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TEN GIRLS FROM DICKENS
BY
KATE DICKINSON SWEETSER
AUTHOR OF
"TEN BOYS FROM DICKENS" "TEN GREAT ADVENTURERS"
"BOOK OF INDIAN BRAVES" ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS
[Illustration: LITTLE NELL AND HER GRANDFATHER]
PREFACE
As a companion volume to Ten Boys from Dickens, this book of girl-life,
portrayed by the great author, is offered.
The sketches have the same underlying motive as those of boy-life, and
have been compiled in the same manner, with the same purpose in view.
Among them will be found several of the most popular of the creations of
Dickens, notably, The Marchioness, Little Nell, Jenny Wren, and Florence
Dombey, and it is hoped that in this presentation as simple stories of
girlhood, their classic form and beauty may arouse in the young people
of our day a new interest in the novels from which they are taken.
This volume and its companion will have accomplished their purpose when
they have won fresh laurels and a wider audience for the famous writer
to whom they are indebted for their existence.
K.D.S. _April, 1902_.
CONTENTS
THE MARCHIONESS.
MORLEENA KENWIGS.
LITTLE NELL.
THE INFANT PHENOMENON.
JENNY WREN.
SISSY JUPE.
FLORENCE DOMBEY.
CHARLEY.
TILLY SLOWBOY.
AGNES WICKFIELD.
THE MARCHIONESS
[Illustration: THE MARCHIONESS AND DICK SWIVELLER]
THE MARCHIONESS
The Marchioness was a small servant employed by Sampson Brass and his
sister Sally, as general house-worker and drudge, in which capacity she
was discovered by Mr. Richard Swiveller, upon the very first day of his
entering the Brass establishment as clerk.
The Brasses' house was a small one in Bevis Marks, London, having upon
its door a plate, "Brass, Solicitor," and a bill tied to the knocker,
"First floor to let to a single gentleman," and served not only as
habitation, but likewise as office for Sampson Brass,--of none too good
legal repute,--and his sister; a gaunt, bony copy of her red-haired
brother, who was his housekeeper, as well as his business partner.
When the Brasses decided to keep a clerk, Richard Swiveller was chosen
to fill the place; and be it known to whom it may concern, that the said
Richard was the merriest, laziest, weakest, most kind-hearted fellow who
ever sowed a large crop of wild oats, and by a sudden stroke of
good-luck found himself raised to a salaried position.
Clad in a blue jacket with a double row of gilt buttons, bought for
acquatic expeditions, but now dedicated to office purposes, Richard
entered upon his new duties, and during that first afternoon, while Mr.
Brass and his sister were temporarily absent from the office, he began a
minute examination of its contents.
Then, after assuaging his thirst with a pint of mild porter, and
receiving and dismissing three or four small boys who dropped in on
legal errands from other attorneys, with about as correct an
understanding of their business as would have been shown by a clown in a
pantomime under similar circumstances, he tried his hand at a
pen-and-ink caricature of Miss Brass, in which work he was busily
engaged, when there came a rapping at the office-door.
"Come in!" said Dick. "Don't stand on ceremony. The business will get
rather complicated if I have many more customers. Come in!"
"Oh, please," said a little voice very low down in the doorway, "will
you come and show the lodgings?"
Dick leaned over the table, and descried a small slipshod girl in a
dirty coarse apron and bib, which left nothing of her visible but her
face and feet. She might as well have been dressed in a violin case.
"Why, who are you?" said Dick.
To which the only reply was, "Oh, please, will you come and show the
lodgings?"
There never was such an old-fashioned child in her looks and manner. She
must have been at work from her cradle. She seemed as much afraid of
Dick, as Dick was amazed at her.
"I haven't got anything to do with the lodgings," said Dick. "Tell 'em
to call again."
"Oh, but please will you come and show the lodgings?" returned the girl;
"it's eighteen shillings a week, and us finding plate and linen. Boots
and clothes is extra, and fires in winter-time is eightpence a day."
"Why don't you show 'em yourself? You seem to know all about 'em," said
Dick.
"Miss Sally said I wasn't to, because people wouldn't believe the
attendance was good if they saw how small I was, first."
"Well, but they'll see how small you are afterwards, won't they?" said
Dick.
"Ah! but then they'll have taken 'em for a fortnight certain," replied
the child, with a shrewd look; "and people don't like moving when
they're once settled."
"This is a queer sort of thing," muttered Dick, rising. "What do you
mean to say you are--the cook?"
"Yes; I do plain cooking," replied the child. "I'm housemaid too. I do
all the work of the house."
Just then certain sounds on the passage and staircase seemed to denote
the applicant's impatience. Richard Swiveller, therefore, hurried out to
meet and treat with the single gentleman.
He was a little surprised to perceive that the sounds were occasioned by
the progress upstairs of a trunk, which the single gentleman and his
coachman were endeavoring to convey up the steep ascent. Mr. Swiveller
followed slowly behind, entering a new protest on every stair against
the house of Mr. Sampson Brass being thus taken by storm.
To these remonstrances the single gentleman answered not a word, but
when the trunk was at last got into the bedroom, sat down upon it, and
wiped his bald head with his handkerchief. He then announced abruptly
that he would take the room for two years, whereupon, handing a
ten-pound note to the astonished Mr. Swiveller, he began to make ready
to retire, as if it were night instead of day, and Mr. Swiveller walked
downstairs into the office again, filled with wonderment concerning both
the strange new lodger and the small servant who had appeared to
answer the bell.
