¶ 1 Leave a comment on paragraph 1 0 The second of the two meetings referred to in the last chapter occurred about a week after the first. I had again left my boat at the wharf below Bridge; the time was an hour earlier in the afternoon; and, undecided where to dine, I had strolled up into Cheapside, and was strolling along it, surely the most unsettled person in all the busy concourse, when a large hand was laid upon my shoulder by some one overtaking me. It was Mr. Jaggers’s hand, and he passed it through my arm.
¶ 2 Leave a comment on paragraph 2 0 “As we are going in the same direction, Pip, we may walk together. Where are you bound for?”
¶ 3 Leave a comment on paragraph 3 0 “For the Temple, I think,” said I.
¶ 4 Leave a comment on paragraph 4 0 “Don’t you know?” said Mr. Jaggers.
¶ 5 Leave a comment on paragraph 5 0 “Well,” I returned, glad for once to get the better of him in cross-examination, “I do not know, for I have not made up my mind.”
¶ 6 Leave a comment on paragraph 6 0 “You are going to dine?” said Mr. Jaggers. “You don’t mind admitting that, I suppose?”
¶ 7 Leave a comment on paragraph 7 0 “No,” I returned, “I don’t mind admitting that.”
¶ 8 Leave a comment on paragraph 8 0 “And are not engaged?”
¶ 9 Leave a comment on paragraph 9 0 “I don’t mind admitting also that I am not engaged.”
¶ 10 Leave a comment on paragraph 10 0 “Then,” said Mr. Jaggers, “come and dine with me.”
¶ 11 Leave a comment on paragraph 11 0 I was going to excuse myself, when he added, “Wemmick’s coming.” So I changed my excuse into an acceptance,—the few words I had uttered, serving for the beginning of either,—and we went along Cheapside and slanted off to Little Britain, while the lights were springing up brilliantly in the shop windows, and the street lamp-lighters, scarcely finding ground enough to plant their ladders on in the midst of the afternoon’s bustle, were skipping up and down and running in and out, opening more red eyes in the gathering fog than my rushlight tower at the Hummums had opened white eyes in the ghostly wall.
¶ 12 Leave a comment on paragraph 12 0 At the office in Little Britain there was the usual letter-writing, hand-washing, candle-snuffing, and safe-locking, that closed the business of the day. As I stood idle by Mr. Jaggers’s fire, its rising and falling flame made the two casts on the shelf look as if they were playing a diabolical game at bo-peep with me; while the pair of coarse, fat office candles that dimly lighted Mr. Jaggers as he wrote in a corner were decorated with dirty winding-sheets, as if in remembrance of a host of hanged clients.
¶ 13 Leave a comment on paragraph 13 1 We went to Gerrard Street, all three together, in a hackney-coach: And, as soon as we got there, dinner was served. Although I should not have thought of making, in that place, the most distant reference by so much as a look to Wemmick’s Walworth sentiments, yet I should have had no objection to catching his eye now and then in a friendly way. But it was not to be done. He turned his eyes on Mr. Jaggers whenever he raised them from the table, and was as dry and distant to me as if there were twin Wemmicks, and this was the wrong one.
¶ 14 Leave a comment on paragraph 14 0 “Did you send that note of Miss Havisham’s to Mr. Pip, Wemmick?” Mr. Jaggers asked, soon after we began dinner.
¶ 15 Leave a comment on paragraph 15 0 “No, sir,” returned Wemmick; “it was going by post, when you brought Mr. Pip into the office. Here it is.” He handed it to his principal instead of to me.
¶ 16 Leave a comment on paragraph 16 0 “It’s a note of two lines, Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, handing it on, “sent up to me by Miss Havisham on account of her not being sure of your address. She tells me that she wants to see you on a little matter of business you mentioned to her. You’ll go down?”
¶ 17 Leave a comment on paragraph 17 0 “Yes,” said I, casting my eyes over the note, which was exactly in those terms.
¶ 18 Leave a comment on paragraph 18 0 “When do you think of going down?”
¶ 19 Leave a comment on paragraph 19 0 “I have an impending engagement,” said I, glancing at Wemmick, who was putting fish into the post-office, “that renders me rather uncertain of my time. At once, I think.”
