Follows the Fortunes of Miss Nickleby
It was with a heavy heart, and many sad forebodings which no effort could banish, that Kate Nickleby, on the morning appointed for the commencement of her engagement with Madame Mantalini, left the city when its clocks yet wanted a quarter of an hour of eight, and threaded her way alone, amid the noise and bustle of the streets, towards the west end of London.
At this early hour many sickly girls, whose business, like that of the poor worm, is to produce, with patient toil, the finery that bedecks the thoughtless and luxurious, traverse our streets, making towards the scene of their daily labour, and catching, as if by stealth, in their hurried walk, the only gasp of wholesome air and glimpse of sunlight which cheer their monotonous existence during the long train of hours that make a working day. As she drew nigh to the more fashionable quarter of the town, Kate marked many of this class as they passed by, hurrying like herself to their painful occupation, and saw, in their unhealthy looks and feeble gait, but too clear an evidence that her misgivings were not wholly groundless.
She arrived at Madame Mantalini’s some minutes before the appointed hour, and after walking a few times up and down, in the hope that some other female might arrive and spare her the embarrassment of stating her business to the servant, knocked timidly at the door: which, after some delay, was opened by the footman, who had been putting on his striped jacket as he came upstairs, and was now intent on fastening his apron.
‘Is Madame Mantalini in?’ faltered Kate.
‘Not often out at this time, miss,’ replied the man in a tone which rendered “Miss,” something more offensive than “My dear.”
‘Can I see her?’ asked Kate.
‘Eh?’ replied the man, holding the door in his hand, and honouring the inquirer with a stare and a broad grin, ‘Lord, no.’
‘I came by her own appointment,’ said Kate; ‘I am—I am—to be employed here.’
‘Oh! you should have rung the worker’s bell,’ said the footman, touching the handle of one in the door-post. ‘Let me see, though, I forgot—Miss Nickleby, is it?’
‘Yes,’ replied Kate.
‘You’re to walk upstairs then, please,’ said the man. ‘Madame Mantalini wants to see you—this way—take care of these things on the floor.’
Cautioning her, in these terms, not to trip over a heterogeneous litter of pastry-cook’s trays, lamps, waiters full of glasses, and piles of rout seats which were strewn about the hall, plainly bespeaking a late party on the previous night, the man led the way to the second story, and ushered Kate into a back-room, communicating by folding-doors with the apartment in which she had first seen the mistress of the establishment.
‘If you’ll wait here a minute,’ said the man, ‘I’ll tell her presently.’ Having made this promise with much affability, he retired and left Kate alone.
There was not much to amuse in the room; of which the most attractive feature was, a half-length portrait in oil, of Mr. Mantalini, whom the artist had depicted scratching his head in an easy manner, and thus displaying to advantage a diamond ring, the gift of Madame Mantalini before her marriage. There was, however, the sound of voices in conversation in the next room; and as the conversation was loud and the partition thin, Kate could not help discovering that they belonged to Mr and Mrs. Mantalini.
‘If you will be odiously, demnebly, outr_i_geously jealous, my soul,’ said Mr. Mantalini, ‘you will be very miserable—horrid miserable—demnition miserable.’ And then, there was a sound as though Mr. Mantalini were sipping his coffee.
‘I am miserable,’ returned Madame Mantalini, evidently pouting.
‘Then you are an ungrateful, unworthy, demd unthankful little fairy,’ said Mr. Mantalini.
‘I am not,’ returned Madame, with a sob.
‘Do not put itself out of humour,’ said Mr. Mantalini, breaking an egg. ‘It is a pretty, bewitching little demd countenance, and it should not be out of humour, for it spoils its loveliness, and makes it cross and gloomy like a frightful, naughty, demd hobgoblin.’
‘I am not to be brought round in that way, always,’ rejoined Madame, sulkily.
‘It shall be brought round in any way it likes best, and not brought round at all if it likes that better,’ retorted Mr. Mantalini, with his egg-spoon in his mouth.
‘It’s very easy to talk,’ said Mrs. Mantalini.
‘Not so easy when one is eating a demnition egg,’ replied Mr. Mantalini; ‘for the yolk runs down the waistcoat, and yolk of egg does not match any waistcoat but a yellow waistcoat, demmit.’
‘You were flirting with her during the whole night,’ said Madame Mantalini, apparently desirous to lead the conversation back to the point from which it had strayed.
‘No, no, my life.’
‘You were,’ said Madame; ‘I had my eye upon you all the time.’
‘Bless the little winking twinkling eye; was it on me all the time!’ cried Mantalini, in a sort of lazy rapture. ‘Oh, demmit!’
‘And I say once more,’ resumed Madame, ‘that you ought not to waltz with anybody but your own wife; and I will not bear it, Mantalini, if I take poison first.’
