Чарльз Диккенс
Nicholas Nickleby
‘Yes, yes, I understand,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Oh, I shall be most happy to come; it will give me the greatest pleasure. Where’s the lady stopping – with Mrs. Crummles?’
‘Why, no,’ said the collector; ‘they couldn’t very well dispose of her at night, and so she is staying with an acquaintance of hers, and another young lady; they both belong to the theatre.’
‘Miss Snevellicci, I suppose?’ said Nicholas.
‘Yes, that’s the name.’
‘And they’ll be bridesmaids, I presume?’ said Nicholas.
‘Why,’ said the collector, with a rueful face, ‘they will have four bridesmaids; I’m afraid they’ll make it rather theatrical.’
‘Oh no, not at all,’ replied Nicholas, with an awkward attempt to convert a laugh into a cough. ‘Who may the four be? Miss Snevellicci of course – Miss Ledrook – ’
‘The – the phenomenon,’ groaned the collector.
‘Ha, ha!’ cried Nicholas. ‘I beg your pardon, I don’t know what I’m laughing at – yes, that’ll be very pretty – the phenomenon – who else?’
‘Some young woman or other,’ replied the collector, rising; ‘some other friend of Henrietta Petowker’s. Well, you’ll be careful not to say anything about it, will you?’
‘You may safely depend upon me,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Won’t you take anything to eat or drink?’
‘No,’ said the collector; ‘I haven’t any appetite. I should think it was a very pleasant life, the married one, eh?’
‘I have not the least doubt of it,’ rejoined Nicholas.
‘Yes,’ said the collector; ‘certainly. Oh yes. No doubt. Good night.’
With these words, Mr. Lillyvick, whose manner had exhibited through the whole of this interview a most extraordinary compound of precipitation, hesitation, confidence and doubt, fondness, misgiving, meanness, and self-importance, turned his back upon the room, and left Nicholas to enjoy a laugh by himself if he felt so disposed.
Without stopping to inquire whether the intervening day appeared to Nicholas to consist of the usual number of hours of the ordinary length, it may be remarked that, to the parties more directly interested in the forthcoming ceremony, it passed with great rapidity, insomuch that when Miss Petowker awoke on the succeeding morning in the chamber of Miss Snevellicci, she declared that nothing should ever persuade her that that really was the day which was to behold a change in her condition.
‘I never will believe it,’ said Miss Petowker; ‘I cannot really. It’s of no use talking, I never can make up my mind to go through with such a trial!’
On hearing this, Miss Snevellicci and Miss Ledrook, who knew perfectly well that their fair friend’s mind had been made up for three or four years, at any period of which time she would have cheerfully undergone the desperate trial now approaching if she could have found any eligible gentleman disposed for the venture, began to preach comfort and firmness, and to say how very proud she ought to feel that it was in her power to confer lasting bliss on a deserving object, and how necessary it was for the happiness of mankind in general that women should possess fortitude and resignation on such occasions; and that although for their parts they held true happiness to consist in a single life, which they would not willingly exchange – no, not for any worldly consideration – still (thank God), if ever the time should come, they hoped they knew their duty too well to repine, but would the rather submit with meekness and humility of spirit to a fate for which Providence had clearly designed them with a view to the contentment and reward of their fellow-creatures.
‘I might feel it was a great blow,’ said Miss Snevellicci, ‘to break up old associations and what-do-you-callems of that kind, but I would submit, my dear, I would indeed.’
‘So would I,’ said Miss Ledrook; ‘I would rather court the yoke than shun it. I have broken hearts before now, and I’m very sorry for it: for it’s a terrible thing to reflect upon.’
‘It is indeed,’ said Miss Snevellicci. ‘Now Led, my dear, we must positively get her ready, or we shall be too late, we shall indeed.’
This pious reasoning, and perhaps the fear of being too late, supported the bride through the ceremony of robing, after which, strong tea and brandy were administered in alternate doses as a means of strengthening her feeble limbs and causing her to walk steadier.