¶ 20 Leave a comment on paragraph 20 0 “If Mr. Pip has the intention of going at once,” said Wemmick to Mr. Jaggers, “he needn’t write an answer, you know.”
¶ 21 Leave a comment on paragraph 21 0 Receiving this as an intimation that it was best not to delay, I settled that I would go to-morrow, and said so. Wemmick drank a glass of wine, and looked with a grimly satisfied air at Mr. Jaggers, but not at me.
¶ 22 Leave a comment on paragraph 22 0 “So, Pip! Our friend the Spider,” said Mr. Jaggers, “has played his cards. He has won the pool.”
¶ 23 Leave a comment on paragraph 23 0 It was as much as I could do to assent.
¶ 24 Leave a comment on paragraph 24 0 “Hah! He is a promising fellow—in his way—but he may not have it all his own way. The stronger will win in the end, but the stronger has to be found out first. If he should turn to, and beat her—”
¶ 25 Leave a comment on paragraph 25 0 “Surely,” I interrupted, with a burning face and heart, “you do not seriously think that he is scoundrel enough for that, Mr. Jaggers?”
¶ 26 Leave a comment on paragraph 26 0 “I didn’t say so, Pip. I am putting a case. If he should turn to and beat her, he may possibly get the strength on his side; if it should be a question of intellect, he certainly will not. It would be chance work to give an opinion how a fellow of that sort will turn out in such circumstances, because it’s a toss-up between two results.”
¶ 27 Leave a comment on paragraph 27 0 “May I ask what they are?”
¶ 28 Leave a comment on paragraph 28 0 “A fellow like our friend the Spider,” answered Mr. Jaggers, “either beats or cringes. He may cringe and growl, or cringe and not growl; but he either beats or cringes. Ask Wemmick his opinion.”
¶ 29 Leave a comment on paragraph 29 0 “Either beats or cringes,” said Wemmick, not at all addressing himself to me.
¶ 30 Leave a comment on paragraph 30 0 “So here’s to Mrs. Bentley Drummle,” said Mr. Jaggers, taking a decanter of choicer wine from his dumb-waiter, and filling for each of us and for himself, “and may the question of supremacy be settled to the lady’s satisfaction! To the satisfaction of the lady and the gentleman, it never will be. Now, Molly, Molly, Molly, Molly, how slow you are to-day!”
¶ 31 Leave a comment on paragraph 31 0 She was at his elbow when he addressed her, putting a dish upon the table. As she withdrew her hands from it, she fell back a step or two, nervously muttering some excuse. And a certain action of her fingers, as she spoke, arrested my attention.
¶ 32 Leave a comment on paragraph 32 0 “What’s the matter?” said Mr. Jaggers.
¶ 33 Leave a comment on paragraph 33 0 “Nothing. Only the subject we were speaking of,” said I, “was rather painful to me.”
¶ 34 Leave a comment on paragraph 34 0 The action of her fingers was like the action of knitting. She stood looking at her master, not understanding whether she was free to go, or whether he had more to say to her and would call her back if she did go. Her look was very intent. Surely, I had seen exactly such eyes and such hands on a memorable occasion very lately!
¶ 35 Leave a comment on paragraph 35 0 He dismissed her, and she glided out of the room. But she remained before me as plainly as if she were still there. I looked at those hands, I looked at those eyes, I looked at that flowing hair; and I compared them with other hands, other eyes, other hair, that I knew of, and with what those might be after twenty years of a brutal husband and a stormy life. I looked again at those hands and eyes of the housekeeper, and thought of the inexplicable feeling that had come over me when I last walked—not alone—in the ruined garden, and through the deserted brewery. I thought how the same feeling had come back when I saw a face looking at me, and a hand waving to me from a stage-coach window; and how it had come back again and had flashed about me like lightning, when I had passed in a carriage—not alone—through a sudden glare of light in a dark street. I thought how one link of association had helped that identification in the theatre, and how such a link, wanting before, had been riveted for me now, when I had passed by a chance swift from Estella’s name to the fingers with their knitting action, and the attentive eyes. And I felt absolutely certain that this woman was Estella’s mother.
