The church clocks chimed a quarter to twelve as two figures appeared on London Bridge. One, moving with a quick and hurried step, was a woman who looked around anxiously as if searching for someone. The other figure was a man who stayed in the deepest shadows he could find. He kept his distance, matching her pace perfectly; whenever she stopped, he stopped, and as she moved again, he crept stealthily after her. Despite his eagerness to catch up, he never allowed himself to get too close. In this manner, they crossed the bridge from the city side to the south bank, where the woman, apparently disappointed after scanning the faces of the few people passing by, suddenly turned back.
The movement was unexpected, but her observer was not caught off guard. He shrank into one of the stone recesses built into the bridge’s pillars and leaned over the wall to hide his face, allowing her to pass him on the opposite pavement. Once she was a safe distance ahead, he slipped out and followed her once more. Near the center of the bridge, she stopped. The man stopped, too.
It was a very dark night. The weather had been unpleasant all day, and at that late hour, there were few people around. Those who were out hurried past, likely without noticing the woman or the man watching her. Their appearance did not attract the attention of the city’s homeless, who were crossing the bridge in search of a dry corner or a sheltered doorway where they might sleep. The two stood there in silence, neither speaking to nor being addressed by anyone.
A thick mist hung over the river, intensifying the red glow of the fires burning on the small boats moored near the wharves. This fog made the dark buildings on the banks look even more indistinct and gloomy. The old, smoke-stained warehouses rose heavily from the mass of roofs, frowning down upon water that was too black to reflect even their massive shapes. The tower of St. Saviour’s Church and the spire of St. Magnus—the ancient guardians of the bridge—were visible in the darkness, but the forest of ships downstream and the many church spires upstream were almost entirely hidden from view.
The girl had paced restlessly back and forth several times—closely watched by her hidden observer—when the heavy bell of St. Paul’s Cathedral tolled for the end of another day. Midnight had arrived in the crowded city. It fell upon palaces and slums, jails and hospitals, the faces of the dead and the calm sleep of children; midnight was upon them all.
Not two minutes after the hour had struck, a young lady accompanied by a grey-haired gentleman stepped out of a carriage a short distance from the bridge. After dismissing the driver, they walked straight toward the bridge. They had barely reached the pavement when the girl started and immediately hurried toward them.
They walked forward, looking around with the air of people who had very little hope that their expectations would be met, when they were suddenly joined by Nancy. They reacted with an exclamation of surprise but quickly suppressed it, for a man dressed as a countryman passed close by—actually brushing against them—at that exact moment.
"Not here," Nancy whispered hurriedly. "I am afraid to speak to you here. Come away—off the main road—down those steps over there!"
As she spoke and pointed toward the direction she wanted them to go, the countryman looked back. He roughly asked why they were blocking the entire pavement and then continued on his way.
The steps the girl pointed to were landing stairs leading down to the river on the Surrey bank. The man appearing to be a countryman hurried to this spot unobserved and, after a quick survey of the area, began to descend.
These stairs are part of the bridge and consist of three flights. Just past the end of the second flight, the stone wall on the left ends in an ornamental pillar facing the Thames. At this point, the lower steps widen, so anyone turning that corner is hidden from people further up the stairs. The countryman looked around quickly when he reached this spot. Since there was no better hiding place and the tide was out, leaving plenty of room, he slipped behind the pillar and waited. He was fairly certain they would not go any lower, and even if he could not hear everything, he would be able to follow them again safely.
Time passed slowly in that lonely place. The spy was so eager to discover the motive behind this strange interview that he nearly gave up several times, convinced they had stopped further up or gone somewhere else entirely. He was just about to leave his hiding place and return to the road when he heard the sound of footsteps and voices very close to him. He straightened himself against the wall and, barely breathing, listened intently.
"This is far enough," said a voice, which was clearly that of the gentleman. "I will not allow the young lady to go any further. Many people would have been too suspicious of you to come even this far, but you see I am willing to trust you."
