Chapter 32

Relating chiefly to some remarkable Conversation,and some remarkable Proceedings to which it givesrise.

　　‘L ondon at last!’ cried Nicholas, throwing back hisgreatcoat and rousing Smike from a long nap. ‘Itseemed to me as though we should never reach it.’

　　‘And yet you came along at a tidy pace too,’ observed thecoachman, looking over his shoulder at Nicholas with no verypleasant expression of countenance.

　　‘Ay, I know that,’ was the reply; ‘but I have been very anxious tobe at my journey’s end, and that makes the way seem long.’

　　‘Well,’ remarked the coachman, ‘if the way seemed long withsuch cattle as you’ve sat behind, you must have been mostuncommon anxious;’ and so saying, he let out his whip-lash andtouched up a little boy on the calves of his legs by way ofemphasis.

　　They rattled on through the noisy, bustling, crowded street ofLondon, now displaying long double rows of brightly-burninglamps, dotted here and there with the chemists’ glaring lights, andilluminated besides with the brilliant flood that streamed from thewindows of the shops, where sparkling jewellery, silks and velvetsof the richest colours, the most inviting delicacies, and mostsumptuous articles of luxurious ornament, succeeded each otherin rich and glittering profusion. Streams of people apparentlywithout end poured on and on, jostling each other in the crowd and hurrying forward, scarcely seeming to notice the riches thatsurrounded them on every side; while vehicles of all shapes andmakes, mingled up together in one moving mass, like runningwater, lent their ceaseless roar to swell the noise and tumult.

　　As they dashed by the quickly-changing and ever-varyingobjects, it was curious to observe in what a strange processionthey passed before the eye. Emporiums of splendid dresses, thematerials brought from every quarter of the world; temptingstores of everything to stimulate and pamper the sated appetiteand give new relish to the oft-repeated feast; vessels of burnishedgold and silver, wrought into every exquisite form of vase, anddish, and goblet; guns, swords, pistols, and patent engines ofdestruction; screws and irons for the crooked, clothes for thenewly-born, drugs for the sick, coffins for the dead, andchurchyards for the buried—all these jumbled each with the otherand flocking side by side, seemed to flit by in motley dance like thefantastic groups of the old Dutch painter, and with the same sternmoral for the unheeding restless crowd.

　　Nor were there wanting objects in the crowd itself to give newpoint and purpose to the shifting scene. The rags of the squalidballad-singer fluttered in the rich light that showed thegoldsmith’s treasures, pale and pinched-up faces hovered aboutthe windows where was tempting food, hungry eyes wanderedover the profusion guarded by one thin sheet of brittle glass—aniron wall to them; half-naked shivering figures stopped to gaze atChinese shawls and golden stuffs of India. There was a christeningparty at the largest coffin-maker’s and a funeral hatchment hadstopped some great improvements in the bravest mansion. Lifeand death went hand in hand; wealth and poverty stood side by side; repletion and starvation laid them down together.

　　But it was London; and the old country lady inside, who hadput her head out of the coach-window a mile or two this sideKingston, and cried out to the driver that she was sure he musthave passed it and forgotten to set her down, was satisfied at last.

　　Nicholas engaged beds for himself and Smike at the inn wherethe coach stopped, and repaired, without the delay of anothermoment, to the lodgings of Newman Noggs; for his anxiety andimpatience had increased with every succeeding minute, and werealmost beyond control.

　　There was a fire in Newman’s garret; and a candle had been leftburning; the floor was cleanly swept, the room was as comfortablyarranged as such a room could be, and meat and drink wereplaced in order upon the table. Everything bespoke theaffectionate care and attention of Newman Noggs, but Newmanhimself was not there.

　　‘Do you know what time he will be home?’ inquired Nicholas,tapping at the door of Newman’s front neighbour.

　　‘Ah, Mr Johnson!’ said Crowl, presenting himself. ‘Welcome, sir.

　　How well you’re looking! I never could have believed—’

　　‘Pardon me,’ interposed Nicholas. ‘My question—I amextremely anxious to know.’

　　‘Why, he has a troublesome affair of business,’ replied Crowl,‘and will not be home before twelve o’clock. He was very unwillingto go, I can tell you, but there was no help for it. However, he leftword that you were to make yourself comfortable till he cameback, and that I was to entertain you, which I shall be very glad todo.’

