Chapter 37

“My son, sir,” said the old man, when I was visiting Mr. Wemmick’s in Walworth, “had thought that you might come to see us, and he left word that he would soon be home from his afternoon’s walk. He is very regular in his walks, is my son. Very regular in everything, is my son.”

I nodded at the old gentleman, and we went in and sat down by the fireside.

“You made acquaintance with my son, sir,” said the old man, while he warmed his hands at the blaze, “at his office, I expect?” I nodded. “Hah! I have heard that my son is a wonderful hand at his business, sir?” I nodded hard. “Yes; so they tell me. His business is the Law?” I nodded harder.

The old man cried with great triumph, “My son’s come home!” and we both went out to the drawbridge.

I informed Wemmick that I was anxious in behalf of Herbert Pocket, and I told him how we had first met, and how we had fought. I glanced at Herbert’s home, and at his character, and at his having no means but such as he was dependent on his father for; those, uncertain. For all these reasons (I told Wemmick), and because he was my young companion and friend, and I had a great affection for him, I wished my own good fortune to reflect some rays upon him, and therefore I sought advice from Wemmick’s experience and knowledge of men and affairs, how I could best try with my resources to help Herbert to some present income – say of a hundred a year, to keep him in good hope and heart – and gradually to buy him on to some small partnership. I begged Wemmick, in conclusion, to understand that my help must always be hidden from Herbert’s knowledge or suspicion.

Wemmick was silent for a little while, and then said with a kind of start, “Well you know, Mr. Pip, I must tell you one thing. This is devilish good of you. Skiffins is an accountant and agent. I’ll look him up and go to work for you.”

“I thank you ten thousand times.”

Before a week was out, I received a note from Wemmick, dated Walworth, stating that he hoped he had made some advance in that matter. So, I went out to Walworth again, and yet again, and yet again, and I saw him by appointment in the City several times, but never held any communication with him on the subject in or near Little Britain. Finally, we found a young merchant, not long established in business, who wanted intelligent help, and who wanted capital, and who in due course of time and receipt would want a partner. Between him and me, secret articles were signed of which Herbert was the subject, and I paid him half of my five hundred pounds down.

The whole business was so cleverly managed, that Herbert had not the least suspicion of my role in it. I never shall forget the radiant face with which he came home one afternoon, and told me of his meeting one Clarriker (the young merchant’s name), and of Clarriker’s extraordinary inclination towards him. Day by day his hopes grew stronger and his face brighter. I had the greatest difficulty in restraining my tears of triumph when I saw him so happy. The thing was done, and he has that day entered Clarriker’s House, and he has talked to me for a whole evening in a flush of pleasure and success. I did really cry in good earnest when I went to bed, to think that my expectations had done some good to somebody.

But I must give one chapter to Estella.

Chapter 38

The lady with whom Estella was placed, Mrs. Brandley by name, was a widow, with one daughter several years older than Estella. The mother looked young, and the daughter looked old; the mother’s complexion was pink, and the daughter’s was yellow; the mother liked frivolity, and the daughter liked theology. They were in what is called a good position, and visited, and were visited by, numbers of people. Mrs. Brandley had been a friend of Miss Havisham’s before the time of her seclusion.

In Mrs. Brandley’s house and out of Mrs. Brandley’s house, I suffered every kind and degree of torture that Estella could cause me. She used me to tease other admirers. If I had been her secretary, steward, half-brother, poor relation – if I had been a younger brother of her appointed husband – I could not have seemed to myself further from my hopes when I was nearest to her. But I had the privilege of calling her by her name and hearing her call me by mine.

She had admirers without end. No doubt my jealousy made an admirer of every one who went near her; but there were more than enough of them without that.

I saw her often at Richmond, I heard of her often in town, and I used often to take her and the Brandleys on the water; there were picnics, fête days, plays, operas, concerts, parties, all sorts of pleasures, through which I pursued her – and they were all miseries to me. I never had one hour’s happiness in her society.

Sometimes she would seem to pity me.

“Pip, Pip,” she said one evening, when we sat apart at a darkening window of the house in Richmond; “will you never take warning?”

“Of what?”

“Of me. If you don’t know what I mean, you are blind.”

“At any rate,” said I, “You wrote to me to come to you, this time.”

“That’s true,” said Estella, with a cold careless smile that always chilled me.

