Great Expectations (4 page)

Miss Havisham had adopted her. She had practically adopted me. She must want to bring us together! My heart was light with hope when I rang the bell on the iron gate.

Miss Havisham had a new porter. It was Orlick. Joe had fired him.

“Ah, young master,” Orlick said with a sneer. “There’s more changes than yours in the world.”

Without saying a word, I walked past him. I crossed the gloomy courtyard and entered the house. Miss Havisham was sitting in the banquet room. Her hands were crossed on top of her cane.

“I heard that you wanted to see me,” I said. “I came as quickly as I could.”

A lady I did not know stood before the fire. She turned around. It was Estella!

She had changed! She was even more beautiful than before. I felt as if I had not changed at all. I was still the same coarse and common boy.

“Has he changed?” Miss Havisham asked Estella.

“Very much,” she replied, looking at me.

Suddenly she kissed Miss Havisham’s hand and left the room.

“Isn’t she beautiful and graceful?”
Miss Havisham asked with a greedy look. She put an arm around my neck and pulled me close to her.

“Love her, love her, love her!” Miss Havisham whispered in my ear. “If she favors you, love her. If she hurts you, love her. If she tears your heart to pieces, love her!”

I had never heard anyone talk like this before. It scared me.

“Hear me, Pip!” she continued. “I adopted her to be loved. I brought her up to be loved. I made her what she is today. Love her! Love her!”

Miss Havisham ranted like a madwoman. Her cries cut the musty air of the room. She made the word “love” sound like a curse.

“Go, Pip!” she said, pointing her cane at the door. “Go into the garden. Walk with her!”

Estella and I did as she said. In the garden, Estella walked and talked like a lady. I felt like a little boy beside her—not
the gendeman I thought I had become. I could see that I wasn’t important to her. She probably never thought about me while she was away.

“I have no heart,” said Estella suddenly. “Oh, my heart can be stabbed or shot. My heart can stop beating, but it cannot be touched. There is no softness, no tenderness in me.”

Her cold voice was like Miss Havisham’s. But her face and hands reminded me of someone else. It was someone I had just met, but I could not remember where.

I left for London without seeing Joe. My mind was crowded with thoughts of Estella. Miss Havisham’s words kept ringing in my ears. I was miserable by the time I got home.

A few months later my sister died, and I went to the funeral. When I arrived, the house was full of mourners. Poor dear Joe was sitting by himself in a corner of
the living room. He was wrapped in a black cloak tied at the chin with a large bow. He looked as uncomfortable as he had in London.

I bent down to him. “Dear Joe, how are you?”

“Pip, old boy,” he said. “You knew her when she was a fine fig … a fine figure … of … of a woman.”

Then he broke down in tears.

My sister was buried in the churchyard beside our mother and father. The larks sang and a light wind blew away the clouds over our heads.

I said farewell to the woman who had brought me up.

My twenty-first birthday came, and with it a larger yearly income from my benefactor.

On that day, I asked Mr. Jaggers who that benefactor was.

“You will know when your benefactor chooses to tell you,” replied Mr. Jaggers.

I couldn’t understand why Miss Havisham wanted to keep the secret. Then I heard some shocking news. Drummle was courting Estella! I left for Miss Havisham’s the next day.

Miss Havisham was seated near the fire, with Estella at her feet, when I arrived. Light from the fire shone on their faces.

Estella was upset. Suddenly she flung her knitting aside and stood up.

“What!” cried Miss Havisham, her eyes flashing. “Are you tired of me?”

“Only a little tired of myself,” replied Estella, with a sigh. She stood at the hearth and looked into the fire.

“Speak the truth, you ingrate!” cried Miss Havisham, striking her cane on the floor. “You are tired of me. I know it!”

Estella did not answer. Miss Havisham’s face was red with rage.

“You are like stone!” she shouted. “You cold, cold heart!”

“What!” replied Estella. “You think
I’m
cold?”

“Are you not?” asked Miss Havisham.

I was shocked by the argument. Miss Havisham never spoke to Estella like this. And Estella was never so cruel to Miss Havisham.

