Oliver’s health issues were far from minor. In addition to the pain and the long recovery required for a broken limb, his exposure to the wet and cold had brought on a severe fever and chills. This illness lingered for many weeks, leaving him sadly weakened. However, by slow degrees, he finally began to improve. Occasionally, with a few tearful words, he would express how deeply he felt the goodness of the two kind ladies. He hoped fervently that when he grew strong again, he might do something to show his gratitude—something that would demonstrate the love and loyalty that filled his heart. He wanted to prove that their gentle kindness had not been wasted, and that the poor boy they had rescued from misery was eager to serve them with his whole soul.
"Poor fellow!" Rose said one day, as Oliver feebly attempted to express the thanks that rose to his pale lips. "You shall have many opportunities to help us, if you wish. We are moving to the country, and my aunt intends for you to accompany us. The quiet surroundings, the pure air, and the beauty of spring will restore your strength in a few days. We will keep you busy in a hundred ways once you are well enough."
"Busy!" Oliver cried. "Oh, dear lady, if I could only work for you! If I could bring you pleasure by watering your flowers, or watching your birds, or running errands all day long to make you happy, I would give anything to do it!"
"You shall give nothing at all," Miss Maylie replied with a smile. "As I told you before, we shall find plenty of tasks for you. If you take even half the trouble to please us that you promise now, you will make me very happy indeed."
"Happy, ma’am!" Oliver exclaimed. "How kind of you to say so!"
"You will make me happier than I can tell you," the young lady continued. "To think that my dear aunt has rescued someone from such sadness is an unspeakable pleasure. But to know that the person she helped is sincerely grateful would delight me more than you can imagine. Do you understand me?" she asked, observing Oliver’s thoughtful face.
"Oh yes, ma’am!" Oliver replied eagerly. "But I was just thinking that I am being ungrateful right now."
"To whom?" she inquired.
"To the kind gentleman and the dear old nurse who took such care of me before," Oliver explained. "If they knew how happy I am now, I am sure they would be pleased."
"I am certain they would," Rose agreed. "And Mr. Losberne has already been kind enough to promise that as soon as you are strong enough to travel, he will take you to see them."
"Has he, ma’am?" Oliver’s face brightened with joy. "I don’t know what I shall do for happiness when I see their kind faces once again!"
In a short time, Oliver had recovered sufficiently to handle the fatigue of the journey. One morning, he and Mr. Losberne set out in Mrs. Maylie’s carriage. However, when they reached Chertsey Bridge, Oliver suddenly turned very pale and let out a loud exclamation.
"What’s the matter with the boy?" the doctor cried, immediately becoming flustered. "Do you see something? Do you feel ill?"
"That house, sir!" Oliver cried, pointing out of the window. "That is the house!"
"What? Stop the carriage! Pull over here!" the doctor shouted to the driver. "What about the house, my boy?"
"The thieves—that is the house they took me to before the robbery!" Oliver whispered.
"The devil it is!" the doctor cried. "Let me out!"
Before the driver could even climb down from his seat, the doctor had tumbled out of the carriage and run toward the deserted building, kicking at the door like a madman.
"What’s going on here?" asked a small, ugly, hump-backed man, opening the door so suddenly that the doctor nearly fell forward into the hallway.
"What’s going on?" the doctor shouted, grabbing the man by the collar without a second thought. "Robbery is what’s going on!"
"There will be murder going on, too," the hump-backed man replied coolly, "if you don’t take your hands off me. Do you hear?"
"I hear you," said the doctor, giving him a firm shake. "Where is Sikes? Where is that rascal Sikes, you thief?"
The man stared at him in utter amazement and anger. Then, twisting himself skillfully out of the doctor's grip, he shouted a series of horrible curses and retreated into the house. Before he could shut the door, the doctor pushed his way into the parlour.
He looked around anxiously, but there was not a single piece of furniture, nor any sign of life. Even the position of the cupboards did not match Oliver’s description.
"Now," said the hump-backed man, watching him closely. "What do you mean by bursting into my house like this? Do you want to rob me or murder me? Which is it?"
"Did you ever hear of a man doing either while traveling in a private carriage with a pair of horses, you ridiculous old vampire?" the irritable doctor snapped.
"What do you want, then?" the hunchback demanded. "Leave now, before I do you some harm! Curse you!"
"I’ll leave when I’m ready," Mr. Losberne said, glancing into the other room. Like the first, it bore no resemblance to Oliver’s account. "I shall find you out one day, my friend."
"Will you?" the man sneered. "If you ever want me, I’m here. I’ve lived here alone for twenty-five years, and I’m not scared of you. You shall pay for this!" The strange little man began to yell and dance on the ground in a fit of rage.
"This is foolish," the doctor muttered to himself. "The boy must have made a mistake." He tossed the man a piece of money and returned to the carriage.
The man followed him to the door, screaming curses the whole way. As Mr. Losberne turned to speak to the driver, the hunchback looked into the carriage and caught Oliver’s eye. He gave the boy a glance so sharp, fierce, and vindictive that Oliver could not forget it for months. Even as they drove away, they could see him in the distance, stamping his feet and tearing his hair in a transport of rage.
