Nicholas Nickleby

r Squeers; and of various Matters and Personsconnect

ff now.’　　‘Really,’ said Miss Squeers; ‘so embarrassing that I scarcelyknow what I—very sorry to give you so much trouble.’　　‘Not the least trouble in the world,’ replied Nicholas, closing theschoolroom door.　　‘I never saw such legs in the whole course of my life!’ said MissSqueers, as she walked away.　　In fact, Miss Squeers was in love with Nicholas Nickleby.　　To account for the rapidity with which this young lady hadconceived a passion for Nicholas, it may be necessary to state, thatthe friend from whom she had so recently returned, was a miller’sdaughter of only eighteen, who had contracted herself unto theson of a small corn-factor, resident in the nearest market town.　　Miss Squeers and the miller’s daughter, being fast friends, hadcovenanted together some two years before, according to a customprevalent among young ladies, that whoever was first engaged tobe married, should straightway confide the mighty secret to thebosom of the other, before communicating it to any living soul,and bespeak her as bridesmaid without loss of time; in fulfilment of which pledge the miller’s daughter, when her engagement wasformed, came out express, at eleven o’clock at night as the corn-factor’s son made an offer of his hand and heart at twenty-fiveminutes past ten by the Dutch clock in the kitchen, and rushedinto Miss Squeers’s bedroom with the gratifying intelligence. Now,Miss Squeers being five years older, and out of her teens (which isalso a great matter), had, since, been more than commonlyanxious to return the compliment, and possess her friend with asimilar secret; but, either in consequence of finding it hard toplease herself, or harder still to please anybody else, had neverhad an opportunity so to do, inasmuch as she had no such secretto disclose. The little interview with Nicholas had no soonerpassed, as above described, however, than Miss Squeers, puttingon her bonnet, made her way, with great precipitation, to herfriend’s house, and, upon a solemn renewal of divers old vows ofsecrecy, revealed how that she was—not exactly engaged, butgoing to be—to a gentleman’s son—(none of your corn-factors, buta gentleman’s son of high descent)—who had come down asteacher to Dotheboys Hall, under most mysterious and remarkablecircumstances—indeed, as Miss Squeers more than once hintedshe had good reason to believe, induced, by the fame of her manycharms, to seek her out, and woo and win her.　　‘Isn’t it an extraordinary thing?’ said Miss Squeers,emphasising the adjective strongly.　　‘Most extraordinary,’ replied the friend. ‘But what has he saidto you?’　　‘Don’t ask me what he said, my dear,’ rejoined Miss Squeers. ‘Ifyou had only seen his looks and smiles! I never was so overcome inall my life.’　　 ‘Did he look in this way?’ inquired the miller’s daughter,counterfeiting, as nearly as she could, a favourite leer of the corn-factor.　　‘Very like that—only more genteel,’ replied Miss Squeers.　　‘Ah!’ said the friend, ‘then he means something, depend on it.’　　Miss Squeers, having slight misgivings on the subject, was byno means ill pleased to be confirmed by a competent authority;and discovering, on further conversation and comparison of notes,a great many points of resemblance between the behaviour ofNicholas, and that of the corn-factor, grew so exceedinglyconfidential, that she intrusted her friend with a vast number ofthings Nicholas had not said, which were all so verycomplimentary as to be quite conclusive. Then, she dilated on thefearful hardship of having a father and mother strenuouslyopposed to her intended husband; on which unhappycircumstance she dwelt at great length; for the friend’s father andmother were quite agreeable to her being married, and the wholecourtship was in consequence as flat and common-place an affairas it was possible to imagine.　　‘How I should like to see him!’ exclaimed the friend.　　‘So you shall, ‘Tilda,’ replied Miss Squeers. ‘I should considermyself one of the most ungrateful creatures alive, if I denied you. Ithink mother’s going away for two days to fetch some boys; andwhen she does, I’ll ask you and John up to tea, and have him tomeet you.’　　This was a charming idea, and having fully discussed it, thefriends parted.　　It so fell out, that Mrs Squeers’s journey, to some distance, tofetch three new boys, and dun the relations of two old ones for the balance of a small account, was fixed that very afternoon, for thenext day but one; and on the next day but one, Mrs Squeers got upoutside the coach, as it stopped to change at Greta Bridge, takingwith her a small bundle containing something in a bottle, andsome sandwiches, and carrying besides a large white top-coat towear in the night-time; with which baggage she went her way.　　Whenever such opportunities as these occurred, it wasSqueers’s custom to drive over to the market town, every evening,on pretence of urgent business, and stop till ten or eleven o’clockat a tavern he much affected. As the party was not in his way,therefore, but rather afforded a means of compromise with MissSqueers, he readily yielded his full assent thereunto, and willinglycommunicated to Nicholas that he was expected to take his tea inthe parlour that evening, at five o’clock.　　