Ralph Nickleby, baffled by his
nephew in his late design, hatches a scheme of retaliation which accident
suggests to him, and takes into his counsels a tried auxiliary THE COURSE which
these adventures shape out for themselves, and imperatively call upon the
historian to observe, now demands that they should revert to the point they
attained previously to the commencement of the last chapter, when Ralph Nickleby
and Arthur Gride were left together in the house where death had so suddenly
reared his dark and heavy banner. With clenched hands, and teeth ground together
so firm and tight that no locking of the jaws could have fixed and riveted them
more securely, Ralph stood, for some minutes, in the attitude in which he had
last addressed his nephew: breathing heavily, but as rigid and motionless in
other respects as if he had been a brazen statue. After a time, he began, by
slow degrees, as a man rousing himself from heavy slumber, to relax. For a
moment he shook his clasped fist towards the door by which Nicholas had
disappeared; and then thrusting it into his breast, as if to repress by force
even this show of passion, turned round and confronted the less hardy usurer,
who had not yet risen from the ground. The cowering wretch, who still shook in
every limb, and whose few grey hairs trembled and quivered on his head with
abject dismay, tottered to his feet as he met Ralph's eye, and, shielding his
face with both hands, protested, while he crept towards the door, that it was no
fault of his. `Who said it was, man?' returned Ralph, in a suppressed voice.
`Who said it was?' `You looked as if you thought I was to blame,' said Gride,
timidly. `Pshaw!' Ralph muttered, forcing a laugh. `I blame him for not living
an hour longer--one hour longer would have been long enough--I blame no one
else.' `N--n--no one else?' said Gride. `Not for this mischance,' replied Ralph.
`I have an old score to clear with that--that young fellow who has carried off
your mistress; but that has nothing to do with his blustering just now, for we
should soon have been quit of him, but for this cursed accident.' There was
something so unnatural in the calmness with which Ralph Nickleby spoke, when
coupled with the face, the expression of the features, to which every nerve and
muscle, as it twitched and throbbed with a spasm whose workings no effort could
conceal, gave, every instant, some new and frightful aspect--there was something
so unnatural and ghastly in the contrast between his harsh, slow, steady voice
(only altered by a certain halting of the breath which made him pause between
almost every word like a drunken man bent upon speaking plainly), and these
evidences of the most intense and violent passions, and the struggle he made to
keep them under--that if the dead body which lay above had stood, instead of
him, before the cowering Gride, it could scarcely have presented a spectacle
which would have terrified him more. `The coach,' said Ralph after a time,
during which he had struggled like some strong man against a fit. `We came in a
coach. Is it--waiting?' Gride gladly availed himself of the pretext for going to
the window to see. Ralph, keeping his face steadily the other way, tore at his
shirt with the hand which he had thrust into his breast, and muttered in a
hoarse whisper: `Ten thousand pounds! He said ten thousand! The precise sum paid
in but yesterday for the two mortgages, and which would have gone out again, at
heavy interest, tomorrow. If that house has failed, and he the first to bring
the news--Is the coach there?' `Yes, yes,' said Gride, startled by the fierce
tone of the inquiry. `It's here. Dear, dear, what a fiery man you are!' `Come
here,' said Ralph, beckoning to him. `We mustn't make a show of being disturbed.
We'll go down arm-in-arm.' `But you pinch me black and blue,' urged Gride. Ralph
let him go impatiently, and descending the stairs with his usual firm and heavy
tread, got into the coach. Arthur Gride followed. After looking doubtfully at
Ralph when the man asked where he was to drive, and finding that he remained
silent, and expressed no wish upon the subject, Arthur mentioned his own house,
and thither they proceeded. On their way, Ralph sat in the furthest corner with
folded arms, and uttered not a word. With his chin sunk upon his breast, and his
downcast eyes quite hidden by the contraction of his knotted brows, he might
have been asleep for any sign of consciousness he gave until the coach stopped,
when he raised his head, and glancing through the window, inquired what place
that was. `My house,' answered the disconsolate Gride, affected perhaps by its
loneliness. `Oh dear! my house.' `True,' said Ralph `I have not observed the way
we came. I should like a glass of water. You have that in the house, I suppose?'
