Nicholas Nickleby
that’s all,’ returned Squeers; ‘but everybody’s the best judge of their
own affairs. All I say is, Slider, I wouldn’t do it.’
‘Come,’ said Peg, ‘then you shall see ‘em.’
‘I don’t want to see ‘em,’ replied Squeers, affecting to be out of
humour; ‘don’t talk as if it was a treat. Show ‘em to somebody else, and
take their advice.’
Mr. Squeers would, very likely, have carried on the farce of being
offended a little longer, if Mrs. Sliderskew, in her anxiety to restore
herself to her former high position in his good graces, had not become
so extremely affectionate that he stood at some risk of being smothered
by her caresses. Repressing, with as good a grace as possible, these
little familiarities--for which, there is reason to believe, the black
bottle was at least as much to blame as any constitutional infirmity on
the part of Mrs. Sliderskew--he protested that he had only been joking:
and, in proof of his unimpaired good-humour, that he was ready to
examine the deeds at once, if, by so doing, he could afford any
satisfaction or relief of mind to his fair friend.
‘And now you’re up, my Slider,’ bawled Squeers, as she rose to fetch
them, ‘bolt the door.’
Peg trotted to the door, and after fumbling at the bolt, crept to the
other end of the room, and from beneath the coals which filled the
bottom of the cupboard, drew forth a small deal box. Having placed this
on the floor at Squeers’s feet, she brought, from under the pillow of
her bed, a small key, with which she signed to that gentleman to open
it. Mr. Squeers, who had eagerly followed her every motion, lost no time
in obeying this hint: and, throwing back the lid, gazed with rapture on
the documents which lay within.
‘Now you see,’ said Peg, kneeling down on the floor beside him, and
staying his impatient hand; ‘what’s of no use we’ll burn; what we can
get any money by, we’ll keep; and if there’s any we could get him into
trouble by, and fret and waste away his heart to shreds, those we’ll
take particular care of; for that’s what I want to do, and what I hoped
to do when I left him.’
‘I thought,’ said Squeers, ‘that you didn’t bear him any particular
good-will. But, I say, why didn’t you take some money besides?’
‘Some what?’ asked Peg.
‘Some money,’ roared Squeers. ‘I do believe the woman hears me, and
wants to make me break a wessel, so that she may have the pleasure of
nursing me. Some money, Slider, money!’
‘Why, what a man you are to ask!’ cried Peg, with some contempt. ‘If I
had taken money from Arthur Gride, he’d have scoured the whole earth to
find me--aye, and he’d have smelt it out, and raked it up, somehow, if
I had buried it at the bottom of the deepest well in England. No, no!
I knew better than that. I took what I thought his secrets were hid in:
and them he couldn’t afford to make public, let’em be worth ever so much
money. He’s an old dog; a sly, old, cunning, thankless dog! He first
starved, and then tricked me; and if I could I’d kill him.’
‘All right, and very laudable,’ said Squeers. ‘But, first and foremost,
Slider, burn the box. You should never keep things as may lead to
discovery. Always mind that. So while you pull it to pieces (which you
can easily do, for it’s very old and rickety) and burn it in little
bits, I’ll look over the papers and tell you what they are.’
Peg, expressing her acquiescence in this arrangement, Mr. Squeers turned
the box bottom upwards, and tumbling the contents upon the floor, handed
it to her; the destruction of the box being an extemporary device for
engaging her attention, in case it should prove desirable to distract it
from his own proceedings.
‘There!’ said Squeers; ‘you poke the pieces between the bars, and make
up a good fire, and I’ll read the while. Let me see, let me see.’ And
taking the candle down beside him, Mr. Squeers, with great eagerness
and a cunning grin overspreading his face, entered upon his task of
examination.
If the old woman had not been very deaf, she must have heard, when she
last went to the door, the breathing of two persons close behind it: and
if those two persons had been unacquainted with her infirmity, they must
probably have chosen that moment either for presenting themselves or
taking to flight. But, knowing with whom they had to deal, they remained
quite still, and now, not only appeared unobserved at the door--which
was not bolted, for the bolt had no hasp--but warily, and with noiseless
footsteps, advanced into the room.
As they stole farther and farther in by slight and scarcely perceptible
degrees, and with such caution that they scarcely seemed to breathe, the
old hag and Squeers little dreaming of any such invasion, and utterly
unconscious of there being any soul near but themselves, were busily
occupied with their tasks. The old woman, with her wrinkled face close
to the bars of the stove, puffing at the dull embers which had not yet
caught the wood; Squeers stooping down to the candle, which brought out
the full ugliness of his face, as the light of the fire did that of his
companion; both intently engaged, and wearing faces of exultation which
contrasted strongly with the anxious looks of those behind, who took
advantage of the slightest sound to cover their advance, and, almost
before they had moved an inch, and all was silent, stopped again. This,
with the large bare room, damp walls, and flickering doubtful light,
combined to form a scene which the most careless and indifferent
spectator (could any have been present) could scarcely have failed to
derive some interest from, and would not readily have forgotten.
