Great Expectations (2 page)

“Gracious me,” she said. “It’s gone. The pie is gone.”

I couldn’t stand the guilt another minute. I had to get out of there. I jumped up from the table and threw open the front door. A group of soldiers was standing on our porch. One, the sergeant, held out a pair of handcuffs.

“We need a blacksmith to fix these for us,” he said. “Two convicts have escaped the Hulks. We’re going to find them.”

The Hulks were the prison ships moored near the marsh. So there were
two
convicts—not just the one I had helped!

Joe fired up the forge and fixed the
handcuffs. He wanted to join the hunt. So did Mr. Wopsle and Uncle Pumblechook.

We started off across the marshes, climbing up banks and down ditches. I sat high atop Joe’s shoulders. I looked through the thick fog, hoping to spot my convict first.

I knew he would think I had given him away. He would find me and roast me for sure!

Suddenly we heard shouting. The sergeant ran on ahead. Joe put me down, and we followed him.

My convict was fighting a man who had a long scar across his face. I stood at the edge of the ditch. I wanted my convict to see me.

The soldiers broke up the fight and handcuffed the two men. As they were led away, my convict looked at me. I shook my head slightly. I was trying to tell him that I had kept my promise.

There was no anger, only interest, in
his eyes. I did not understand the look. Then he turned to the sergeant.

“I stole a pork pie and some brandy from the blacksmiths,” he said.

“We
were
missing a pie,” said Joe. “Remember, Pip?” Then he said to my convict, “Whatever you’ve done, we wouldn’t want you to starve. Would we, Pip?”

I did not reply. By the light of the torches, I saw the black Hulks lying near the muddy shore.

The prisoners were rowed to the ship and taken up. The torches were tossed, hissing, into the water.

I went home with the memory of that night burned into my brain forever.

Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt ran an elementary school in the village. The classes were held at night. Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt was old and always fell asleep in front of the class. Her students paid two pennies a week to watch her sleep. But sometimes Biddy, her granddaughter, took over.

Biddy was an orphan. Her hair often needed brushing and her hands needed washing, but she had a good heart. If it weren’t for Biddy, I never would have learned to read or write.

One winter evening, a year after the hunt for the convict, I sat by the fire writing on a slate. My sister was out with Mr. Pumblechook.

I wrote to Joe even though he was sitting beside me:

“I say, Pip, old chap!” cried Joe, opening his blue eyes wide. “What a scholar you are! Ain’t you?”

“I would like to be,” I said, smiling at the letters on the slate.

When I got older, Joe was going to teach me his trade. I loved Joe dearly, but the thought of working in the forge made my heart heavy. I wanted a different kind of life. I dreamed about being rich, having nice clothes, and spending every day reading books and learning.

Suddenly my sister interrupted my daydreams. She burst into the room with Mr. Pumblechook.

“Now,” she said, undoing her coat
quickly, “if this boy ain’t grateful this night, he never will be! I only hope she doesn’t pamper him.”

“She’s not like that,” said Mr. Pumblechook. “She’s definitely not the type to pamper.”

“Who’s not the type?” asked Joe. “Who is
she
?” Joe looked at me.

“Miss Havisham,” replied my sister impatiently. “She wants Pip to play with a girl who’s living with her. She might even pay him. He better go, or he’ll answer to me.”

“I wonder how Miss Havisham knows our Pip,” said Joe, astounded.

“Noodlehead!” cried my sister. “Who said she knew him?”

“Well, how else could she know about Pip?” asked Joe, politely.

“Our dear Uncle Pumblechook is a neighbor of hers,” began my sister. “Perhaps she asked him if he knew a boy just like Pip. And then our thoughtful, kind Uncle Pumblechook mentioned this boy!”

My sister waved a hand in my direction. Mr. Pumblechook puffed out his chest and stared up at the ceiling. He was proud that he knew Miss Havisham.

“This boy could earn a fortune by going to Miss Havisham’s. He should be grateful,” said my sister.

I wasn’t grateful at all. I was nervous. Miss Havisham was a rich and grim lady who lived at the edge of town in a large and cheerless house. People said she never went outside. I didn’t want to meet the strange woman—or spend every day with her. The whole idea sounded terrible.