`You shall have a glass of--of anything you like,' answered Gride, with a groan.
`It's no use knocking, coachman. Ring the bell!' The man rang, and rang, and
rang again; then, knocked until the street re-echoed with the sounds; then,
listened at the keyhole of the door. Nobody came. The house was silent as the
grave. `How's this?' said Ralph impatiently. `Peg is so very deaf,' answered
Gride with a look of anxiety and alarm. `Oh dear! Ring again, coachman. She sees
the bell.' Again the man rang and knocked, and knocked and rang again. Some of
the neighbours threw up their windows, and called across the street to each
other that old Gride's housekeeper must have dropped down dead. Others collected
round the coach, and gave vent to various surmises; some held that she had
fallen asleep; some, that she had burnt herself to death; some, that she had got
drunk; and one very fat man that she had seen something to eat which had
frightened her so much (not being used to it) that she had fallen into a fit.
This last suggestion particularly delighted the bystanders, who cheered it
rather uproariously, and were, with some difficulty, deterred from dropping down
the area and breaking open the kitchen door to ascertain the fact. Nor was this
all. Rumours having gone abroad that Arthur was to be married that morning, very
particular inquiries were made after the bride, who was held by the majority to
be disguised in the person of Mr Ralph Nickleby, which gave rise to much jocose
indignation at the public appearance of a bride in boots and pantaloons, and
called forth a great many hoots and groans. At length, the two moneylenders
obtained shelter in a house next door, and, being accommodated with a ladder,
clambered over the wall of the back-yard, which was not a high one, and
descended in safety on the other side. `I am almost afraid to go in, I declare,'
said Arthur, turning to Ralph when they were alone. `Suppose she should be
murdered--lying with her brains knocked out by a poker--eh?' `Suppose she were,'
said Ralph. `I tell you, I wish such things were more common than they are, and
more easily done. You may stare and shiver--I do!' He applied himself to a pump
in the yard; and, having taken a deep draught of water and flung a quantity on
his head and face, regained his accustomed manner and led the way into the
house: Gride following close at his heels. It was the same dark place as ever:
every room dismal and silent as it was wont to be, and every ghostly article of
furniture in its customary place. The iron heart of the grim old clock,
undistributed by all the noise without, still beat heavily within its dusty
case; the tottering presses slunk from the sight, as usual, in their melancholy
corners; the echoes of footsteps returned the same dreary sound; the long-legged
spider paused in his nimble run, and, scared by the sight of men in that his
dull domain, hung motionless on the wall, counterfeiting death until they should
have passed him by. From cellar to garret went the two usurers, opening every
creaking door and looking into every deserted room. But no Peg was there. At
last, they sat them down in the apartment which Arthur Gride usually inhabited,
to rest after their search. `The hag is out, on some preparation for your
wedding festivities, I suppose,' said Ralph, preparing to depart. `See here! I
destroy the bond; we shall never need it now.' Gride, who had been peering
narrowly about the room, fell, at that moment, upon his knees before a large
chest, and uttered a terrible yell. `How now?' said Ralph, looking sternly
round. `Robbed! robbed!' screamed Arthur Gride. `Robbed! of money?' `No, no, no.
Worse! far worse!' `Of what then?' demanded Ralph. `Worse than money, worse than
money!' cried the old man, casting the papers out of the chest, like some beast
tearing up the earth. `She had better have stolen money--all my money--I haven't
much! She had better have made me a beggar than have done this!' `Done what?'
said Ralph. `Done what, you devil's dotard?' Still Gride made no answer, but
tore and scratched among the papers, and yelled and screeched like a fiend in
torment. `There is something missing, you say,' said Ralph, shaking him
furiously by the collar. `What is it?' `Papers, deeds. I am a ruined
man--lost--lost! I am robbed, I am ruined! She saw me reading it--reading it of
late--I did very often-- she watched me--saw me put it in the box that fitted
into this--the box is gone--she has stolen it.--Damnation seize her, she has
robbed me!' `Of what?' cried Ralph, on whom a sudden light appeared to break,
for his eyes flashed and his frame trembled with agitation as he clutched Gride
by his bony arm. `Of what?' `She don't know what it is; she can't read!'
shrieked Gride, not heeding the inquiry. `There's only one way in which money
can be made of it, and that is by taking it to her. Somebody will read it for
her, and tell her what to do. She and her accomplice will get money for it and
be let off besides; they'll make a merit of it--say they found it--knew it--and
be evidence against me. The only person it will fall upon is me--me--me!'
