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Joe and Biddy were very sympathetic and pleasant when I spoke of our approaching separation; but they only referred to it when I did. No more low, wet grounds, no more dikes, no more of these grazing cattle – I was for London; not for smith’s work in general! I made my exultant way to the wood, and, lying down there, fell asleep.
When I awoke, I was much surprised to find Joe sitting beside me, smoking his pipe. He greeted me with a cheerful smile on my opening my eyes, and said —
“I decided to follow you, Pip.”
“Joe, I am very glad you did so.”
“Thank you, Pip.”
“You may be sure, dear Joe,” I went on, after we had shaken hands, “that I shall never forget you.”
“No, no, Pip!” said Joe, in a comfortable tone, “I’m sure of that. Ay, ay, old chap!”
When we had walked home and had had tea, I took Biddy into our little garden by the side of the lane, and said I had a favour to ask of her.
“And it is, Biddy,” said I, “that you will not omit any opportunity of helping Joe on, a little.”
“How helping him on?” asked Biddy, with a steady sort of glance.
“Well! Joe is a dear good fellow – in fact, I think he is the dearest fellow that ever lived – but he is rather backward in some things. For instance, Biddy, in his learning and his manners.”
Although I was looking at Biddy as I spoke, and although she opened her eyes very wide when I had spoken, she did not look at me.
“O, his manners! won’t his manners do then?” asked Biddy, plucking a black-currant leaf.
“My dear Biddy, they do very well here – ”
“O! they do very well here?” interrupted Biddy, looking closely at the leaf in her hand.
“I mean a higher sphere.”
“And don’t you think he knows that?” asked Biddy.
It was such a very provoking question, that I said, snappishly —
“Biddy, what do you mean?”
“Have you never considered that he may be proud?”
“Proud?” I repeated, with disdainful emphasis.
“O! there are many kinds of pride,” said Biddy, looking full at me and shaking her head; “pride is not all of one kind – ”
“Well? What are you stopping for?” said I.
“He may be too proud,” resumed Biddy, “to let any one take him out of a place that he fills well and with respect. To tell you the truth, I think he is.”
“Now, Biddy,” said I, “I did not expect to see this in you. You are envious, Biddy, and grudging. You are dissatisfied on account of my rise in fortune.”
“If you have the heart to think so,” returned Biddy, “say so. Say so over and over again, if you have the heart to think so.”
But, morning once more brightened my view, and I extended my clemency to Biddy, and we dropped the subject. Putting on the best clothes I had, I went into town as early as I could hope to find the shops open, and presented myself before Mr. Trabb, the tailor.
“Well!” said Mr. Trabb. “How are you, and what can I do for you?”
“Mr. Trabb,” said I, “it looks like boasting; but I have come into a handsome property. I am going up to my guardian in London, and I want a fashionable suit of clothes.”
“My dear sir,” said Mr. Trabb, “may I congratulate you? Would you do me the favour of stepping into the shop?”
I selected the materials for a suit, with the assistance of Mr. Trabb. Mr. Trabb measured and calculated me in the parlor.
After this memorable event, I went to the hatter’s, and the shoemaker’s, and the hosier’s. I also went to the coach-office and took my place for seven o’clock on Saturday morning.
So, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, passed; and on Friday morning I went to pay my visit to Miss Havisham.
I went to Miss Havisham’s by all the back ways, and rang at the bell. Sarah Pocket came to the gate, and positively reeled back when she saw me so changed.
“You?” said she. “You? Good gracious! What do you want?”
“I am going to London, Miss Pocket,” said I, “and want to say goodbye to Miss Havisham.”
Miss Havisham was taking exercise in the room with the long spread table, leaning on her crutch stick. She stopped and turned.
“Don’t go, Sarah,” she said. “Well, Pip?”
“I start for London, Miss Havisham, tomorrow,” I was exceedingly careful what I said, “and I thought you would kindly not mind my taking leave of you. I have come into such good fortune since I saw you last, Miss Havisham, and I am so grateful for it, Miss Havisham!”
“Ay, ay!” said she, looking at envious Sarah, with delight. “I have seen Mr. Jaggers. I have heard about it, Pip. So you go tomorrow?”
“Yes, Miss Havisham.”
“And you are adopted by a rich person?”
“Yes, Miss Havisham.”
“Not named?”
“No, Miss Havisham.”
“And Mr. Jaggers is made your guardian?”
“Yes, Miss Havisham.”
“Well!” she went on; “you have a promising career before you. Be good – deserve it – and abide by Mr. Jaggers’s instructions.”
She looked at me, and looked at Sarah. “Goodbye, Pip! – you will always keep the name of Pip, you know.”
“Yes, Miss Havisham.”
“Goodbye, Pip!”
She stretched out her hand, and I went down on my knee and put it to my lips. Sarah Pocket conducted me down. I said “Goodbye, Miss Pocket;” but she merely stared, and did not seem collected enough to know that I had spoken.
The world lay spread before me.
This is the end of the first stage of Pip’s expectations.
