Nickleby's Boarding School Ch. 01

Life had been very kind to me. I had been born into a family with some social status and a modest income, I had been well educated by my father, and I had been blessed with a reasonably pleasant face and a sound, healthy physique. Moreover, I had experienced certain titillating events in my childhood that many men older than my current eighteen years would be overjoyed to be able to recount.

Nevertheless, I was not at all satisfied to be dispatched to far away places, albeit only ten miles outside of London, which was my father’s original home. Even worse was the necessity of assuming a life of toil, which was admittedly the rather easy, innocuous life of a school master. Partly, my displeasure was because I hated to be uprooted from the home I had occupied all of my rather comfortable life. Largely, however, was that I was not only recently enjoying a much broader scope of what I would consider licentious behavior within that rather pleasing household, but also just discovering the many, shall we say, hidden advantages that my situation might accord me in this parish that was poor in monetary terms, but so rich in attractive, obedient parishioners.

To briefly summarize, in my younger years I had discovered some rather startling facts about my father and his treatment of my mother and older sisters. In addition, I had recently been indulging myself in similar sorts of activities with other compliant females in the parish, whether they might be totally willing or not. While I shall not here describe those youthful experiences in detail, I shall reiterate that I was quite loathe to lose those opportunities – especially as I was now being required to trade those indulgences for a life of toil and, so I thought, complete self-denial.

How wrong I was. And how happy am I to have been so wrong!

However, as the pony cart in which I traveled plodded its weary way along the dusty, narrow road that led to the small town of Bruxton, I brooded with self-pity over the terrible fate I believed had befallen me. My father, having been the third son of a fairly wealthy land owner, had received the usual lot of a good education, a comfortable if rather plain place in life, and a total lack of inheritance for his own oldest (and in this case, only) son. Father had sent me off to the employ of an old childhood friend, a man named Aloyisis Nickleby. This man Nickleby owned a boarding school for young women, which my father described in the most glowing terms as being very large and successful. I could scarcely credit that description as I looked upon the small, nondescript town I approached at a pace even a snail would have been ashamed to set. Still, I had been assured a post as a teacher of the liberal arts (how liberal I would soon learn!), which included room, board, and the princely sum of £10 per annum, should I prove suitable to my new employer’s pleasure. Although I was not enthralled with the prospect of spending the better part of my young, lusty life teaching literature, philosophy, metaphysics and religious dogma to a gaggle of young, insipid girls, I was grimly determined that I would indeed suit my employer’s desires in order to ensure myself of a comfortable living.

Arriving at long last at my presumed destination, I was surprised that the pony cart did not stop at one of the tall, rather decrepit buildings within the town, but continued upon a small side road that I presumed carried me even closer to the fabled town of London, which at least promised to provide me with some pleasures and enlightenment during my leaves from the school. Another mile and a half down that road we entered a rather large copse of trees – a veritable forest, which I later found out surrounded the entire estate upon which Nickleby’s school was located – at which point the road actually became paved with cobblestones! This in turn eventually led to large wrought iron gates, which were connected to a high, spiked fence running entirely around the estate. Rather that standing open, as I certainly would have presumed, the gates seemed to be guarded by a small cottage, out of which emerged a large, burly man at the sound of our approaching cart. Not until this strange guard had ascertained my identity and purpose in approaching did he permit the cart to enter the vast, but well-kept grounds.

I confess, I was already terribly impressed by all of this even before the cart continued down another long cobble stoned pathway to eventually stop at a group of large, extremely handsome buildings. The cart driver stopped before the foremost of these, an incredibly huge, ornately articulated stone fortress – which I might have easily believed could have been a castle at some not too distant point! As I gaped at the building the driver gestured, and I stepped down from the cart. I heaved my trunk down upon the stones and picked up my small valise without a word. The driver did not pause for any sort of reward, but set off in the opposite direction as soon as I was safely clear of his cart.

Then the most strange thing of all! Rather than a butler and footmen emerging to assist me, three young women in long, rather modest garb descended from the wide entrance staircase. They kept their eyes down, their hands clasped in front of them, and spoke not a word as they curtsied in front of me. The largest of the three picked up my small trunk, the second timidly took my valise, and the third merely bobbed her head at me, indicating that I should follow. As the three silently headed back up the stairs, I did so.

We entered a vast entrance hallway, with more doors leading from this single room than my father’s entire house had contained. The two girls carrying my bags – I use that word now, although all three were at least five years older than myself – walked towards one door at the side. However, the smallest, whom I thought of as my guide, went directly to the center door in the farthest wall. Without hesitation, I followed.

