Nicholas Nickleby
fool, and detected in both characters? I think your day is over, sir.’
As he said this, he made some memorandum in his pocket-book in which Mr
Mantalini’s name figured conspicuously, and finding by his watch that it
was between nine and ten o’clock, made all speed home.
‘Are they here?’ was the first question he asked of Newman.
Newman nodded. ‘Been here half an hour.’
‘Two of them? One a fat sleek man?’
‘Ay,’ said Newman. ‘In your room now.’
‘Good,’ rejoined Ralph. ‘Get me a coach.’
‘A coach! What, you--going to--eh?’ stammered Newman.
Ralph angrily repeated his orders, and Noggs, who might well have been
excused for wondering at such an unusual and extraordinary circumstance
(for he had never seen Ralph in a coach in his life) departed on his
errand, and presently returned with the conveyance.
Into it went Mr. Squeers, and Ralph, and the third man, whom Newman Noggs
had never seen. Newman stood upon the door-step to see them off, not
troubling himself to wonder where or upon what business they were going,
until he chanced by mere accident to hear Ralph name the address whither
the coachman was to drive.
Quick as lightning and in a state of the most extreme wonder, Newman
darted into his little office for his hat, and limped after the coach
as if with the intention of getting up behind; but in this design he
was balked, for it had too much the start of him and was soon hopelessly
ahead, leaving him gaping in the empty street.
‘I don’t know though,’ said Noggs, stopping for breath, ‘any good that
I could have done by going too. He would have seen me if I had. Drive
THERE! What can come of this? If I had only known it yesterday I could
have told--drive there! There’s mischief in it. There must be.’
His reflections were interrupted by a grey-haired man of a very
remarkable, though far from prepossessing appearance, who, coming
stealthily towards him, solicited relief.
Newman, still cogitating deeply, turned away; but the man followed him,
and pressed him with such a tale of misery that Newman (who might have
been considered a hopeless person to beg from, and who had little enough
to give) looked into his hat for some halfpence which he usually kept
screwed up, when he had any, in a corner of his pocket-handkerchief.
While he was busily untwisting the knot with his teeth, the man said
something which attracted his attention; whatever that something was, it
led to something else, and in the end he and Newman walked away side by
side--the strange man talking earnestly, and Newman listening.
CHAPTER 45
Containing Matter of a surprising Kind
‘As we gang awa’ fra’ Lunnun tomorrow neeght, and as I dinnot know that
I was e’er so happy in a’ my days, Misther Nickleby, Ding! but I WILL
tak’ anoother glass to our next merry meeting!’
So said John Browdie, rubbing his hands with great joyousness, and
looking round him with a ruddy shining face, quite in keeping with the
declaration.
The time at which John found himself in this enviable condition was the
same evening to which the last chapter bore reference; the place was
the cottage; and the assembled company were Nicholas, Mrs. Nickleby, Mrs
Browdie, Kate Nickleby, and Smike.
A very merry party they had been. Mrs. Nickleby, knowing of her son’s
obligations to the honest Yorkshireman, had, after some demur, yielded
her consent to Mr. and Mrs. Browdie being invited out to tea; in the
way of which arrangement, there were at first sundry difficulties and
obstacles, arising out of her not having had an opportunity of ‘calling’
upon Mrs. Browdie first; for although Mrs. Nickleby very often observed
with much complacency (as most punctilious people do), that she had not
an atom of pride or formality about her, still she was a great stickler
for dignity and ceremonies; and as it was manifest that, until a call
had been made, she could not be (politely speaking, and according to the
laws of society) even cognisant of the fact of Mrs. Browdie’s existence,
she felt her situation to be one of peculiar delicacy and difficulty.
‘The call MUST originate with me, my dear,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, ‘that’s
indispensable. The fact is, my dear, that it’s necessary there should
be a sort of condescension on my part, and that I should show this
young person that I am willing to take notice of her. There’s a very
respectable-looking young man,’ added Mrs. Nickleby, after a short
consideration, ‘who is conductor to one of the omnibuses that go by
here, and who wears a glazed hat--your sister and I have noticed him
very often--he has a wart upon his nose, Kate, you know, exactly like a
gentleman’s servant.’
‘Have all gentlemen’s servants warts upon their noses, mother?’ asked
Nicholas.
‘Nicholas, my dear, how very absurd you are,’ returned his mother; ‘of
course I mean that his glazed hat looks like a gentleman’s servant, and
not the wart upon his nose; though even that is not so ridiculous as it
may seem to you, for we had a footboy once, who had not only a wart, but
a wen also, and a very large wen too, and he demanded to have his wages
raised in consequence, because he found it came very expensive. Let me
see, what was I--oh yes, I know. The best way that I can think of would
be to send a card, and my compliments, (I’ve no doubt he’d take ‘em for
a pot of porter,) by this young man, to the Saracen with Two Necks. If
the waiter took him for a gentleman’s servant, so much the better. Then
all Mrs. Browdie would have to do would be to send her card back by the
carrier (he could easily come with a double knock), and there’s an end
of it.’
‘My dear mother,’ said Nicholas, ‘I don’t suppose such unsophisticated
people as these ever had a card of their own, or ever will have.’
