Nicholas Nickleby
very good places to be got about the court, I know; for a friend of ours
(Miss Cropley, at Exeter, my dear Kate, you recollect), he had one, and
I know that it was the chief part of his duty to wear silk stockings,
and a bag wig like a black watch-pocket; and to think that it should
come to this after all--oh, dear, dear, it’s enough to kill one, that it
is!’ With which expressions of sorrow, Mrs. Nickleby gave fresh vent to
her grief, and wept piteously.
As Nicholas and his sister were by this time compelled to superintend
the removal of the few articles of furniture, Miss La Creevy devoted
herself to the consolation of the matron, and observed with great
kindness of manner that she must really make an effort, and cheer up.
‘Oh I dare say, Miss La Creevy,’ returned Mrs. Nickleby, with a petulance
not unnatural in her unhappy circumstances, ‘it’s very easy to say cheer
up, but if you had as many occasions to cheer up as I have had--and
there,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, stopping short. ‘Think of Mr. Pyke and Mr
Pluck, two of the most perfect gentlemen that ever lived, what am I too
say to them--what can I say to them? Why, if I was to say to them, “I’m
told your friend Sir Mulberry is a base wretch,” they’d laugh at me.’
‘They will laugh no more at us, I take it,’ said Nicholas, advancing.
‘Come, mother, there is a coach at the door, and until Monday, at all
events, we will return to our old quarters.’
‘--Where everything is ready, and a hearty welcome into the bargain,’
added Miss La Creevy. ‘Now, let me go with you downstairs.’
But Mrs. Nickleby was not to be so easily moved, for first she insisted
on going upstairs to see that nothing had been left, and then on going
downstairs to see that everything had been taken away; and when she was
getting into the coach she had a vision of a forgotten coffee-pot on the
back-kitchen hob, and after she was shut in, a dismal recollection of
a green umbrella behind some unknown door. At last Nicholas, in a
condition of absolute despair, ordered the coachman to drive away,
and in the unexpected jerk of a sudden starting, Mrs. Nickleby lost a
shilling among the straw, which fortunately confined her attention to
the coach until it was too late to remember anything else.
Having seen everything safely out, discharged the servant, and locked
the door, Nicholas jumped into a cabriolet and drove to a bye place near
Golden Square where he had appointed to meet Noggs; and so quickly had
everything been done, that it was barely half-past nine when he reached
the place of meeting.
‘Here is the letter for Ralph,’ said Nicholas, ‘and here the key. When
you come to me this evening, not a word of last night. Ill news travels
fast, and they will know it soon enough. Have you heard if he was much
hurt?’
Newman shook his head.
‘I will ascertain that myself without loss of time,’ said Nicholas.
‘You had better take some rest,’ returned Newman. ‘You are fevered and
ill.’
Nicholas waved his hand carelessly, and concealing the indisposition he
really felt, now that the excitement which had sustained him was over,
took a hurried farewell of Newman Noggs, and left him.
Newman was not three minutes’ walk from Golden Square, but in the course
of that three minutes he took the letter out of his hat and put it in
again twenty times at least. First the front, then the back, then the
sides, then the superscription, then the seal, were objects of Newman’s
admiration. Then he held it at arm’s length as if to take in the whole
at one delicious survey, and then he rubbed his hands in a perfect
ecstasy with his commission.
He reached the office, hung his hat on its accustomed peg, laid the
letter and key upon the desk, and waited impatiently until Ralph
Nickleby should appear. After a few minutes, the well-known creaking of
his boots was heard on the stairs, and then the bell rung.
‘Has the post come in?’
‘No.’
‘Any other letters?’
‘One.’ Newman eyed him closely, and laid it on the desk.
‘What’s this?’ asked Ralph, taking up the key.
‘Left with the letter;--a boy brought them--quarter of an hour ago, or
less.’
Ralph glanced at the direction, opened the letter, and read as
follows:--
‘You are known to me now. There are no reproaches I could heap upon your
head which would carry with them one thousandth part of the grovelling
shame that this assurance will awaken even in your breast.
‘Your brother’s widow and her orphan child spurn the shelter of your
roof, and shun you with disgust and loathing. Your kindred renounce you,
for they know no shame but the ties of blood which bind them in name
with you.
‘You are an old man, and I leave you to the grave. May every
recollection of your life cling to your false heart, and cast their
darkness on your death-bed.’
Ralph Nickleby read this letter twice, and frowning heavily, fell into
a fit of musing; the paper fluttered from his hand and dropped upon the
floor, but he clasped his fingers, as if he held it still.
Suddenly, he started from his seat, and thrusting it all crumpled into
his pocket, turned furiously to Newman Noggs, as though to ask him
why he lingered. But Newman stood unmoved, with his back towards him,
following up, with the worn and blackened stump of an old pen, some
figures in an Interest-table which was pasted against the wall, and
apparently quite abstracted from every other object.
CHAPTER 34
Wherein Mr. Ralph Nickleby is visited by Persons with whom the Reader has
been already made acquainted
‘What a demnition long time you have kept me ringing at this confounded
old cracked tea-kettle of a bell, every tinkle of which is enough to
throw a strong man into blue convulsions, upon my life and soul, oh
demmit,’--said Mr. Mantalini to Newman Noggs, scraping his boots, as he
spoke, on Ralph Nickleby’s scraper.
‘I didn’t hear the bell more than once,’ replied Newman.
‘Then you are most immensely and outr-i-geously deaf,’ said Mr
Mantalini, ‘as deaf as a demnition post.’
Mr. Mantalini had got by this time into the passage, and was making his
way to the door of Ralph’s office with very little ceremony, when Newman
interposed his body; and hinting that Mr. Nickleby was unwilling to be
disturbed, inquired whether the client’s business was of a pressing
nature.