After that day, one circumstance troubled Mr. Swiveller's mind very
much, and that was, that the small servant always remained somewhere in
the bowels of the earth under Bevis Marks, and never came to the surface
unless a bell rang, when she would answer it, and immediately disappear
again. She never went out, or came into the office, or had a clean face,
or took off the coarse apron, or looked out of any of the windows, or
stood at the street door for a breath of air, or had any rest or
enjoyment whatever. Nobody ever came to see her, nobody spoke of her,
nobody cared about her.
"Now," said Dick, one day, walking up and down with his hands in his
pockets; "I'd give something--if I had it--to know how they use that
child, and where they keep her. I _should_ like to know how they
use her!"
At that moment he caught a glimpse of Miss Brass flitting down the
kitchen stairs. "And, by Jove!" thought Dick, "She's going to feed the
small servant. Now or never!"
First peeping over the handrail, he groped his way down, and arrived at
the kitchen door immediately after Miss Brass had entered the same,
bearing in her hand a cold leg of mutton.
It was a very dark, miserable place, very low and very damp; the walls
disfigured by a thousand rents and blotches. The water was trickling out
of a leaky butt, and a most wretched cat was lapping up the drops with
the sickly eagerness of starvation. The grate was screwed up so tight as
to hold no more than a thin sandwich of fire. Everything was locked up;
the coal-cellar, the candle-box, the salt-box, the meat-safe, were all
padlocked. There was nothing that a beetle could have lunched on.
The small servant stood with humility in presence of Miss Sally, and
hung her head.
"Are you there?" said Miss Sally.
"Yes ma'am," was the answer, in a weak voice.
"Go further away from the leg of mutton, or you'll be picking it, I
know," said Miss Sally.
The girl withdrew into a corner, while Miss Brass opened the safe, and
brought from it a dreary waste of cold potatoes, looking as eatable as
Stonehenge. This she placed before the small servant, and then, taking
up a great carving-knife, made a mighty show of sharpening it.
"Do you see this?" she said, slicing off about two square inches of cold
mutton, and holding it out on the point of a fork.
The small servant looked hard enough at it with her hungry eyes to see
every shred of it and answered, "Yes."
"Then don't you ever go and say," retorted Miss Sally, "that you hadn't
meat here. There, eat it up."
This was soon done.
"Now, do you want any more?" said Miss Sally.
The hungry creature answered with a faint "No." They were evidently
going through an established form.
"You've been helped once to meat," said Miss Brass, summing up the
facts; "you have had as much as you can eat: you're asked if you want
any more, and you answer 'No.' Then don't you ever go and say you were
allowanced,--mind that!"
With those words, Miss Sally put the meat away, locked the meat-safe,
and then overlooked the small servant while she finished the potatoes.
After that, without the smallest cause, she rapped the child with the
blade of the knife, now on her hand, now on her head, and now on her
back. Then, after walking slowly backward towards the door, she darted
suddenly forward, and falling on the small servant again, gave her some
hard blows with her clenched fists. The victim cried, but in a subdued
manner, as if she feared to raise her voice; and Miss Sally ascended the
stairs just as Richard had safely reached the office, fairly beside
himself with anger over the poor child's misery and ill-treatment.
During the following weeks, when he had become accustomed to the routine
of work which he was expected to accomplish, and being often left alone
in the office, Richard Swiveller began to find time hang heavy on his
hands. For the better preservation of his cheerfulness, therefore, he
accustomed himself to play at cribbage with a dummy. While he was
silently conducting one of these games Mr. Swiveller began to think that
he heard a kind of hard breathing sound, in the direction of the door,
which it occurred to him, after some reflection, must proceed from the
small servant, who always had a cold from damp living. Looking intently
that way, he plainly distinguished an eye gleaming and glistening at the
keyhole; and having now no doubt that his suspicions were correct he
stole softly to the door, and pounced upon her before she was aware of
his approach.
"Oh! I didn't mean any harm, indeed, upon my word I didn't," cried the
small servant; "it's so very dull downstairs. Please don't you tell upon
me, please don't."
"Tell upon you!" said Dick. "Do you mean to say you were looking through
the keyhole for company?"
"Yes, upon my word I was," replied the small servant.
"How long have you been cooling your eye there?" said Dick.
"Oh, ever since you first began to play them cards, and long before."
"Well--come in," said Mr. Swiveller, after a little consideration.
"Here--sit down, and I'll teach you how to play."
"Oh! I durstn't do it," rejoined the small servant; "Miss Sally 'ud kill
me if she knowed I come up here."
"Have you got a fire downstairs?" said Dick.
"A very little one," replied the small servant.
"Miss Sally couldn't kill me if she knowed I went down there, so I'll
come," said Richard, putting the cards into his pocket. "Why, how thin
you are! What do you mean by it?"
"It an't my fault."
"Could you eat any bread and meat?" said Dick, taking down his hat "Yes?
Ah! I thought so. Did you ever taste beer?"
"I had a sip of it once," said the small servant.
"Here's a state of things!" cried Mr. Swiveller, raising his eyes to the
ceiling. "She never tasted it--it can't be tasted in a sip! Why, how
old are you?"
"I don't know."