‘Oh that, indeed, Nicholas, my dear,’ returned Mrs. Nickleby, ‘that’s
another thing. If you put it upon that ground, why, of course, I have
no more to say, than that I have no doubt they are very good sort of
persons, and that I have no kind of objection to their coming here to
tea if they like, and shall make a point of being very civil to them if
they do.’
The point being thus effectually set at rest, and Mrs. Nickleby duly
placed in the patronising and mildly-condescending position which became
her rank and matrimonial years, Mr. and Mrs. Browdie were invited and
came; and as they were very deferential to Mrs. Nickleby, and seemed
to have a becoming appreciation of her greatness, and were very much
pleased with everything, the good lady had more than once given Kate
to understand, in a whisper, that she thought they were the very
best-meaning people she had ever seen, and perfectly well behaved.
And thus it came to pass, that John Browdie declared, in the parlour
after supper, to wit, and twenty minutes before eleven o’clock p.m.,
that he had never been so happy in all his days.
Nor was Mrs. Browdie much behind her husband in this respect, for that
young matron, whose rustic beauty contrasted very prettily with the
more delicate loveliness of Kate, and without suffering by the contrast
either, for each served as it were to set off and decorate the other,
could not sufficiently admire the gentle and winning manners of the
young lady, or the engaging affability of the elder one. Then Kate had
the art of turning the conversation to subjects upon which the country
girl, bashful at first in strange company, could feel herself at
home; and if Mrs. Nickleby was not quite so felicitous at times in the
selection of topics of discourse, or if she did seem, as Mrs. Browdie
expressed it, ‘rather high in her notions,’ still nothing could be
kinder, and that she took considerable interest in the young couple was
manifest from the very long lectures on housewifery with which she
was so obliging as to entertain Mrs. Browdie’s private ear, which
were illustrated by various references to the domestic economy of the
cottage, in which (those duties falling exclusively upon Kate) the good
lady had about as much share, either in theory or practice, as any one
of the statues of the Twelve Apostles which embellish the exterior of St
Paul’s Cathedral.
‘Mr. Browdie,’ said Kate, addressing his young wife, ‘is the
best-humoured, the kindest and heartiest creature I ever saw. If I were
oppressed with I don’t know how many cares, it would make me happy only
to look at him.’
‘He does seem indeed, upon my word, a most excellent creature, Kate,’
said Mrs. Nickleby; ‘most excellent. And I am sure that at all times it
will give me pleasure--really pleasure now--to have you, Mrs. Browdie,
to see me in this plain and homely manner. We make no display,’ said Mrs
Nickleby, with an air which seemed to insinuate that they could make a
vast deal if they were so disposed; ‘no fuss, no preparation; I wouldn’t
allow it. I said, “Kate, my dear, you will only make Mrs. Browdie feel
uncomfortable, and how very foolish and inconsiderate that would be!”’
‘I am very much obliged to you, I am sure, ma’am,’ returned Mrs. Browdie,
gratefully. ‘It’s nearly eleven o’clock, John. I am afraid we are
keeping you up very late, ma’am.’
‘Late!’ cried Mrs. Nickleby, with a sharp thin laugh, and one little
cough at the end, like a note of admiration expressed. ‘This is quite
early for us. We used to keep such hours! Twelve, one, two, three
o’clock was nothing to us. Balls, dinners, card-parties! Never were such
rakes as the people about where we used to live. I often think now, I
am sure, that how we ever could go through with it is quite astonishing,
and that is just the evil of having a large connection and being a great
deal sought after, which I would recommend all young married people
steadily to resist; though of course, and it’s perfectly clear, and a
very happy thing too, I think, that very few young married people can
be exposed to such temptations. There was one family in particular,
that used to live about a mile from us--not straight down the road, but
turning sharp off to the left by the turnpike where the Plymouth mail
ran over the donkey--that were quite extraordinary people for giving
the most extravagant parties, with artificial flowers and champagne, and
variegated lamps, and, in short, every delicacy of eating and drinking
that the most singular epicure could possibly require. I don’t think
that there ever were such people as those Peltiroguses. You remember the
Peltiroguses, Kate?’
Kate saw that for the ease and comfort of the visitors it was high time
to stay this flood of recollection, so answered that she entertained of
the Peltiroguses a most vivid and distinct remembrance; and then said
that Mr. Browdie had half promised, early in the evening, that he would
sing a Yorkshire song, and that she was most impatient that he should
redeem his promise, because she was sure it would afford her mama more
amusement and pleasure than it was possible to express.
Mrs. Nickleby confirming her daughter with the best possible grace--for
there was patronage in that too, and a kind of implication that she had
a discerning taste in such matters, and was something of a critic--John
Browdie proceeded to consider the words of some north-country ditty, and
to take his wife’s recollection respecting the same. This done, he made
divers ungainly movements in his chair, and singling out one particular
fly on the ceiling from the other flies there asleep, fixed his eyes
upon him, and began to roar a meek sentiment (supposed to be uttered
by a gentle swain fast pining away with love and despair) in a voice of
thunder.
At the end of the first verse, as though some person without had
waited until then to make himself audible, was heard a loud and violent
knocking at the street-door; so loud and so violent, indeed, that the
ladies started as by one accord, and John Browdie stopped.