"To trust me!" Nancy cried. "You are indeed considerate, sir. To trust me! Well, it doesn't matter."
"Why," said the gentleman in a kinder tone, "for what purpose have you brought us to this strange place? Why not let me speak to you up there, where there is light and movement, instead of bringing us to this dark and dismal hole?"
"I told you before," Nancy replied, "that I was afraid to speak to you there. I don't know why, but I have such a terrible fear upon me tonight that I can hardly stand."
"A fear of what?" asked the gentleman, who seemed to pity her.
"I scarcely know," she replied. "I wish I did. All day I’ve had horrible thoughts of death and blood-stained shrouds. A fear has been burning inside me like a fire. I was reading a book tonight to pass the time, and those same images seemed to appear in the print."
"It’s just your imagination," the gentleman said, trying to soothe her.
"No, it isn’t imagination," the girl replied hoarsely. "I could swear I saw the word 'coffin' written on every page in large black letters. And a real one was carried past me in the street tonight."
"There is nothing unusual in that," the gentleman said. "I have often seen them."
"Those were real ones," she rejoined. "This one was not."
There was something so haunting in her manner that the listener in the shadows felt his skin crawl. He felt a great sense of relief when he heard the sweet voice of the young lady begging Nancy to stay calm.
"Speak to her kindly," the young lady said to her companion. "The poor creature seems to need it."
"Your self-righteous religious people would have looked down on me tonight and preached about hell and vengeance," Nancy cried. "Oh, dear lady, why aren't the people who claim to be God’s followers as gentle and kind as you? You have youth and beauty—everything they have lost—yet you are so much humbler."
The gentleman remarked that some people are more interested in looking for the darkest side of heaven than showing true compassion. He then addressed Nancy directly.
"You were not here last Sunday night," he said.
"I couldn’t come," Nancy replied. "I was held back by force."
"By whom?"
"The man I told the young lady about before."
"I hope you weren't suspected of communicating with us?" the gentleman asked.
"No," she replied, shaking her head. "It isn't easy for me to leave him unless he knows why. I had to wait until he was asleep."
"Good," said the gentleman. "Now, listen to me. This young lady has told me everything you said nearly two weeks ago. I admit I had my doubts at first, but now I firmly believe you are telling the truth."
"I am," the girl said earnestly.
"To prove that I trust you, I will tell you our plan. We intend to force the secret out of this man, Monks, by using his own fears against him. But," the gentleman continued, "if we cannot catch him, or if he refuses to talk, you must deliver Fagin to us."
"Fagin!" the girl cried, stepping back.
"That man must be handed over by you," said the gentleman.
"I will not do it! I will never do it!" Nancy replied. "He is a devil, and he has been worse than a devil to me, but I will never betray him."
"You won't?" the gentleman asked, appearing prepared for this answer.
"Never!"
"Tell me why."
"For one reason that the lady knows and will support me in. And for this other reason: as bad as his life has been, mine has been just as bad. We have followed the same path together, and I will not turn on those who could have turned on me but didn't."
"Then," said the gentleman quickly, as if he had finally reached the point he wanted, "put Monks into my hands and leave him to me."
"What if he betrays the others?"
"I promise you that if we get the truth from him, the matter will end there. There are parts of Oliver’s history that would be painful to make public. If we get the truth, the others shall go free."
"And if you don't get the truth?" the girl suggested.
"Then Fagin shall not be brought to justice without your consent," the gentleman promised.
"Do I have the lady’s word on that?" Nancy asked.
"You do," Rose replied. "My faithful promise."
"And Monks would never learn how you found him?" the girl asked after a pause.
"Never. He will never even guess how we obtained the information."
"I have been a liar among liars since I was a child," Nancy said after a moment of silence, "but I will trust your words."
She then proceeded, in a voice so low it was difficult for the spy to hear, to describe the public house where she had been followed that night. She explained the layout of the area, the best place to watch without being seen, and the exact times when Monks usually visited. Then, she paused to recall his appearance.