　　In proof of his extreme readiness to exert himself for the general entertainment, Mr Crowl drew a chair to the table as hespoke, and helping himself plentifully to the cold meat, invitedNicholas and Smike to follow his example.

　　Disappointed and uneasy, Nicholas could touch no food, so,after he had seen Smike comfortably established at the table, hewalked out (despite a great many dissuasions uttered by Mr Crowlwith his mouth full), and left Smike to detain Newman in case hereturned first.

　　As Miss La Creevy had anticipated, Nicholas betook himselfstraight to her house. Finding her from home, he debated withinhimself for some time whether he should go to his mother’sresidence, and so compromise her with Ralph Nickleby. Fullypersuaded, however, that Newman would not have solicited him toreturn unless there was some strong reason which required hispresence at home, he resolved to go there, and hastened eastwardswith all speed.

　　Mrs Nickleby would not be at home, the girl said, until pasttwelve, or later. She believed Miss Nickleby was well, but shedidn’t live at home now, nor did she come home except veryseldom. She couldn’t say where she was stopping, but it was not atMadame Mantalini’s. She was sure of that.

　　With his heart beating violently, and apprehending he knew notwhat disaster, Nicholas returned to where he had left Smike.

　　Newman had not been home. He wouldn’t be, till twelve o’clock;there was no chance of it. Was there no possibility of sending tofetch him if it were only for an instant, or forwarding to him oneline of writing to which he might return a verbal reply? That wasquite impracticable. He was not at Golden Square, and probablyhad been sent to execute some commission at a distance.

　　 Nicholas tried to remain quietly where he was, but he felt sonervous and excited that he could not sit still. He seemed to belosing time unless he was moving. It was an absurd fancy, heknew, but he was wholly unable to resist it. So, he took up his hatand rambled out again.

　　He strolled westward this time, pacing the long streets withhurried footsteps, and agitated by a thousand misgivings andapprehensions which he could not overcome. He passed into HydePark, now silent and deserted, and increased his rate of walking asif in the hope of leaving his thoughts behind. They crowded uponhim more thickly, however, now there were no passing objects toattract his attention; and the one idea was always uppermost, thatsome stroke of ill-fortune must have occurred so calamitous in itsnature that all were fearful of disclosing it to him. The old questionarose again and again—What could it be? Nicholas walked till hewas weary, but was not one bit the wiser; and indeed he came outof the Park at last a great deal more confused and perplexed thanwhen he went in.

　　He had taken scarcely anything to eat or drink since early inthe morning, and felt quite worn out and exhausted. As hereturned languidly towards the point from which he had started,along one of the thoroughfares which lie between Park Lane andBond Street, he passed a handsome hotel, before which hestopped mechanically.

　　‘An expensive place, I dare say,’ thought Nicholas; ‘but a pint ofwine and a biscuit are no great debauch wherever they are had.

　　And yet I don’t know.’

　　He walked on a few steps, but looking wistfully down the longvista of gas-lamps before him, and thinking how long it would take to reach the end of it and being besides in that kind of mood inwhich a man is most disposed to yield to his first impulse—andbeing, besides, strongly attracted to the hotel, in part by curiosity,and in part by some odd mixture of feelings which he would havebeen troubled to define—Nicholas turned back again, and walkedinto the coffee-room.

　　It was very handsomely furnished. The walls were ornamentedwith the choicest specimens of French paper, enriched with agilded cornice of elegant design. The floor was covered with a richcarpet; and two superb mirrors, one above the chimney-piece andone at the opposite end of the room reaching from floor to ceiling,multiplied the other beauties and added new ones of their own toenhance the general effect. There was a rather noisy party of fourgentlemen in a box by the fire-place, and only two other personspresent—both elderly gentlemen, and both alone.

　　Observing all this in the first comprehensive glance with whicha stranger surveys a place that is new to him, Nicholas sat himselfdown in the box next to the noisy party, with his back towardsthem, and postponing his order for a pint of claret until such timeas the waiter and one of the elderly gentlemen should have settleda disputed question relative to the price of an item in the bill offare, took up a newspaper and began to read.

