Highly skilled as she was in the arts of deception and pretense, Nancy could not entirely hide the effect that her recent actions had on her mind. She remembered that both the cunning Fagin and the violent Sikes had shared secret plans with her, hiding them from everyone else in the full confidence that she was trustworthy and beyond suspicion. Vile as those schemes were, and bitter as her feelings were toward Fagin—the man who had led her, step by step, deeper into an abyss of crime and misery from which there was no escape—there were still moments when she felt a sense of hesitation. She feared that her disclosures might bring him into the iron grip of the law that he had eluded for so long, and that he might finally fall by her hand, however much he deserved such a fate.
However, these were merely the wandering thoughts of a mind unable to fully detach itself from old companions, even though she remained steadily focused on one goal. Her fears for Sikes’ safety might have been a stronger reason to turn back while there was still time, but she had insisted that her secret be kept strictly confidential. She had provided no clues that could lead to his discovery and had even refused, for his sake, a safe refuge from the guilt and wretchedness that surrounded her. She was resolved to carry out her plan.
Although her mental struggles always ended with this same conclusion, they haunted her repeatedly and left visible marks on her appearance. Within just a few days, she had grown pale and thin. At times, she paid no attention to what was happening around her, remaining silent during conversations where she once would have been the loudest participant. At other times, she laughed without any real merriment or became suddenly noisy, only to sit silent and dejected a moment later, brooding with her head in her hands. The very effort she made to pull herself together showed, more clearly than anything else, that she was deeply troubled. Her thoughts were occupied with matters very different from the topics discussed by her companions.
It was Sunday night, and the bell of the nearest church struck the hour. Sikes and Fagin were talking, but they paused to listen. The girl looked up from her low seat and listened as well. Eleven o'clock.
“An hour before midnight,” said Sikes, raising the blind to look out before returning to his seat. “It is dark and heavy outside. A good night for business, this.”
“Ah!” replied Fagin. “What a pity, Bill, my dear, that there is no job ready to be done.”
“You’re right for once,” Sikes replied gruffly. “It is a pity, for I am in the right mood for it.”
Fagin sighed and shook his head despondently.
“We must make up for lost time when we have things properly arranged. That’s all I know,” said Sikes.
“That’s the way to talk, my dear,” replied Fagin, venturing to pat him on the shoulder. “It does me good to hear you.”
“Does it, now?” cried Sikes. “Well, so be it.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” Fagin laughed, as if he were relieved by even this small concession. “You are like your old self tonight, Bill. Quite like yourself.”
“I don’t feel like myself when you lay that withered old claw on my shoulder, so take it away,” said Sikes, brushing off the old man's hand.
“It makes you nervous, Bill? Does it remind you of being arrested?” asked Fagin, determined not to be offended.
“It reminds me of being caught by the devil,” Sikes returned. “There never was another man with a face like yours, unless it was your father. I suppose he is currently suffering in hell, unless you came straight from the devil himself without any father at all, which wouldn't surprise me one bit.”
Fagin offered no reply to this insult. Instead, pulling Sikes by the sleeve, he pointed toward Nancy, who had taken advantage of their conversation to put on her bonnet and was now preparing to leave the room.
“Hello!” cried Sikes. “Nance! Where is the girl going at this time of night?”
“Not far,” she replied.
“What kind of answer is that?” Sikes retorted. “Do you hear me?”
“I don’t know exactly where,” the girl replied.
“Then I do,” said Sikes, more out of stubbornness than because he had any real objection to her going. “You’re going nowhere. Sit down.”
“I’m not well. I told you that before,” the girl rejoined. “I need a breath of fresh air.”
“Stick your head out of the window, then,” replied Sikes.
“There isn't enough air there,” said the girl. “I want to be out in the street.”
“Well, you won’t have it,” Sikes replied. With that, he rose, locked the door, took out the key, and, pulling her bonnet from her head, threw it onto the top of a high cupboard. “There,” said the robber. “Now stay quietly where you are, will you?”
“A bonnet won't keep me here if I choose to go,” said the girl, turning very pale. “What do you mean, Bill? Do you realize what you’re doing?”
“Realize what I’m—Oh!” Sikes cried, turning to Fagin. “She’s lost her mind, you know, or she wouldn’t dare talk to me that way.”
“You’ll drive me to do something desperate,” the girl muttered, placing both hands on her chest as if to force down a violent outburst. “Let me go, will you? This minute—this instant!”
“No!” said Sikes.
“Tell him to let me go, Fagin. He had better. It will be better for him. Do you hear me?” cried Nancy, stamping her foot on the floor.
“Hear you!” Sikes repeated, turning in his chair to face her. “Yes! And if I hear you for half a minute longer, the dog will have such a grip on your throat that it will tear that screaming voice right out of you. What has come over you? What is the matter?”
“Let me go,” the girl said with great earnestness. Then, sitting down on the floor in front of the door, she pleaded, “Bill, let me go. You don’t know what you are doing. You really don’t. Just for one hour—please!”
“I'll be damned,” cried Sikes, seizing her roughly by the arm. “I truly believe the girl is completely insane. Get up!”