‘It is most demnebly particular,’ said Mr. Mantalini. ‘It is to melt some
scraps of dirty paper into bright, shining, chinking, tinkling, demd
mint sauce.’
Newman uttered a significant grunt, and taking Mr. Mantalini’s proffered
card, limped with it into his master’s office. As he thrust his head in
at the door, he saw that Ralph had resumed the thoughtful posture into
which he had fallen after perusing his nephew’s letter, and that he
seemed to have been reading it again, as he once more held it open in
his hand. The glance was but momentary, for Ralph, being disturbed,
turned to demand the cause of the interruption.
As Newman stated it, the cause himself swaggered into the room, and
grasping Ralph’s horny hand with uncommon affection, vowed that he had
never seen him looking so well in all his life.
‘There is quite a bloom upon your demd countenance,’ said Mr. Mantalini,
seating himself unbidden, and arranging his hair and whiskers. ‘You look
quite juvenile and jolly, demmit!’
‘We are alone,’ returned Ralph, tartly. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘Good!’ cried Mr. Mantalini, displaying his teeth. ‘What did I want! Yes.
Ha, ha! Very good. WHAT did I want. Ha, ha. Oh dem!’
‘What DO you want, man?’ demanded Ralph, sternly.
‘Demnition discount,’ returned Mr. Mantalini, with a grin, and shaking
his head waggishly.
‘Money is scarce,’ said Ralph.
‘Demd scarce, or I shouldn’t want it,’ interrupted Mr. Mantalini.
‘The times are bad, and one scarcely knows whom to trust,’ continued
Ralph. ‘I don’t want to do business just now, in fact I would rather
not; but as you are a friend--how many bills have you there?’
‘Two,’ returned Mr. Mantalini.
‘What is the gross amount?’
‘Demd trifling--five-and-seventy.’
‘And the dates?’
‘Two months, and four.’
‘I’ll do them for you--mind, for YOU; I wouldn’t for many people--for
five-and-twenty pounds,’ said Ralph, deliberately.
‘Oh demmit!’ cried Mr. Mantalini, whose face lengthened considerably at
this handsome proposal.
‘Why, that leaves you fifty,’ retorted Ralph. ‘What would you have? Let
me see the names.’
‘You are so demd hard, Nickleby,’ remonstrated Mr. Mantalini.
‘Let me see the names,’ replied Ralph, impatiently extending his hand
for the bills. ‘Well! They are not sure, but they are safe enough. Do
you consent to the terms, and will you take the money? I don’t want you
to do so. I would rather you didn’t.’
‘Demmit, Nickleby, can’t you--’ began Mr. Mantalini.
‘No,’ replied Ralph, interrupting him. ‘I can’t. Will you take the
money--down, mind; no delay, no going into the city and pretending to
negotiate with some other party who has no existence, and never had. Is
it a bargain, or is it not?’
Ralph pushed some papers from him as he spoke, and carelessly rattled
his cash-box, as though by mere accident. The sound was too much for Mr
Mantalini. He closed the bargain directly it reached his ears, and Ralph
told the money out upon the table.
He had scarcely done so, and Mr. Mantalini had not yet gathered it all
up, when a ring was heard at the bell, and immediately afterwards Newman
ushered in no less a person than Madame Mantalini, at sight of whom Mr
Mantalini evinced considerable discomposure, and swept the cash into his
pocket with remarkable alacrity.
‘Oh, you ARE here,’ said Madame Mantalini, tossing her head.
‘Yes, my life and soul, I am,’ replied her husband, dropping on his
knees, and pouncing with kitten-like playfulness upon a stray sovereign.
‘I am here, my soul’s delight, upon Tom Tiddler’s ground, picking up the
demnition gold and silver.’
‘I am ashamed of you,’ said Madame Mantalini, with much indignation.
‘Ashamed--of ME, my joy? It knows it is talking demd charming sweetness,
but naughty fibs,’ returned Mr. Mantalini. ‘It knows it is not ashamed of
its own popolorum tibby.’
Whatever were the circumstances which had led to such a result,
it certainly appeared as though the popolorum tibby had rather
miscalculated, for the nonce, the extent of his lady’s affection. Madame
Mantalini only looked scornful in reply; and, turning to Ralph, begged
him to excuse her intrusion.
‘Which is entirely attributable,’ said Madame, ‘to the gross misconduct
and most improper behaviour of Mr. Mantalini.’
‘Of me, my essential juice of pineapple!’
‘Of you,’ returned his wife. ‘But I will not allow it. I will not submit
to be ruined by the extravagance and profligacy of any man. I call Mr
Nickleby to witness the course I intend to pursue with you.’
‘Pray don’t call me to witness anything, ma’am,’ said Ralph. ‘Settle it
between yourselves, settle it between yourselves.’
‘No, but I must beg you as a favour,’ said Madame Mantalini, ‘to hear
me give him notice of what it is my fixed intention to do--my fixed
intention, sir,’ repeated Madame Mantalini, darting an angry look at her
husband.
‘Will she call me “Sir”?’ cried Mantalini. ‘Me who dote upon her with
the demdest ardour! She, who coils her fascinations round me like a pure
angelic rattlesnake! It will be all up with my feelings; she will throw
me into a demd state.’
‘Don’t talk of feelings, sir,’ rejoined Madame Mantalini, seating
herself, and turning her back upon him. ‘You don’t consider mine.’
‘I do not consider yours, my soul!’ exclaimed Mr. Mantalini.
‘No,’ replied his wife.
And notwithstanding various blandishments on the part of Mr. Mantalini,
Madame Mantalini still said no, and said it too with such determined and