CHAPTER EIGHT

A Visit to Mr Wemmick and Mr Jaggers

Herbert introduced me to his father, who lived on the other side of London, in Hammersmith. I studied hard with Mr Pocket for a few months, and I found him always a most kind and helpful teacher. I spent half my time at Herbert's and half at his father's home. When I needed money, I went to collect it from Wemmick at Mr Jaggers' office. There was always plenty of money available.

Two other gentlemen were also studying at Mr Pocket's. One of them, Bentley Drummle, came from a wealthy family that lived in the country. He was lazy, proud, mean and stupid. I was friendlier with Startop, a pleasant, caring young man. We used to row our boats together up and down the river. But Herbert remained my greatest friend, and we spent most of our time together.

One day Wemmick invited me to his house at Walworth, which is a village outside of London.

"Do you mind walking there, Mr Pip?" he asked. "I like to get exercise when I can. Tonight for dinner we're going to have a roast chicken. It was a little present from one of my clients, and I think it'll be especially good. I like receiving gifts from clients, especially if it's cash, or something that can be changed easily into cash. These rings I'm wearing were given to me by clients, just before they died. All of them were hanged, they were. By the way, I hope you won't mind meeting my aged parent, would you?"

"No, of course not," I replied.

"Have you had dinner with Mr Jaggers yet?" Wemmick continued. "I know tomorrow he'll invite you and the other three young gentlemen. There's always good food and drink at his house. But I'll tell you that when you're there, take a good look at his housekeeper."

"Why?" I asked. "What's so special about his housekeeper?"

"She's like a wild animal that Mr Jaggers has trained! Oh yes! He's the strongest and cleverest man in London. Another strange thing about him, you know, is that he never locks his doors or windows at night."

"And he's never been robbed?" I asked, surprised.

"None of the thieves in London would dare rob him, even though they know where he lives. They are all afraid of him, you see. He wouldn't rest until he had hanged every single one. He's a powerful man, Mr Pip."

Mr Wemmick led me to a tiny wooden house in the middle of a garden. On top of the house's roof was a small gun.

"At nine o'clock every evening we fire the gun," Wemmick said proudly. "And behind the house, which I call the Castle, I raise animals and even grow my own vegetables. So, in case an enemy attacks us, we can always eat our own food. What do you think of it?"

I told him his home was wonderful and congratulated him on his ideas. Clearly he was delighted to show visitors his ideas and improvements.

"Everything I did myself, you know," he said, "When I do things around the house, it helps me forget the office for a while. Would it be all right if I were to introduce you to the Aged now? He would like it very much."

We entered the Castle and found a cheerful old man sitting by the fire.

"Well, aged parent," said Wemmick, "how are you doing?"

"Quite well, John," replied the old man, happily.

"This here is Mr Pip, Aged Parent. Mr Pip, he's completely deaf and can't understand a word you say, but he likes to nod at people and see people nod back at him."

"This is my son's fine house, sir," cried the old man, nodding back at me. "I think the nation should keep it for public visit after my son's death."

"Proud of it, aren't you, Aged?" said Wemmick. I noticed that his face had lost its usual hardness when he looked at the old man.

"Does Mr Jaggers admire your home, Mr Wemmick?" I asked.

"He's never been here as I've never invited him. Never met the Aged, either. No, the office is one thing and my private life is another. I never speak of the Castle at the office, and don't think of the office at the Castle."

The Aged told me that he was looking forward to the evening firing of the gun. Exactly at nine o'clock, Wemmick fired it. The tiny house shook, and the Aged excitedly jumped up and down in his armchair, crying, "I heard it! I heard the gun!"

After an excellent supper, I spent the night in the smallest bedroom I had ever been in. The next morning, while walking back to London with Wemmick, I noticed that his face was becoming dryer and harder, and his mouth more like a post-box again. At the office, it seemed impossible to guess that he had a home, or an aged parent, or any interests outside of his work.

Wemmick was correct in saying that Mr Jaggers would invite me to dinner. Startop, Drummle, Herbert and I went to the office at six o'clock the next evening. We found Jaggers washing his hands and face carefully with his perfumed soap. This was what he did every evening before returning home. It was as if he washed away his clients and his work, like dirt. Then we all walked to his house together.

When the housekeeper brought in the first dish, I took a good look at her. She was about forty and had a strange wild expression on her pale face. Toward her master she seemed almost afraid, and would look anxiously at him whenever she entered the room.

The food was very good indeed, and the conversation was cheerful. But Mr Jaggers somehow made us show the worst side of our characters. He encouraged Drummle, who we all thought a little bothersome, to further annoy us. Drummle proudly said that he was stronger than any of us, and we all foolishly showed each other our muscles, trying to prove how strong we were. Suddenly Mr Jaggers loudly clapped his large hand on the housekeeper's, just as she was removing a dish from the table. This stopped us talking immediately.

"Gentlemen," he said, "My housekeeper here is stronger than any of you. Show them your wrists, Molly."

"No, please, master," she begged. She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly by the hand.

"Go on, Molly," he ordered, and she held her wrists out to us. "You'll never see stronger hands than these," he said. We all thought his display rather strange, and there was uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. Then Mr Jaggers said, "All right, Molly, you can go," and she hurried out. He did not give us an explanation.

Mr Jaggers continued to enjoy watching us quarrelling with Drummle during the rest of our dinner. He seemed, surprisingly, to like Drummle very much. I was glad when the dinner was over, and Herbert and I walked quietly back to our rooms together.

(end of section)