Mr. Swiveller opened his eyes very wide, and appeared thoughtful for a
moment; then, bidding the child mind the door until he came back,
vanished straightway.
Presently he returned, followed by a boy from the public-house, who bore
a plate of bread and beef, and a great pot filled with choice purl.
Relieving the boy of his burden, and charging his little companion to
fasten the door to prevent surprise, Mr. Swiveller followed her into
the kitchen.
"There!" said Richard, putting the plate before her. "First of all,
clear that off, and then you'll see what's next."
The small servant needed no second bidding, and the plate was soon
empty.
"Next," said Dick, handing the purl, "take a pull at that, but moderate
your transports, for you're not used to it. Well, is it good?"
"Oh, _isn't_ it!" said the small servant.
Mr. Swiveller appeared immensely gratified over her enjoyment, and when
she had satisfied her hunger, applied himself to teaching her the game,
which she soon learned tolerably well, being both sharp-witted
and cunning.
"Now," said Mr. Swiveller, "to make it seem more real and pleasant, I
shall call you the Marchioness, do you hear?"
The small servant nodded.
"Then, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "fire away!"
The Marchioness, holding her cards very tight in both hands, considered
which to play, and Mr. Swiveller, assuming the gay and fashionable air
which such society required, waited for her lead.
They had played several rubbers, when the striking of ten o'clock
rendered Mr. Swiveller mindful of the flight of time, and of the
expediency of withdrawing before Mr. Sampson and Miss Sally
Brass returned.
"With which object in view, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller gravely. "I
shall ask your ladyship's permission to put the board in my pocket, and
to retire. The Baron Sampsono Brasso and his fair sister are, you tell
me, at the Play?" added Mr. Swiveller, leaning his left arm heavily upon
the table, and raising his voice and his right leg after the manner of a
theatrical bandit.
The Marchioness nodded.
"Ha!" said Mr. Swiveller, with a portentous frown. "'Tis well.
Marchioness!--but no matter. Some wine there, ho! Marchioness,
your health."
The small servant, who was not so well acquainted with theatrical
conventionalities as Mr. Swiveller, was rather alarmed by his manner,
and showed it so plainly that he felt it necessary to discharge his
brigand bearing for one more suitable to private life.
"I suppose," said Dick, "that they consult together a good deal, and
talk about a great many people--about me, for instance, sometimes, eh,
Marchioness?"
The Marchioness nodded amazingly.
"Complimentary?" asked Mr. Swiveller.
The Marchioness shook her head violently.
"H'm!" Dick muttered. "Would it be any breach of confidence,
Marchioness, to relate what they say of the humble individual who has
now the honor to--?"
"Miss Sally says you are a funny chap," replied his friend.
"Well, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "that's not uncomplimentary.
Merriment, Marchioness, is not a bad of a degrading quality. Old King
Cole was himself a merry old soul, if we may put any faith in the pages
of history."
"But she says," pursued his companion, "that you aren't to be trusted."
"Why, really, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller thoughtfully, "it's a
popular prejudice, and yet I'm sure I don't know why, for I've been
trusted in my time to a considerable amount, and I can safely say that I
never forsook my trust, until it deserted me--never. Mr. Brass is of the
same opinion, I suppose?"
His friend nodded again, adding imploringly, "But don't you ever tell
upon me, or I shall be beat to death."
"Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, rising, "the word of a gentleman is
as good as his bond--sometimes better, as in the present case, where his
bond might prove but a doubtful sort of security. I'm your friend, and I
hope we shall play many more rubbers together. But, Marchioness," added
Richard, "it occurs to me that you must be in the constant habit of
airing your eye at keyholes to know this."
"I only wanted," replied the trembling Marchioness, "to know where the
key of the meat-safe was hid--that was all; and I wouldn't have taken
much if I had found it--only enough to squench my hunger."
"You didn't find it, then?" said Dick, "but, of course, you didn't, or
of course you'd be plumper. Good-night, Marchioness, fare thee well, and
if forever, then forever fare thee well. And put up the chain,
Marchioness, in case of accidents!"
Upon repairing to Bevis Marks on the following morning, he found Miss
Brass much agitated over the disappearance from the office of several
small articles, as well as three half crowns, and Richard felt much
troubled over the matter, saying to himself, "Then, by Jove, I'm afraid
the Marchioness is done for!"
The more he discussed the subject in his thoughts, the more probable it
appeared to Dick that the miserable little servant was the culprit. When
he considered on what a spare allowance of food she lived, how neglected
and untaught she was, and how her natural cunning had been sharpened by
necessity and privation, he scarcely doubted it. And yet he pitied her
so much, and felt so unwilling to have a matter of such gravity
disturbing the oddity of their acquaintance, that he thought, rather
than receive fifty pounds down, he would have the Marchioness
proved innocent.
While the subject of the thefts was under discussion, Kit Nubbles, a lad
in the employ of a Mr. Garland, passed through the office, on his way
upstairs to the room of the Brasses' lodger, the single gentleman, who
was an intimate friend of Kit's employer. The single gentleman having
been confined to his room for some time by a slight illness, it had
become Kit's daily custom to convey to him messages and notes from Mr.
Garland, and not infrequently Sampson Brass would detain the lad in the
office for a few words of pleasant conversation.
Having discharged his errand, Kit came downstairs again, finding no one
in the office except Mr. Brass, who, after greeting him affably,
requested him to mind the office for one minute while he ran upstairs.
