Found her outside, Doctor.

She was well along then.

Sally pulled the baby out of her.

The usual.

Never learn, these girls.

They give it all up for a bit of sweet talk and a few pretty clothes off some fancy man.

Wouldn'’’t catch me falling for none of that.

What about the child?

Probably best if it'’’s carried off with the same fever as her.

It'’’s hungry.

They always are.

Greedy mouths wanting to be fed and who has to shoulder the burden?

It'’’s a cross we must bear, Mrs. Carney.

You'’’re cold, Doctor, get you a nip of gin to warm you.

Once it'’’s done, fetch Sowerberry for the box.

-And get that badged and ticketed.

-Yes, Mrs. Corney.

Fumigate that good dress of hers, get the mud off and I'’’ll take it.

-Yes, Mrs. Corney.

-I'’’ll have that petticoat and all.

She won'’’t need that linen and lace where she'’’s going.

The baby...

The baby?

A boy.

I want to see him.

Let me see... [baby fusses] He'’’s strong.

I'’’m going to die, aren'’’t I?

We'’’re all gonna die.

In my purse.

There'’’s a letter.

Send it for me, please?

For the baby, please?

Ain'’’t really my place.

Miss.

You must send it.

You must.

He'’’ll come for the child.

Can you tell him, despite everything, Agnes never forgot his kindness and love.

Please, send the letter.

Please.

Please.

My little boy.

[theme music playing] All right then, I'’’ve scrubbed you in, now get on with it.

[sneezes] No sneezing, Twist!

Don'’’t do it.

Don'’’t eat it.

I'’’m hungry!

You and all.

But don'’’t do it.

They'’’ll beat ya.

There!

There, Mr. Bumble Sir!

In his mouth!

I seed him, Sir!

-Thief!

-I said, didn'’’t I!

I said!

Stealing!

Caught red-handed!

Punish him, Mr. Bumble!

For the good of us all!

Punish him, Sir!

-[boy groans] -I will, Mrs. Carney!

I will.

For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.

Amen!

Oh, Mr. Bumble, you are such a joker.

[throat clears] You, boy!

You!

Back to your place.

What do you want?

Please, Sir.

I want some more.

What... What did you say?

I said, please, Sir...

I want some more.

Oliver Twist, Sirs.

I thought it best to bring him to you, Sirs, to decide what to do with him, Sirs.

I wonder, Bumble, if you are not failing as a disciplinarian.

Me, Sir?

Only today, under your guard, a boy stole oakum to eat.

I, I thrashed the boy soundly, Sir.

Blisters, Sir, blisters!

Fresh ones!

There will be no more filching on my watch.

-They must be kept in check!

-Spare the rod and spoil the child.

He didn'’’t need to be beaten.

It'’’s not fair.

He'’’s only small.

You dare to speak to the gentlemen?

If we had more food, we wouldn'’’t need to eat oakum.

He'’’s beyond control!

Do you know what you are, Twist?

You are an ingrate.

Here you stand, bloated with the sins of pride, of gluttony, of covetousness when you should be on your knees, praying to be forgiven!

-God seest thou, Twist.

-Amen.

Then he sees you, too.

We are the people who saved you, Twist.

When your own feckless mother abandoned you at birth by the simple expedient of dying, we fed you and clothed you, taught you your letters, that you might reap the benefits of your Bible.

Gave you a roof over your head, and... and this is how you repay us?

She must have been a bad lot.

Not a shred of decency to her.

There'’’s bad blood here, Sir.

And blood will out.

Apologize to us, immediately.

Beg us for forgiveness for... -all that you are.

-No!

I won'’’t apologize.

I ain'’’t done nothing wrong.

Get rid of him, Bumble.

He offends my sight!

You will hang, Twist.

You were born for it.

Your neck was made for the noose.

Do you hear me, boy?

You will dance in front of a baying crowd... ...and then, maybe, you'’’ll be sorry.

Pass the Stilton.

Two guineas.

-Two?

-He'’’s little.

Then he won'’’t take up much room, will he?

-Five is the price.

-Two.

Four.

And that'’’s final.

Take it or leave it.

Oliver!

-Three.

-Two!

Taking the bread out of my mouth.

Follow.

He has a most melancholic countenance, don'’’t you think?

We can all be melancholic, Mr. Sowerberry, with '’’usbands urging thrift upon their households then spending good money on workhouse strays-- If you want melancholy, Mr. Sowerberry, look to your poor wife.

He was a bargain, Madam.

He'’’ll be very good for business with a face like that.

Your poor wife who, because of thrift, must attend church with a shameful excuse for an '’’at!

Whispers and looks, Mr. Sowerberry, I hear them, I see them, and they sting like a lash, Sir.

I dream of mere melancholy, Mr. Sowerberry.

I dream of it.

Melancholy would be a merciful escape from the deep rut of humiliation and despair your loyal wife finds herself in from being required by thrift to dress as a pauper!

You have many hats, Madame.

Forty at the last count.

You can only wear one at a time.

I endure it all, Sir.

The petty counting of hats, the...

The buying of paupers...

I endure it all out of marital duty, Sir.

I'’’m worn to a shadow of my former self.

My nerves are shattered, are they not, Charlotte?

-Yes, Missus!

-Oh, what does he care?

He cares for nothing but coffins and bargains!