　　He had not read twenty lines, and was in truth himself dozing,when he was startled by the mention of his sister’s name. ‘LittleKate Nickleby’ were the words that caught his ear. He raised hishead in amazement, and as he did so, saw by the reflection in theopposite glass, that two of the party behind him had risen andwere standing before the fire. ‘It must have come from one ofthem,’ thought Nicholas. He waited to hear more with a countenance of some indignation, for the tone of speech had beenanything but respectful, and the appearance of the individualwhom he presumed to have been the speaker was coarse andswaggering.

　　This person—so Nicholas observed in the same glance at themirror which had enabled him to see his face—was standing withhis back to the fire conversing with a younger man, who stoodwith his back to the company, wore his hat, and was adjusting hisshirt-collar by the aid of the glass. They spoke in whispers, nowand then bursting into a loud laugh, but Nicholas could catch norepetition of the words, nor anything sounding at all like thewords, which had attracted his attention.

　　At length the two resumed their seats, and more wine beingordered, the party grew louder in their mirth. Still there was noreference made to anybody with whom he was acquainted, andNicholas became persuaded that his excited fancy had eitherimagined the sounds altogether, or converted some other wordsinto the name which had been so much in his thoughts.

　　‘It is remarkable too,’ thought Nicholas: ‘if it had been “Kate”

　　or “Kate Nickleby,” I should not have been so much surprised: but“little Kate Nickleby!”’

　　The wine coming at the moment prevented his finishing thesentence. He swallowed a glassful and took up the paper again. Atthat instant—‘Little Kate Nickleby!’ cried the voice behind him.

　　‘I was right,’ muttered Nicholas as the paper fell from his hand.

　　‘And it was the man I supposed.’

　　‘As there was a proper objection to drinking her in heel-taps,’

　　said the voice, ‘we’ll give her the first glass in the new magnum.

　　 Little Kate Nickleby!’

　　‘Little Kate Nickleby,’ cried the other three. And the glasseswere set down empty.

　　Keenly alive to the tone and manner of this slight and carelessmention of his sister’s name in a public place, Nicholas fired atonce; but he kept himself quiet by a great effort, and did not eventurn his head.

　　‘The jade!’ said the same voice which had spoken before. ‘She’sa true Nickleby—a worthy imitator of her old uncle Ralph—shehangs back to be more sought after—so does he; nothing to be gotout of Ralph unless you follow him up, and then the money comesdoubly welcome, and the bargain doubly hard, for you’reimpatient and he isn’t. Oh! infernal cunning.’

　　‘Infernal cunning,’ echoed two voices.

　　Nicholas was in a perfect agony as the two elderly gentlemenopposite, rose one after the other and went away, lest they shouldbe the means of his losing one word of what was said. But theconversation was suspended as they withdrew, and resumed witheven greater freedom when they had left the room.

　　‘I am afraid,’ said the younger gentleman, ‘that the old womanhas grown jea-a-lous, and locked her up. Upon my soul it looks likeit.’

　　‘If they quarrel and little Nickleby goes home to her mother, somuch the better,’ said the first. ‘I can do anything with the oldlady. She’ll believe anything I tell her.’

　　‘Egad that’s true,’ returned the other voice. ‘Ha, ha, ha! Poordeyvle!’

　　The laugh was taken up by the two voices which always came intogether, and became general at Mrs Nickleby’s expense. Nicholas turned burning hot with rage, but he commanded himself for themoment, and waited to hear more.

　　What he heard need not be repeated here. Suffice it that as thewine went round he heard enough to acquaint him with thecharacters and designs of those whose conversation he overhead;to possess him with the full extent of Ralph’s villainy, and the realreason of his own presence being required in London. He heardall this and more. He heard his sister’s sufferings derided, and hervirtuous conduct jeered at and brutally misconstrued; he heardher name bandied from mouth to mouth, and herself made thesubject of coarse and insolent wagers, free speech, and licentiousjesting.

　　The man who had spoken first, led the conversation, andindeed almost engrossed it, being only stimulated from time totime by some slight observation from one or other of hiscompanions. To him then Nicholas addressed himself when hewas sufficiently composed to stand before the party, and force thewords from his parched and scorching throat.

　　‘Let me have a word with you, sir,’ said Nicholas.

　　‘With me, sir?’ retorted Sir Mulberry Hawk, eyeing him indisdainful surprise.

　　‘I said with you,’ replied Nicholas, speaking with greatdifficulty, for his passion choked him.