‘How do you feel now, my love?’ inquired Miss Snevellicci.
‘Oh Lillyvick!’ cried the bride. ‘If you knew what I am undergoing for you!’
‘Of course he knows it, love, and will never forget it,’ said Miss Ledrook.
‘Do you think he won’t?’ cried Miss Petowker, really showing great capability for the stage. ‘Oh, do you think he won’t? Do you think Lillyvick will always remember it – always, always, always?’
There is no knowing in what this burst of feeling might have ended, if Miss Snevellicci had not at that moment proclaimed the arrival of the fly, which so astounded the bride that she shook off divers alarming symptoms which were coming on very strong, and running to the glass adjusted her dress, and calmly declared that she was ready for the sacrifice.
She was accordingly supported into the coach, and there ‘kept up’ (as Miss Snevellicci said) with perpetual sniffs of sal volatile and sips of brandy and other gentle stimulants, until they reached the manager’s door, which was already opened by the two Master Crummleses, who wore white cockades, and were decorated with the choicest and most resplendent waistcoats in the theatrical wardrobe. By the combined exertions of these young gentlemen and the bridesmaids, assisted by the coachman, Miss Petowker was at length supported in a condition of much exhaustion to the first floor, where she no sooner encountered the youthful bridegroom than she fainted with great decorum.
‘Henrietta Petowker!’ said the collector; ‘cheer up, my lovely one.’
Miss Petowker grasped the collector’s hand, but emotion choked her utterance.
‘Is the sight of me so dreadful, Henrietta Petowker?’ said the collector.
‘Oh no, no, no,’ rejoined the bride; ‘but all the friends – the darling friends – of my youthful days – to leave them all – it is such a shock!’
With such expressions of sorrow, Miss Petowker went on to enumerate the dear friends of her youthful days one by one, and to call upon such of them as were present to come and embrace her. This done, she remembered that Mrs. Crummles had been more than a mother to her, and after that, that Mr. Crummles had been more than a father to her, and after that, that the Master Crummleses and Miss Ninetta Crummles had been more than brothers and sisters to her. These various remembrances being each accompanied with a series of hugs, occupied a long time, and they were obliged to drive to church very fast, for fear they should be too late.
The procession consisted of two flys; in the first of which were Miss Bravassa (the fourth bridesmaid), Mrs. Crummles, the collector, and Mr Folair, who had been chosen as his second on the occasion. In the other were the bride, Mr. Crummles, Miss Snevellicci, Miss Ledrook, and the phenomenon. The costumes were beautiful. The bridesmaids were quite covered with artificial flowers, and the phenomenon, in particular, was rendered almost invisible by the portable arbour in which she was enshrined. Miss Ledrook, who was of a romantic turn, wore in her breast the miniature of some field-officer unknown, which she had purchased, a great bargain, not very long before; the other ladies displayed several dazzling articles of imitative jewellery, almost equal to real, and Mrs Crummles came out in a stern and gloomy majesty, which attracted the admiration of all beholders.
But, perhaps the appearance of Mr. Crummles was more striking and appropriate than that of any member of the party. This gentleman, who personated the bride’s father, had, in pursuance of a happy and original conception, ‘made up’ for the part by arraying himself in a theatrical wig, of a style and pattern commonly known as a brown George, and moreover assuming a snuff-coloured suit, of the previous century, with grey silk stockings, and buckles to his shoes. The better to support his assumed character he had determined to be greatly overcome, and, consequently, when they entered the church, the sobs of the affectionate parent were so heart-rending that the pew-opener suggested the propriety of his retiring to the vestry, and comforting himself with a glass of water before the ceremony began.
