Oliver Twist Page #3

Where do you live?

Where he can,

Your Worship.

Please, sir,

could I have some water?

Stop the nonsense!

Don't try to make a fool of me!

I'm afraid he really

is ill, Your Worship.

I know better.

Take care. He's going to fall.

Stand away!

Let him if he likes.

How do you propose

to deal with the case, sir?

Quiet! What's this?

Who is this?

I keep the bookstore.

I saw it all. It was another boy.

Why didn't you come before?

Couldn't get a soul

to mind the shop.

Swear the man.

They bring him

out of the court fainted.

He gets in a carriage with

this gentleman, and they drive off.

He'll blow on us, Fagin, for certain!

That's the boy,

is it?

That's the boy.

Nice-looking boy,

isn't he?

I don't know.

I only know two sorts of boys:

mealy boys

and beef-faced boys.

And which is he?

Mealy.

Shhh.

Good night, Mrs. Bedwin.

Good night, sir.

Is Bedwin in the habit

of counting the plate at night?

Because if she doesn't find a tablespoon

or two missing one sunny morning,

I'll be content

to eat my head, sir.

Your move.

Where does he come from?

Who is he? What is he?

If that boy doesn't

deceive you, my good friend,

I'll eat my head

and yours too.

- We shall see.

- We will. We will.

- Where am I?

- Hush, my dear.

You must be very quiet,

or you'll be ill again.

You've been very bad.

Lie down again. That's it.

There.

Don't mind me, my dear.

It's all over now.

I'm rather hoarse this morning, Bedwin.

I'm afraid

I've got a cold.

- Now, how do you feel, my dear?

- Very happy, sir.

Good. Have you given him

any nourishment, Bedwin?

He's going to have a basin

of beautiful, strong broth, sir.

Mm-hmm. A couple of glasses

of port wine would do him far more good.

- Wouldn't they, Tom White?

- My name's Oliver, sir.

Oliver?

Oliver White, hmm?

No, sir. Twist.

Oliver Twist.

Hmm, that's

a queer name.

What made you tell the magistrate

your name was White?

I never told him, sir.

Some mistake.

Some mistake, hmm?

Ah, have your broth,

young man.

We must get you

strong again.

As soon as you're well enough,

we must have a little chat.

Oh, thank you

very much, sir.

Fool, bungler, liar.

I paid you good money

to make an end to the business.

One sniveling boy...

and you have to lose him!

I'm worse off now than

if I'd never set eyes on you...

and farther still

from what should be mine.

What do I get?

My money back?

No, no, my dear, not that.

I'll give you hope.

Do you know the workhouse

where the boy was born?

Of course.

I traced him from there.

Then you must go back, my dear.

You must go back. Listen.

Tomorrow, two months it was done.

It seems a age.

Are you gonna sit there

snoring all day?

I shall sit here as long

as I think proper, ma'am.

And though

I was not snoring,

I shall snore, gape,

sneeze, laugh or cry...

as the humor strikes me,

such being my prerogative.

- Your prerogative.

- I said the word, ma'am.

The prerogative of a man

is to command.

And what's the prerogative of a woman,

in the name of goodness?

- To obey, ma'am,

- Huh!

as your late, unfortunate

husband should have taught you.

And then, perhaps, he might

have been alive now.

I wish he were, poor man.

You brute!

Cry your hardest, ma'am.

It opens the lungs,

washes the countenance,

exercises the eyes

and softens down the temper.

So cry away.

Brute!

You blasphemer!

Talk about your prerogative

again, if you dare!

Get up!

Get away from here...

or I might

do something desperate!

Certainly, my dear.

Certainly.

You were the beadle here

once, were you not?

I was.

Parochial beadle.

What are you now?

Master of the workhouse.

Good.

Now listen to me.

I want some information.

Carry your memory back

ten years last winter.

The scene:
the workhouse.

And the time:
night.

The place:

the lying-in room.

- A boy was born.

- A good many boys.

He was apprentice down here

to a coffin maker.

You mean young Twist?

There wasn't a obstinate...

It's not of him

I want to hear.

It's of a woman.

The hand that nursed his mother.

Where is she?

She died last winter.

One moment.

Yes?

There was a woman with her

when she died.

Can I find her?

Only through me.

It will be worth her while.

What if I've paid

you for nothing?

You can take it away again.

I'm a woman here alone and unprotected.

Not alone, my dear,

nor unprotected, neither.

You're a fool.

You better hold your tongue.

He'd better have it cut out

if he can't speak in a lower tone.

Now, let's hear

your story.

You were with this hand

the night she died?

- Yes.

- There was no one by?

No. She asked that

we should be alone.

- Get out!

- Go on.

- She spoke of a young mother...

- Aye.

whom she'd nursed

in that same bed.

Yes. What of her?

I robbed her.

She wasn't cold

when I stole it.

Stole what?

lt. The only thing

she had. Gold.

Gold? Go on.

What of it?

She chose me

to keep it safe.

Yes. The boy's name?

They called him Oliver.

- Yes.

- I haven't told you all, have I?

No, no. Be quick.

She'd run away.

Her father...

Yes?

I was to tell him that...

What were you to tell him?

What?

What?

She said more.

You're lying.

She never uttered

another word.

- But it was then that it happened.

- What?

A scrap of paper?

What was it?

- A pawnbroker's ticket.

- Yes.

The time was out in two days,

so I redeemed the pledge.

Where is it now?

There.

- And this is all?

- All.

Is that what you expected

to get from us?

It is.

Bless us and save us.

- Come in and wash your hands.

- Why? What's the matter?

Mr. Brownlow wants to see you,

and we must make you smart as sixpence.

Come in.

Oh, come in, Oliver.

Come in.

Yes, there are a good many books,

are there not, my boy?

I never saw

so many, sir.

How would you like to grow up

a clever man and write books, eh?

I think I'd rather

read them, sir.

What? Don't you want

to be a book writer?

I think I'd rather be

a bookseller, sir.

Well said, my boy.

Very well said.

Now, now, Oliver,

I want you to pay great attention

to what I'm going to say.

You're not going

to send me away, sir?

No, my dear, I'm not going to send you

away unless you give me cause.

I'll never do that,

sir. Never.

Good.

Somehow I feel...

that you and I are going

to be good friends.

Oh, thank you, sir.

I trust you, Oliver,

and I find myself more interested on

your behalf than I can well account for,

even to myself.

Are you fond

of pictures, Oliver?

I don't quite know, sir.

Now, that is a portrait,

a likeness.

She's very pretty, sir.

Yes, she was very pretty.

Any muffins for tea?

Hello. What's that?

The young Oliver Twist.

You don't mean to say that's the boy

who had the fever, I hope?

That's all over now.

Come and speak to my young friend.

How are you, boy?

A great deal better,

thank you, sir.

Hmm. And when are we

going to hear an account...

of his history,

eh, my friend?

I think we'll have our

tea first, eh, Oliver?

- Is that the bookseller?

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