　　‘A mysterious stranger, upon my soul!’ exclaimed Sir Mulberry,raising his wine-glass to his lips, and looking round upon hisfriends.

　　‘Will you step apart with me for a few minutes, or do yourefuse?’ said Nicholas sternly.

　　Sir Mulberry merely paused in the act of drinking, and bade him either name his business or leave the table.

　　Nicholas drew a card from his pocket, and threw it before him.

　　‘There, sir,’ said Nicholas; ‘my business you will guess.’

　　A momentary expression of astonishment, not unmixed withsome confusion, appeared in the face of Sir Mulberry as he readthe name; but he subdued it in an instant, and tossing the card toLord Verisopht, who sat opposite, drew a toothpick from a glassbefore him, and very leisurely applied it to his mouth.

　　‘Your name and address?’ said Nicholas, turning paler as hispassion kindled.

　　‘I shall give you neither,’ replied Sir Mulberry.

　　‘If there is a gentleman in this party,’ said Nicholas, lookinground and scarcely able to make his white lips form the words, ‘hewill acquaint me with the name and residence of this man.’

　　There was a dead silence.

　　‘I am the brother of the young lady who has been the subject ofconversation here,’ said Nicholas. ‘I denounce this person as a liar,and impeach him as a coward. If he has a friend here, he will savehim the disgrace of the paltry attempt to conceal his name—andutterly useless one—for I will find it out, nor leave him until Ihave.’

　　Sir Mulberry looked at him contemptuously, and, addressinghis companions, said—‘Let the fellow talk, I have nothing serious to say to boys of hisstation; and his pretty sister shall save him a broken head, if hetalks till midnight.’

　　‘You are a base and spiritless scoundrel!’ said Nicholas, ‘andshall be proclaimed so to the world. I will know you; I will followyou home if you walk the streets till morning.’

　　 Sir Mulberry’s hand involuntarily closed upon the decanter,and he seemed for an instant about to launch it at the head of hischallenger. But he only filled his glass, and laughed in derision.

　　Nicholas sat himself down, directly opposite to the party, and,summoning the waiter, paid his bill.

　　‘Do you know that person’s name?’ he inquired of the man inan audible voice; pointing out Sir Mulberry as he put the question.

　　Sir Mulberry laughed again, and the two voices which hadalways spoken together, echoed the laugh; but rather feebly.

　　‘That gentleman, sir?’ replied the waiter, who, no doubt, knewhis cue, and answered with just as little respect, and just as muchimpertinence as he could safely show: ‘no, sir, I do not, sir.’

　　‘Here, you sir,’ cried Sir Mulberry, as the man was retiring; ‘doyou know that person’s name?’

　　‘Name, sir? No, sir.’

　　‘Then you’ll find it there,’ said Sir Mulberry, throwingNicholas’s card towards him; ‘and when you have made yourselfmaster of it, put that piece of pasteboard in the fire—do you hearme?’

　　The man grinned, and, looking doubtfully at Nicholas,compromised the matter by sticking the card in the chimney-glass.

　　Having done this, he retired.

　　Nicholas folded his arms, and biting his lip, sat perfectly quiet;sufficiently expressing by his manner, however, a firmdetermination to carry his threat of following Sir Mulberry home,into steady execution.

　　It was evident from the tone in which the younger member ofthe party appeared to remonstrate with his friend, that he objectedto this course of proceeding, and urged him to comply with the request which Nicholas had made. Sir Mulberry, however, whowas not quite sober, and who was in a sullen and dogged state ofobstinacy, soon silenced the representations of his weak youngfriend, and further seemed—as if to save himself from a repetitionof them—to insist on being left alone. However this might havebeen, the young gentleman and the two who had always spokentogether, actually rose to go after a short interval, and presentlyretired, leaving their friend alone with Nicholas.

　　It will be very readily supposed that to one in the condition ofNicholas, the minutes appeared to move with leaden wingsindeed, and that their progress did not seem the more rapid fromthe monotonous ticking of a French clock, or the shrill sound of itslittle bell which told the quarters. But there he sat; and in his oldseat on the opposite side of the room reclined Sir Mulberry Hawk,with his legs upon the cushion, and his handkerchief thrownnegligently over his knees: finishing his magnum of claret with theutmost coolness and indifference.