The procession up the aisle was beautiful. The bride, with the four bridesmaids, forming a group previously arranged and rehearsed; the collector, followed by his second, imitating his walk and gestures to the indescribable amusement of some theatrical friends in the gallery; Mr Crummles, with an infirm and feeble gait; Mrs. Crummles advancing with that stage walk, which consists of a stride and a stop alternately – it was the completest thing ever witnessed. The ceremony was very quickly disposed of, and all parties present having signed the register (for which purpose, when it came to his turn, Mr. Crummles carefully wiped and put on an immense pair of spectacles), they went back to breakfast in high spirits. And here they found Nicholas awaiting their arrival.
‘Now then,’ said Crummles, who had been assisting Mrs. Grudden in the preparations, which were on a more extensive scale than was quite agreeable to the collector. ‘Breakfast, breakfast.’
No second invitation was required. The company crowded and squeezed themselves at the table as well as they could, and fell to, immediately: Miss Petowker blushing very much when anybody was looking, and eating very much when anybody was not looking; and Mr. Lillyvick going to work as though with the cool resolve, that since the good things must be paid for by him, he would leave as little as possible for the Crummleses to eat up afterwards.
‘It’s very soon done, sir, isn’t it?’ inquired Mr. Folair of the collector, leaning over the table to address him.
‘What is soon done, sir?’ returned Mr. Lillyvick.
‘The tying up – the fixing oneself with a wife,’ replied Mr. Folair. ‘It don’t take long, does it?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Mr. Lillyvick, colouring. ‘It does not take long. And what then, sir?’
‘Oh! nothing,’ said the actor. ‘It don’t take a man long to hang himself, either, eh? ha, ha!’
Mr. Lillyvick laid down his knife and fork, and looked round the table with indignant astonishment.
‘To hang himself!’ repeated Mr. Lillyvick.
A profound silence came upon all, for Mr. Lillyvick was dignified beyond expression.
‘To hang himself!’ cried Mr. Lillyvick again. ‘Is any parallel attempted to be drawn in this company between matrimony and hanging?’
‘The noose, you know,’ said Mr. Folair, a little crest-fallen.
‘The noose, sir?’ retorted Mr. Lillyvick. ‘Does any man dare to speak to me of a noose, and Henrietta Pe – ’
‘Lillyvick,’ suggested Mr. Crummles.
‘ – And Henrietta Lillyvick in the same breath?’ said the collector. ‘In this house, in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Crummles, who have brought up a talented and virtuous family, to be blessings and phenomenons, and what not, are we to hear talk of nooses?’
‘Folair,’ said Mr. Crummles, deeming it a matter of decency to be affected by this allusion to himself and partner, ‘I’m astonished at you.’
‘What are you going on in this way at me for?’ urged the unfortunate actor. ‘What have I done?’
‘Done, sir!’ cried Mr. Lillyvick, ‘aimed a blow at the whole framework of society – ’
‘And the best and tenderest feelings,’ added Crummles, relapsing into the old man.
‘And the highest and most estimable of social ties,’ said the collector. ‘Noose! As if one was caught, trapped into the married state, pinned by the leg, instead of going into it of one’s own accord and glorying in the act!’
‘I didn’t mean to make it out, that you were caught and trapped, and pinned by the leg,’ replied the actor. ‘I’m sorry for it; I can’t say any more.’
‘So you ought to be, sir,’ returned Mr. Lillyvick; ‘and I am glad to hear that you have enough of feeling left to be so.’
The quarrel appearing to terminate with this reply, Mrs. Lillyvick considered that the fittest occasion (the attention of the company being no longer distracted) to burst into tears, and require the assistance of all four bridesmaids, which was immediately rendered, though not without some confusion, for the room being small and the table-cloth long, a whole detachment of plates were swept off the board at the very first move. Regardless of this circumstance, however, Mrs. Lillyvick refused to be comforted until the belligerents had passed their words that the dispute should be carried no further, which, after a sufficient show of reluctance, they did, and from that time Mr. Folair sat in moody silence, contenting himself with pinching Nicholas’s leg when anything was said, and so expressing his contempt both for the speaker and the sentiments to which he gave utterance.
