we had known of this,’ rejoined Newman. ‘But we didn’t. Nobody could properly interfere but her mother or brother. The mother’s weak—poor thing—weak. The dear young man will be here tonight.’
‘Heart alive!’ cried Miss La Creevy. ‘He will do something desperate, Mr Noggs, if you tell him all at once.’
Newman left off rubbing his hands, and assumed a thoughtful look.
‘Depend upon it,’ said Miss La Creevy, earnestly, ‘if you are not very careful in breaking out the truth to him, he will do some violence upon his uncle or one of these men that will bring some terrible calamity upon his own head, and grief and sorrow to us all.’
‘I never thought of that,’ rejoined Newman, his countenance falling more and more. ‘I came to ask you to receive his sister in case he brought her here, but—’
‘But this is a matter of much greater importance,’ interrupted Miss La Creevy; ‘that you might have been sure of before you came, but the end of this, nobody can foresee, unless you are very guarded and careful.’
‘What can I do?’ cried Newman, scratching his head with an air of great vexation and perplexity. ‘If he was to talk of pistoling ‘em all, I should be obliged to say, “Certainly—serve ‘em right.”’
Miss La Creevy could not suppress a small shriek on hearing this, and instantly set about extorting a solemn pledge from Newman that he would use his utmost endeavours to pacify the wrath of Nicholas; which, after some demur, was conceded. They then consulted together on the safest and surest mode of communicating to him the circumstances which had rendered his presence necessary.
‘He must have time to cool before he can possibly do anything,’ said Miss La Creevy. ‘That is of the greatest consequence. He must not be told until late at night.’
‘But he’ll be in town between six and seven this evening,’ replied Newman. ‘I can’t keep it from him when he asks me.’
‘Then you must go out, Mr. Noggs,’ said Miss La Creevy. ‘You can easily have been kept away by business, and must not return till nearly midnight.’
‘Then he will come straight here,’ retorted Newman.
‘So I suppose,’ observed Miss La Creevy; ‘but he won’t find me at home, for I’ll go straight to the city the instant you leave me, make up matters with Mrs. Nickleby, and take her away to the theatre, so that he may not even know where his sister lives.’
Upon further discussion, this appeared the safest and most feasible mode of proceeding that could possibly be adopted. Therefore it was finally determined that matters should be so arranged, and Newman, after listening to many supplementary cautions and entreaties, took his leave of Miss La Creevy and trudged back to Golden Square; ruminating as he went upon a vast number of possibilities and impossibilities which crowded upon his brain, and arose out of the conversation that had just terminated.
Chapter 32.
Relating chiefly to some remarkable Conversation, and some remarkable Proceedings to which it gives rise
‘London at last!’ cried Nicholas, throwing back his greatcoat and rousing Smike from a long nap. ‘It seemed to me as though we should never reach it.’
‘And yet you came along at a tidy pace too,’ observed the coachman, looking over his shoulder at Nicholas with no very pleasant expression of countenance.
‘Ay, I know that,’ was the reply; ‘but I have been very anxious to be at my journey’s end, and that makes the way seem long.’
‘Well,’ remarked the coachman, ‘if the way seemed long with such cattle as you’ve sat behind, you must have been most uncommon anxious;’ and so saying, he let out his whip-lash and touched up a little boy on the calves of his legs by way of emphasis.
They rattled on through the noisy, bustling, crowded street of London, now displaying long double rows of brightly-burning lamps, dotted here and there with the chemists’ glaring lights, and illuminated besides with the brilliant flood that streamed from the windows of the shops, where sparkling jewellery, silks and velvets of the richest colours, the most inviting delicacies, and most sumptuous articles of luxurious ornament, succeeded each other in rich and glittering profusion. Streams of people apparently without end poured on and on, jostling each other in the crowd and hurrying forward, scarcely seeming to notice the riches that surrounded them on every side; while vehicles of all shapes and makes, mingled up together in one moving mass, like running water, lent their ceaseless roar to swell the noise and tumult.
As they dashed by the quickly-changing and ever-varying objects, it was curious to observe in what a strange procession they passed before the eye. Emporiums of splendid dresses, the materials brought from every quarter of the world; tempting stores of everything to stimulate and pamper the sated appetite and give new relish to the oft-repeated feast; vessels of burnished gold and silver, wrought into every exquisite form of vase, and dish, and goblet; guns, swords, pistols, and patent engines of destruction; screws and irons for the crooked, clothes for the newly-born, drugs for the sick, coffins for the dead, and churchyards for the buried—all these jumbled each with the other and flocking side by side, seemed to flit by in motley dance like the fantastic groups of the old Dutch painter, and with the same stern moral for the unheeding restless crowd.
Nor were there wanting objects in the crowd itself to give new point and purpose to the shifting scene. The rags of the squalid ballad-singer fluttered in the rich light that showed the goldsmith’s treasures, pale and pinched-up faces hovered about the windows where was tempting food, hungry eyes wandered over the profusion guarded by one thin sheet of brittle glass—an iron wall to them; half-naked shivering figures stopped to gaze at Chinese shawls and golden stuffs of India. There was a christening party at the largest coffin-maker’s and a funeral hatchment had stopped some great improvements in the bravest mansion. Life and 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 had put her head out of the coach-window a mile or two this side Kingston, and cried out to the driver that she was sure he must have passed it and forgotten to set her down, was satisfied at last.
Nicholas engaged beds for himself and Smike at the inn where the coach stopped, and repaired, without the delay of another moment, to the lodgings of Newman Noggs; for his anxiety and impatience had increased with every succeeding minute, and were almost beyond control.
There was a fire in Newman’s garret; and a candle had been left burning; the floor was cleanly swept, the room was as comfortably arranged as such a room could be, and meat and drink were placed in order upon the table. Everything bespoke the affectionate care and attention of Newman Noggs, but Newman himself 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 am extremely 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 unwilling to go, I can tell you, but there was no help for it. However, he left word that you were to make yourself comfortable till he came back, and that I was to entertain you, which I shall be very glad to do.’
In proof of his extreme readiness to exert himself for the general entertainment, Mr. Crowl drew a chair to the table as he spoke, and helping himself plentifully to the cold meat, invited Nicholas and Smike to follow his example.
Disappointed and uneasy, Nicholas could touch no food,