Never marry, Charlotte, never!

Your heart will be broken and ground into tiny pieces by cruel husbands who don'’’t give two hoots for a lady'’’s sensibilities.

If it would restore Mrs. Sowerberry'’’s wellbeing, I will lift the embargo on hats.

For one week only.

Well... You sleep here... under the counter.

-Charlotte?

-Yes, Missus?

No doubt he'’’s crawling with fleas.

-Scrub him.

-Yes, Missus.

Fetch him the scraps left down for Tinker.

Yes, Missus.

Boy?

Work'’’us.

I'’’m talking to you, Work'’’us.

[mutters] You want to be careful, Work'’’us, when you'’’re sleeping in with all them coffins.

You want to be careful of them what'’’s dead, Work'’’us, '’’cause they come back to life when it'’’s dark.

Worms dripping out of they eye-holes.

Noah!

What d'’’you think to that then, Work'’’us?

My name'’’s not Work'’’us.

My name'’’s Oliver.

[man humming indistinctly] [man gasping] [dog whimpers] [door opens] [boy hums a tune] Work'’’us.

Did you think it was the dead coming for you?

Yeah, you did.

Near crying, you was.

But it'’’s just me.

-Noah?

-Coming!

You'’’re under me.

I'’’m above you.

Understand?

-You'’’re scared.

-No.

You should be.

Boo.

[laughter and groaning] [bawdy laughing] [banging, squeaking noise] -What'’’s he doing down there?

-I don'’’t know, Missus.

-Having a rest, maybe.

-Lovely hat, Missus.

-Thanks.

-[tapping] Get up.

Stop lazing around.

-Come along, Charlotte.

Come along.

-Yes, Missus.

What'’’s the matter?

Can'’’t you take a joke?

I haven'’’t done anything to you.

Why can'’’t you just leave me alone?

But I don'’’t want to leave you alone!

Poor little orphan.

No mother or father.

Only orphan ain'’’t strictly true, is it, Work'’’us?

'’’Cause there must be a father somewhere.

It'’’s just your mother what'’’s dead, ain'’’t it?

-You don'’’t know anything.

-Don'’’t I?

Heard the mister telling the missus.

He got it all off Bumble.

Mother with no wedding ring.

Means you'’’re unwanted, Work'’’us.

Now, what that makes your mother?

A doxy.

Know what a doxy is?

Lifts her skirt for a few pennies.

Oh, just as well she died.

That'’’s what your mother was.

Just a poxy doxy!

Don'’’t you talk about her!

You don'’’t know!

-Shut your mouth about my mother!

-He'’’s gone mad!

Get off of me!

-He just went for me!

-Get off me, get off!

In there!

No!

The lid, Charlotte!

Let me out!

Let me out!

Let me out!

Charlotte, fetch Mr. Bumble.

Run!

[Bumble] Insane?

Went for me with a hammer!

-Oh, Noah!

-I was afeared for my life!

-He'’’s a berserker!

-Frenzied, he was.

Eyes rolling and foaming at the mouth.

He'’’s gone rather quiet now.

And this is what you feed him?

Then this is not madness, but meat.

Meat, madam!

It is a fatal error!

Good gristle heats the blood, boils the brain in the skull.

A scientifically proven fact.

You have been over-generous.

I hope you'’’re content, Sowerberry!

-He doesn'’’t seem to be mad now.

-No one'’’s listening to you, Sir not now, not ever, not after this.

I'’’ve a body beginning to niff that requires a lined box.

I need that coffin as a matter of urgency.

He'’’ll slaughter us all!

It'’’ll be me first!

With a chisel!

Oh, my poor Noah!

My angel!

You will all be safe with me.

I shall give him a whipping he will never forget.

You hear me in there, Twist?

I'’’ll take the skin off your back!

Release the miscreant.

[groaning] [moans] Gone.

[faintly] Oh, God.. [crows cawing] [whistling] [carefree violins] [men shouting] There was only one boy born in that month ten years ago, Mr. Monks.

Birthed in this very place, to an Agnes Leeford.

Oliver Twist.

I named the boy myself.

It is considered I have a great gift with names.

The young girl died of the childbed fever.

One of our trusties was midwife.

I'’’ll fetch her for you.

Charley?

Well?

I don'’’t remember nothing, Mrs. Corney.

Nothing at all?

The boy'’’s mother say anything to you?

[coughs] Oh, you'’’re about as much use as a sick headache, you are-- Coughing on us.

Get out.

The boy'’’s gone from here now.

Ran away.

We nurtured a viper in our bosom in Oliver Twist, Sir.

Caused a riot, Sir, locally.

Very violent.

Destroyed several coffins and a splendid hat.

I myself sustained serious injury to my buttock.

Sitting without several cushions causes the most terrible anguish.

No, Sir.

Not the ledger, Sir.

Parish property, Sir.

More than my job'’’s worth to let you take it.

But the boy could be anywhere, but his sort always winds up back in trouble.

Mr. Bumble and I might hear some news.

Perhaps Sir might like to leave an address?

[banjo playing old music] [heavy rain splashing] [melody from clarinet and banjo] [guitar playing] [thunder rumbles] [clamor of London streets] [man begging for change] [man shouting out a sales patter] [Oliver crying] All right, me covey?

What'’’s the racket?

[reggae music playing]