But I didn’t have much choice in the matter. The next day my sister shooed me out the door at dawn. I slowly walked across town to the iron gates of Miss Havisham’s house with Mr. Pumblechook by my side. A servant answered the bell and opened the gate. She slammed it after me.

“She don’t want to see
you
,” the woman announced to Mr. Pumblechook.

I followed her through the courtyard and the dark hallways of the house. We climbed a staircase and came, at last, to a door.

The servant knocked and said, “Go in.” Then she pushed me into the room and closed the door behind me.

The room was large and well lit by candles. In an armchair sat Miss Havisham—the strangest lady I had ever seen.

Miss Havisham was dressed all in white. A long veil covered her head. Jewels glittered on her neck and hands. She was dressed for a wedding.

Even her hair was white. Her face was pale and withered. It seemed as if she had dressed for a wedding many years ago and had grown old since. She looked like a wax figure in a museum!

“Who is it?” asked the lady.

“Pip, ma’am,” I replied.

“Pip?”

“Mr. Pumblechook’s boy, ma’am. I’ve come to play,” I explained.

“Come closer,” said Miss Havisham. “Are you afraid of a woman who has not seen the sun since before you were born?”

I was terrified, but said nothing. I stepped closer. I saw that Miss Havisham’s watch had stopped at twenty minutes to nine. The clock in the room also read twenty minutes to nine.

“Do you know what I touch here?” she said, laying her hand on the left side of her chest.

“Your heart,” I said.

“Broken!” she cried.

A strange smile lit her face.

“I am tired,” said Miss Havisham. “I want to watch you play. A girl lives with me here. Her name is Estella. Call for her.”

I opened the door and shouted down
the dark hall for Estella. I called again, and waited. At last, I saw a light like a star moving along the dark passage.

A young girl entered the room. She walked over to Miss Havisham, who placed a jewel against the girl’s pretty brown hair.

“It shall be yours one day,” Miss Havisham told Estella. “You shall wear it well. Now, let me see you play cards with this boy.”

“With
this
boy?” asked the girl. Her pretty face soured with scorn.

“This is a common laboring boy!” she added.

Miss Havisham whispered softly to her, “You can break his heart.”

We sat down to cards. Estella dealt. When she was finished, I picked up my cards.

“What rough hands he has!” she said. “And what thick boots! What a clumsy-looking boy he is!”

The girl was my own age, but she acted much older. She looked down on me as though she were a queen and I was dirt on her shoe.

I had never been ashamed of myself before. But now I realized she was right. My clothes were dirty. My hair was tangled. As I played the game, I hid my hands behind the cards.

Estella won the first game. I dealt the second. I was so nervous that I made a mistake, and she called me stupid.

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

“You said nothing back,” remarked Miss Havisham, as she looked on. “She says many harsh things, but you say nothing. What do you think of her? Tell me in my ear.”

“I think she is very proud,” I replied in a whisper.

“Anything else?”

“I think she is very pretty.”

I looked over at Estella. She was frowning.

“Anything else?” asked Miss Havisham.

“I think she is very insulting,” I said. “And I should like to go home.”

It was enough for one day.

Estella left me in the courtyard. As she closed the front door, I saw a look of hatred pass across her face.

I felt so hurt and bitter. I leaned my head against a stone wall and cried. I kicked the wall and twisted my hair. But I was not alone in the courtyard.

“Who let
you
in?” asked a tall, thin boy.

“Miss Estella.”

“Come and fight,” said the young gentleman.

He took off his jacket and put his fists up. He danced around me like a boxer in a ring. Secretly, I was afraid of him.

My first day at Miss Havisham’s
ended in a fistfight. I hit the young man twice in the face and he fell.

“That means you have won,” he said, calmly.

He seemed so brave and innocent. I didn’t feel as if I had won. My heart was heavy. I knew cruel Estella would make my visits unbearable.

For the next few months, I visited Miss Havisham every day. Each time, mean Estella teased and taunted me. But I was fascinated by her. I could not bear to be away from her.