The journey from our town to London was a journey of about five hours.
Mr. Jaggers had sent me his address; it was, Little Britain, and he had written after it on his card, “just out of Smithfield. We stopped in a gloomy street, at certain offices with an open door, where was painted MR. JAGGERS.
“How much?” I asked the coachman.
The coachman answered, “A shilling – unless you wish to make it more.”
I naturally said I had no wish to make it more.
“Then it must be a shilling,” observed the coachman. I went into the front office with my little bag in my hand and asked, Was Mr. Jaggers at home?
“He is not,” returned the clerk. “He is in Court at present. Am I addressing Mr. Pip?”
I signified that he was addressing Mr. Pip.
“Mr. Jaggers left word, would you wait in his room.”
Mr. Jaggers’s room was lighted by a skylight only, and was a most dismal place. There were not so many papers about, as I should have expected to see; and there were some odd objects about, that I should not have expected to see – such as an old rusty pistol, a sword, several strange-looking boxes and packages.
I sat down in the chair placed over against Mr. Jaggers’s chair, and became fascinated by the dismal atmosphere of the place. But I sat wondering and waiting in Mr. Jaggers’s close room, and got up and went out.
At length, as I was looking out at the Little Britain, I saw Mr. Jaggers coming across the road towards me.
My guardian then took me into his own room, and while he lunched, informed me what arrangements he had made for me. I was to go to “Barnard’s Inn,” to young Mr. Pocket’s rooms, where a bed had been sent in for my accommodation. “You will find your credit good, Mr. Pip,” said my guardian, but I shall by this means be able to check your bills.”
I asked Mr. Jaggers if I could send for a coach? He said it was not worth while, I was so near my destination; Wemmick should walk round with me.
Mr. Wemmick was a dry man, rather short in stature, with a square wooden face.
“So you were never in London before?” said Mr. Wemmick to me.
“No,” said I.
“I was new here once,” said Mr. Wemmick.
“You are well acquainted with it now?”
“Why, yes,” said Mr. Wemmick.
“Is it a very wicked place?” I asked, more for the sake of saying something than for information.
“You may get cheated, robbed, and murdered in London. But there are plenty of people anywhere, who’ll do that for you.”
His mouth was such a post-office of a mouth that he had a mechanical appearance of smiling.
“Do you know where Mr. Matthew Pocket lives?” I asked Mr. Wemmick.
“Yes,” said he, nodding in the direction. “At Hammersmith, west of London.”
“Is that far?”
“Well! Say five miles.”
“Do you know him?”
“Yes, I know him. I know him!”
Barnard’s Inn. I had supposed that establishment to be an hotel kept by Mr. Barnard. I found Barnard to be a disembodied spirit, or a fiction, and his inn the dingiest collection of shabby buildings ever squeezed together.
I looked in dismay at Mr. Wemmick. “Ah!” said he; “the retirement reminds you of the country.”
He led me into a corner and conducted me up a flight of stairs – to a set of chambers on the top floor. MR. POCKET, JUN., was painted on the door, and there was a label on the letter-box, “Return shortly.”
“You don’t want me any more?” asked Mr. Wemmick.
“No, thank you,” said I.
“As I keep the cash,” Mr. Wemmick observed, “we shall most likely meet pretty often. Good day.”
“Good day.”
I put out my hand, and Mr. Wemmick at first looked at it as if he thought I wanted something. Then he looked at me, and said, correcting himself —
“To be sure! Yes. You’re in the habit of shaking hands?”
I was rather confused, thinking it must be out of the London fashion, but said yes.
When we had shaken hands and he was gone, I opened the staircase window. Mr. Pocket, Junior, returned in half an hour. He had a paper-bag under each arm and some strawberries in one hand, and was out of breath.
“Mr. Pip?” said he.
“Mr. Pocket?” said I.
“Dear me!” he exclaimed. “I am extremely sorry. The fact is, I have been out on your account – for I thought, coming from the country, you might like a little fruit after dinner, and I went to Covent Garden Market to get it good. Pray come in, allow me to lead the way. We might like to take a walk about London. I am sure I shall be very happy to show London to you. As to our table, you won’t find that bad, I hope, for it will be supplied from our coffee-house here, and at your expense, such being Mr. Jaggers’s directions. As to our lodging, it’s not by any means splendid, because I have my own bread to earn, and my father hasn’t anything to give me, and I shouldn’t be willing to take it, if he had. This is our sitting-room – just such chairs and tables and carpet and so forth, you see. This is your bedroom; the furniture’s hired for the occasion, but I trust it will answer the purpose; if you should want anything, I’ll go and fetch it. The chambers are retired, and we shall be alone together, but we shan’t fight, I dare say. But, I beg your pardon, you’re holding the fruit all this time. Pray let me take these bags from you. I am quite ashamed.”
Suddenly Mr. Pocket, Junior, said, falling back —
“Lord bless me, you’re the prowling boy!”
“And you,” said I, “are the pale young gentleman!”
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