Mr. Brass returned almost immediately, Mr. Swiveller came in too, at the
same instant, likewise Miss Sally, and Kit, released, at once set off on
a run towards home, eager to make up for lost time. As he was running,
he was suddenly arrested and held in restraint, by no less a person than
Sampson Brass himself, accompanied by Mr. Swiveller.
A five-pound note was missing from the office. Kit had been alone there
for some minutes. Who could have taken it but Kit?
Pleased to have suspicion diverted from the Marchioness, but loath to
help in so unpleasant an affair, Mr. Swiveller reluctantly assisted in
bearing the captive back to the office, Kit protesting his innocence at
every step. They searched him, and there under the lining of his hat was
the missing bank-note!
Still protesting his innocence, and completely stunned by the calamity
which had come upon him, the lad was borne off to prison, where, after
eleven weary days had dragged away, he was brought to trial. Richard
Swiveller was called as a witness against Kit, and told his tale with
reluctance, and an evident desire to make the best of it, for the lad's
sake. His kind heart was also touched with pity for Kit's poor widowed
mother, who sobbed out again and again, that she had never had cause to
doubt her son's honesty, and she never would.
When the trial was ended, and Kit found guilty, Richard bore the lad's
fainting mother swiftly off in a coach he had ready for the purpose,
and on the way comforted her in his own peculiar fashion, perpetrating
the most astounding absurdities of quotation from song and poem that
ever were heard. Reaching her home, he stayed till she was recovered;
then returned to Bevis Marks, where Mr. Brass met him with the news that
his services would be no longer required in the establishment.
Feeling sure that this verdict was in consequence of his defence of Kit,
Mr. Swiveller took his dismissal in profound silence, and turned his
back upon Bevis Marks, big with designs for the comforting of Kit's
mother, and the aid of Kit himself. His only regret in regard to the
matter was in having to leave the Marchioness alone and unprotected in
the hands of the Brasses, and little did he dream that to the small
servant herself, to the Marchioness, rather than to him, Kit and his
mother were to owe their heaviest debt of gratitude--but it was so
to be.
That very night Mr. Richard was seized with an alarming illness, and in
twenty-four hours was stricken with a raging fever, and lay tossing upon
his hot, uneasy bed, unconscious of anything but weariness and worry and
pain, until at length he sank into a deep sleep. He awoke, and with a
sensation of blissful rest better than sleep itself, began to dimly
remember, and to think what a long night it had been, and to wonder
whether he had not been delirious once or twice. Still, he felt
indifferent and happy, and having no curiosity to pursue the subject,
remained in a waking slumber until his attention was attracted by a
cough. This made him doubt whether he had locked his door last night,
and feel a little surprised at having a companion in the room. But he
lacked energy to follow up this train of thought, and in a luxury of
repose, lay staring at some green stripes on the bed furniture, and
associating them strangely, with patches of fresh turf, while the
yellow ground between made gravel walks, and so helped out a long
perspective of trim gardens.
He was rambling in imagination on these terraces, when he heard the
cough once more. Raising himself a little in the bed, he looked
about him.
The same room, certainly, but with what unbounded astonishment did he
see bottles, and basins, and articles of linen airing by the fire--all
very clean and neat, but quite different from anything he had left there
when he went to bed! The atmosphere too filled with a cool smell of
herbs and vinegar; the floor newly sprinkled; the--the what?--the
Marchioness!
Yes; playing cribbage with herself at the table. There she sat, intent
upon her game, coughing now and then in a subdued manner, as if she
feared to disturb him, going through all the mysteries of cribbage as if
she had been in full practice from her cradle!
Mr. Swiveller contemplated these things for a short time, then laid his
head on the pillow again.
"I'm dreaming," thought Richard, "that's clear. When I went to bed my
hands were not made of egg-shells, and now I can almost see through 'em.
If this is not a dream, I have woke up, by mistake, in an Arabian Night
instead of a London one. But I have no doubt I'm asleep. Not the least."
Here the small servant had another cough.
"Very remarkable!" thought Mr. Swiveller. "I never dreamed such a real
cough as that before. There's another--and another--I say!--I'm dreaming
rather fast!
"It's an Arabian Night; that's what it is," said Richard. "I'm in
Damascus or Grand Cairo. The Marchioness is a Genie and having had a
wager with another Genie about who is the handsomest young man alive,
and the worthiest to be the husband of the Princess of China, has
brought me away, room and all, to compare us together."
Not feeling quite satisfied with this explanation, Mr. Swiveller
determined to take the first opportunity of addressing his companion. An
occasion soon presented itself. The Marchioness dealt, turned up a
knave, and omitted to take the usual advantage, upon which Mr. Swiveller
called out as loud as he could--"Two for his heels!"
The Marchioness jumped up quickly, and clapped her hands.
"Arabian Night certainly," thought Mr. Swiveller; "they always clap
their hands, instead of ringing the bell. Now for the two thousand black
slaves with jars and jewels on their heads!"
It appeared however, that she had only clapped her hands for joy, as
directly afterward she began to laugh, and then to cry, declaring, not
in choice Arabic, but in familiar English, that she was "so glad she
didn't know what to do."
"Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "will you have the goodness to inform
me where I shall find my voice; and what has become of my flesh?"
The Marchioness only shook her head mournfully, and cried again,
whereupon Mr. Swiveller (being very weak) felt his own eyes
affected likewise.