There were a great number of speeches made; some by Nicholas, and some by Crummles, and some by the collector; two by the Master Crummleses in returning thanks for themselves, and one by the phenomenon on behalf of the bridesmaids, at which Mrs. Crummles shed tears. There was some singing, too, from Miss Ledrook and Miss Bravassa, and very likely there might have been more, if the fly-driver, who stopped to drive the happy pair to the spot where they proposed to take steamboat to Ryde, had not sent in a peremptory message intimating, that if they didn’t come directly he should infallibly demand eighteen-pence over and above his agreement.
This desperate threat effectually broke up the party. After a most pathetic leave-taking, Mr. Lillyvick and his bride departed for Ryde, where they were to spend the next two days in profound retirement, and whither they were accompanied by the infant, who had been appointed travelling bridesmaid on Mr. Lillyvick’s express stipulation: as the steamboat people, deceived by her size, would (he had previously ascertained) transport her at half-price.
As there was no performance that night, Mr. Crummles declared his intention of keeping it up till everything to drink was disposed of; but Nicholas having to play Romeo for the first time on the ensuing evening, contrived to slip away in the midst of a temporary confusion, occasioned by the unexpected development of strong symptoms of inebriety in the conduct of Mrs. Grudden.
To this act of desertion he was led, not only by his own inclinations, but by his anxiety on account of Smike, who, having to sustain the character of the Apothecary, had been as yet wholly unable to get any more of the part into his head than the general idea that he was very hungry, which – perhaps from old recollections – he had acquired with great aptitude.
‘I don’t know what’s to be done, Smike,’ said Nicholas, laying down the book. ‘I am afraid you can’t learn it, my poor fellow.’
‘I am afraid not,’ said Smike, shaking his head. ‘I think if you – but that would give you so much trouble.’
‘What?’ inquired Nicholas. ‘Never mind me.’
‘I think,’ said Smike, ‘if you were to keep saying it to me in little bits, over and over again, I should be able to recollect it from hearing you.’
‘Do you think so?’ exclaimed Nicholas. ‘Well said. Let us see who tires first. Not I, Smike, trust me. Now then. Who calls so loud?’
‘“Who calls so loud?”’ said Smike.
‘“Who calls so loud?”’ repeated Nicholas.
‘“Who calls so loud?”’ cried Smike.
Thus they continued to ask each other who called so loud, over and over again; and when Smike had that by heart Nicholas went to another sentence, and then to two at a time, and then to three, and so on, until at midnight poor Smike found to his unspeakable joy that he really began to remember something about the text.
Early in the morning they went to it again, and Smike, rendered more confident by the progress he had already made, got on faster and with better heart. As soon as he began to acquire the words pretty freely, Nicholas showed him how he must come in with both hands spread out upon his stomach, and how he must occasionally rub it, in compliance with the established form by which people on the stage always denote that they want something to eat. After the morning’s rehearsal they went to work again, nor did they stop, except for a hasty dinner, until it was time to repair to the theatre at night.
Never had master a more anxious, humble, docile pupil. Never had pupil a more patient, unwearying, considerate, kindhearted master.
As soon as they were dressed, and at every interval when he was not upon the stage, Nicholas renewed his instructions. They prospered well. The Romeo was received with hearty plaudits and unbounded favour, and Smike was pronounced unanimously, alike by audience and actors, the very prince and prodigy of Apothecaries.
CHAPTER 26
Is fraught with some Danger to Miss Nickleby’s Peace of Mind
The place was a handsome suite of private apartments in Regent Street; the time was three o’clock in the afternoon to the dull and plodding, and the first hour of morning to the gay and spirited; the persons were Lord Frederick Verisopht, and his friend Sir Mulberry Hawk.
These distinguished gentlemen were reclining listlessly on a couple of sofas, with a table between them, on which were scattered in rich confusion the materials of an untasted breakfast. Newspapers lay strewn about the room, but these, like the meal, were neglected and unnoticed; not, however, because any flow of conversation prevented the attractions of the journals from being called into request, for not a word was exchanged between the two, nor was any sound uttered, save when one, in tossing about to find an easier resting-place for his aching head, uttered an exclamation of impatience, and seemed for a moment to communicate a new restlessness to his companion.