“I am what you have made me,” said Estella. “Take all the praise. Take all the blame.”

“Oh, look at her, Pip,” said Miss Havisham bitterly. “Look at her, so hard and thankless. Did I never give her love?”

Miss Havisham’s words did not affect Estella at all.

“So proud, so proud!” cried Miss Havisham. She grabbed her white hair and pulled it.

“Who taught me to be so proud and so hard?” demanded Estella. “Who praised me when I learned the lessons
well? It is your fault I am this way.”

“But to be proud and hard to
me
!” cried Miss Havisham, stretching her arms out to Estella.

Estella looked at Miss Havisham calmly. Then she fixed her gaze on the fire once more.

“How can you expect me to be anything more than what I am? You were the one who taught me that love is an enemy.”

Miss Havisham’s hands fell limply into her lap. Her head hung. She moaned and swayed in her chair. Then, suddenly, she was quiet. Estella returned to her knitting. The storm had come and gone so quickly, I hardly knew what had happened.

Miss Havisham stared silently into the fire. I chose that moment to confront Estella.

“Estella, tell me why are you seeing Drummle,” I said. “You know he is an ill-tempered, stupid fellow and not
worthy of you. How can you be with him?”

“Moths and other ugly creatures come to the light of a candle,” replied Estella. “Can the candle help it?”

“No,” I said, “but
you
could if you wanted to.”

Estella’s face turned to the fire. Now was my chance!

“Estella,” I said nervously, “I have loved you ever since I first saw you in this house.”

Miss Havisham put her hand to her heart as she looked at us.

“I know you will never be mine, Estella,” I continued. “Still, I love you.”

“Those are only words,” said Estella. “You touch nothing in my heart. I warned you of this, did I not?”

I nodded. I felt miserable.

“It is true that Bentley Drummle visits me,” said Estella. “In fact, he is dining here tonight.”

“Do you love him, Estella? Will you marry him?” I asked.

I feared the worst. Drummle was mean. Estella’s life with him would be horrible. Marrying him would be a mistake.

“What have I told you?” she replied. “Love means nothing to me. But, yes, I am going to marry him.”

I covered my face with my hands. All was lost.

“Estella, do not do this!” I cried. “What Miss Havisham has taught you is wrong. She only wants revenge. You must not ruin your life for her sake!”

“I’m going to be married soon,” said Estella. “It has nothing to do with my adoptive mother! It is my own act. I want to change my life. Say no more. We will never understand each other.”

“Drummle is a mean, stupid brute!” I shouted. I was desperate.

“Don’t think I will make Bentley’s
life a happy one,” said Estella. “Come! Here is my hand. Let us part friends.”

“Oh, Estella,” I said.

But there was no use in pleading. I held her hand to my lips. My bitter tears fell onto her smooth skin. I knew in my soul that whatever happened, Estella would always be a part of me.

By my twenty-third birthday, I still did not know the name of my benefactor. Herbert and I were living at Garden Court, down by the river.

Outside, a storm had been raging for days. The wind and rain drenched everything in its path. Today had been the worst of all.

I stayed indoors all day. I tried to keep busy. In the evening, I sat in my room reading. Herbert was in France on business. I missed his cheerful face.

Suddenly I heard a footstep on the stair.

I took my reading lamp into the hall. The footsteps stopped.

“Is someone down there?” I called.

“Yes,” said a voice from the darkness below.

“What floor do you want?” I asked.

“I want Mr. Pip’s floor,” the stranger replied.

“I am Mr. Pip,” I said.

I held the lamp over the railing, and the man came up the stairs. I could not see his face, but I could see that he wore seaman’s clothes. His hair was long and gray. He looked about sixty years old.

The man climbed the last stair. He looked at me as if he knew me. I did not recognize him.

“What is your business?” I asked.

“My business?” repeated the man. “I will tell you.”

The seaman entered my room and looked around with pleasure. He took off his coat and hat and held out both his hands to me.

“What do you want?” I asked. I feared he might be crazy.

“I have waited many years for this
day, and come so far. Give me a minute, please.”

He sat down and covered his forehead with one hand. Suddenly he looked over his shoulder.

