you know as much as I do!"

We moved onto other things. I asked Herbert about his profession.

"Oh, I work in the city," he said happily, "insuring ships. A lot of money in that, you know. Very big profits!"

I began to think that Herbert's expectations must be greater than mine.

"And where are your ships at now?" I asked.

"Oh, I'm still working in a counting house just now. I don't get paid very much, but I'm looking for a good opportunity. Then I'll begin on my ships and make my fortune!"

I could see from the old, worn furniture in the room that Herbert must be very poor. I thought that although he was full of hopes for the future, he would never be very rich or successful.

We spent a happy weekend together visiting London. It was all very new and exciting, but I could not help noticing the dirt and bad smells and heat. When I thought of my village home, I became quite sad. My home seemed so far away.

(end of section)