I was determined to find out the truth about Estella’s parents. I didn't know exactly why I wanted to prove it, but after talking to Herbert, I felt I had to do it. I needed to see Mr. Jaggers and get the facts.
I wanted to go to his office immediately, but Herbert stopped me. He pointed out that I was still injured from the fire at Miss Havisham’s house. He said that if I didn't rest, I would be too sick to help Magwitch escape later. I finally agreed to stay home and let him look after my burns.
Early the next morning, we went out together. Herbert went to his office in the City, and I walked to Little Britain to see Mr. Jaggers.
When I arrived, I saw that Mr. Jaggers and Wemmick were busy with the office accounts. My arm was still in a bandage, and I looked quite messy. Because I was injured, Mr. Jaggers was a little kinder and less formal than usual. I told him about the accident with the fire, and then I gave him the documents from Miss Havisham. She had agreed to give nine hundred pounds to help Herbert’s career.
As Wemmick wrote the check, Mr. Jaggers looked at me. "I am sorry, Pip," he said, "that we are doing nothing for you."
"Miss Havisham asked if she could help me," I replied, "but I told her no."
"Every man should know his own business," Mr. Jaggers said. Wemmick nodded, whispering his favorite phrase: "portable property."
I decided it was time to talk about what was really on my mind. I turned to Mr. Jaggers and said, "I asked Miss Havisham for information about her adopted daughter, and she told me everything she knew. But I think I know more than she does. I know Estella's mother."
Mr. Jaggers looked at me with surprise. "Mother?"
"I have seen her within the last three days," I said. "And you have seen her even more recently."
"Yes?" he said, waiting for me to continue.
"I might even know more than you, sir," I added. "I know Estella’s father, too. His name is Provis, the man from New South Wales."
Mr. Jaggers actually jumped. It was only a small movement, and he quickly hid it by taking out his handkerchief, but I saw it. He was shocked. He didn't know that Provis was the father.
"And what evidence does Provis have for this?" Mr. Jaggers asked coolly.
"He doesn't have any," I replied. "He doesn't even know his daughter is alive."
Mr. Jaggers was so surprised that he stopped what he was doing and stared at me. I told him everything I knew. I was very careful not to mention that Wemmick had helped me. When I finished, Mr. Jaggers stayed silent.
"Please, sir," I said passionately. "Be honest with me. I have spent years living with false hopes. I loved Estella for a long time, and even though I have lost her, I still care about her more than anything in the world."
Mr. Jaggers didn't move. He looked like a stone. So, I turned to Wemmick. "Wemmick, I know you have a kind heart. I have seen your home and your old father. I know how cheerful and friendly you are when you are not here. Please, ask Mr. Jaggers to be open with me."
I have never seen two men look more confused. They stared at each other. Jaggers was shocked to hear that Wemmick had a "pleasant home," and Wemmick was embarrassed that his secret was out.
"Is this true?" Mr. Jaggers asked. "You have a father and 'playful ways'?"
"If I don't bring them to the office, what does it matter?" Wemmick replied, becoming braver. "I think you might be the same, sir. I bet you’re planning to have a pleasant home of your own one day."
Mr. Jaggers sighed. He looked at me and said, "Pip, I won't talk about 'dreams.' You know more about them than I do. But I will tell you a story. Imagine a case—I am not admitting anything, mind you—just imagine it."
He explained that, years ago, he saw many poor children in London who grew up to be criminals. He saw them being whipped, sent to prison, or even hanged. He lived in a world of evil and crime.
"Imagine," he said, "that there was one child he could save. The father thought the child was dead. The mother was a criminal who was in trouble for murder. The lawyer told the mother: 'Give me the child. I will save her. If you go to prison, she will be safe. If you are free, she will still be safe.' So, the child was given to a rich, eccentric lady to be brought up in a good home."
"I understand," I said.
"Imagine that the mother and father lived near each other for years, but never knew the truth. Only you found out the secret. Now, who would you tell? Not the father; it wouldn't help him. Not the mother; she is safer where she is. And not the daughter; why would you tell her she is the child of criminals? It would only bring her disgrace."
He looked at me seriously. "If you ever loved her, Pip, you should keep this secret forever. It is better to cut off your own hand than to tell anyone."
I looked at Wemmick, who was very serious. He put his finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet. I did the same. The secret was safe.
Just then, a client named Mike came into the office. He was crying because his daughter had been arrested.
"What are you doing?" Wemmick shouted at him. "Why are you crying here? We don't allow feelings in this office! Get out!"
"I can't help my feelings, Mr. Wemmick," the man pleaded.
"Get out!" Mr. Jaggers added, pointing to the door.
The man left quickly. Mr. Jaggers and Wemmick looked at each other and went back to work. They were acting like cold professionals again, as if the conversation we just had never happened.