Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Follows the Fortunes of Miss Nickleby

It was with a heavy heart, and many sad forebodings which no effort
could banish, that Kate Nickleby, on the morning appointed for the
commencement of her engagement with Madame Mantalini, left the city
when its clocks yet wanted a quarter of an hour of eight, and
threaded her way alone, amid the noise and bustle of the streets,
towards the west end of London.

At this early hour many sickly girls, whose business, like that of
the poor worm, is to produce, with patient toil, the finery that
bedecks the thoughtless and luxurious, traverse our streets, making
towards the scene of their daily labour, and catching, as if by
stealth, in their hurried walk, the only gasp of wholesome air and
glimpse of sunlight which cheer their monotonous existence during
the long train of hours that make a working day. As she drew nigh
to the more fashionable quarter of the town, Kate marked many of
this class as they passed by, hurrying like herself to their painful
occupation, and saw, in their unhealthy looks and feeble gait, but
too clear an evidence that her misgivings were not wholly groundless.

She arrived at Madame Mantalini's some minutes before the appointed
hour, and after walking a few times up and down, in the hope that
some other female might arrive and spare her the embarrassment of
stating her business to the servant, knocked timidly at the door:
which, after some delay, was opened by the footman, who had been
putting on his striped jacket as he came upstairs, and was now
intent on fastening his apron.

'Is Madame Mantalini in?' faltered Kate.

'Not often out at this time, miss,' replied the man in a tone which
rendered "Miss," something more offensive than "My dear."

'Can I see her?' asked Kate.

'Eh?' replied the man, holding the door in his hand, and honouring
the inquirer with a stare and a broad grin, 'Lord, no.'

'I came by her own appointment,' said Kate; 'I am--I am--to be
employed here.'

'Oh! you should have rung the worker's bell,' said the footman,
touching the handle of one in the door-post. 'Let me see, though, I
forgot--Miss Nickleby, is it?'

'Yes,' replied Kate.

'You're to walk upstairs then, please,' said the man. 'Madame
Mantalini wants to see you--this way--take care of these things on
the floor.'

Cautioning her, in these terms, not to trip over a heterogeneous
litter of pastry-cook's trays, lamps, waiters full of glasses, and
piles of rout seats which were strewn about the hall, plainly
bespeaking a late party on the previous night, the man led the way
to the second story, and ushered Kate into a back-room,
communicating by folding-doors with the