After looking at the twilight without, for a little while, she went on to say:

“Miss Havisham wishes to have me for a day. You are to take me there, and bring me back, if you will. She would rather I did not travel alone. Can you take me?”

“Can I take you, Estella!”

“You can then? The day after tomorrow, if you please. You are to pay all charges out of my purse, You hear the condition of your going?”

“And must obey,” said I.

Miss Havisham never wrote to me. We went down on the next day, and we found her in the room where I had first beheld her, and it is needless to add that there was no change in her house.

From Estella she looked at me, with a searching glance. “How does she use you, Pip; how does she use you?” she asked me again, with her witch-like eagerness. But, when we sat by her flickering fire at night, she was most weird.

It happened that some sharp words arose between Estella and Miss Havisham. We were seated by the fire, and Miss Havisham still had Estella’s arm drawn through her own, and still clutched Estella’s hand in hers, when Estella gradually began to detach herself. She had shown a proud impatience more than once before, and had rather endured that fierce affection than accepted or returned it.

“What!” said Miss Havisham, flashing her eyes upon her, “are you tired of me?”

“Only a little tired of myself,” replied Estella, disengaging her arm, and moving to the great chimney-piece, where she stood looking down at the fire.

“Speak the truth!” cried Miss Havisham, passionately striking her stick upon the floor; “you are tired of me.”

Estella looked at her with perfect composure, and again looked down at the fire. Her graceful figure and her beautiful face expressed a self-possessed indifference.

“You cold, cold heart!” exclaimed Miss Havisham.

“What?” said Estella; “do you reproach me for being cold? You?”

“Are you not?” was the fierce retort.

“You should know,” said Estella. “I am what you have made me. Take all the praise, take all the blame; take all the success, take all the failure; in short, take me.”

“O, look at her, look at her!” cried Miss Havisham, bitterly; “Look at her so hard and thankless!”

“What would you have?” said Estella, “You have been very good to me, and I owe everything to you. What would you have?”

“Love,” replied the other.

“You have it.”

“I have not,” said Miss Havisham.

“Mother by adoption,” retorted Estella, “mother by adoption, I have said that I owe everything to you. All I possess is freely yours. Beyond that, I have nothing. And if you ask me to give you, what you never gave me, my gratitude and duty cannot do impossibilities.”

“Did I never give her love!” cried Miss Havisham, turning wildly to me. “Let her call me mad, let her call me mad!”

“Why should I call you mad,” returned Estella.

“So proud, so proud!” moaned Miss Havisham, pushing away her gray hair with both her hands.

“Who taught me to be proud?” returned Estella. “Who praised me when I learnt my lesson?”

“So hard, so hard!” moaned Miss Havisham.

“Who taught me to be hard?” returned Estella. “Who praised me when I learnt my lesson?”

“But to be proud and hard to me!” Miss Havisham quite shrieked, as she stretched out her arms. “Estella, Estella, Estella, to be proud and hard to me!”

Estella looked at her for a moment with a kind of calm wonder.

“I cannot think,” said Estella, raising her eyes after a silence “why you should be so unreasonable when I come to see you after a separation.”

It was with a depressed heart that I walked in the night.

It is impossible to turn this leaf of my life, without putting Bentley Drummle’s name upon it.

On a certain occasion when the Finches were assembled, Drummle toasted a lady. What was my indignant surprise when he called upon the company to pledge him to “Estella!”

“Estella who?” said I.

“Never you mind,” retorted Drummle.

“Estella of where?” said I.

“Of Richmond, gentlemen,” said Drummle, “and a beauty.”

“I know that lady,” said Herbert, across the table, when the toast had been honored.

“Do you?” said Drummle.

“And so do I,” I added, with a scarlet face.

“Do you?” said Drummle. “O, Lord!”

It was easy for me to find out, and I did soon find out, that Drummle had begun to follow her closely, and that she allowed him to do it.

At a certain Ball at Richmond I asked her, “Are you tired, Estella?”

“Rather, Pip.”

“You should be.”

“Estella, it makes me wretched that you should encourage a man so generally despised as Drummle. You know he is despised.”

“Well?” said she.

“You know he is a deficient, ill-tempered, lowering, stupid fellow.”

“Well?” said she; and each time she said it, she opened her lovely eyes the wider.