To be sure Miss Squeers was in a desperate flutter as the timeapproached, and to be sure she was dressed out to the bestadvantage: with her hair—it had more than a tinge of red, and shewore it in a crop—curled in five distinct rows, up to the very top ofher head, and arranged dexterously over the doubtful eye; to saynothing of the blue sash which floated down her back, or theworked apron or the long gloves, or the green gauze scarf wornover one shoulder and under the other; or any of the numerousdevices which were to be as so many arrows to the heart ofNicholas. She had scarcely completed these arrangements to herentire satisfaction, when the friend arrived with a whity-brownparcel—flat and three-cornered—containing sundry smalladornments which were to be put on upstairs, and which thefriend put on, talking incessantly. When Miss Squeers had ‘done’　　the friend’s hair, the friend ‘did’ Miss Squeers’s hair, throwing in some striking improvements in the way of ringlets down the neck;and then, when they were both touched up to their entiresatisfaction, they went downstairs in full state with the long gloveson, all ready for company.　　‘Where’s John, ’Tilda?’ said Miss Squeers.　　‘Only gone home to clean himself,’ replied the friend. ‘He willbe here by the time the tea’s drawn.’　　‘I do so palpitate,’ observed Miss Squeers.　　‘Ah! I know what it is,’ replied the friend.　　‘I have not been used to it, you know, ’Tilda,’ said Miss Squeers,applying her hand to the left side of her sash.　　‘You’ll soon get the better of it, dear,’ rejoined the friend. Whilethey were talking thus, the hungry servant brought in the tea-things, and, soon afterwards, somebody tapped at the room door.　　‘There he is!’ cried Miss Squeers. ‘Oh ‘Tilda!’　　‘Hush!’ said ’Tilda. ‘Hem! Say, come in.’　　‘Come in,’ cried Miss Squeers faintly. And in walked Nicholas.　　‘Good-evening,’ said that young gentleman, all unconscious ofhis conquest. ‘I understood from Mr Squeers that—’　　‘Oh yes; it’s all right,’ interposed Miss Squeers. ‘Father don’ttea with us, but you won’t mind that, I dare say.’ (This was saidarchly.)Nicholas opened his eyes at this, but he turned the matter offvery coolly—not caring, particularly, about anything just then—and went through the ceremony of introduction to the miller’sdaughter with so much grace, that that young lady was lost inadmiration.　　‘We are only waiting for one more gentleman,’ said MissSqueers, taking off the teapot lid, and looking in, to see how the tea was getting on.　　It was matter of equal moment to Nicholas whether they werewaiting for one gentleman or twenty, so he received theintelligence with perfect unconcern; and, being out of spirits, andnot seeing any especial reason why he should make himselfagreeable, looked out of the window and sighed involuntarily.　　As luck would have it, Miss Squeers’s friend was of a playfulturn, and hearing Nicholas sigh, she took it into her head to rallythe lovers on their lowness of spirits.　　‘But if it’s caused by my being here,’ said the young lady, ‘don’tmind me a bit, for I’m quite as bad. You may go on just as youwould if you were alone.’　　‘’Tilda,’ said Miss Squeers, colouring up to the top row of curls,‘I am ashamed of you;’ and here the two friends burst into avariety of giggles, and glanced from time to time, over the tops oftheir pocket-handkerchiefs, at Nicholas, who from a state ofunmixed astonishment, gradually fell into one of irrepressiblelaughter—occasioned, partly by the bare notion of his being inlove with Miss Squeers, and partly by the preposterousappearance and behaviour of the two girls. These two causes ofmerriment, taken together, struck him as being so keenlyridiculous, that, despite his miserable condition, he laughed till hewas thoroughly exhausted.　　‘Well,’ thought Nicholas, ‘as I am here, and seem expected, forsome reason or other, to be amiable, it’s of no use looking like agoose. I may as well accommodate myself to the company.’　　We blush to tell it; but his youthful spirits and vivacity getting,for the time, the better of his sad thoughts, he no sooner formedthis resolution than he saluted Miss Squeers and the friend with great gallantry, and drawing a chair to the tea-table, began tomake himself more at home than in all probability an usher hasever done in his employer’s house since ushers were firstinvented.　　The ladies were in the full delight of this altered behaviour onthe part of Mr Nickleby, when the expected swain arrived, with hishair very damp from recent washing, and a clean shirt, whereofthe collar might have belonged to some giant ancestor, forming,together with a white waistcoat of similar dimensions, the chiefornament of his person.　　‘Well, John,’ said Miss Matilda Price (which, by-the-bye, wasthe name of the miller’s daughter).　　‘Weel,’ said John with a grin that even the collar could notconceal.　　‘I beg your pardon,’ interposed Miss Squeers, hastening to dothe honours. ‘Mr Nickleby—Mr John Browdie.’　　‘Servant, sir,’ said John, who was something over six feet high,with a face and body rather above the due proportion than belowit.　　‘Yours to command, sir,’ replied Nicholas, making fearfulravages on the bread and butter.　　Mr Browdie was not a gentleman of great conversationalpowers, so he grinned twice more, and having now bestowed hiscustomary mark of recognition on every person in company,grinned at nothing in particular, and helped himself to food.　　‘Old wooman awa’, bean’t she?’ said Mr Browdie, with hismouth full.　　Miss Squeers nodded assent.　　Mr Browdie gave a grin of special width, as if he thought that really was something to laugh at, and went to work at the breadand butter with increased vigour. It was quite a sight to beholdhow he and Nicholas emptied the plate between them.　　‘Ye wean’t get bread and butther ev’ry neight, I expect, mun,’　　said Mr Browdie, after he had sat staring at Nicholas a long timeover the empty plate.　　Nicholas bit his lip, and coloured, but affected not to hear theremark.　　‘Ecod,’ said Mr Browdie, laughing boisterously, ‘they dean’t puttoo much intiv’em. Ye’ll be nowt but skeen and boans if you stophere long eneaf. Ho! ho! ho!’　　‘You are facetious,