"I begin to infer, Marchioness," said Richard, after a pause, "that I
have been ill."
"You just have!" replied the small servant, wiping her eyes. "Haven't
you been a-talking nonsense!"
"Oh!", said Dick. "Very ill, Marchioness, have I been?"
"Dead, all but," replied the small servant. "I never thought you'd get
better."
Mr. Swiveller was silent for a long period. By and by he inquired how
long he had been there.
"Three weeks to-morrow." replied the small servant, "three long slow
weeks."
The bare thought of having been in such extremity caused Richard to fall
into another silence. The Marchioness, having arranged the bedclothes
more comfortably, and felt that his hands and forehead were quite cool,
cried a little more, and then applied herself to getting tea ready, and
making some thin dry toast.
While she was thus engaged Mr. Swiveller looked on with a grateful
heart, very much astonished to see how thoroughly at home she made
herself. She propped him up with pillows, and looked on with unutterable
satisfaction, while he took his poor meal with a relish which the
greatest dainties of the earth might have failed to provoke. Having
cleared away, and disposed everything comfortably about him again, she
sat down to take her own tea.
"Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "have you seen Sally lately?"
"Seen her!" cried the small servant. "Bless you, I've run away!"
Mr. Swiveller immediately laid himself down again, and so remained for
about five minutes. After that lapse of time he resumed his sitting
posture, and inquired,--
"And where do you live, Marchioness?"
"Live!" cried the small servant. "Here!"
"Oh!" said Mr. Swiveller.
With that he fell down flat again, as suddenly as if he had been shot.
Thus he remained until she had finished her meal, when being propped up
again he opened a further conversation.
"And so," said Dick, "you have run away?"
"Yes," said the Marchioness; "and they've been a 'tising of me."
"Been--I beg your pardon," said Dick. "What have they been doing?"
"Been a 'tising of me--'tising, you know, in the newspapers," rejoined
the Marchioness.
"Aye, aye," said Dick, "Advertising?"
The small servant nodded and winked.
"Tell me," continued Richard, "how it was that you thought of coming
here?"
"Why, you see," returned the Marchioness, "when you was gone, I hadn't
any friend at all, and I didn't know where you was to be found, you
know. But one morning, when I was near the office keyhole I heard
somebody saying that she lived here, and was the lady whose house you
lodged at, and that you was took very bad, and wouldn't nobody come and
take care of you. Mr. Brass, he says, 'It's no business of mine,' he
says; and Miss Sally she says, 'He's a funny chap, but it's no business
of mine;' and the lady went away. So I run away that night, and come
here, and told 'em you was my brother, and I've been here ever since."
"This poor little Marchioness has been wearing herself to death!" cried
Dick.
"No, I haven't," she replied, "not a bit of it. Don't you mind about me.
I like sitting up, and I've often had a sleep, bless you, in one of them
chairs. But if you could have seen how you tried to jump out o' winder,
and if you could have heard how you used to keep on singing and making
speeches, you wouldn't have believed it--I'm so glad you're better,
Mr. Liverer."
"Liverer, indeed!" said Dick thoughtfully. "It's well I am a liverer. I
strongly suspect I should have died, Marchioness, but for you."
At this point, Mr. Swiveller took the small servant's hand in his,
struggling to express his thanks, but she quickly changed the theme,
urging him to shut his eyes and take a little rest. Being indeed
fatigued, he needed but little urging, and fell into a slumber, from
which he waked in about half an hour, after which his small friend
helped him to sit up again.
"Marchioness," said Richard suddenly, "What has become of Kit?"
"He has been sentenced to transportation for a great many years," she
said.
"Has he gone?" asked Dick, "His mother, what has become of her?"
His nurse shook her head, and answered that she knew nothing about them.
"But if I thought," said she presently, "that you'd not put yourself
into another fever, I could tell you something--but I won't, now. Wait
till you're better, then I'll tell you."
Dick looked very earnestly at his little friend, and urged her to tell
him the worst at once.
Unable to resist his fervent adjurations, the Marchioness spoke thus:
"Well! Before I run away, I used to sleep in the kitchen. Miss Sally
used to keep the key of the door in her pocket, and she always come down
at night to take away the candle and rake out the fire. Then she left me
to go to bed in the dark, locked the door on the outside, and kept me
locked up till she came down in the morning and let me out. I was
terrible afraid of being kept like this, because if there was a fire, I
thought they might forget me, you know. So, whenever I see an old key, I
picked it up and tried if it would fit the door, and at last I found a
key that did fit it. They kept me very short," said the small servant,
"so I used to come out at night after they'd gone to bed, and feel
about in the dark, for bits of biscuit, or sangwitches, or even pieces
of orange-peel to put into cold water, and make believe it was wine. If
you make believe very much, it's quite nice," continued the small
servant; "but if you don't, you know, it seems as if it would bear a
little more seasoning! Well, one or two nights before the young man was
took, I come upstairs while Mr. Brass and Miss Sally was a-sittin by the
office fire and talking softly together. They whispered and laughed for
a long time, about there being no danger if it was well done; that they
must do what their best client, Quilp, desired, and that for his own
reasons, he hated Kit, and wanted to have his reputation ruined. Then
Mr. Brass pulls out his pocket-book, and says, 'Well, here it
is--Quilp's own five-pound note. Kit is coming to-morrow morning, I
know. I'll hold him in conversation, and put this property in his hat,
and then convict him of theft. And if that don't get Kit out of Mr.