`Patience!' said Ralph, clutching him still tighter and eyeing him with a
sidelong look, so fixed and eager as sufficiently to denote that he had some
hidden purpose in what he was about to say. `Hear reason. She can't have been
gone long. I'll call the police. Do you but give information of what she has
stolen, and they'll lay hands upon her, trust me.--Here--help!' `No--no--no!'
screamed the old man, putting his hand on Ralph's mouth. `I can't, I daren't.'
`Help! help!' cried Ralph. `No, no, no!' shrieked the other, stamping on the
ground with the energy of a madman. `I tell you no. I daren't--I daren't!'
`Daren't make this robbery public?' said Ralph. `No!' rejoined Gride, wringing
his hands. `Hush! Hush! Not a word of this; not a word must be said. I am
undone. Whichever way I turn, I am undone. I am betrayed. I shall be given up. I
shall die in Newgate!' With frantic exclamations such as these, and with many
others in which fear, grief, and rage, were strangely blended, the
panic-stricken wretch gradually subdued his first loud outcry, until it had
softened down into a low despairing moan, chequered now and then by a howl, as,
going over such papers as were left in the chest, he discovered some new loss.
With very little excuse for departing so abruptly, Ralph left him, and, greatly
disappointing the loiterers outside the house by telling them there was nothing
the matter, got into the coach, and was driven to his own home. A letter lay on
his table. He let it lie there for some time, as if he had not the courage to
open it, but at length did so and turned deadly pale. `The worst has happened,'
he said; `the house has failed. I see--the rumour was abroad in the City last
night, and reached the ears of those merchants. Well--well!' He strode violently
up and down the room and stopped again. `Ten thousand pounds! And only lying
there for a day--for one day! How many anxious years, how many pinching days and
sleepless nights, before I scraped together that ten thousand pounds!--Ten
thousand pounds! How many proud painted dames would have fawned and smiled, and
how many spendthrift blockheads done me lip-service to my face and cursed me in
their hearts, while I turned that ten thousand pounds into twenty! While I
ground, and pinched, and used these needy borrowers for my pleasure and profit,
what smooth-tongued speeches, and courteous looks, and civil letters, they would
have given me! The cant of the lying world is, that men like me compass our
riches by dissimulation and treachery: by fawning, cringing, and stooping. Why,
how many lies, what mean and abject evasions, what humbled behaviour from
upstarts who, but for my money, would spurn me aside as they do their betters
every day, would that ten thousand pounds have brought me in!--Grant that I had
doubled it--made cent. per cent.--for every sovereign told another--there would
not be one piece of money in all the heap which wouldn't represent ten thousand
mean and paltry lies, told--not by the money-lender, oh no! but by the
money-borrowers--your liberal, thoughtless, generous, dashing folks, who
wouldn't be so mean as save a sixpence for the world!' Striving, as it would
seem, to lose part of the bitterness of his regrets in the bitterness of these
other thoughts, Ralph continued to pace the room. There was less and less of
resolution in his manner as his mind gradually reverted to his loss; at length,
dropping into his elbow-chair and grasping its sides so firmly that they creaked
again, he said: `The time has been when nothing could have moved me like the
loss of this great sum--nothing--for births, deaths, marriages, and all the
events which are of interest to most men, have (unless they are connected with
gain or loss of money) no interest for me. But now, I swear, I mix up with the
loss, his triumph in telling it. If he had brought it about,--I almost feel as
if he had,--I couldn't hate him more. Let me but retaliate upon him, by degrees,