These appearances would in themselves have furnished a pretty strong clue to the extent of the debauch of the previous night, even if there had not been other indications of the amusements in which it had been passed. A couple of billiard balls, all mud and dirt, two battered hats, a champagne bottle with a soiled glove twisted round the neck, to allow of its being grasped more surely in its capacity of an offensive weapon; a broken cane; a card-case without the top; an empty purse; a watch-guard snapped asunder; a handful of silver, mingled with fragments of half-smoked cigars, and their stale and crumbled ashes; – these, and many other tokens of riot and disorder, hinted very intelligibly at the nature of last night’s gentlemanly frolics.
Lord Frederick Verisopht was the first to speak. Dropping his slippered foot on the ground, and, yawning heavily, he struggled into a sitting posture, and turned his dull languid eyes towards his friend, to whom he called in a drowsy voice.
‘Hallo!’ replied Sir Mulberry, turning round.
‘Are we going to lie here all da-a-y?’ said the lord.
‘I don’t know that we’re fit for anything else,’ replied Sir Mulberry; ‘yet awhile, at least. I haven’t a grain of life in me this morning.’
‘Life!’ cried Lord Verisopht. ‘I feel as if there would be nothing so snug and comfortable as to die at once.’
‘Then why don’t you die?’ said Sir Mulberry.
With which inquiry he turned his face away, and seemed to occupy himself in an attempt to fall asleep.
His hopeful friend and pupil drew a chair to the breakfast-table, and essayed to eat; but, finding that impossible, lounged to the window, then loitered up and down the room with his hand to his fevered head, and finally threw himself again on his sofa, and roused his friend once more.
‘What the devil’s the matter?’ groaned Sir Mulberry, sitting upright on the couch.
Although Sir Mulberry said this with sufficient ill-humour, he did not seem to feel himself quite at liberty to remain silent; for, after stretching himself very often, and declaring with a shiver that it was ‘infernal cold,’ he made an experiment at the breakfast-table, and proving more successful in it than his less-seasoned friend, remained there.
‘Suppose,’ said Sir Mulberry, pausing with a morsel on the point of his fork, ‘suppose we go back to the subject of little Nickleby, eh?’
‘Which little Nickleby; the money-lender or the ga-a-l?’ asked Lord Verisopht.
‘You take me, I see,’ replied Sir Mulberry. ‘The girl, of course.’
‘You promised me you’d find her out,’ said Lord Verisopht.
‘So I did,’ rejoined his friend; ‘but I have thought further of the matter since then. You distrust me in the business – you shall find her out yourself.’
‘Na-ay,’ remonstrated Lord Verisopht.
‘But I say yes,’ returned his friend. ‘You shall find her out yourself. Don’t think that I mean, when you can – I know as well as you that if I did, you could never get sight of her without me. No. I say you shall find her out —shall– and I’ll put you in the way.’
‘Now, curse me, if you ain’t a real, deyvlish, downright, thorough-paced friend,’ said the young lord, on whom this speech had produced a most reviving effect.
‘I’ll tell you how,’ said Sir Mulberry. ‘She was at that dinner as a bait for you.’
‘No!’ cried the young lord. ‘What the dey – ’
‘As a bait for you,’ repeated his friend; ‘old Nickleby told me so himself.’
‘What a fine old cock it is!’ exclaimed Lord Verisopht; ‘a noble rascal!’
‘Yes,’ said Sir Mulberry, ‘he knew she was a smart little creature – ’
‘Smart!’ interposed the young lord. ‘Upon my soul, Hawk, she’s a perfect beauty – a – a picture, a statue, a – a – upon my soul she is!’
‘Well,’ replied Sir Mulberry, shrugging his shoulders and manifesting an indifference, whether he felt it or not; ‘that’s a matter of taste; if mine doesn’t agree with yours, so much the better.’