Never looking back or speaking a word, she led me up several staircases, all both wide and impressive in dimensions and appearance. As we ascended, I could not help but notice that her young, womanly posterior swayed very seductively under that long, dull serving dress she wore. She herself seemed to take no notice whatsoever.

Finally, we arrived at what I took as the Master’s suite of apartments. The furnishings were noticeably more opulent than those incredibly fine furnishings we had already passed, and it seemed to me that even the landing on this floor was more spacious than those below.

The girl knocked softly on a large, hand-carved oak double door. At the word “Enter!” she did so. With some sense of wonder at all of this, I did the same.

At a large, solid cherry desk sat a man I presumed to be Aloyisis Nickleby. Although they must have been the same age, this man looked years younger than my father. He was also considerably more handsome, and even sitting I could tell he was taller and still well built.

As he looked up from his work, the girl meekly approached his desk. She actually knelt briefly on one knee, as though to a king! She then stood with her feet apart and hands clasped behind her, looking down at the floor, although Nickleby barely seemed to notice.

The man looked at me closely for several minutes, then nodded curtly as though satisfied at some sign I could not fathom. He flicked a hand, and the girl immediately glided out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

“So,” the man said in a moderate tone, with a voice not terribly deep yet still rich. “You must be Andrew Brown.” He did not seem to feel any need to introduce himself. “As I recall your father, you are both taller and better looking than he.”

My eyes rose in astonishment, both that he had virtually echoed by own thoughts about himself, as well as the implied insult to my father. He smiled at my reaction, not knowing the first reason, but obviously guessing the second.

“Yes, yes, we were quite good friends as youths. However, it has been years since we have even corresponded – excepting the letters regarding your employment, of course – let alone seen each other, and I am certain he would not mind me being so honest with you. Although, as I recall, he would probably have resented the unfavorable comparison.”

Yes, it seemed he still knew my father well. I also appreciated the sense of humor, which was in strong contrast to my father. He smiled at me, and I immediately decided that I liked him.

“Oh, I could tell you stories about your father – and perhaps I shall some day. However, it is late, and you must be tired. I shall let you bathe and change, and you will find a cold repast in your room. First, however, I want to briefly acquaint you with some important facts about my school, which I trust you will consider very seriously this evening so that you might be able to better understand what you shall witness tomorrow, and then decide whether or not you are suited to my employ.”

He looked at me quite seriously, and I understood that some sort of reply was required, although I certainly had no idea of what he was seeking.

“Yes, Sir, I am deeply grateful for your consideration as well as any information you may impart as to my position. However, I would like to assure you that I will do everything within my power to make myself suitable.”

He smiled again, although briefly, and nodded in satisfaction.

“Excellent. Well, if you are anything like your father – which his letter indicated that you were – then we shall come to a strong understanding very shortly, I am certain. However, before you are totally mystified with all of this oblique commentary, let me get to the heart of the matter.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I replied gratefully.

There was no other chair in the room, but I felt no desire to sit. On the contrary: for some reason I felt strongly compelled to draw myself up to my full height, spread my feet, and clasp my hands behind my back. In some way, it reminded me of what the girl had done before this man. However, rather than any feeling of submission, which I had strongly sensed in the poor girl (no doubt Nickleby ruled his servants with an iron fist, and perhaps his instructors as well!), I hoped I projected rather a posture of a soldier towards his Captain, that of respectful attention to his words. Noticing this, my employer obviously approved, as he nodded curtly once again.

“You know that Nickleby’s Boarding School for Young Women is exactly what its name implies. We only take on females between the ages of six to twenty-one as students, and some of them are here for ten months of the year. Most are here all-year round. You may not know that we accept students of any financial circumstance.”

Again, my eyebrows must have risen at this rather surprising statement. Nickleby gave a small twitch at the corner of his mouth at my reaction.

“Yes, it is so. Basically, there are three categories of students at our school. There are the very rich, which are obviously the minority. The parents of these young ladies pay a handsome fee, and the girls are not only schooled in all of the academic subjects which all of our students learn, but also the necessary skills for future matrons of society. Those include foreign languages, dancing, deportment, music, and so on. They are also taught how to run a household – which includes how to deal with servants.”

At this, he paused and looked at me with significance. I could not think of any intelligent reaction, as this seemed fairly normal, although at a very high level.

“Yes, Sir. That sounds splendid,” I finally managed.