“Not until you let me go—never!” the girl screamed. Sikes watched her for a minute, waiting for an opportunity. Suddenly, he grabbed her hands and, despite her wrestling and struggling, dragged her into a small adjoining room. He sat her down in a chair and held her there by force. She struggled and implored him by turns until twelve o'clock struck. Then, exhausted and defeated, she ceased to resist any further. Warning her with many threats not to try to leave again that night, Sikes left her to recover and rejoined Fagin.
“Whew!” said the housebreaker, wiping the sweat from his face. “What a remarkably strange girl she is!”
“You can say that again, Bill,” Fagin replied thoughtfully. “You can certainly say that.”
“Why do you think she took it into her head to go out tonight?” Sikes asked. “Come on; you should know her better than I do. What does it mean?”
“Stubbornness; simple female stubbornness, I suppose, my dear.”
“Well, I suppose so,” growled Sikes. “I thought I had tamed her, but she is as difficult as ever.”
“Worse,” said Fagin. “I have never known her to act like this over such a small matter.”
“Nor have I,” said Sikes. “I think she still has a touch of that fever in her blood. It won't go away.”
“That's likely.”
“I’ll find my own way to cure her if she acts like that again,” said Sikes menacingly. Fagin nodded, expressing his approval of such a harsh treatment.
“She was looking after me day and night when I was ill,” Sikes continued. “While you, like a cold-hearted wolf, kept your distance. We were poor then, and I think the stress has worn her down. Being shut up here so long has made her restless, hasn't it?”
“That must be it, my dear,” Fagin replied in a whisper. “Hush!”
As he spoke, Nancy appeared and returned to her former seat. Her eyes were red and swollen. She rocked herself back and forth, tossed her head, and after a short time, burst into a fit of laughter.
“Now she’s changed her mood again!” exclaimed Sikes, looking at his companion with great surprise. Fagin signaled to him to ignore her for the moment, and in a few minutes, the girl became quiet again. Whispering to Sikes that there was no more danger of her acting out, Fagin took his hat and said good-night. He paused at the door and asked if someone would light his way down the dark stairs.
“Light him down,” said Sikes, who was filling his pipe. “It would be a pity if he broke his neck and disappointed the people who want to see him hanged. Give him a light.”
Nancy followed the old man downstairs with a candle. When they reached the hallway, Fagin placed a finger on his lips and whispered to her.
“What is it, Nancy, dear?”
“What do you mean?” the girl replied in the same low tone.
“The reason for all this,” Fagin said. “If he”—he pointed his skinny finger up the stairs—“is so hard on you (he’s a brute, Nance, a complete animal), why don't you—”
“Well?” the girl said, as Fagin paused, his mouth almost touching her ear.
“No matter for now. We will talk about this again. You have a friend in me, Nance; a loyal friend. I have the means to help you, quietly and secretly. If you want revenge on those who treat you like a dog—worse than his dog, for he is kind to the animal sometimes—come to me. I say, come to me. He is nothing compared to me, and you have known me a long time, Nance.”
“I know you well,” the girl replied, showing no emotion. “Good-night.”
She shrank back as Fagin tried to touch her hand. She said good-night again in a steady voice and, answering his parting look with a nod of understanding, closed the door between them.
Fagin walked toward his home, deep in thought. He had formed the idea—not just from what had happened, though that had confirmed it—that Nancy, tired of Sikes' brutality, had found a new friend. Her altered manner, her frequent solo absences from home, and her indifference to the gang's interests all supported this theory. To him, her desperate impatience to leave the house at a specific hour made it a certainty. This new friend was not one of his own followers. Fagin argued that such a person, with Nancy’s help, would be a valuable asset and must be secured immediately.
There was another, darker goal to be achieved. Sikes knew too much, and his constant insults had deeply wounded Fagin’s pride. The girl must know that if she left Sikes, she would never be safe from his rage. His fury would surely be directed at her new lover.
“With a little persuasion,” Fagin thought, “she might even consent to poison him. Women have done worse things to achieve their goals before. Then that dangerous villain—the man I hate—would be gone. Someone else would take his place, and my influence over the girl would be unlimited because I would know her secret crime.”
These thoughts occupied Fagin’s mind during the walk. He had used the opportunity to test the girl with his hints at the door. She had not seemed surprised or unable to understand him. Her final glance showed that she understood his meaning perfectly.
But he wondered if she would hesitate to take Sikes’ life. “How,” Fagin thought as he walked home, “can I increase my power over her? What new influence can I find?”
His mind was quick to find a solution. If he set a watch on her without her knowing, discovered the person she was meeting, and threatened to tell Sikes everything, would she not be forced to obey him?
“I can do it,” Fagin said, almost aloud. “She wouldn't dare refuse me then. Not for her life! I have the plan ready, and I will put it to work. I shall have you yet!”
He looked back with a dark, threatening expression toward the place where he had left Sikes. Then he continued on his way, his bony hands clutching his tattered clothes tightly, as if he were crushing a hated enemy with every motion of his fingers.