On one visit Miss Havisham was waiting for me in a wheelchair. She wanted me to push her around her bedroom, then across the landing and into the room next door.

This room was filled with dust and cobwebs. A long table was set for a wedding feast. Mice nibbled on a rotten wedding cake lying in the center of the table. By now I was used to Miss Havisham’s strange ways. This bizarre room didn’t even surprise me.

Miss Havisham was quiet at first. She talked more as she got used to me. She asked me what I was learning and what I wanted to be when I grew up. I told her I would soon become Joe’s apprentice.

I told her the blacksmith’s trade did not interest me. I wanted to be a gentleman and live in a big city.

Secretly, I hoped Miss Havisham would help me. But she never paid me money. I spent time with Estella. In return, Miss Havisham gave me dinner. That was all.

One day Miss Havisham asked me to bring Joe to her.

“You are growing tall, Pip!” she said. “You should be learning your life’s trade from a master.”

I brought Joe to Miss Havisham’s room the very next day. Joe was nervous. He twisted his cap in his hands. He looked at me when he answered Miss Havisham’s questions.

“You raised this boy to be your apprentice,” began Miss Havisham. “Is that right, Mr. Gargery?”

“You know, Pip,” replied Joe, looking at me, “we’ve always been friends. It would be a lark to work together. You want to, don’t you, Pip?”

I tried to get Joe to speak to Miss Havisham instead of me, but he wouldn’t. His shyness made me ashamed. Especially when I saw that Estella was laughing at us.

“I want you to be Mr. Gargery’s apprentice. Here is some money,” said Miss Havisham. She dropped a sack of coins into my hand.

“You have earned it, Pip. Give the money to your new master. You will make a fine blacksmith one day.”

After that day my visits ended. I took my place at the forge. I welded horseshoes, buckets, and machinery. My heavy heart made the hammers and tools I worked on seem as light as a feather.

I lived in fear that one day Estella would peek in the window and see me working. My hands and face would be black from coal. Estella would despise me more than she already did. Then she would run away in disgust—and I would never see her again.

One day blended into another. About a year later, I asked Joe if I could visit Miss Havisham.

“She might think you want something,” he replied.

“But I have never thanked her or shown that I remember her,” I said.

I missed my visits to that strange house. Most of all, I missed Estella.

“Since we aren’t so busy right now, Joe,” I said, “I would like to take half a day off tomorrow and call on Miss Est—Havisham.”

“Her name ain’t Estavisham,” said Joe, with a twinkle in his eye. “Unless someone has given her a new name.”

“I know, Joe, I know,” I said. “But may I go?”

Joe gave me the time off. Orlick, Joe’s other worker, demanded the same. But my sister told Joe not to give it to him. My sister did not like Orlick. She thought he was lazy. She and Orlick were always fighting. In the end, Joe gave Orlick the time off to keep him happy.

I couldn’t wait to see Estella again. I scrubbed the grit from my hands and put on my clothes with the least patches and tears.

When I arrived at Miss Havisham’s, she told me that Estella was in Europe.

“She’s getting an education,” said Miss Havisham. “She’s prettier than ever, and admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you have lost her?”

I didn’t know what to say. I left Miss Havisham’s more unhappy about my home and my life than ever before.

A heavy mist hung in the air. Around a bend in the road, I met Orlick.

“The guns are going again,” he said.

“At the Hulks?” I asked.

“Aye!” he replied. “Some of the birds have flown their cages!”

I immediately remembered the night in the graveyard with my convict.

I was almost home when a neighbor ran up to me.

“Convicts broke into your house when Gargery was out. Somebody was attacked and hurt!” he cried.

I ran straight home. Practically the whole village was in our yard. I found Joe and a doctor in the kitchen. My sister was lying on the floor. She looked as if she was dead. She had been hit many times on her head and back. Leg irons lay beside her. They had been filed through—a long time ago, Joe said.

They were my convict’s irons. But somehow I knew my convict didn’t do this terrible thing. The attacker
must have found the irons in the churchyard!

Orlick hated my sister. He was the only man capable of such a dreadful crime, but there was no evidence to prove him guilty.