Nicholas Nickleby
Kenwigs was confined. And, therefore, Mr. Kenwigs tied up the silent
knocker on the premises in a white kid glove.
‘I’m not quite certain neither,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, arranging his
shirt-collar, and walking slowly upstairs, ‘whether, as it’s a boy, I
won’t have it in the papers.’
Pondering upon the advisability of this step, and the sensation it was
likely to create in the neighbourhood, Mr. Kenwigs betook himself to the
sitting-room, where various extremely diminutive articles of clothing
were airing on a horse before the fire, and Mr. Lumbey, the doctor, was
dandling the baby--that is, the old baby--not the new one.
‘It’s a fine boy, Mr. Kenwigs,’ said Mr. Lumbey, the doctor.
‘You consider him a fine boy, do you, sir?’ returned Mr. Kenwigs.
‘It’s the finest boy I ever saw in all my life,’ said the doctor. ‘I
never saw such a baby.’
It is a pleasant thing to reflect upon, and furnishes a complete answer
to those who contend for the gradual degeneration of the human species,
that every baby born into the world is a finer one than the last.
‘I ne--ver saw such a baby,’ said Mr. Lumbey, the doctor.
‘Morleena was a fine baby,’ remarked Mr. Kenwigs; as if this were rather
an attack, by implication, upon the family.
‘They were all fine babies,’ said Mr. Lumbey. And Mr. Lumbey went on
nursing the baby with a thoughtful look. Whether he was considering
under what head he could best charge the nursing in the bill, was best
known to himself.
During this short conversation, Miss Morleena, as the eldest of
the family, and natural representative of her mother during her
indisposition, had been hustling and slapping the three younger Miss
Kenwigses, without intermission; which considerate and affectionate
conduct brought tears into the eyes of Mr. Kenwigs, and caused him to
declare that, in understanding and behaviour, that child was a woman.
‘She will be a treasure to the man she marries, sir,’ said Mr. Kenwigs,
half aside; ‘I think she’ll marry above her station, Mr. Lumbey.’
‘I shouldn’t wonder at all,’ replied the doctor.
‘You never see her dance, sir, did you?’ asked Mr. Kenwigs.
The doctor shook his head.
‘Ay!’ said Mr. Kenwigs, as though he pitied him from his heart, ‘then you
don’t know what she’s capable of.’
All this time there had been a great whisking in and out of the other
room; the door had been opened and shut very softly about twenty times
a minute (for it was necessary to keep Mrs. Kenwigs quiet); and the baby
had been exhibited to a score or two of deputations from a select body
of female friends, who had assembled in the passage, and about the
street-door, to discuss the event in all its bearings. Indeed, the
excitement extended itself over the whole street, and groups of ladies
might be seen standing at the doors, (some in the interesting condition
in which Mrs. Kenwigs had last appeared in public,) relating their
experiences of similar occurrences. Some few acquired great credit from
having prophesied, the day before yesterday, exactly when it would come
to pass; others, again, related, how that they guessed what it was,
directly they saw Mr. Kenwigs turn pale and run up the street as hard as
ever he could go. Some said one thing, and some another; but all talked
together, and all agreed upon two points: first, that it was very
meritorious and highly praiseworthy in Mrs. Kenwigs to do as she had
done: and secondly, that there never was such a skilful and scientific
doctor as that Dr Lumbey.
In the midst of this general hubbub, Dr Lumbey sat in the first-floor
front, as before related, nursing the deposed baby, and talking to Mr
Kenwigs. He was a stout bluff-looking gentleman, with no shirt-collar to
speak of, and a beard that had been growing since yesterday morning; for
Dr Lumbey was popular, and the neighbourhood was prolific; and there
had been no less than three other knockers muffled, one after the other
within the last forty-eight hours.
‘Well, Mr. Kenwigs,’ said Dr Lumbey, ‘this makes six. You’ll have a fine
family in time, sir.’
‘I think six is almost enough, sir,’ returned Mr. Kenwigs.
‘Pooh! pooh!’ said the doctor. ‘Nonsense! not half enough.’
With this, the doctor laughed; but he didn’t laugh half as much as a
married friend of Mrs. Kenwigs’s, who had just come in from the sick
chamber to report progress, and take a small sip of brandy-and-water:
and who seemed to consider it one of the best jokes ever launched upon
society.
‘They’re not altogether dependent upon good fortune, neither,’ said
Mr. Kenwigs, taking his second daughter on his knee; ‘they have
expectations.’
‘Oh, indeed!’ said Mr. Lumbey, the doctor.
‘And very good ones too, I believe, haven’t they?’ asked the married
lady.
‘Why, ma’am,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, ‘it’s not exactly for me to say what they
may be, or what they may not be. It’s not for me to boast of any family
with which I have the honour to be connected; at the same time, Mrs
Kenwigs’s is--I should say,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, abruptly, and raising
his voice as he spoke, ‘that my children might come into a matter of a
hundred pound apiece, perhaps. Perhaps more, but certainly that.’
‘And a very pretty little fortune,’ said the married lady.
‘There are some relations of Mrs. Kenwigs’s,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, taking a
pinch of snuff from the doctor’s box, and then sneezing very hard, for
he wasn’t used to it, ‘that might leave their hundred pound apiece to
ten people, and yet not go begging when they had done it.’
‘Ah! I know who you mean,’ observed the married lady, nodding her head.
‘I made mention of no names, and I wish to make mention of no names,’
said Mr. Kenwigs, with a portentous look. ‘Many of my friends have met a
relation of Mrs. Kenwigs’s in this very room, as would do honour to any
company; that’s all.’
‘I’ve met him,’ said the married lady, with a glance towards Dr Lumbey.
