Тrack 08_01

Mr Jaggers had sent his address, and, when I arrived in London, I had no difficulty in finding a coach to take me there. I went into the front office with my little bag in my hand, and asked if Mr. Jaggers was there.
“Am I addressing Mr. Pip?” said the clerk. “Mr. Jaggers is expecting you, sir.”
My guardian greeted me and told me what arrangements he had made for me. I was to go to the Temple, where I would share rooms with young Mr. Pocket; on Monday young Mr. Pocket would take me to his father’s house on a visit, that I might try how I liked it. Also, I was told how much money I should be allowed to spend each month—it was a generous sum—and told with what tradesmen I should deal.
“Of course,” said Mr. Jaggers, “you’ll go wrong somehow, but that’s no fault of mine.”
After I had thought over that remark, I asked if I could send for a coach. Mr. Jaggers said that it was not worth my while, since I had no great distance to go; Wemmick should walk round with me, if I pleased.
Wemmick, I discovered, was the clerk in the next room. He was a short man, with a square wooden face, and bright black eyes. He talked pleasantly of this and that as we walked along.
Our rooms, I found, were in Garden Court, a part of the Temple down by the river. Wemmick led me up a narrow stair to a set of rooms on the top floor. MR. POCKET, JUN., was painted on the door, and there was a label on the letter-box, “Return shortly”.
“He hardly thought you’d come so soon,” Mr. Wemmick explained. “You don’t want me any more?”
“No, thank you,” said I.
“Since I shall be the one who hands out the cash,” Wemmick observed, “we shall most likely meet pretty often. Good day.”
When he had gone, I opened the staircase window and stood there looking out for half an hour before I heard footsteps on the stairs. Gradually there rose before me the hat, head, coat, trousers, shoes, of a young man of about my own age. He had a paper bag under each arm and a basket of fruit in one hand—and he was out of breath.
“Mr. Pip?” said he.
“Mr. Pocket?” said I.
“I’m very sorry,” he said; “but I knew there was a coach from your part of the country at midday, and I thought you would come by that one. I also thought you might like a little fruit after dinner, and I’ve been out to get some.”

Тrack 08_02

I was staring at him as if my eyes would start out of my head. I was beginning to think that this was all a dream.
“Dear me!” said Mr. Pocket, Junior. “This door sticks so!”
I begged him to allow me to hold his paper bags while he struggled with the door, which opened so suddenly that he almost fell, and we both laughed.
“Pray come in,” said Mr. Pocket, Junior, “and let me take those bags from you.”
As I handed over the bags, and he looked me full in the face, I saw the surprise come into his own eyes that I knew to be in mine, and he said, falling back:
“Lord bless me, you’re the boy I fought in the garden!”
“And you,” said I, “are the pale young gentleman!”
We stood and looked at each other until we both burst out laughing.
“The idea of its being you!” said the pale young gentleman, holding out his hand. “Well, it’s all over now, and I hope that we shall be friends. My name is Herbert.”
“And mine’s Pip,” said I, as we shook hands warmly.
“You hadn’t come into your fortune at that time?” he asked.
“No.”
“I was on the look-out for a fortune then. Miss Havisham had sent for me—I’m a relation, you know—to see if she could take a fancy to me. But she couldn’t—”
I thought it polite to remark that I was surprised to hear that.
“Yes, bad taste on her part!” said Herbert, laughing. “If she’d liked me, I should have been well provided for; I might even have become engaged to Estella.”
“How did you bear your disappointment?” I asked.
“Pooh!” said he. “I wasn’t worried. That girl’s hard, and has been brought up by Miss Havisham to take her revenge on men.”
“What relation is she to Miss Havisham?”
“None. She’s only adopted.”
“And why should she take revenge on men? What revenge?”
“Dear me!” said he. “Don’t you know?”
“No,” I replied.

Тrack 08_03

“Well, it’s quite a story—and it had better wait till after dinner.”
I was in a fever of impatience to hear more, but waited until we had eaten an excellent dinner, then reminded him of his promise to tell me more about Miss Havisham.
“Her father,” he said, “was a very rich man—and she was a very spoilt child. Her mother died when she was a baby, and her father denied her nothing.”
“Was she an only child?” I asked.
“No. Her father married again and she had a half-brother. As the son grew into a young man, he turned out altogether bad. When the father died, he left him well-off—though not nearly so well-off as Miss Havisham. Her brother wasted what money he did have, and turned against his sister when she would give him no more.
“Now I come to the cruel part of the story. There appeared upon the scene a certain man who made love to Miss Havisham. She returned his affection. Their marriage was arranged, and he got large sums of money out of her, telling her that when he was her husband he must hold and manage it all. The marriage day was fixed, the wedding-dresses were bought, the wedding-guests were invited. The day came—but not the bridegroom. He wrote a letter—”
“Which she received,” I put in, “when she was dressing for her marriage? At twenty minutes to nine?”
“At the hour and minute,” replied Herbert, nodding, “and at which time she afterwards stopped all the clocks. When she recovered from a serious illness that she had, she laid the whole place waste, and has never since looked upon the light of day.”
“Is that all the story?” I asked.
“No. I’ve forgotten one thing. It has been supposed that the man to whom she gave her confidence acted in understanding with her brother; that the whole business was planned between them, and that they shared the profits.”
“What became of the two men?” I asked.
“They fell into deeper shame—and ruin.”
“Are they alive now?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did Miss Havisham adopt Estella?”
“There has always been an Estella,” answered Herbert, “since I have heard of a Miss Havisham. I know no more.”
So, for the first time, in far-away London, I heard the strange story of Miss Havisham, who had played so large a part in my life; who had shown me Estella; and who now, I was convinced, was placing in my hands the means to help me win Estella for my own....