¶ 36 Leave a comment on paragraph 36 0 Mr. Jaggers had seen me with Estella, and was not likely to have missed the sentiments I had been at no pains to conceal. He nodded when I said the subject was painful to me, clapped me on the back, put round the wine again, and went on with his dinner.
¶ 37 Leave a comment on paragraph 37 0 Only twice more did the housekeeper reappear, and then her stay in the room was very short, and Mr. Jaggers was sharp with her. But her hands were Estella’s hands, and her eyes were Estella’s eyes, and if she had reappeared a hundred times I could have been neither more sure nor less sure that my conviction was the truth.
¶ 38 Leave a comment on paragraph 38 0 It was a dull evening, for Wemmick drew his wine, when it came round, quite as a matter of business,—just as he might have drawn his salary when that came round,—and with his eyes on his chief, sat in a state of perpetual readiness for cross-examination. As to the quantity of wine, his post-office was as indifferent and ready as any other post-office for its quantity of letters. From my point of view, he was the wrong twin all the time, and only externally like the Wemmick of Walworth.
¶ 39 Leave a comment on paragraph 39 0 We took our leave early, and left together. Even when we were groping among Mr. Jaggers’s stock of boots for our hats, I felt that the right twin was on his way back; and we had not gone half a dozen yards down Gerrard Street in the Walworth direction, before I found that I was walking arm in arm with the right twin, and that the wrong twin had evaporated into the evening air.
¶ 40 Leave a comment on paragraph 40 0 “Well!” said Wemmick, “that’s over! He’s a wonderful man, without his living likeness; but I feel that I have to screw myself up when I dine with him,—and I dine more comfortably unscrewed.”
¶ 41 Leave a comment on paragraph 41 0 I felt that this was a good statement of the case, and told him so.
¶ 42 Leave a comment on paragraph 42 0 “Wouldn’t say it to anybody but yourself,” he answered. “I know that what is said between you and me goes no further.”
¶ 43 Leave a comment on paragraph 43 0 I asked him if he had ever seen Miss Havisham’s adopted daughter, Mrs. Bentley Drummle. He said no. To avoid being too abrupt, I then spoke of the Aged and of Miss Skiffins. He looked rather sly when I mentioned Miss Skiffins, and stopped in the street to blow his nose, with a roll of the head, and a flourish not quite free from latent boastfulness.
¶ 44 Leave a comment on paragraph 44 0 “Wemmick,” said I, “do you remember telling me, before I first went to Mr. Jaggers’s private house, to notice that housekeeper?”
¶ 45 Leave a comment on paragraph 45 0 “Did I?” he replied. “Ah, I dare say I did. Deuce take me,” he added, suddenly, “I know I did. I find I am not quite unscrewed yet.”
¶ 46 Leave a comment on paragraph 46 0 “A wild beast tamed, you called her.”
¶ 47 Leave a comment on paragraph 47 0 “And what do you call her?”
¶ 48 Leave a comment on paragraph 48 0 “The same. How did Mr. Jaggers tame her, Wemmick?”
¶ 49 Leave a comment on paragraph 49 0 “That’s his secret. She has been with him many a long year.”
¶ 50 Leave a comment on paragraph 50 0 “I wish you would tell me her story. I feel a particular interest in being acquainted with it. You know that what is said between you and me goes no further.”
¶ 51 Leave a comment on paragraph 51 0 “Well!” Wemmick replied, “I don’t know her story,—that is, I don’t know all of it. But what I do know I’ll tell you. We are in our private and personal capacities, of course.”
¶ 52 Leave a comment on paragraph 52 0 “Of course.”
¶ 53 Leave a comment on paragraph 53 0 “A score or so of years ago, that woman was tried at the Old Bailey for murder, and was acquitted. She was a very handsome young woman, and I believe had some gypsy blood in her. Anyhow, it was hot enough when it was up, as you may suppose.”
¶ 54 Leave a comment on paragraph 54 0 “But she was acquitted.”