‘It’s naterally very gratifying to my feelings as a father, to see such
a man as that, a kissing and taking notice of my children,’ pursued Mr
Kenwigs. ‘It’s naterally very gratifying to my feelings as a man, to
know that man. It will be naterally very gratifying to my feelings as a
husband, to make that man acquainted with this ewent.’
Having delivered his sentiments in this form of words, Mr. Kenwigs
arranged his second daughter’s flaxen tail, and bade her be a good girl
and mind what her sister, Morleena, said.
‘That girl grows more like her mother every day,’ said Mr. Lumbey,
suddenly stricken with an enthusiastic admiration of Morleena.
‘There!’ rejoined the married lady. ‘What I always say; what I always
did say! She’s the very picter of her.’ Having thus directed the general
attention to the young lady in question, the married lady embraced the
opportunity of taking another sip of the brandy-and-water--and a pretty
long sip too.
‘Yes! there is a likeness,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, after some reflection. ‘But
such a woman as Mrs. Kenwigs was, afore she was married! Good gracious,
such a woman!’
Mr. Lumbey shook his head with great solemnity, as though to imply that
he supposed she must have been rather a dazzler.
‘Talk of fairies!’ cried Mr. Kenwigs ‘I never see anybody so light to be
alive, never. Such manners too; so playful, and yet so sewerely proper!
As for her figure! It isn’t generally known,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, dropping
his voice; ‘but her figure was such, at that time, that the sign of the
Britannia, over in the Holloway Road, was painted from it!’
‘But only see what it is now,’ urged the married lady. ‘Does SHE look
like the mother of six?’
‘Quite ridiculous,’ cried the doctor.
‘She looks a deal more like her own daughter,’ said the married lady.
‘So she does,’ assented Mr. Lumbey. ‘A great deal more.’
Mr. Kenwigs was about to make some further observations, most probably in
confirmation of this opinion, when another married lady, who had looked
in to keep up Mrs. Kenwigs’s spirits, and help to clear off anything in
the eating and drinking way that might be going about, put in her head
to announce that she had just been down to answer the bell, and that
there was a gentleman at the door who wanted to see Mr. Kenwigs ‘most
particular.’
Shadowy visions of his distinguished relation flitted through the brain
of Mr. Kenwigs, as this message was delivered; and under their influence,
he dispatched Morleena to show the gentleman up straightway.
‘Why, I do declare,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, standing opposite the door so as
to get the earliest glimpse of the visitor, as he came upstairs, ‘it’s
Mr. Johnson! How do you find yourself, sir?’
Nicholas shook hands, kissed his old pupils all round, intrusted a large
parcel of toys to the guardianship of Morleena, bowed to the doctor
and the married ladies, and inquired after Mrs. Kenwigs in a tone of
interest, which went to the very heart and soul of the nurse, who had
come in to warm some mysterious compound, in a little saucepan over the
fire.
‘I ought to make a hundred apologies to you for calling at such a
season,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I was not aware of it until I had rung the
bell, and my time is so fully occupied now, that I feared it might be
some days before I could possibly come again.’
‘No time like the present, sir,’ said Mr. Kenwigs. ‘The sitiwation of Mrs
Kenwigs, sir, is no obstacle to a little conversation between you and
me, I hope?’
‘You are very good,’ said Nicholas.
At this juncture, proclamation was made by another married lady, that
the baby had begun to eat like anything; whereupon the two married
ladies, already mentioned, rushed tumultuously into the bedroom to
behold him in the act.
‘The fact is,’ resumed Nicholas, ‘that before I left the country, where
I have been for some time past, I undertook to deliver a message to
you.’
‘Ay, ay?’ said Mr. Kenwigs.
‘And I have been,’ added Nicholas, ‘already in town for some days,
without having had an opportunity of doing so.’
‘It’s no matter, sir,’ said Mr. Kenwigs. ‘I dare say it’s none the
worse for keeping cold. Message from the country!’ said Mr. Kenwigs,
ruminating; ‘that’s curious. I don’t know anybody in the country.’
‘Miss Petowker,’ suggested Nicholas.
‘Oh! from her, is it?’ said Mr. Kenwigs. ‘Oh dear, yes. Ah! Mrs. Kenwigs
will be glad to hear from her. Henrietta Petowker, eh? How odd things
come about, now! That you should have met her in the country! Well!’
Hearing this mention of their old friend’s name, the four Miss Kenwigses
gathered round Nicholas, open eyed and mouthed, to hear more. Mr. Kenwigs
looked a little curious too, but quite comfortable and unsuspecting.
‘The message relates to family matters,’ said Nicholas, hesitating.
‘Oh, never mind,’ said Kenwigs, glancing at Mr. Lumbey, who, having
rashly taken charge of little Lillyvick, found nobody disposed to
relieve him of his precious burden. ‘All friends here.’
Nicholas hemmed once or twice, and seemed to have some difficulty in
proceeding.
‘At Portsmouth, Henrietta Petowker is,’ observed Mr. Kenwigs.
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘Mr. Lillyvick is there.’
Mr. Kenwigs turned pale, but he recovered, and said, THAT was an odd
coincidence also.
‘The message is from him,’ said Nicholas.
Mr. Kenwigs appeared to revive. He knew that his niece was in a delicate
state, and had, no doubt, sent word that they were to forward full
particulars. Yes. That was very kind of him; so like him too!
‘He desired me to give his kindest love,’ said Nicholas.
‘Very much obliged to him, I’m sure. Your great-uncle, Lillyvick, my
dears!’ interposed Mr. Kenwigs, condescendingly explaining it to the
children.
‘His kindest love,’ resumed Nicholas; ‘and to say that he had no time to
write, but that he was married to Miss Petowker.’
Mr. Kenwigs started from his seat with a petrified stare, caught his