Of the stealthy comers, Frank Cheeryble was one, and Newman Noggs
the other. Newman had caught up, by the rusty nozzle, an old pair of
bellows, which were just undergoing a flourish in the air preparatory
to a descent upon the head of Mr. Squeers, when Frank, with an earnest
gesture, stayed his arm, and, taking another step in advance, came so
close behind the schoolmaster that, by leaning slightly forward, he
could plainly distinguish the writing which he held up to his eye.
Mr. Squeers, not being remarkably erudite, appeared to be considerably
puzzled by this first prize, which was in an engrossing hand, and not
very legible except to a practised eye. Having tried it by reading from
left to right, and from right to left, and finding it equally clear both
ways, he turned it upside down with no better success.
‘Ha, ha, ha!’ chuckled Peg, who, on her knees before the fire, was
feeding it with fragments of the box, and grinning in most devilish
exultation. ‘What’s that writing about, eh?’
‘Nothing particular,’ replied Squeers, tossing it towards her. ‘It’s
only an old lease, as well as I can make out. Throw it in the fire.’
Mrs. Sliderskew complied, and inquired what the next one was.
‘This,’ said Squeers, ‘is a bundle of overdue acceptances and renewed
bills of six or eight young gentlemen, but they’re all MPs, so it’s of
no use to anybody. Throw it in the fire!’ Peg did as she was bidden, and
waited for the next.
‘This,’ said Squeers, ‘seems to be some deed of sale of the right of
presentation to the rectory of Purechurch, in the valley of Cashup. Take
care of that, Slider, literally for God’s sake. It’ll fetch its price at
the Auction Mart.’
‘What’s the next?’ inquired Peg.
‘Why, this,’ said Squeers, ‘seems, from the two letters that’s with it,
to be a bond from a curate down in the country, to pay half a year’s
wages of forty pound for borrowing twenty. Take care of that, for if he
don’t pay it, his bishop will very soon be down upon him. We know what
the camel and the needle’s eye means; no man as can’t live upon his
income, whatever it is, must expect to go to heaven at any price. It’s
very odd; I don’t see anything like it yet.’
‘What’s the matter?’ said Peg.
‘Nothing,’ replied Squeers, ‘only I’m looking for--’
Newman raised the bellows again. Once more, Frank, by a rapid motion of
his arm, unaccompanied by any noise, checked him in his purpose.
‘Here you are,’ said Squeers, ‘bonds--take care of them. Warrant of
attorney--take care of that. Two cognovits--take care of them. Lease and
release--burn that. Ah! “Madeline Bray--come of age or marry--the said
Madeline”--here, burn THAT!’
Eagerly throwing towards the old woman a parchment that he caught up for
the purpose, Squeers, as she turned her head, thrust into the breast of
his large coat, the deed in which these words had caught his eye, and
burst into a shout of triumph.
‘I’ve got it!’ said Squeers. ‘I’ve got it! Hurrah! The plan was a good
one, though the chance was desperate, and the day’s our own at last!’
Peg demanded what he laughed at, but no answer was returned. Newman’s
arm could no longer be restrained; the bellows, descending heavily and
with unerring aim on the very centre of Mr. Squeers’s head, felled him to
the floor, and stretched him on it flat and senseless.
CHAPTER 58
In which one Scene of this History is closed
Dividing the distance into two days’ journey, in order that his charge
might sustain the less exhaustion and fatigue from travelling so far,
Nicholas, at the end of the second day from their leaving home, found
himself within a very few miles of the spot where the happiest years
of his life had been passed, and which, while it filled his mind with
pleasant and peaceful thoughts, brought back many painful and vivid
recollections of the circumstances in which he and his had wandered
forth from their old home, cast upon the rough world and the mercy of
strangers.
It needed no such reflections as those which the memory of old days,
and wanderings among scenes where our childhood has been passed, usually
awaken in the most insensible minds, to soften the heart of Nicholas,
and render him more than usually mindful of his drooping friend. By
night and day, at all times and seasons: always watchful, attentive, and
solicitous, and never varying in the discharge of his self-imposed duty
to one so friendless and helpless as he whose sands of life were now
fast running out and dwindling rapidly away: he was ever at his side. He
never left him. To encourage and animate him, administer to his wants,
support and cheer him to the utmost of his power, was now his constant
and unceasing occupation.
They procured a humble lodging in a small farmhouse, surrounded by
meadows where Nicholas had often revelled when a child with a troop of
merry schoolfellows; and here they took up their rest.
At first, Smike was strong enough to walk about, for short distances
at a time, with no other support or aid than that which Nicholas could
afford him. At this time, nothing appeared to interest him so much as
visiting those places which had been most familiar to his friend in
bygone days. Yielding to this fancy, and pleased to find that its
indulgence beguiled the sick boy of many tedious hours, and never failed
to afford him matter for thought and conversation afterwards, Nicholas
made such spots the scenes of their daily rambles: driving him from
place to place in a little pony-chair, and supporting him on his arm
while they walked slowly among these old haunts, or lingered in the
sunlight to take long parting looks of those which were most quiet and
beautiful.
It was on such occasions as these, that Nicholas, yielding almost
unconsciously to the interest of old associations, would point out some
tree that he had climbed, a hundred times, to peep at the young birds in
their nest; and the branch from which he used to shout to little Kate,
who stood below terrified at the height he had gained, and yet urging
him higher still by the intensity of her admiration. There was the
old house too, which they would pass every day, looking up at the tiny