Quilp's way, and satisfy his grudge against the lad,' he said, 'the
devil's in it,' Then they seemed to be moving away, and I was afraid to
stop any longer. There!"
The small servant was so much agitated herself that she made no effort
to restrain Mr. Swiveller when he sat up in bed, and hastily demanded
whether this story had been told to anybody.
"How could it be?" replied his nurse. "When I heard 'em say that you was
gone, and so was the lodger, and ever since I come here, you've been out
of your senses, so what would have been the good of telling you then?"
"Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "if you'll do me the favor to retire
for a few minutes, and see what sort of a night it is, I'll get up,"
"You mustn't think of such a thing," cried his nurse.
"I must indeed," said the patient. "Whereabouts are my clothes?"
"Oh, I'm so glad--you haven't got any," replied the Marchioness.
"Ma'am!" said Mr. Swiveller, in great astonishment.
"I've been obliged to sell them, every one, to get the things that was
ordered for you. But don't take on about that," urged the Marchioness,
as Dick fell back upon his pillow, "you're too weak to stand indeed."
"I'm afraid," said Richard dolefully, "that you're right. Now, what is
to be done?"
It occurred to him, on very little reflection, that the first step to
take would be to communicate with Kit's employer, Mr. Garland, or with
his son Mr. Abel, at once. It was possible that Mr. Abel had not yet
left his office. In as little time as it takes to tell it, the small
servant had the address on a piece of paper, and a description of father
and son, which would enable her to recognize either without difficulty.
Armed with these slender powers, she hurried away, commissioned to bring
either Mr. Garland or Mr. Abel bodily to Mr. Swiveller's apartment.
"I suppose," said Dick, as she closed the door slowly, and peeped into
the room again, to make sure that he was comfortable, "I suppose there's
nothing left--not so much as a waistcoat?"
"No, nothing."
"Its embarrassing," said Mr. Swiveller, "in case of fire--even an
umbrella would be something--but you did quite right, dear Marchioness.
I should have died without you."
The small servant went swiftly on her way, towards the office of the
Notary, Mr. Witherden, where Mr. Garland was to be found. She had no
bonnet, only a great cap on her head, which in some old time had been
worn by Sally Brass;--and her shoes being extremely large and slipshod,
flew off every now and then, and were difficult to find. Indeed the poor
little creature experienced so much trouble and delay from having to
grope for them in the mud, and suffered so much jostling, pushing, and
squeezing in these researches, that between it, and her fear of being
recognized by some one, and carried back by force to the Brasses, when
she at last reached the Notary's office, she was fairly worn out, and
could not refrain from tears. But to have got there was a comfort, and
she found Mr. Abel in the act of entering his pony-chaise and driving
away. There was nothing for her to do but to run after the chaise and
call to Mr. Abel to stop. Being out of breath, she was unable to make
him hear. The case was desperate, for the pony was quickening his pace.
The Marchioness hung on behind for a few moments, and feeling she could
go no farther, clambered by a vigorous effort into the hinder seat,
where she remained in silence, until she had to some degree recovered
her breath, and become accustomed to the novelty of her position, when
she uttered close into Mr. Abel's ear the words,--
"I say, sir."
He turned his head quickly enough then, and stopping the pony, cried
with some trepidation, "God bless me! what is this?"
"Don't be frightened, sir," replied the still panting messenger. "Oh,
I've run such a way after you!"
"What do you want with me?" said Mr. Abel. "How did you come here?"
"I got in behind," replied the Marchioness. "Oh, please drive on,
sir--don't stop--and go towards the City, will you? and oh--do please
make haste, because it is of consequence. There's somebody wants to see
you there. He sent me to say, would you come directly, and that he
knows all about Kit, and could save him yet, and prove his innocence."
"What do you tell me, child?"
"The truth, upon my word and honor, I do. But please to drive on--quick,
please! I've been such a time gone, he'll think I'm lost"
Mr. Abel urged the pony forward, and at last they arrived at the door of
Mr. Swiveller's lodgings.
"See! It's that room up there," said the Marchioness, pointing to one
where there was a faint light. "Come!"
Mr. Abel who was naturally timid, hesitated; for he had heard of people
being decoyed into strange places, to be robbed and murdered, under
circumstances very like the present, by guides very like the
Marchioness. His regard for Kit, however, overcame every other
consideration. So he suffered his companion to lead him up the dark and
narrow stair, into a dimly lighted sick-chamber, where a man was lying
tranquilly in bed, in whose wasted face he recognized the features of
Richard Swiveller.
"Why, how is this?" said Mr. Abel, kindly, "You have been ill?"
"Very," replied Dick, "Nearly dead. You might have chanced to hear of
your Richard on his bier, but for the friend I sent to fetch you.
Another shake of the hand, Marchioness, if you please. Sit down, sir."
Mr. Abel seemed rather astonished to hear of the quality of his guide,
and took a chair by the bedside.
"I have sent for you, sir," said Dick--"but she told you on what
account?"
"She did. I am quite bewildered by all this. I really don't know what to
say or think," replied Mr. Abel.
"You'll say that presently," retorted Dick. "Marchioness, take a seat
on the bed, will you? Now, tell this gentleman all that you told me, and
be particular."
