Chapter 36

Private and confidential; relating to Family Matters.

　　Showing how Mr Kenwigs underwent violentAgitation, and how Mrs Kenwigs was as well ascould be expected.

　　It might have been seven o’clock in the evening, and it wasgrowing dark in the narrow streets near Golden Square, whenMr Kenwigs sent out for a pair of the cheapest white kidgloves—those at fourteen-pence—and selecting the strongest,which happened to be the right-hand one, walked downstairs withan air of pomp and much excitement, and proceeded to muffle theknob of the street-door knocker therein. Having executed this taskwith great nicety, Mr Kenwigs pulled the door to, after him, andjust stepped across the road to try the effect from the opposite sideof the street. Satisfied that nothing could possibly look better in itsway, Mr Kenwigs then stepped back again, and calling throughthe keyhole to Morleena to open the door, vanished into the house,and was seen no longer.

　　Now, considered as an abstract circumstance, there was nomore obvious cause or reason why Mr Kenwigs should take thetrouble of muffling this particular knocker, than there would havebeen for his muffling the knocker of any nobleman or gentlemanresident ten miles off; because, for the greater convenience of thenumerous lodgers, the street-door always stood wide open, andthe knocker was never used at all. The first floor, the second floor,and the third floor, had each a bell of its own. As to the attics, no one ever called on them; if anybody wanted the parlours, theywere close at hand, and all he had to do was to walk straight intothem; while the kitchen had a separate entrance down the areasteps. As a question of mere necessity and usefulness, therefore,this muffling of the knocker was thoroughly incomprehensible.

　　But knockers may be muffled for other purposes than those ofmere utilitarianism, as, in the present instance, was clearly shown.

　　There are certain polite forms and ceremonies which must beobserved in civilised life, or mankind relapse into their originalbarbarism. No genteel lady was ever yet confined—indeed, nogenteel confinement can possibly take place—without theaccompanying symbol of a muffled knocker. Mrs Kenwigs was alady of some pretensions to gentility; Mrs Kenwigs was confined.

　　And, therefore, Mr Kenwigs tied up the silent knocker on thepremises in a white kid glove.

　　‘I’m not quite certain neither,’ said Mr Kenwigs, arranging hisshirt-collar, and walking slowly upstairs, ‘whether, as it’s a boy, Iwon’t have it in the papers.’

　　Pondering upon the advisability of this step, and the sensationit was likely to create in the neighbourhood, Mr Kenwigs betookhimself to the sitting-room, where various extremely diminutivearticles of clothing were airing on a horse before the fire, and MrLumbey, the doctor, was dandling the baby—that is, the oldbaby—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 MrKenwigs.

　　‘It’s the finest boy I ever saw in all my life,’ said the doctor. ‘Inever saw such a baby.’

　　 It is a pleasant thing to reflect upon, and furnishes a completeanswer to those who contend for the gradual degeneration of thehuman species, that every baby born into the world is a finer onethan the last.

　　‘I ne-ver saw such a baby,’ said Mr Lumbey, the doctor.

　　‘Morleena was a fine baby,’ remarked Mr Kenwigs; as if thiswere rather an attack, by implication, upon the family.

　　‘They were all fine babies,’ said Mr Lumbey. And Mr Lumbeywent on nursing the baby with a thoughtful look. Whether he wasconsidering under what head he could best charge the nursing inthe bill, was best known to himself.

　　During this short conversation, Miss Morleena, as the eldest ofthe family, and natural representative of her mother during herindisposition, had been hustling and slapping the three youngerMiss Kenwigses, without intermission; which considerate andaffectionate 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 MrKenwigs, half aside; ‘I think she’ll marry above her station, MrLumbey.’