‘Confound it!’ reasoned the lord, ‘you were thick enough with her that day, anyhow. I could hardly get in a word.’
‘Well enough for once, well enough for once,’ replied Sir Mulberry; ‘but not worth the trouble of being agreeable to again. If you seriously want to follow up the niece, tell the uncle that you must know where she lives and how she lives, and with whom, or you are no longer a customer of his. He’ll tell you fast enough.’
‘Why didn’t you say this before?’ asked Lord Verisopht, ‘instead of letting me go on burning, consuming, dragging out a miserable existence for an a-age!’
‘I didn’t know it, in the first place,’ answered Sir Mulberry carelessly; ‘and in the second, I didn’t believe you were so very much in earnest.’
Now, the truth was, that in the interval which had elapsed since the dinner at Ralph Nickleby’s, Sir Mulberry Hawk had been furtively trying by every means in his power to discover whence Kate had so suddenly appeared, and whither she had disappeared. Unassisted by Ralph, however, with whom he had held no communication since their angry parting on that occasion, all his efforts were wholly unavailing, and he had therefore arrived at the determination of communicating to the young lord the substance of the admission he had gleaned from that worthy. To this he was impelled by various considerations; among which the certainty of knowing whatever the weak young man knew was decidedly not the least, as the desire of encountering the usurer’s niece again, and using his utmost arts to reduce her pride, and revenge himself for her contempt, was uppermost in his thoughts. It was a politic course of proceeding, and one which could not fail to redound to his advantage in every point of view, since the very circumstance of his having extorted from Ralph Nickleby his real design in introducing his niece to such society, coupled with his extreme disinterestedness in communicating it so freely to his friend, could not but advance his interests in that quarter, and greatly facilitate the passage of coin (pretty frequent and speedy already) from the pockets of Lord Frederick Verisopht to those of Sir Mulberry Hawk.
Thus reasoned Sir Mulberry, and in pursuance of this reasoning he and his friend soon afterwards repaired to Ralph Nickleby’s, there to execute a plan of operations concerted by Sir Mulberry himself, avowedly to promote his friend’s object, and really to attain his own.
They found Ralph at home, and alone. As he led them into the drawing-room, the recollection of the scene which had taken place there seemed to occur to him, for he cast a curious look at Sir Mulberry, who bestowed upon it no other acknowledgment than a careless smile.
They had a short conference upon some money matters then in progress, which were scarcely disposed of when the lordly dupe (in pursuance of his friend’s instructions) requested with some embarrassment to speak to Ralph alone.
‘Alone, eh?’ cried Sir Mulberry, affecting surprise. ‘Oh, very good. I’ll walk into the next room here. Don’t keep me long, that’s all.’
So saying, Sir Mulberry took up his hat, and humming a fragment of a song disappeared through the door of communication between the two drawing-rooms, and closed it after him.
‘Now, my lord,’ said Ralph, ‘what is it?’
‘Nickleby,’ said his client, throwing himself along the sofa on which he had been previously seated, so as to bring his lips nearer to the old man’s ear, ‘what a pretty creature your niece is!’
‘Is she, my lord?’ replied Ralph. ‘Maybe – maybe – I don’t trouble my head with such matters.’
‘You know she’s a deyvlish fine girl,’ said the client. ‘You must know that, Nickleby. Come, don’t deny that.’
‘Yes, I believe she is considered so,’ replied Ralph. ‘Indeed, I know she is. If I did not, you are an authority on such points, and your taste, my lord – on all points, indeed – is undeniable.’
Nobody but the young man to whom these words were addressed could have been deaf to the sneering tone in which they were spoken, or blind to the look of contempt by which they were accompanied. But Lord Frederick Verisopht was both, and took them to be complimentary.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘p’raps you’re a little right, and p’raps you’re a little wrong – a little of both, Nickleby. I want to know where this beauty lives, that I may have another peep at her, Nickleby.’