The story was repeated, without any deviation or omission, after which
Richard Swiveller took the word again;
"You have heard it all," said Richard. "I'm too giddy and queer to
suggest anything, but you and your friends will know what to do. After
this long delay, every minute is an age. Don't stop to say one word to
me, but go! If you lose another minute in looking at me, sir, I'll never
forgive you!"
Mr. Abel needed no more persuasion. To Dick's unbounded delight he was
gone in an instant, and Mr. Swiveller, exhausted by the interview, was
soon asleep, murmuring 'Strew, then, oh strew a bed of rushes. Here will
we stay till morning blushes.' "Good-night, Marchioness!"
On awaking in the morning, he became conscious of whispering voices in
his room, and espied Mr. Garland, Mr. Abel, and two other gentlemen
talking earnestly with the Marchioness. Upon perceiving the invalid to
be awake, Mr. Garland stretched out his hand, and inquired how Mr.
Swiveller felt; adding
"And what can we do for you?"
"If you could make the Marchioness yonder, a Marchioness in real, sober
earnest," returned Dick, "I'd thank you to get it done offhand. But as
you can't, the question is, what is it best to do for Kit?"
Gathering around Mr. Swiveller's bedside, the group of gentlemen then
proceeded to discuss in detail all the evidence against Sampson Brass,
as contained in the confession of the Marchioness, and what course was
wisest to pursue in the matter. After which the gentlemen took their
leaves for a time, or Richard Swiveller must assuredly have been driven
into another fever, in consequence of having entered into such an
exciting discussion.
Mr. Abel alone remained behind, very often looking at his watch and the
room-door, until the reason of his watchfulness was disclosed when Mr.
Swiveller was roused from a short nap by the delivery at his door of a
mighty hamper, which, being opened, disgorged such treasures of tea, and
coffee, and wine, and rusk, and oranges, and grapes, and fowls, and
calvesfoot jelly, and other delicate restoratives, that the small
servant stood rooted to the spot, with her mouth and eyes watering in
unison, and her power of speech quite gone. With the hamper appeared
also a nice old lady, who bustled about on tiptoe, began to make
chicken-broth, and peel oranges for the sick man, and to ply the small
servant with glasses of wine, and choice bits of everything. The whole
of which was so bewildering that Mr. Swiveller, when he had taken two
oranges and a little jelly, was fain to lie down and fall asleep again,
from sheer inability to entertain such wonders in his mind.
Meanwhile the other gentlemen, who had left Richard Swiveller's room,
had retired to a coffee-house near by, from whence they sent a
peremptory and mysterious summons to Miss Sally Brass to favor them with
her company there as soon as possible. To this she replied by an almost
immediate appearance, whereupon, without any loss of time, she was
confronted with the tale of the small servant. While it was being
related for her benefit, Sampson Brass himself suddenly opened the door
of the coffee-house and joined the astonished group. Hearing the certain
proofs of his guilt so clearly related, he saw that evasion was useless,
and made a full confession of the scheme whereby Kit was to have been
doomed, but laying the entire blame, however, upon the rich little
dwarf, Quilp, saying that he could not afford to lose his rich client,
nor the large bribe he offered for the arrest of the lad, Kit.
Having secured the desired confession, the gentlemen hastened back to
Mr. Swiveller's room with the glad tidings, adding that it would now be
possible to accomplish the lad's immediate release, after making which
joyful statement, they took their departure for the night, leaving the
invalid with the small servant and one of their number, Mr. Witherden,
the notary, who remained behind to be the bearer of good news to
the invalid.
"I have been making some inquiries about you," said Mr. Witherden,
"little thinking that I should find you under such circumstances as
those which have brought us together. You are the nephew of Rebecca
Swiveller, spinster, deceased, of Cheselbourne, in Dorsetshire."
"Deceased!" cried Dick.
"Deceased. And by the terms of her will, you have fallen into an annuity
of one hundred and fifty pounds a year; I think I may congratulate you
upon that."
"Sir," said Dick, sobbing and laughing together, "you may. For, please
God, we'll make a scholar of the poor Marchioness yet. And she shall
walk in silk attire, and siller have to spare, or may I never rise from
this bed again!"
Mr. Swiveller, recovering very slowly from his illness, even with the
strong tonic of his good fortune, and entering into the receipt of his
annuity, bought for the Marchioness a handsome stock of clothes, and put
her to school forthwith, in redemption of the vow he had made upon his
fevered bed.
After casting about for some time for a name which should be worthy of
her, he decided in favor of Sophronia Sphynx, as being euphonious and
genteel, and, furthermore, indicative of mystery. Under this title the
Marchioness repaired in tears to the school of his selection, from
which, as she soon distanced all competitors, she was removed before the
lapse of many quarters to one of a higher grade. It is but bare justice
to Mr. Swiveller to say that although the expense of her education kept
him in straightened circumstances for half-a-dozen years, he never
slackened in his zeal, and always held himself sufficiently repaid by
the accounts he heard of her advancement.
In a word, Mr. Swiveller kept the Marchioness at this establishment
until she was, at a moderate guess, full nineteen years of age, at which
time, thanks to her earliest friend and most loyal champion, Richard
Swiveller, the shadows of a bitter past had been chased from her memory
by a happy present, and she was as good-looking, clever, and
good-humored a young woman as ever a real Marchioness might have been.