　　‘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 theother room; the door had been opened and shut very softly abouttwenty times a minute (for it was necessary to keep Mrs Kenwigs quiet); and the baby had been exhibited to a score or two ofdeputations from a select body of female friends, who hadassembled in the passage, and about the street-door, to discuss theevent in all its bearings. Indeed, the excitement extended itselfover the whole street, and groups of ladies might be seen standingat the doors, (some in the interesting condition in which MrsKenwigs had last appeared in public,) relating their experiences ofsimilar occurrences. Some few acquired great credit from havingprophesied, the day before yesterday, exactly when it would cometo pass; others, again, related, how that they guessed what it was,directly they saw Mr Kenwigs turn pale and run up the street ashard as ever he could go. Some said one thing, and some another;but all talked together, and all agreed upon two points: first, that itwas very meritorious and highly praiseworthy in Mrs Kenwigs todo as she had done: and secondly, that there never was such askilful 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, andtalking to Mr Kenwigs. He was a stout bluff-looking gentleman,with no shirt-collar to speak of, and a beard that had been growingsince yesterday morning; for Dr Lumbey was popular, and theneighbourhood was prolific; and there had been no less than threeother knockers muffled, one after the other within the last forty-eight hours.

　　‘Well, Mr Kenwigs,’ said Dr Lumbey, ‘this makes six. You’llhave 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 fromthe sick chamber to report progress, and take a small sip ofbrandy-and-water: and who seemed to consider it one of the bestjokes ever launched upon society.

　　‘They’re not altogether dependent upon good fortune, neither,’

　　said Mr Kenwigs, taking his second daughter on his knee; ‘theyhave expectations.’

　　‘Oh, indeed!’ said Mr Lumbey, the doctor.

　　‘And very good ones too, I believe, haven’t they?’ asked themarried lady.

　　‘Why, ma’am,’ said Mr Kenwigs, ‘it’s not exactly for me to saywhat they may be, or what they may not be. It’s not for me to boastof any family with which I have the honour to be connected; at thesame time, Mrs Kenwigs’s is—I should say,’ said Mr Kenwigs,abruptly, and raising his voice as he spoke, ‘that my childrenmight 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 sneezingvery hard, for he wasn’t used to it, ‘that might leave their hundredpound apiece to ten people, and yet not go begging when they haddone 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 nonames,’ said Mr Kenwigs, with a portentous look. ‘Many of myfriends have met a relation of Mrs Kenwigs’s in this very room, aswould do honour to any company; that’s all.’

　　 ‘I’ve met him,’ said the married lady, with a glance towards DrLumbey.

　　‘It’s naterally very gratifying to my feelings as a father, to seesuch a man as that, a kissing and taking notice of my children,’

　　pursued Mr Kenwigs. ‘It’s naterally very gratifying to my feelingsas a man, to know that man. It will be naterally very gratifying tomy feelings as a husband, to make that man acquainted with thisewent.’

　　Having delivered his sentiments in this form of words, MrKenwigs arranged his second daughter’s flaxen tail, and bade herbe a good girl and mind what her sister, Morleena, said.

　　‘That girl grows more like her mother every day,’ said MrLumbey, suddenly stricken with an enthusiastic admiration ofMorleena.

　　‘There!’ rejoined the married lady. ‘What I always say; what Ialways did say! She’s the very picter of her.’ Having thus directedthe general attention to the young lady in question, the marriedlady embraced the opportunity of taking another sip of thebrandy-and-water—and a pretty long sip too.

　　‘Yes! there is a likeness,’ said Mr Kenwigs, after somereflection. ‘But such a woman as Mrs Kenwigs was, afore she wasmarried! Good gracious, such a woman!’

　　Mr Lumbey shook his head with great solemnity, as though toimply that he supposed she must have been rather a dazzler.

　　‘Talk of fairies!’ cried Mr Kenwigs ‘I never see anybody so lightto be alive, never. Such manners too; so playful, and yet sosewerely proper! As for her figure! It isn’t generally known,’ saidMr Kenwigs, dropping his voice; ‘but her figure was such, at thattime, 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. ‘DoesSHE look like the mother of six?’