¶ 55 Leave a comment on paragraph 55 0 “Mr. Jaggers was for her,” pursued Wemmick, with a look full of meaning, “and worked the case in a way quite astonishing. It was a desperate case, and it was comparatively early days with him then, and he worked it to general admiration; in fact, it may almost be said to have made him. He worked it himself at the police-office, day after day for many days, contending against even a committal; and at the trial where he couldn’t work it himself, sat under counsel, and—every one knew—put in all the salt and pepper. The murdered person was a woman,—a woman a good ten years older, very much larger, and very much stronger. It was a case of jealousy. They both led tramping lives, and this woman in Gerrard Street here had been married very young, over the broomstick (as we say), to a tramping man, and was a perfect fury in point of jealousy. The murdered woman,—more a match for the man, certainly, in point of years—was found dead in a barn near Hounslow Heath. There had been a violent struggle, perhaps a fight. She was bruised and scratched and torn, and had been held by the throat, at last, and choked. Now, there was no reasonable evidence to implicate any person but this woman, and on the improbabilities of her having been able to do it Mr. Jaggers principally rested his case. You may be sure,” said Wemmick, touching me on the sleeve, “that he never dwelt upon the strength of her hands then, though he sometimes does now.”
¶ 56 Leave a comment on paragraph 56 0 I had told Wemmick of his showing us her wrists, that day of the dinner party.
¶ 57 Leave a comment on paragraph 57 0 “Well, sir!” Wemmick went on; “it happened—happened, don’t you see?—that this woman was so very artfully dressed from the time of her apprehension, that she looked much slighter than she really was; in particular, her sleeves are always remembered to have been so skilfully contrived that her arms had quite a delicate look. She had only a bruise or two about her,—nothing for a tramp,—but the backs of her hands were lacerated, and the question was, Was it with finger-nails? Now, Mr. Jaggers showed that she had struggled through a great lot of brambles which were not as high as her face; but which she could not have got through and kept her hands out of; and bits of those brambles were actually found in her skin and put in evidence, as well as the fact that the brambles in question were found on examination to have been broken through, and to have little shreds of her dress and little spots of blood upon them here and there. But the boldest point he made was this: it was attempted to be set up, in proof of her jealousy, that she was under strong suspicion of having, at about the time of the murder, frantically destroyed her child by this man—some three years old—to revenge herself upon him. Mr. Jaggers worked that in this way: “We say these are not marks of finger-nails, but marks of brambles, and we show you the brambles. You say they are marks of finger-nails, and you set up the hypothesis that she destroyed her child. You must accept all consequences of that hypothesis. For anything we know, she may have destroyed her child, and the child in clinging to her may have scratched her hands. What then? You are not trying her for the murder of her child; why don’t you? As to this case, if you will have scratches, we say that, for anything we know, you may have accounted for them, assuming for the sake of argument that you have not invented them?” “To sum up, sir,” said Wemmick, “Mr. Jaggers was altogether too many for the jury, and they gave in.”
¶ 58 Leave a comment on paragraph 58 0 “Has she been in his service ever since?”
¶ 59 Leave a comment on paragraph 59 0 “Yes; but not only that,” said Wemmick, “she went into his service immediately after her acquittal, tamed as she is now. She has since been taught one thing and another in the way of her duties, but she was tamed from the beginning.”
¶ 60 Leave a comment on paragraph 60 0 “Do you remember the sex of the child?”
¶ 61 Leave a comment on paragraph 61 0 “Said to have been a girl.”
¶ 62 Leave a comment on paragraph 62 0 “You have nothing more to say to me to-night?”
¶ 63 Leave a comment on paragraph 63 0 “Nothing. I got your letter and destroyed it. Nothing.”
¶ 64 Leave a comment on paragraph 64 0 We exchanged a cordial good-night, and I went home, with new matter for my thoughts, though with no relief from the old.
Pip states that “we went to Gerrard Street, all three together, in a hackney-coach: And, as soon as we got there, dinner was served.” (Ch 48, paragraph 13) While at dinner, Pip realizes that Molly is the person that Estella resembles and concludes that Molly must be her mother. He becomes certain of this realization once he realizes that Molly was accused of killing a woman and her daughter. If he had not gone to dinner on Gerrard Street, he wouldn’t have gained this information.