"He is tall and strongly built, but not fat," she said. "He walks with a suspicious, lurking stride, constantly looking over his shoulders. His eyes are so deeply set in his head that you could recognize him by that alone. His face is dark and haggard, though he can’t be more than twenty-eight years old. His lips are often bitten and disfigured—he has terrible fits and sometimes even bites his own hands. Why did you jump?" she asked, stopping suddenly.
The gentleman hurriedly replied that he wasn't aware he had moved and begged her to continue.
"I’ve gathered some of this from other people, as I’ve only seen him twice, both times covered in a large cloak," she said. "Wait—on his throat, high enough to be seen above his neckerchief, there is—"
"A broad red mark, like a burn?" the gentleman interrupted.
"How do you know?" she asked, shocked. "You know him!"
Rose let out a cry of surprise. For a few moments, it was so quiet that the listener could hear them breathing.
"I think I do," the gentleman said at last. "Your description matches someone I knew. We shall see."
He spoke with assumed indifference, but as he stepped closer to the hidden spy, Noah heard him mutter to himself, "It must be him!"
"Now," the gentleman said, returning to his spot, "you have given us invaluable help, and I want to help you in return. What can I do for you?"
"Nothing," Nancy replied.
"Do not say that," the gentleman insisted kindly. "Think about it. Tell me."
"Nothing, sir," she said, beginning to cry. "You can do nothing for me. I am beyond hope."
"You only believe that because of your past," the gentleman argued. "The past has been a waste of your energy and life, but the future can be different. We can offer you a safe place to live, either here in England or in another country. Before the sun rises, you could be entirely beyond the reach of your old associates. Leave them all while you still have the chance!"
"She is reconsidering," Rose cried. "I am sure of it!"
"I fear not, my dear," the gentleman said sadly.
"No, sir, I am not," the girl replied after a struggle. "I am chained to my old life. I hate it, but I cannot leave it. I have gone too far to turn back. If you had spoken to me like this years ago, I might have listened, but now... I must go home."
"Home!" Rose repeated, emphasizing the word.
"Home, lady," Nancy rejoined. "To the only home I have. Let us part now. I will be watched. If I have helped you, all I ask is that you leave me and let me go my way alone."
"It is useless," the gentleman sighed. "We are perhaps putting her in danger by staying here."
"Yes," Nancy urged. "You are."
"What will become of this poor creature?" Rose asked.
"What!" Nancy repeated. "Look at that dark water, lady. How many people like me jump into that tide and leave no one behind to care? It might be years from now, or only months, but that is how I will end."
"Please, do not speak like that," Rose said, sobbing.
"You will never hear of it, lady, and I hope you never have to deal with such horrors," the girl replied. "Good-night!"
The gentleman turned to leave.
"Take this purse," Rose cried. "Take it so you have something to help you in a time of need."
"No!" Nancy replied. "I didn't do this for money. Let me at least have that pride. But... give me something you have worn. Not a ring—your gloves or a handkerchief. Something I can keep that belonged to you. Thank you. God bless you. Good-night!"
Seeing her extreme agitation and fear of being discovered, the gentleman finally agreed to leave her. The sound of their footsteps faded away. Soon, Rose and Mr. Brownlow appeared back on the bridge.
"Listen!" Rose said. "Did she call out? I thought I heard her voice."
"No, my love," Mr. Brownlow replied sadly. "She has not moved, and she won't until we are gone."
Rose hesitated, but the old gentleman gently led her away. As they disappeared, Nancy sank onto the stone steps and let out all her heart's pain in bitter tears.
After a while, she rose and walked with weak, shaking steps back to the street. Noah Claypole remained motionless in his hiding place for several minutes. Once he was sure he was alone, he crept out and returned stealthily to the road. After making sure no one was watching, he darted away as fast as he could, heading straight for Fagin’s house.