however slow--let me but begin to get the better of him, let me but turn the
scale--and I can bear it.' His meditations were long and deep. They terminated
in his dispatching a letter by Newman, addressed to Mr Squeers at the Saracen's
Head, with instructions to inquire whether he had arrived in town, and, if so,
to wait an answer. Newman brought back the information that Mr Squeers had come
by mail that morning, and had received the letter in bed; but that he sent his
duty, and word that he would get up and wait upon Mr Nickleby directly. The
interval between the delivery of this message, and the arrival of Mr Squeers,
was very short; but, before he came, Ralph had suppressed every sign of emotion,
and once more regained the hard, immovable, inflexible manner which was habitual
to him, and to which, perhaps, was ascribable no small part of the influence
which, over many men of no very strong prejudices on the score of morality, he
could exert, almost at will. `Well, Mr Squeers,' he said, welcoming that worthy
with his accustomed smile, of which a sharp look and a thoughtful frown were
part and parcel,--`how do you do?' `Why, sir,' said Mr Squeers, `I'm pretty
well. So's the family, and so's the boys, except for a sort of rash as is a
running through the school, and rather puts 'em off their feed. But it's a ill
wind as blows no good to nobody; that's what I always say when them lads has a
wisitation. A wisitation, sir, is the lot of mortality. Mortality itself, sir,
is a wisitation. The world is chock full of wisitations; and if a boy repines at
a wisitation and makes you uncomfortable with his noise, he must have his head
punched. That's going according to the Scripter, that is.' `Mr Squeers,' said
Ralph, drily. `Sir.' `We'll avoid these precious morsels of morality if you
please, and talk of business.' `With all my heart, sir,' rejoined Squeers, `and
first let me say--' `First let me say, if you please--Noggs!' Newman presented
himself when the summons had been twice or thrice repeated, and asked if his
master called. `I did. Go to your dinner. And go at once. Do you hear?' `It an't
time,' said Newman, doggedly. `My time is yours, and I say it is,' returned
Ralph. `You alter it every day,' said Newman. `It isn't fair.' `You don't keep
many cooks, and can easily apologise to them for the trouble,' retorted Ralph. `Begone,
sir!' Ralph not only issued this order in his most peremptory manner, but, under
pretence of fetching some papers from the little office, saw it obeyed, and,
when Newman had left the house, chained the door, to prevent the possibility of
his returning secretly, by means of his latch-key. `I have reason to suspect
that fellow,' said Ralph, when he returned to his own office. `Therefore, until
I have thought of the shortest and least troublesome way of ruining him, I hold
it best to keep him at a distance.' `It wouldn't take much to ruin him, I should
think,' said Squeers, with a grin. `Perhaps not,' answered Ralph. `Nor to ruin a
great many people whom I know. You were going to say--?' Ralph's summary and
matter-of-course way of holding up this example, and throwing out the hint that
followed it, had evidently an effect (as doubtless it was designed to have) upon
Mr Squeers, who said, after a little hesitation and in a much more subdued
tone-- `Why, what I was a-going to say, sir, is, that this here business
regarding of that ungrateful and hard-hearted chap, Snawley senior, puts me out
of my way, and occasions a inconveniency quite unparalleled, besides, as I may
say, making, for whole weeks together, Mrs Squeers a perfect widder. It's a
pleasure to me to act with you, of course.' `Of course,' said Ralph, drily.
`Yes, I say of course,' resumed Mr Squeers, rubbing his knees, `but at the same
time, when one comes, as I do now, better than two hundred and fifty mile to
take a afferdavid, it does put a man out a good deal, letting alone the risk.'