"I am an ass," the doctor said after a long silence. "Did you know that, Oliver?"
"No, sir."
"Well, don’t forget it next time."
They sat in silence for a few more minutes before the doctor spoke again. "Even if it had been the right place, what could I have done alone? And if I had brought help, I would only have exposed the fact that I have been trying to hide your involvement in this crime. I’m always getting into trouble by acting on impulse. It serves me right."
In reality, the excellent doctor had acted on impulse his entire life. It was a testament to his good character that, despite this, he was deeply respected by everyone who knew him. He was briefly out of temper because he had failed to find evidence to support Oliver’s story, but he soon calmed down. Seeing that Oliver’s answers remained straightforward and sincere, he decided to believe the boy completely from that moment on.
Since Oliver knew the name of the street where Mr. Brownlow lived, they drove straight there. As the carriage turned the corner, Oliver’s heart beat so violently that he could hardly breathe.
"Which house is it, boy?" Mr. Losberne asked.
"That one! The white house!" Oliver cried, leaning out of the window. "Oh, please hurry! I’m trembling so much I feel as if I might die!"
"Calm down," the doctor said kindly. "You will see them in a moment, and they will be overjoyed to see you safe."
"I hope so!" Oliver cried. "They were so very good to me."
The carriage stopped. No, it was the wrong house—the one next door. It moved forward a few paces and stopped again. Oliver looked up at the windows, tears of happy expectation streaming down his face.
But the white house was empty. A sign in the window read: "To Let."
"Knock at the door next door," Mr. Losberne ordered, taking Oliver’s arm. "Find out what happened to Mr. Brownlow."
The servant did not know, but went to ask. She returned shortly with the news that Mr. Brownlow had sold his furniture and moved to the West Indies six weeks ago. Oliver clasped his hands and sank back, devastated.
"Did his housekeeper go too?" the doctor asked.
"Yes, sir. The old gentleman, the housekeeper, and a friend of Mr. Brownlow’s all left together."
"Then turn back toward home," Mr. Losberne told the driver. "And don’t stop until we are out of this miserable city!"
"But the bookseller, sir?" Oliver pleaded. "I know the way. Please, let’s see him!"
"My poor boy, this is enough disappointment for one day," the doctor said. "If we go there, we will probably find that he is dead or has run away. No; we are going straight home."
This bitter disappointment caused Oliver great sorrow. During his illness, he had spent many hours imagining what Mr. Brownlow and Mrs. Bedwin would say to him. He had looked forward to explaining that he had been kidnapped and had never intended to desert them. Now, the thought that they had gone so far away believing he was a thief and a liar was almost more than he could bear.
However, this did not change the way his new friends treated him. Two weeks later, as the warm weather truly began and the trees started to blossom, they prepared to leave Chertsey for the summer. After sending the valuable silver to the bank for safety and leaving Giles to watch the house, they departed for a small cottage in the countryside, taking Oliver with them.
It is difficult to describe the peace and tranquility that the boy felt in the fresh air, surrounded by the green hills and dense woods of a quiet village. To someone who has lived only in noisy, crowded streets, the silence of the country can heal a weary heart. Even those who have spent their lives in the city, when faced with death, often yearn for one last glimpse of nature.
It was a lovely spot. Oliver, whose life had been spent among crowds and chaos, felt as if he had entered a new world. Roses and honeysuckle grew on the cottage walls, and the garden flowers filled the air with delicious scents. Nearby was a small churchyard, full of humble graves covered in fresh grass and moss. Oliver often wandered there. Thinking of his mother’s lonely, unmarked grave, he would sometimes sit and cry quietly. But when he looked up at the vast blue sky, his grief became softer and less painful.
It was a truly happy time. The days were peaceful, and the nights were free of fear. There were no prisons and no wicked men—only happy thoughts. Every morning, Oliver visited an elderly gentleman near the church who taught him how to read and write better. The man was so patient and kind that Oliver worked as hard as possible to please him. Afterward, he would walk with Mrs. Maylie and Rose, listening to them talk about books, or he would sit in the shade while Rose read aloud to him.
On Sundays, the day was spent even more happily. They attended the small church, where the birds sang outside the windows and the sweet country air drifted through the door. The local people were so neat and clean, and they prayed with such sincerity, that it was a joy to be among them. At night, Oliver would read chapters from the Bible to the ladies, feeling a great sense of pride in his progress.
Each morning, Oliver was awake by six o'clock, roaming the fields to pick wild flowers for the breakfast table. He also gathered fresh plants for Rose’s birds, decorating their cages with great care. When he wasn't studying, he was usually helping in the garden or performing small acts of charity in the village. He applied himself to everything with a hearty goodwill, and Rose always rewarded him with praise for his hard work.
In this way, three months passed—three months of perfect happiness. With the generosity of the ladies on one side and Oliver’s deep, heartfelt gratitude on the other, it is no wonder that he became a beloved member of the household. His sensitive heart was finally at peace, surrounded by people who truly cared for him.