　　‘Quite ridiculous,’ cried the doctor.

　　‘She looks a deal more like her own daughter,’ said the marriedlady.

　　‘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 anothermarried lady, who had looked in to keep up Mrs Kenwigs’s spirits,and help to clear off anything in the eating and drinking way thatmight be going about, put in her head to announce that she hadjust been down to answer the bell, and that there was a gentlemanat the door who wanted to see Mr Kenwigs ‘most particular.’

　　Shadowy visions of his distinguished relation flitted throughthe brain of Mr Kenwigs, as this message was delivered; andunder their influence, he dispatched Morleena to show thegentleman up straightway.

　　‘Why, I do declare,’ said Mr Kenwigs, standing opposite thedoor so as to get the earliest glimpse of the visitor, as he cameupstairs, ‘it’s Mr Johnson! How do you find yourself, sir?’

　　Nicholas shook hands, kissed his old pupils all round, intrusteda large parcel of toys to the guardianship of Morleena, bowed tothe doctor and the married ladies, and inquired after Mrs Kenwigsin a tone of interest, which went to the very heart and soul of thenurse, who had come in to warm some mysterious compound, in alittle saucepan over the fire.

　　‘I ought to make a hundred apologies to you for calling at such aseason,’ 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 itmight be some days before I could possibly come again.’

　　‘No time like the present, sir,’ said Mr Kenwigs. ‘The sitiwationof Mrs Kenwigs, sir, is no obstacle to a little conversation betweenyou and me, I hope?’

　　‘You are very good,’ said Nicholas.

　　At this juncture, proclamation was made by another marriedlady, that the baby had begun to eat like anything; whereupon thetwo married ladies, already mentioned, rushed tumultuously intothe 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 amessage to you.’

　　‘Ay, ay?’ said Mr Kenwigs.

　　‘And I have been,’ added Nicholas, ‘already in town for somedays, without having had an opportunity of doing so.’

　　‘It’s no matter, sir,’ said Mr Kenwigs. ‘I dare say it’s none theworse for keeping cold. Message from the country!’ said MrKenwigs, ruminating; ‘that’s curious. I don’t know anybody in thecountry.’

　　‘Miss Petowker,’ suggested Nicholas.

　　‘Oh! from her, is it?’ said Mr Kenwigs. ‘Oh dear, yes. Ah! MrsKenwigs will be glad to hear from her. Henrietta Petowker, eh?

　　How odd things come about, now! That you should have met herin the country! Well!’

　　Hearing this mention of their old friend’s name, the four MissKenwigses gathered round Nicholas, open eyed and mouthed, tohear more. Mr Kenwigs looked a little curious too, but quitecomfortable 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 nobodydisposed to relieve him of his precious burden. ‘All friends here.’

　　Nicholas hemmed once or twice, and seemed to have somedifficulty 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 wasan odd coincidence also.

　　‘The message is from him,’ said Nicholas. Mr Kenwigs appearedto 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, condescendinglyexplaining it to the children.

　　‘His kindest love,’ resumed Nicholas; ‘and to say that he had notime to write, but that he was married to Miss Petowker.’

　　Mr Kenwigs started from his seat with a petrified stare, caughthis second daughter by her flaxen tail, and covered his face withhis pocket-handkerchief. Morleena fell, all stiff and rigid, into thebaby’s chair, as she had seen her mother fall when she faintedaway, and the two remaining little Kenwigses shrieked in affright.

　　‘My children, my defrauded, swindled infants!’ cried MrKenwigs, pulling so hard, in his vehemence, at the flaxen tail of hissecond daughter, that he lifted her up on tiptoe, and kept her, for some seconds, in that attitude. ‘Villain, ass, traitor!’

　　‘Drat the man!’ cried the nurse, looking angrily around. ‘Whatdoes he mean by making that noise here?’

　　‘Silence, woman!’ said Mr Kenwigs, fiercely.