`And where may the risk be, Mr Squeers?' said Ralph. `I said, letting alone the
risk,' replied Squeers, evasively. `And I said, where was the risk?' `I wasn't
complaining, you know, Mr Nickleby,' pleaded Squeers. `Upon my word I never see
such a--' `I ask you where is the risk?' repeated Ralph, emphatically. `Where
the risk?' returned Squeers, rubbing his knees still harder. `Why, it an't
necessary to mention--certain subjects is best awoided. Oh, you know what risk I
mean.' `How often have I told you,' said Ralph, `and how often am I to tell you,
that you run no risk? What have you sworn, or what are you asked to swear, but
that at such and such a time a boy was left with you in the name of Smike; that
he was at your school for a given number of years, was lost under such and such
circumstances, is now found, and has been identified by you in such and such
keeping? This is all true--is it not?' `Yes,' replied Squeers, `that's all
true.' `Well, then,' said Ralph, `what risk do you run? Who swears to a lie but
Snawley--a man whom I have paid much less than I have you?' `He certainly did it
cheap, did Snawley,' observed Squeers. `He did it cheap!' retorted Ralph,
testily; `yes, and he did it well, and carries it off with a hypocritical face
and a sanctified air, but you--risk! What do you mean by risk? The certificates
are all genuine, Snawley had another son, he has been married twice, his first
wife is dead, none but her ghost could tell that she didn't write that letter,
none but Snawley himself can tell that this is not his son, and that his son is
food for worms! The only perjury is Snawley's, and I fancy he is pretty well
used to it. Where's your risk?' `Why, you know,' said Squeers, fidgeting in his
chair, `if you come to that, I might say where's yours?' `You might say where's
mine!' returned Ralph; `you may say where's mine. I don't appear in the
business--neither do you. All Snawley's interest is to stick well to the story
he has told; and all his risk is, to depart from it in the least. Talk of your
risk in the conspiracy!' `I say,' remonstrated Squeers, looking uneasily round:
`don't call it that--just as a favour, don't.' `Call it what you like,' said
Ralph, irritably, `but attend to me. This tale was originally fabricated as a
means of annoyance against one who hurt your trade and half cudgelled you to
death, and to enable you to obtain repossession of a half-dead drudge, whom you
wished to regain, because, while you wreaked your vengeance on him for his share
in the business, you knew that the knowledge that he was again in your power
would be the best punishment you could inflict upon your enemy. Is that so, Mr
Squeers?' `Why, sir,' returned Squeers, almost overpowered by the determination
which Ralph displayed to make everything tell against him, and by his stern
unyielding manner, `in a measure it was.' `What does that mean?' said Ralph.
`Why, in a measure means," returned Squeers, `as it may be, that it wasn't all
on my account, because you had some old grudge to satisfy, too.' `If I had not
had,' said Ralph, in no way abashed by the reminder, `do you think I should have
helped you?' `Why no, I don't suppose you would,' Squeers replied. `I only
wanted that point to be all square and straight between us.' `How can it ever be
otherwise?' retorted Ralph. `Except that the account is against me, for I spend
money to gratify my hatred, and you pocket it, and gratify yours at the same
time. You are, at least, as avaricious as you are revengeful. So am I. Which is
best off? You, who win money and revenge, at the same time and by the same
process, and who are, at all events, sure of money, if not of revenge; or I, who
am only sure of spending money in any case, and can but win bare revenge at
last?' As Mr Squeers could only answer this proposition by shrugs and smiles,
Ralph bade him be silent, and thankful that he was so well off; and then, fixing
his eyes steadily upon him, proceeded to say: First, that Nicholas had thwarted
him in a plan he had formed for the disposal in marriage of a certain young
lady, and had, in the confusion attendant on her father's sudden death, secured
that lady himself, and borne her off in triumph. Secondly, that by some will or
settlement--certainly by some instrument in writing, which must contain the
young lady's name, and could be, therefore, easily selected from others, if
access to the place where it was deposited were once secured--she was entitled
to property which, if the existence of this deed ever became known to her, would
make her husband (and Ralph represented that Nicholas was certain to marry her)
a rich and prosperous man, and most formidable enemy. Thirdly, that this deed
had been, with others, stolen from one who had himself obtained or concealed it
fraudulently, and who feared to take any steps for its recovery; and that he
(Ralph) knew the thief. To all this Mr Squeers listened, with greedy ears that
devoured every syllable, and with his one eye and his mouth wide open:
marvelling for what special reason he was honoured with so much of Ralph's
confidence, and to what it all tended. `Now,' said Ralph, leaning forward, and
placing his hand on Squeers's arm, `hear the design which I have conceived, and
