Rose Maylie’s situation was, indeed, one of extraordinary trial and difficulty. While she felt a burning desire to uncover the mystery surrounding Oliver’s history, she felt bound to respect the confidence that the unfortunate woman had placed in her. Nancy’s words and manner had deeply touched Rose’s heart; mixed with her love for Oliver was a sincere wish to win the outcast back to a life of repentance and hope.
The family intended to remain in London for only three more days before departing for several weeks to a distant part of the coast. It was now midnight of the first day. What course of action could she possibly decide upon that could be carried out within forty-eight hours? Furthermore, how could she postpone the journey without arousing suspicion?
Mr. Losberne was staying with them for the next two days, but Rose was well acquainted with the doctor's impulsive nature. She foresaw too clearly the explosion of anger with which he would regard Nancy, the very person who had helped kidnap Oliver. She could not trust him with the secret until his indignation could be balanced by the advice of a more composed person. For the same reason, she had to be extremely cautious when speaking to Mrs. Maylie, whose first instinct would undoubtedly be to consult the doctor. As for seeking legal advice, it was out of the question for the same reasons. For a moment, she thought of asking Harry for assistance, but this reminded her of their last painful parting. It seemed unfair to call him back when—as tears rose to her eyes—he might have already begun to forget her and find happiness elsewhere.
Disturbed by these conflicting reflections, Rose passed a sleepless and anxious night. After much soul-searching the next day, she reached the desperate conclusion that she must consult Harry after all.
“If it is painful for him to return,” she thought, “it will be just as painful for me. But perhaps he will not come; he may simply write, or if he comes in person, he might carefully avoid meeting me—as he did when he left. I thought he would, and it was better for both of us.” Rose dropped her pen and turned away, as though she did not want even the paper to see her weep.
She had picked up the pen and laid it down fifty times, unable to write even the first word, when Oliver suddenly entered the room. He had been walking outside with Mr. Giles as a bodyguard, and he returned in such breathless haste and agitation that he seemed to be bringing news of a new alarm.
“Why do you look so flurried?” Rose asked, hurrying to meet him.
“I hardly know; I feel as if I am choking!” the boy replied. “Oh, to think that I should see him at last, and that you will finally know I told the truth!”
“I never doubted you, Oliver,” said Rose, trying to calm him. “But what has happened? Of whom are you speaking?”
“I have seen the gentleman!” Oliver cried, struggling to speak. “The kind gentleman who was so good to me—Mr. Brownlow!”
“Where?” Rose asked.
“Getting out of a coach and going into a house,” replied Oliver, crying with joy. “I didn’t speak to him—I couldn’t, because he didn’t see me and I was trembling too much. But Giles asked if he lived there, and they said he did! Look,” Oliver said, opening a scrap of paper, “here is the address. I am going there immediately! Oh, what shall I do when I see him and hear him speak again!”
Despite being distracted by Oliver’s incoherent shouts of joy, Rose read the address: Craven Street, in the Strand. She quickly realized how she could turn this discovery to her advantage.
“Quick!” she said. “Tell them to fetch a coach. I will take you there right now. I will only tell my aunt that we are going out for an hour.”
Oliver needed no encouragement, and in less than five minutes, they were on their way. When they arrived, Rose left Oliver in the coach, pretending she needed to prepare Mr. Brownlow for the surprise. She sent her card up with the servant, requesting to see the gentleman on urgent business. She was soon shown upstairs into a room where she found a benevolent-looking elderly gentleman in a bottle-green coat. Seated near him was another old gentleman in nankeen trousers and gaiters, who did not look particularly kind. He sat with his hands clasped on top of a thick stick, resting his chin upon it.
“Dear me,” said the gentleman in the green coat, rising politely. “I beg your pardon, young lady—I imagined it was some persistent person who—please, be seated.”
“Mr. Brownlow, I believe?” Rose asked, looking from one man to the other.
“That is my name,” he replied. “This is my friend, Mr. Grimwig. Grimwig, will you excuse us for a few minutes?”
“I believe,” Rose interrupted, “that it is not necessary for that gentleman to leave. If I am correctly informed, he is already aware of the matter I wish to discuss.”
Mr. Brownlow bowed his head. Mr. Grimwig, who had risen to make a very stiff bow, sat back down again just as stiffly.
“I shall surprise you very much,” Rose began, feeling naturally embarrassed. “But you once showed great kindness to a dear young friend of mine, and I am sure you will be interested to hear of him again.”
“Indeed?” said Mr. Brownlow.
“You knew him as Oliver Twist,” Rose replied.
The moment the name was mentioned, Mr. Grimwig, who had been pretending to read a large book, knocked it off the table with a loud crash. He stared at her in total wonder. Then, as if ashamed of showing such emotion, he straightened himself and emitted a long, deep whistle.
