Free Oliver Twist Investigates by G. M. Best Page A

partition, a shelf or two, an almanac, a clock, and a couple of stools on which perched a pair of clerks, dressed all in black. After a slight delay my guide arrived, a respectable looking man in his early fifties. He was also dressed entirely in black and he wore a broad-brimmed hat, which obscured much of his face. He led me through a couple of rooms to a door which opened on to a square, which itself led off into several paved yards. In these unhappy places the prisoners take such air and exercise as is permitted to them. After passing through what seemed an endless number of gates, each of which had to be unlocked and then relocked, we came to a door
composed of thick bars of wood, through which were discernible, passing to and fro in a narrow yard, some twenty women. Most, as soon as they were aware of my presence, retreated to their cells. I discovered that one side of the yard was railed off into a kind of iron cage, less than six feet high and roofed at the top. Only within its confines were female prisoners permitted to communicate with any visitor.
    â€˜Two or three women were standing at different parts of the grating, conversing with family or friends, although a very large proportion of the prisoners appeared to have no one at all. Some inmates and visitors were prepared to speak about their lives to me. The others’ stories I surmised. I particularly remember one visitor – a yellow, haggard, decrepit old woman, dressed in a tattered gown which had once been a wholesome red but was now terribly faded and begrimed with indescribable filth. She clutched in her hands the remains of an old straw bonnet, with the remnants of a red ribbon. The personification of misery and destitution, she pleaded with a good-looking, robust female inmate, whose most prominent feature was her profusion of golden hair, which shook gently in the wind. This daughter, for such I took her to be, was unmoved by her mother’s entreaties. She appeared hardened beyond all hope of redemption and only showed interest when given the few halfpence, which her miserable parent had brought, ill though she could afford them.
    â€˜Whilst I observed this scene and others I was, unbeknown to me, also being watched. I had been seen and recognized by Nancy, who happened to be visiting one of Newgate’s inmates. Nancy never forgot a face and she quickly recognized in me the naïve boy whom she had seduced, though at first she could not remember my name.
She asked her associate if she knew who I was. She was told my name and that I was a respected writer and reporter for the press. However, she chose not to make herself known to me at the time and so I passed on to see more of the prison, including a similar yard for men, completely oblivious of what momentous events would stem from her having seen me. Looking back, I suspect she wanted time to investigate my career before speaking to me. I think it highly likely that she planned to try her hand at a little blackmail when the opportunity arose. If that was the case, your arrival at Fagin’s a year later put other ideas into her head about the use she could make of me.
    â€˜One night towards the end of November 1836 I was making my way to the Hogarth’s house when Nancy approached me and begged for my assistance. I have to confess my immediate horror at seeing her again soon turned to fascination. She was, as you know, bewitchingly beautiful and her lively mind and infectious wit set her far above most of her peers. I was looking for a new idea for my next book because even my invention for fresh adventures about Pickwick was beginning to dry up. Nancy acted the role of Scheherazade to my need for a good story. She informed me she had a tale that would make people sit up and listen and she began to unfold the misadventures of a workhouse orphan called Oliver Twist and the terrible life he had led. I was immediately hooked. I sensed the potential in her account, and she knew it.