which I must--I say, must, if I can ripen it--have carried into execution. No
advantage can be reaped from this deed, whatever it is, save by the girl
herself, or her husband; and the possession of this deed by one or other of them
is indispensable to any advantage being gained. That I have discovered beyond
the possibility of doubt. I want that deed brought here, that I may give the man
who brings it fifty pounds in gold, and burn it to ashes before his face.' Mr
Squeers, after following with his eye the action of Ralph's hand towards the
fire-place as if he were at that moment consuming the paper, drew a long breath,
and said: `Yes; but who's to bring it?' `Nobody, perhaps, for much is to be done
before it can be got at,' said Ralph. `But if anybody--you!' Mr Squeers's first
tokens of consternation, and his flat relinquishment of the task, would have
staggered most men, if they had not immediately occasioned an utter abandonment
of the proposition. On Ralph they produced not the slightest effect. Resuming,
when the schoolmaster had quite talked himself out of breath, as coolly as if he
had never been interrupted, Ralph proceeded to expatiate on such features of the
case as he deemed it most advisable to lay the greatest stress on. These were,
the age, decrepitude, and weakness of Mrs Sliderskew; the great improbability of
her having any accomplice or even acquaintance: taking into account her secluded
habits, and her long residence in such a house as Gride's; the strong reason
there was to suppose that the robbery was not the result of a concerted plan:
otherwise she would have watched an opportunity of carrying off a sum of money;
the difficulty she would be placed in when she began to think on what she had
done, and found herself encumbered with documents of whose nature she was
utterly ignorant; and the comparative ease with which somebody, with a full
knowledge of her position, obtaining access to her, and working on her fears, if
necessary, might worm himself into her confidence and obtain, under one pretence
or another, free possession of the deed. To these were added such considerations
as the constant residence of Mr Squeers at a long distance from London, which
rendered his association with Mrs Sliderskew a mere masquerading frolic, in
which nobody was likely to recognise him, either at the time or afterwards; the
impossibility of Ralph's undertaking the task himself, he being already known to
her by sight; and various comments on the uncommon tact and experience of Mr
Squeers: which would make his overreaching one old woman a mere matter of
child's play and amusement. In addition to these influences and persuasions,
Ralph drew, with his utmost skill and power, a vivid picture of the defeat which
Nicholas would sustain, should they succeed, in linking himself to a beggar,
where he expected to wed an heiress--glanced at the immeasurable importance it
must be to a man situated as Squeers, to preserve such a friend as
himself--dwelt on a long train of benefits, conferred since their first
acquaintance, when he had reported favourably of his treatment of a sickly boy
who had died under his hands (and whose death was very convenient to Ralph and
his clients, but this he did not say)--and finally hinted that the fifty pounds
might be increased to seventy-five, or, in the event of very great success, even
to a hundred. These arguments at length concluded, Mr Squeers crossed his legs,
uncrossed them, scratched his head, rubbed his eye, examined the palms of his
hands, and bit his nails, and after exhibiting many other signs of restlessness
and indecision, asked `whether one hundred pound was the highest that Mr
Nickleby could go.' Being answered in the affirmative, he became restless again,
and, after some thought, and an unsuccessful inquiry `whether he couldn't go
another fifty,' said he supposed he must try and do the most he could for a
friend: which was always his maxim, and therefore he undertook the job. `But how
are you to get at the woman?' he said; `that's what it is as puzzles me.' `I may
not get at her at all,' replied Ralph, `but I'll try. I have hunted people in
this city, before now, who have been better hid than she; and I know quarters in
which a guinea or two, carefully spent, will often solve darker riddles than
this--ay, and keep them close too, if need be! I hear my man ringing at the
door. We may as well part. You had better not come to and fro, but wait till you
hear from me.' `Good!' returned Squeers. `I say! If you shouldn't find her out,
you'll pay expenses at the Saracen, and something for loss of time?' `Well,'
said Ralph, testily; `yes! You have nothing more to say?' Squeers shaking his
head, Ralph accompanied him to the streetdoor, and audibly wondering, for the
edification of Newman, why it was fastened as if it were night, let him in and
Squeers out, and returned to his own room. `Now!' he muttered, `come what come
may, for the present I am firm and unshaken. Let me but retrieve this one small
portion of my loss and disgrace; let me but defeat him in this one hope, dear to
his heart as I know it must be; let me but do this; and it shall be the first
link in such a chain, which I will wind about him, as never man forged yet.'
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