‘She will not take poison and have horrid pains, will she?’ said Mantalini; who, by the altered sound of his voice, seemed to have moved his chair, and taken up his position nearer to his wife. ‘She will not take poison, because she had a demd fine husband who might have married two countesses and a dowager—’
‘Two countesses,’ interposed Madame. ‘You told me one before!’
‘Two!’ cried Mantalini. ‘Two demd fine women, real countesses and splendid fortunes, demmit.’
‘And why didn’t you?’ asked Madame, playfully.
‘Why didn’t I!’ replied her husband. ‘Had I not seen, at a morning concert, the demdest little fascinator in all the world, and while that little fascinator is my wife, may not all the countesses and dowagers in England be—’
Mr. Mantalini did not finish the sentence, but he gave Madame Mantalini a very loud kiss, which Madame Mantalini returned; after which, there seemed to be some more kissing mixed up with the progress of the breakfast.
‘And what about the cash, my existence’s jewel?’ said Mantalini, when these endearments ceased. ‘How much have we in hand?’
‘Very little indeed,’ replied Madame.
‘We must have some more,’ said Mantalini; ‘we must have some discount out of old Nickleby to carry on the war with, demmit.’
‘You can’t want any more just now,’ said Madame coaxingly.
‘My life and soul,’ returned her husband, ‘there is a horse for sale at Scrubbs’s, which it would be a sin and a crime to lose—going, my senses’ joy, for nothing.’
‘For nothing,’ cried Madame, ‘I am glad of that.’
‘For actually nothing,’ replied Mantalini. ‘A hundred guineas down will buy him; mane, and crest, and legs, and tail, all of the demdest beauty. I will ride him in the park before the very chariots of the rejected countesses. The demd old dowager will faint with grief and rage; the other two will say “He is married, he has made away with himself, it is a demd thing, it is all up!” They will hate each other demnebly, and wish you dead and buried. Ha! ha! Demmit.’
Madame Mantalini’s prudence, if she had any, was not proof against these triumphal pictures; after a little jingling of keys, she observed that she would see what her desk contained, and rising for that purpose, opened the folding-door, and walked into the room where Kate was seated.
‘Dear me, child!’ exclaimed Madame Mantalini, recoiling in surprise. ‘How came you here?’
‘Child!’ cried Mantalini, hurrying in. ‘How came—eh!—oh—demmit, how d’ye do?’
‘I have been waiting, here some time, ma’am,’ said Kate, addressing Madame Mantalini. ‘The servant must have forgotten to let you know that I was here, I think.’
‘You really must see to that man,’ said Madame, turning to her husband. ‘He forgets everything.’
‘I will twist his demd nose off his countenance for leaving such a very pretty creature all alone by herself,’ said her husband.
‘Mantalini,’ cried Madame, ‘you forget yourself.’
‘I don’t forget you, my soul, and never shall, and never can,’ said Mantalini, kissing his wife’s hand, and grimacing aside, to Miss Nickleby, who turned away.
Appeased by this compliment, the lady of the business took some papers from her desk which she handed over to Mr. Mantalini, who received them with great delight. She then requested Kate to follow her, and after several feints on the part of Mr. Mantalini to attract the young lady’s attention, they went away: leaving that gentleman extended at full length on the sofa, with his heels in the air and a newspaper in his hand.
Madame Mantalini led the way down a flight of stairs, and through a passage, to a large room at the back of the premises where were a number of young women employed in sewing, cutting out, making up, altering, and various other processes known only to those who are cunning in the arts of millinery and dressmaking. It was a close room with a skylight, and as dull and quiet as a room need be.
On Madame Mantalini calling aloud for Miss Knag, a short, bustling, over-dressed female, full of importance, presented herself, and all the young ladies suspending their operations for the moment, whispered to each other sundry criticisms upon the make and texture of Miss Nickleby’s dress, her complexion, cast of features, and personal appearance, with as much good breeding as could have been displayed by the very best society in a crowded ball-room.
‘Oh, Miss Knag,’ said Madame Mantalini, ‘this is the young person I spoke to you about.’
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Miss Knag bestowed a reverential smile upon Madame Mantalini, which she dexterously transformed into a gracious one for Kate, and said that certainly, although it was a great deal of trouble to have young people who were wholly unused to the business, still, she was sure the young person would try to do her best—impressed with which conviction she (Miss Knag) felt an interest in her, already.
‘I think that, for the present at all events, it will be better for Miss Nickleby to come into the show-room with you, and try things on for people,’ said Madame Mantalini. ‘She will not be able for the present to be of much use in any other way; and her appearance will—’
‘Suit very well with mine, Madame Mantalini,’ interrupted Miss Knag. ‘So it will; and to be s............