“There’s no one here with you, is there?” he asked nervously.

“How can you, a stranger, come into my room and ask that question?”

“You’re a game one,” he replied, shaking his head fondly at me. “I’m glad you growed up a game one!”

Suddenly his face became familiar to me. It was the man in the graveyard! I stood face to face with my convict!

He stood and held out his hands once again. I did not know what to do. I put my hands in his. He grabbed them.

“You acted nobly, my boy,” he said. “Noble Pip! I have never forgotten what you did for me in the churchyard!”

I pulled away. I was afraid he might hug me.

“Keep away!” I said. “I don’t need
thanks for what I did for you when I was a child. Just live a changed life. That is all the thanks I need.”

I could see that my words hurt him. I tried to soften them.

“You are wet and tired. Will you have a drink before you go?” I offered.

I made my convict some hot rum- and-water. I did not want him to stay long, so I stood while he drank.

My convict told me what had happened to him after we parted. He escaped the Hulks a second time and made his way to Australia, where he became a sheep farmer. He made a lot of money.

“And you’ve done well, too,” he said. “How?”

I started to tremble. “I—have a benefactor,” I said.

“By chance, does your yearly income start with the number five?” he asked.

My heart beat like a heavy hammer. My yearly income was five hundred
pounds! But how could the convict know that? We hadn’t seen each other since that fateful night in the marsh.

“You had a guardian before you turned twenty-one,” he continued. “Could the first letter of that man’s last name be a J? Could the man’s name be Jaggers?”

I could not speak. I could hardly breathe. The horrible truth became clear to me. This convict was my benefactor!

“Yes, Pip, dear boy, I’ve made a gentleman of you!” the convict said. “I swore I would. I lived rough so you could live smooth. I worked hard so you wouldn’t have to work. Pip, you are the gentleman I could never be!”

I recoiled from him as if he were a snake. It pained me to know that a criminal had paid for the life I lived.

My great expectations were dust. Miss Havisham wasn’t my benefactor. Estella was never intended for me. It was all a dream! What hurt the most
was knowing that I had deserted Joe—for a convict.

The convict took my hands again. My blood ran cold.

“Where will I stay?” he asked. “I must stay somewhere, dear boy.”

“To sleep?”

“Yes. To sleep long and sound, for I’ve been at sea months and months.”

I gave the man Herbert’s room. Even though I despised him, I could not let him wander the streets.

My sleep that night was filled with nightmares.

At breakfast the convict told me his name was Abel Magwitch. Then he dropped a thick wallet onto the table. It was full of money!

“It’s all yours, dear boy,” he said. “Buy horses. I won’t have my gentleman walking in the mud. Buy horses to ride and horses to drive!”

“Stop!” I cried. “I don’t want your
money. I want to know if the police are looking for you and how long you will be staying. You’re only visiting, aren’t your

“I’ve come for good,” he said, lighting his pipe. “I can disguise myself, but the police will hang me if I’m caught. You tell me where I’ll live.”

I hid Magwitch in my room. When Herbert got home, I told him the whole story. The convict shoved a Bible at him.

“Take it in your right hand,” he said. “Swear you won’t tell a soul you saw me. Kiss it!”

Now Herbert shared my awful secret. Our life together had taken a terrible turn.

“You must get him out of England,” Herbert told me when we were alone. “You will have to go with him, or else he won’t go.”

As long as Magwitch lived in England, I was not free. I knew how much he wanted me to be “his gentleman.” I could not play the part anymore. I decided never to take another penny from this man. But I couldn’t let Magwitch be captured. He had done so much for me. I could not let him die.

Magwitch stayed in the privacy of our rooms all day. He only slipped outside for some fresh air at night, under cover of darkness.

One night, the gatekeeper told me he had seen a man with a scar watching our place. He had a rough-looking face and tattered clothes. He skulked around our house and under our windows.

He must be after Magwitch
! I thought.

The very next morning, I asked Magwitch about the scar-faced man.

Magwitch filled his pipe and started his story.

“The man’s name is Compeyson. I met him at the races years ago. He was a gentleman. He knew how to dress. But he was no better than a common thief!