　　Thus they remained in perfect silence for upwards of an hour—Nicholas would have thought for three hours at least, but that thelittle bell had only gone four times. Twice or thrice he lookedangrily and impatiently round; but there was Sir Mulberry in thesame attitude, putting his glass to his lips from time to time, andlooking vacantly at the wall, as if he were wholly ignorant of thepresence of any living person.

　　At length he yawned, stretched himself, and rose; walked coollyto the glass, and having surveyed himself therein, turned roundand honoured Nicholas with a long and contemptuous stare.

　　Nicholas stared again with right good-will; Sir Mulberry shruggedhis shoulders, smiled slightly, rang the bell, and ordered the waiter to help him on with his greatcoat.

　　The man did so, and held the door open.

　　‘Don’t wait,’ said Sir Mulberry; and they were alone again.

　　Sir Mulberry took several turns up and down the room,whistling carelessly all the time; stopped to finish the last glass ofclaret which he had poured out a few minutes before, walkedagain, put on his hat, adjusted it by the glass, drew on his gloves,and, at last, walked slowly out. Nicholas, who had been fumingand chafing until he was nearly wild, darted from his seat, andfollowed him: so closely, that before the door had swung upon itshinges after Sir Mulberry’s passing out, they stood side by side inthe street together.

　　There was a private cabriolet in waiting; the groom opened theapron, and jumped out to the horse’s head.

　　‘Will you make yourself known to me?’ asked Nicholas in asuppressed voice.

　　‘No,’ replied the other fiercely, and confirming the refusal withan oath. ‘No.’

　　‘If you trust to your horse’s speed, you will find yourselfmistaken,’ said Nicholas. ‘I will accompany you. By Heaven I will,if I hang on to the foot-board.’

　　‘You shall be horsewhipped if you do,’ returned Sir Mulberry.

　　‘You are a villain,’ said Nicholas.

　　‘You are an errand-boy for aught I know,’ said Sir MulberryHawk.

　　‘I am the son of a country gentleman,’ returned Nicholas, ‘yourequal in birth and education, and your superior I trust ineverything besides. I tell you again, Miss Nickleby is my sister.

　　Will you or will you not answer for your unmanly and brutal conduct?’

　　‘To a proper champion—yes. To you—no,’ returned SirMulberry, taking the reins in his hand. ‘Stand out of the way, dog.

　　William, let go her head.’

　　‘You had better not,’ cried Nicholas, springing on the step as SirMulberry jumped in, and catching at the reins. ‘He has nocommand over the horse, mind. You shall not go—you shall not, Iswear—till you have told me who you are.’

　　The groom hesitated, for the mare, who was a high-spiritedanimal and thorough-bred, plunged so violently that he couldscarcely hold her.

　　‘Leave go, I tell you!’ thundered his master.

　　The man obeyed. The animal reared and plunged as though itwould dash the carriage into a thousand pieces, but Nicholas,blind to all sense of danger, and conscious of nothing but his fury,still maintained his place and his hold upon the reins.

　　‘Will you unclasp your hand?’

　　‘Will you tell me who you are?’

　　‘No!’

　　‘No!’

　　In less time than the quickest tongue could tell it, these wordswere exchanged, and Sir Mulberry shortening his whip, applied itfuriously to the head and shoulders of Nicholas. It was broken inthe struggle; Nicholas gained the heavy handle, and with it laidopen one side of his antagonist’s face from the eye to the lip. Hesaw the gash; knew that the mare had darted off at a wild madgallop; a hundred lights danced in his eyes, and he felt himselfflung violently upon the ground.

　　He was giddy and sick, but staggered to his feet directly, roused by the loud shouts of the men who were tearing up the street, andscreaming to those ahead to clear the way. He was conscious of atorrent of people rushing quickly by—looking up, could discernthe cabriolet whirled along the foot-pavement with frightfulrapidity—then heard a loud cry, the smashing of some heavy body,and the breaking of glass—and then the crowd closed in in thedistance, and he could see or hear no more.

　　The general attention had been entirely directed from himselfto the person in the carriage, and he was quite alone. Rightlyjudging that under such circumstances it would be madness tofollow, he turned down a bye-street in search of the nearest coach-stand, finding after a minute or two that he was reeling like adrunken man, and aware for the first time of a stream of bloodthat was trickling down his face and breast.