Mr. Brownlow was equally amazed, though he expressed it less strangely. He drew his chair closer to Rose and said, “My dear young lady, please forget the kindness you mentioned. If you have any evidence that can change the unfavorable opinion I was forced to form of that poor child, please tell me at once.”
“He’s a bad one! I’ll eat my head if he isn't a bad one,” growled Mr. Grimwig, speaking without moving a muscle in his face.
“He has a noble nature and a warm heart,” Rose said, her face turning red with emotion. “He has been tested beyond his years, yet he possesses feelings that would do honor to many much older than himself.”
“I’m only sixty-one,” Mr. Grimwig muttered. “And since that boy must be at least twelve, I don’t see how that remark applies.”
“Do not mind my friend, Miss Maylie,” Mr. Brownlow said. “He does not mean what he says.”
“Yes, he does,” growled Grimwig.
“No, he doesn’t!” Mr. Brownlow snapped, his anger rising. After a brief argument, the two old friends took a pinch of snuff and shook hands, as was their custom.
“Now, Miss Maylie,” Mr. Brownlow continued. “Tell me what you know of this poor child. I must admit that since I have been away from England, my suspicion that he had robbed me has been deeply shaken.”
Rose then related everything that had happened to Oliver since he left Mr. Brownlow’s house. She kept Nancy’s information for a private conversation later, concluding with the assurance that Oliver’s only sadness was not being able to find his former benefactor.
“Thank God!” the old gentleman cried. “This is wonderful news. But where is he now? Why didn’t you bring him?”
“He is waiting in a coach at the door,” Rose replied.
“At this door!” he shouted, and he hurried out of the room and down the stairs without another word.
When the door closed, Mr. Grimwig performed a strange little dance with his chair and stick. Then he limped quickly up and down the room before stopping suddenly in front of Rose and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Hush!” he said, as Rose looked alarmed. “I’m old enough to be your grandfather. You’re a sweet girl. I like you. Here they are!”
Mr. Brownlow returned with Oliver. Mr. Grimwig received the boy very graciously. Seeing Oliver’s happiness, Rose felt that all her anxiety had been well rewarded.
“We shouldn’t forget someone else,” Mr. Brownlow said, ringing the bell. “Send Mrs. Bedwin here, please.”
The old housekeeper arrived quickly. “You’re getting blinder every day, Bedwin,” Mr. Brownlow teased her.
“My eyes don’t improve with age, sir,” she replied.
“Put on your glasses and see who is here,” he said.
The old lady searched her pockets for her spectacles, but Oliver could not wait. He sprang into her arms.
“God be good to me!” she cried. “It is my innocent boy!”
“My dear old nurse!” Oliver shouted.
The good woman wept and laughed at the same time, noticing how well Oliver looked and how much he had grown. Leaving them to talk, Mr. Brownlow led Rose into another room. There, he heard the full story of her interview with Nancy. He was surprised and perplexed. Rose explained why she hadn't told Mr. Losberne, and Mr. Brownlow agreed that she had acted prudently. He promised to discuss it with the doctor himself. It was arranged that he would visit their hotel at eight o'clock that evening.
When Dr. Losberne eventually heard Nancy’s story, his anger was exactly what Rose had expected. He shouted threats and wanted to call the police immediately. It took all of Mr. Brownlow’s efforts to restrain him.
“Then what on earth are we to do?” the impulsive doctor asked later. “Should we just thank these criminals and give them a hundred pounds for their kindness?”
“Not exactly,” Mr. Brownlow laughed. “But we must proceed with great care. Our goal is to discover Oliver’s parentage and recover the inheritance he has been cheated out of.”
“I almost forgot that,” Mr. Losberne admitted.
Mr. Brownlow explained that even if they arrested the gang, they had no proof against Monks. “If he is arrested now, he will remain silent. We need to bring him to his knees through a clever plan. We must also keep our promise to the girl. It will not interfere with our progress, but we cannot act until we see her again next Sunday. Until then, we must remain quiet and keep this a secret from Oliver.”
Although Mr. Losberne hated the idea of waiting five days, he had to admit there was no better plan. Rose and Mrs. Maylie agreed with Mr. Brownlow.
“I would also like to involve my friend Grimwig,” Mr. Brownlow added. “He was trained as a lawyer and has a very sharp mind.”
“I don’t mind your friend if I can invite mine,” the doctor replied, looking at Rose. He was referring to Harry Maylie.
Rose blushed but did not object. Thus, Harry Maylie and Mr. Grimwig were added to the committee.
“We will stay in London,” Mrs. Maylie declared, “as long as there is any hope of success. I will spare no expense for Oliver’s sake.”
“Excellent,” said Mr. Brownlow. “And though I know you are curious why I left the country so suddenly, I ask that you seek no answers until I am ready to tell my story. Now, let’s have supper. Young Oliver is alone in the next room, and he will think we have entered into a dark conspiracy against him!”
With these words, the council broke up, and they went in to join Oliver for a happy evening.