　　‘I won’t be silent,’ returned the nurse. ‘Be silent yourself, youwretch. Have you no regard for your baby?’

　　‘No!’ returned Mr Kenwigs.

　　‘More shame for you,’ retorted the nurse. ‘Ugh! you unnaturalmonster.’

　　‘Let him die,’ cried Mr Kenwigs, in the torrent of his wrath. ‘Lethim die! He has no expectations, no property to come into. Wewant no babies here,’ said Mr Kenwigs recklessly. ‘Take ’em away,take ’em away to the Fondling!’

　　With these awful remarks, Mr Kenwigs sat himself down in achair, and defied the nurse, who made the best of her way into theadjoining room, and returned with a stream of matrons: declaringthat Mr Kenwigs had spoken blasphemy against his family, andmust be raving mad.

　　Appearances were certainly not in Mr Kenwigs’s favour, for theexertion of speaking with so much vehemence, and yet in such atone as should prevent his lamentations reaching the ears of MrsKenwigs, had made him very black in the face; besides which, theexcitement of the occasion, and an unwonted indulgence invarious strong cordials to celebrate it, had swollen and dilated hisfeatures to a most unusual extent. But, Nicholas and the doctor—who had been passive at first, doubting very much whether MrKenwigs could be in earnest—interfering to explain the immediatecause of his condition, the indignation of the matrons was changedto pity, and they implored him, with much feeling, to go quietly to bed.

　　‘The attention,’ said Mr Kenwigs, looking around with aplaintive air, ‘the attention that I’ve shown to that man! Thehyseters he has eat, and the pints of ale he has drank, in thishouse—!’

　　‘It’s very trying, and very hard to bear, we know,’ said one ofthe married ladies; ‘but think of your dear darling wife.’

　　‘Oh yes, and what she’s been a undergoing of, only this day,’

　　cried a great many voices. ‘There’s a good man, do.’

　　‘The presents that have been made to him,’ said Mr Kenwigs,reverting to his calamity, ‘the pipes, the snuff-boxes—a pair ofindia-rubber goloshes, that cost six-and-six—’

　　‘Ah! it won’t bear thinking of, indeed,’ cried the matronsgenerally; ‘but it’ll all come home to him, never fear.’

　　Mr Kenwigs looked darkly upon the ladies, as if he would preferits all coming home to him, as there was nothing to be got by it; buthe said nothing, and resting his head upon his hand, subsided intoa kind of doze.

　　Then, the matrons again expatiated on the expediency of takingthe good gentleman to bed; observing that he would be bettertomorrow, and that they knew what was the wear and tear of somemen’s minds when their wives were taken as Mrs Kenwigs hadbeen that day, and that it did him great credit, and there wasnothing to be ashamed of in it; far from it; they liked to see it, theydid, for it showed a good heart. And one lady observed, as a casebearing upon the present, that her husband was often quite light-headed from anxiety on similar occasions, and that once, when herlittle Johnny was born, it was nearly a week before he came tohimself again, during the whole of which time he did nothing but cry ‘Is it a boy, is it a boy?’ in a manner which went to the hearts ofall his hearers.

　　At length, Morleena (who quite forgot she had fainted, whenshe found she was not noticed) announced that a chamber wasready for her afflicted parent; and Mr Kenwigs, having partiallysmothered his four daughters in the closeness of his embrace,accepted the doctor’s arm on one side, and the support of Nicholason the other, and was conducted upstairs to a bedroom whichbeen secured for the occasion.

　　Having seen him sound asleep, and heard him snore mostsatisfactorily, and having further presided over the distribution ofthe toys, to the perfect contentment of all the little Kenwigses,Nicholas took his leave. The matrons dropped off one by one, withthe exception of six or eight particular friends, who haddetermined to stop all night; the lights in the houses graduallydisappeared; the last bulletin was issued that Mrs Kenwigs was aswell as could be expected; and the whole family were left to theirrepose.