Nicholas Nickleby
by heaving a sigh, wherewith she seemed meekly to compassionate the
wickedness of mankind.
The attendants were not slow to echo the sigh, and Miss Knag was
apparently on the eve of favouring them with some further moral
reflections, when the voice of Madame Mantalini, conveyed through
the speaking-tube, ordered Miss Nickleby upstairs to assist in the
arrangement of the show-room; a distinction which caused Miss Knag to
toss her head so much, and bite her lips so hard, that her powers of
conversation were, for the time, annihilated.
‘Well, Miss Nickleby, child,’ said Madame Mantalini, when Kate presented
herself; ‘are you quite well again?’
‘A great deal better, thank you,’ replied Kate.
‘I wish I could say the same,’ remarked Madame Mantalini, seating
herself with an air of weariness.
‘Are you ill?’ asked Kate. ‘I am very sorry for that.’
‘Not exactly ill, but worried, child--worried,’ rejoined Madame.
‘I am still more sorry to hear that,’ said Kate, gently. ‘Bodily illness
is more easy to bear than mental.’
‘Ah! and it’s much easier to talk than to bear either,’ said Madame,
rubbing her nose with much irritability of manner. ‘There, get to your
work, child, and put the things in order, do.’
While Kate was wondering within herself what these symptoms of unusual
vexation portended, Mr. Mantalini put the tips of his whiskers, and, by
degrees, his head, through the half-opened door, and cried in a soft
voice--
‘Is my life and soul there?’
‘No,’ replied his wife.
‘How can it say so, when it is blooming in the front room like a little
rose in a demnition flower-pot?’ urged Mantalini. ‘May its poppet come
in and talk?’
‘Certainly not,’ replied Madame: ‘you know I never allow you here. Go
along!’
The poppet, however, encouraged perhaps by the relenting tone of this
reply, ventured to rebel, and, stealing into the room, made towards
Madame Mantalini on tiptoe, blowing her a kiss as he came along.
‘Why will it vex itself, and twist its little face into bewitching
nutcrackers?’ said Mantalini, putting his left arm round the waist of
his life and soul, and drawing her towards him with his right.
‘Oh! I can’t bear you,’ replied his wife.
‘Not--eh, not bear ME!’ exclaimed Mantalini. ‘Fibs, fibs. It couldn’t
be. There’s not a woman alive, that could tell me such a thing to my
face--to my own face.’ Mr. Mantalini stroked his chin, as he said this,
and glanced complacently at an opposite mirror.
‘Such destructive extravagance,’ reasoned his wife, in a low tone.
‘All in its joy at having gained such a lovely creature, such a little
Venus, such a demd, enchanting, bewitching, engrossing, captivating
little Venus,’ said Mantalini.
‘See what a situation you have placed me in!’ urged Madame.
‘No harm will come, no harm shall come, to its own darling,’ rejoined
Mr. Mantalini. ‘It is all over; there will be nothing the matter; money
shall be got in; and if it don’t come in fast enough, old Nickleby shall
stump up again, or have his jugular separated if he dares to vex and
hurt the little--’
‘Hush!’ interposed Madame. ‘Don’t you see?’
Mr. Mantalini, who, in his eagerness to make up matters with his wife,
had overlooked, or feigned to overlook, Miss Nickleby hitherto, took
the hint, and laying his finger on his lip, sunk his voice still
lower. There was, then, a great deal of whispering, during which Madame
Mantalini appeared to make reference, more than once, to certain debts
incurred by Mr. Mantalini previous to her coverture; and also to an
unexpected outlay of money in payment of the aforesaid debts; and
furthermore, to certain agreeable weaknesses on that gentleman’s part,
such as gaming, wasting, idling, and a tendency to horse-flesh; each
of which matters of accusation Mr. Mantalini disposed of, by one kiss
or more, as its relative importance demanded. The upshot of it all
was, that Madame Mantalini was in raptures with him, and that they went
upstairs to breakfast.
Kate busied herself in what she had to do, and was silently arranging
the various articles of decoration in the best taste she could display,
when she started to hear a strange man’s voice in the room, and started
again, to observe, on looking round, that a white hat, and a red
neckerchief, and a broad round face, and a large head, and part of a
green coat were in the room too.
‘Don’t alarm yourself, miss,’ said the proprietor of these appearances.
‘I say; this here’s the mantie-making consarn, an’t it?’
‘Yes,’ rejoined Kate, greatly astonished. ‘What did you want?’
The stranger answered not; but, first looking back, as though to beckon
to some unseen person outside, came, very deliberately, into the room,
and was closely followed by a little man in brown, very much the worse
for wear, who brought with him a mingled fumigation of stale tobacco and
fresh onions. The clothes of this gentleman were much bespeckled with
flue; and his shoes, stockings, and nether garments, from his heels to
the waist buttons of his coat inclusive, were profusely embroidered with
splashes of mud, caught a fortnight previously--before the setting-in of
the fine weather.
Kate’s very natural impression was, that these engaging individuals
had called with the view of possessing themselves, unlawfully, of
any portable articles that chanced to strike their fancy. She did not
attempt to disguise her apprehensions, and made a move towards the door.
‘Wait a minnit,’ said the man in the green coat, closing it softly, and
standing with his back against it. ‘This is a unpleasant bisness. Vere’s
your govvernor?’
‘My what--did you say?’ asked Kate, trembling; for she thought
‘governor’ might be slang for watch or money.
‘Mister Muntlehiney,’ said the man. ‘Wot’s come on him? Is he at home?’
‘He is above stairs, I believe,’ replied Kate, a little reassured by
this inquiry. ‘Do you want him?’