‘Really – ’ Ralph began in his usual tones.
‘Don’t talk so loud,’ cried the other, achieving the great point of his lesson to a miracle. ‘I don’t want Hawk to hear.’
‘You know he is your rival, do you?’ said Ralph, looking sharply at him.
‘He always is, d-a-amn him,’ replied the client; ‘and I want to steal a march upon him. Ha, ha, ha! He’ll cut up so rough, Nickleby, at our talking together without him. Where does she live, Nickleby, that’s all? Only tell me where she lives, Nickleby.’
‘He bites,’ thought Ralph. ‘He bites.’
‘Eh, Nickleby, eh?’ pursued the client. ‘Where does she live?’
‘Really, my lord,’ said Ralph, rubbing his hands slowly over each other, ‘I must think before I tell you.’
‘No, not a bit of it, Nickleby; you mustn’t think at all,’ replied Verisopht. ‘Where is it?’
‘No good can come of your knowing,’ replied Ralph. ‘She has been virtuously and well brought up; to be sure she is handsome, poor, unprotected! Poor girl, poor girl.’
Ralph ran over this brief summary of Kate’s condition as if it were merely passing through his own mind, and he had no intention to speak aloud; but the shrewd sly look which he directed at his companion as he delivered it, gave this poor assumption the lie.
‘I tell you I only want to see her,’ cried his client. ‘A ma-an may look at a pretty woman without harm, mayn’t he? Now, where does she live? You know you’re making a fortune out of me, Nickleby, and upon my soul nobody shall ever take me to anybody else, if you only tell me this.’
‘As you promise that, my lord,’ said Ralph, with feigned reluctance, ‘and as I am most anxious to oblige you, and as there’s no harm in it – no harm – I’ll tell you. But you had better keep it to yourself, my lord; strictly to yourself.’ Ralph pointed to the adjoining room as he spoke, and nodded expressively.
The young lord, feigning to be equally impressed with the necessity of this precaution, Ralph disclosed the present address and occupation of his niece, observing that from what he heard of the family they appeared very ambitious to have distinguished acquaintances, and that a lord could, doubtless, introduce himself with great ease, if he felt disposed.
‘Your object being only to see her again,’ said Ralph, ‘you could effect it at any time you chose by that means.’
Lord Verisopht acknowledged the hint with a great many squeezes of Ralph’s hard, horny hand, and whispering that they would now do well to close the conversation, called to Sir Mulberry Hawk that he might come back.
‘I thought you had gone to sleep,’ said Sir Mulberry, reappearing with an ill-tempered air.
‘Sorry to detain you,’ replied the gull; ‘but Nickleby has been so ama-azingly funny that I couldn’t tear myself away.’
‘No, no,’ said Ralph; ‘it was all his lordship. You know what a witty, humorous, elegant, accomplished man Lord Frederick is. Mind the step, my lord – Sir Mulberry, pray give way.’
With such courtesies as these, and many low bows, and the same cold sneer upon his face all the while, Ralph busied himself in showing his visitors downstairs, and otherwise than by the slightest possible motion about the corners of his mouth, returned no show of answer to the look of admiration with which Sir Mulberry Hawk seemed to compliment him on being such an accomplished and most consummate scoundrel.
There had been a ring at the bell a few minutes before, which was answered by Newman Noggs just as they reached the hall. In the ordinary course of business Newman would have either admitted the new-comer in silence, or have requested him or her to stand aside while the gentlemen passed out. But he no sooner saw who it was, than as if for some private reason of his own, he boldly departed from the established custom of Ralph’s mansion in business hours, and looking towards the respectable trio who were approaching, cried in a loud and sonorous voice, ‘Mrs. Nickleby!’
‘Mrs. Nickleby!’ cried Sir Mulberry Hawk, as his friend looked back, and stared him in the face.
It was, indeed, that well-intentioned lady, who, having received an offer for the empty house in the city directed to the landlord, had brought it post-haste to Mr. Nickleby without delay.