MORLEENA KENWIGS
[Illustration: THE KENWIGSES]
MORLEENA KENWIGS
The family who went by the designation of "The Kenwigses" were the wife
and olive branches of one Mr. Kenwigs, a turner in ivory, who was looked
upon as a person of some consideration where he lodged, inasmuch as he
occupied the whole of the first floor, comprising a suite of two rooms.
Mrs. Kenwigs too, was quite a lady in her manners, and of a very genteel
family, having an uncle, Mr. Lillyvick, who collected a water-rate, and
who she fondly hoped, would make her children his heirs. Besides which
distinction, the two eldest of her little girls went twice a week to a
dancing-school in the neighborhood, and had flaxen hair tied with blue
ribbons, hanging in luxuriant pigtails down their backs, and wore little
white trousers with frills round the ankles;--for all of which reasons
Mr. and Mrs. Kenwigs, and the four olive Kenwigses, and the baby, were
considered quite important persons to know.
Upon the eighth anniversary of Mrs. Kenwigs' marriage to Mr. Kenwigs,
they entertained a select party of friends, and on that occasion, after
supper had been served, the group gathered by the fireside; Mr.
Lillyvick being stationed in a large arm-chair, and the four little
Kenwigses disposed on a small form in front of the company, with their
flaxen tails towards them, and their faces to the fire; an arrangement
which was no sooner perfected than Mrs. Kenwigs was overpowered by the
feelings of a mother, and fell upon Mr. Kenwigs' shoulder, dissolved
in tears.
"They are so beautiful!" she said, sobbing. "I can--not help it, and it
don't signify! Oh, they're too beautiful to live--much too beautiful!"
On hearing this alarming presentiment of their early death, all four
little girls raised a hideous cry, and, burying their faces in their
mother's lap simultaneously, screamed until the eight flaxen tails
vibrated; Mrs. Kenwigs meanwhile clasping them alternately to her bosom,
with attitudes expressive of distraction.
At length, however, she permitted herself to be soothed, and the little
Kenwigses were distributed among the company, to prevent the possibility
of Mrs. Kenwigs being again overcome by the blaze of their united
beauty, after which, Morleena, the eldest olive branch--whose name had
been composed by Mrs. Kenwigs herself for the especial benefit of her
daughter--danced a dance. It was a very beautiful figure, comprising a
great deal of work for the arms, and was received with unbounded
applause, as were the various accomplishments displayed by others of the
party. The affair was proceeding most successfully when Mr. Lillyvick
took offence at a remark made by Mr. Kenwigs, and sat swelling and
fuming in offended dignity for some minutes, then burst out in words of
indignation. Here was an untoward event! The great man,--the rich
relation--who had it in his power to make Morleena an heiress, and the
very baby a legatee--was offended. Gracious powers, where would
this end!
"I am very sorry, sir," said Mr. Kenwigs humbly, but the apology was not
accepted, and Mr. Lillyvick continued to repeat; "Morleena, child, my
hat! Morleena, my hat!" until Mrs. Kenwigs sunk back in her chair,
overcome with grief, while the four little girls (privately instructed
to that effect) clasped their uncle's drab shorts in their arms, and
prayed him to remain.
"Mr. Lillyvick," said Kenwigs, "I hope for the sake of your niece that
you won't object to being reconciled."
The collector's face relaxed, as the company added their entreaties to
those of their host. He gave up his hat and held out his hand.
"There, Kenwigs," he said. "And let me tell you at the same time, to
show you how much out of temper I was, that if I had gone away without
another word, it would have made no difference respecting that pound or
two which I shall leave among your children when I die."
"Morleena Kenwigs," cried her mother, in a torrent of affection; "go
down upon your knees to your dear uncle and beg him to love you all his
life through, for he's more an angel than a man, and I've always
said so."
Miss Morleena, approaching to do homage, was summarily caught up and
kissed by Mr. Lillyvick, and thereupon Mrs. Kenwigs herself darted
forward and kissed the collector, and all was forgiven and forgotten.
No further wave of trouble ruffled the feelings of the party until
suddenly there came shrill and piercing screams from an upper room in
which the infant Kenwigs was enshrined, guarded by a small girl hired
for the purpose. Rushing to the door, Mrs. Kenwigs began to wring her
hands and shriek dismally, amid which cries, and the wails of the four
little girls, a stranger ran downstairs with the baby in his arms,
explaining hastily that, visiting a friend in a room above, he had heard
the cries, and found the baby's guardian asleep with her hair on fire.
This explanation over, the baby, who was unhurt, and who rejoiced in the
name of Lillyvick Kenwigs, was instantly almost suffocated under the
caresses of the audience, and squeezed to his mother's bosom until he
roared again. Then, after drinking the health of the child's preserver,
the company made the discovery that it was nigh two o'clock, whereat
they took their leave, with flattering expressions of the pleasure they
had enjoyed, to which Mr. and Mrs. Kenwigs replied by thanking them, and
hoping they had enjoyed themselves only half as well as they said
they had.
The young man, Nicholas Nickleby by name, who had rescued the baby, made
such an impression upon Mrs. Kenwigs that she felt impelled to propose
through the friend whom he had been visiting, that he should instruct
the four little Kenwigses in the French language at the weekly stipend
of five shillings; being at the rate of one shilling per week, per each
Miss Kenwigs, and one shilling over until such time as the baby might be
able to take it out in grammar.