‘No,’ replied the visitor. ‘I don’t ezactly want him, if it’s made a
favour on. You can jist give him that ‘ere card, and tell him if he
wants to speak to ME, and save trouble, here I am; that’s all.’
With these words, the stranger put a thick square card into Kate’s hand,
and, turning to his friend, remarked, with an easy air, ‘that the rooms
was a good high pitch;’ to which the friend assented, adding, by way of
illustration, ‘that there was lots of room for a little boy to grow up
a man in either on ‘em, vithout much fear of his ever bringing his head
into contract vith the ceiling.’
After ringing the bell which would summon Madame Mantalini, Kate glanced
at the card, and saw that it displayed the name of ‘Scaley,’ together
with some other information to which she had not had time to refer, when
her attention was attracted by Mr. Scaley himself, who, walking up to one
of the cheval-glasses, gave it a hard poke in the centre with his stick,
as coolly as if it had been made of cast iron.
‘Good plate this here, Tix,’ said Mr. Scaley to his friend.
‘Ah!’ rejoined Mr. Tix, placing the marks of his four fingers, and a
duplicate impression of his thumb, on a piece of sky-blue silk; ‘and
this here article warn’t made for nothing, mind you.’
From the silk, Mr. Tix transferred his admiration to some elegant
articles of wearing apparel, while Mr. Scaley adjusted his neckcloth,
at leisure, before the glass, and afterwards, aided by its reflection,
proceeded to the minute consideration of a pimple on his chin; in which
absorbing occupation he was yet engaged, when Madame Mantalini, entering
the room, uttered an exclamation of surprise which roused him.
‘Oh! Is this the missis?’ inquired Scaley.
‘It is Madame Mantalini,’ said Kate.
‘Then,’ said Mr. Scaley, producing a small document from his pocket and
unfolding it very slowly, ‘this is a writ of execution, and if it’s not
conwenient to settle we’ll go over the house at wunst, please, and take
the inwentory.’
Poor Madame Mantalini wrung her hands for grief, and rung the bell
for her husband; which done, she fell into a chair and a fainting fit,
simultaneously. The professional gentlemen, however, were not at all
discomposed by this event, for Mr. Scaley, leaning upon a stand on which
a handsome dress was displayed (so that his shoulders appeared above it,
in nearly the same manner as the shoulders of the lady for whom it was
designed would have done if she had had it on), pushed his hat on one
side and scratched his head with perfect unconcern, while his friend
Mr. Tix, taking that opportunity for a general survey of the apartment
preparatory to entering on business, stood with his inventory-book under
his arm and his hat in his hand, mentally occupied in putting a price
upon every object within his range of vision.
Such was the posture of affairs when Mr. Mantalini hurried in; and as
that distinguished specimen had had a pretty extensive intercourse with
Mr. Scaley’s fraternity in his bachelor days, and was, besides, very
far from being taken by surprise on the present agitating occasion, he
merely shrugged his shoulders, thrust his hands down to the bottom of
his pockets, elevated his eyebrows, whistled a bar or two, swore an oath
or two, and, sitting astride upon a chair, put the best face upon the
matter with great composure and decency.
‘What’s the demd total?’ was the first question he asked.
‘Fifteen hundred and twenty-seven pound, four and ninepence ha’penny,’
replied Mr. Scaley, without moving a limb.
‘The halfpenny be demd,’ said Mr. Mantalini, impatiently.
‘By all means if you vish it,’ retorted Mr. Scaley; ‘and the ninepence.’
‘It don’t matter to us if the fifteen hundred and twenty-seven pound
went along with it, that I know on,’ observed Mr. Tix.
‘Not a button,’ said Scaley.
‘Well,’ said the same gentleman, after a pause, ‘wot’s to be
done--anything? Is it only a small crack, or a out-and-out smash? A
break-up of the constitootion is it?--werry good. Then Mr. Tom Tix,
esk-vire, you must inform your angel wife and lovely family as you won’t
sleep at home for three nights to come, along of being in possession
here. Wot’s the good of the lady a fretting herself?’ continued Mr
Scaley, as Madame Mantalini sobbed. ‘A good half of wot’s here isn’t
paid for, I des-say, and wot a consolation oughtn’t that to be to her
feelings!’
With these remarks, combining great pleasantry with sound moral
encouragement under difficulties, Mr. Scaley proceeded to take the
inventory, in which delicate task he was materially assisted by the
uncommon tact and experience of Mr. Tix, the broker.
‘My cup of happiness’s sweetener,’ said Mantalini, approaching his wife
with a penitent air; ‘will you listen to me for two minutes?’
‘Oh! don’t speak to me,’ replied his wife, sobbing. ‘You have ruined me,
and that’s enough.’
Mr. Mantalini, who had doubtless well considered his part, no sooner
heard these words pronounced in a tone of grief and severity, than he
recoiled several paces, assumed an expression of consuming mental agony,
rushed headlong from the room, and was, soon afterwards, heard to slam
the door of an upstairs dressing-room with great violence.
‘Miss Nickleby,’ cried Madame Mantalini, when this sound met her
ear, ‘make haste, for Heaven’s sake, he will destroy himself! I spoke
unkindly to him, and he cannot bear it from me. Alfred, my darling
Alfred.’
With such exclamations, she hurried upstairs, followed by Kate who,
although she did not quite participate in the fond wife’s apprehensions,
was a little flurried, nevertheless. The dressing-room door being
hastily flung open, Mr. Mantalini was disclosed to view, with his
shirt-collar symmetrically thrown back: putting a fine edge to a
breakfast knife by means of his razor strop.
‘Ah!’ cried Mr. Mantalini, ‘interrupted!’ and whisk went the breakfast