“The second category,” he said mildly, although his tone vaguely implied that I had missed something of importance in his final sentence, “are the middle class. These are girls of good families with some money and station in life. They get all of the basic education, plus a smattering of the second. However, most are also taught some domestic skills as they will not run a household with more than one or two servants. Some attention is paid to how they might best utilize those servants, but nothing like the first group. There are some exceptions, those being girls whose family decided that an investment in the higher tuition might eventually bring greater prospects for their daughters to marry well. While there are only a dozen or so young ladies, there are more than four times that number of middle class girls here.”

“I see, Sir,” I interjected, hoping to please him more with this response than with my last one. It did not seem to matter to him.

“The last category is, in many ways,” he said, pausing before delivering the last phrase, “the most interesting.” He looked me directly in the eye, and I felt my body somehow straightening even more, as though filled with some sort of tension at the promise of what was to come. “These girls are quite poor. Most are orphans or in some other way wards of the Crown. Many are from families who could not keep them at home, and have sent them to us because we help such unfortunate wretches. In both cases, a small stipend or initial fee is paid, and we then accept these students basically out of charity.

“Do not think that we do not give these girls the same basic academic education that the other girls receive!” Nickleby admonished, although I had not thought any such thing. “Some of them may someday achieve such skills that they can be placed in positions such as nanny, or household tutor, or even governess. A great few actually attain positions teaching in schools such as this. However, it is undeniable that the vast majority of them – whom, I might add, more than double the number of our other students combined – will never amount to anything more than household servants. As such, they must of course receive special schooling in how to properly behave as servants.”

The light suddenly glowed a little bit.

“I see, Sir. And these girls receive such training in conjunction with the first group of girls – I mean, ladies – who are being trained in how to deal with servants?”

At these words, Nickleby not only smiled broadly, but actually stood! He nodded vigorously, and strode about a couple of steps.

“Exactly!” he exclaimed. “Excellent deduction, young Andrew. Perhaps your father’s genes were more productive in the intelligence department than they were in appearance.”

I could not reconcile the combination of compliment to myself and insult to my father, so I tried not to react to that at all. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Yes, the ladies are taught proper treatment of servants, which includes both how to command respect verbally, as well as how to administer discipline. This also applies to some extent with some of the more promising middle class girls. The poor girls receive those instructions in how to obey, how to please their betters, and how to accept any needed discipline with meekness and appreciation for the fact that they are given such discipline rather than being cast out into the world with neither position, money, nor positive references. Nor, I might add, anyone who has any interest in giving them any help in staying alive, let alone employed. In addition, as my school assumes a great financial burden in order to accommodate these poor unfortunate girls, we also try to offer – shall I say, certain services to some of the gentlemen of the nearby city of London that these girls help us to deliver. Do I make myself clear, Andrew?”

The light was now glowing much more brightly. Partly, it was the somewhat disparaging references to my father. Mostly, it was my own childhood experiences in my father’s, shall we say, extra-clerical activities that alerted me to what Mr. Nickleby was implying. I looked my new employer directly in the eye.

“Yes, Mr. Nickleby. You make yourself perfectly clear.”

“Excellent,” my new employer nodded with satisfaction. Then, as though to confirm that we were truly in accord he asked: “At this time, do you have any questions of me, Mr. Brown?”

“First, I would beg that you call me Andrew, Sir,” I answered without hesitation. “Second, do the faculty members also assist in, how shall I put it, administering the non-academic lessons to those future serving class of girls?”

“Indeed they do, Andrew,” Mr. Nickleby said with both a nod and a small, knowing smile. “Although not all of our faculty members are male, these girls must also learn how to accept the discipline of the masters of the household who occasionally command them directly as well as the mistress of those homes, who normally rule in such domestic matters.”

“Then I shall look forward to accepting my duties to the fullest, Sir, and to giving each and every one of our students the complete education that is suitable to their station in life.”

Nickleby smiled once again, this time with as much warmth as humor. He reached out his hand, which I accepted with alacrity.

“Excellent!” he said again, this time with evident pleasure in his voice. “I am certain you shall fit in very well here, Andrew. And I do believe that you have the potential to go quite far in this profession.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I replied sincerely. “I certainly hope to justify your confidence in me.”

At these words, Nickleby only smiled once again. He pulled a cord by his desk, which I assumed sounded a gong somewhere nearby, as the girl who had ushered me in appeared instantly at the door. With a gesture, I followed her out of the room to my quarters. However, this time as I gazed at that quite pleasing posterior swaying in front of me, I wondered what excuse I might soon find to see it totally unhidden by that long, plain garb. More importantly, what I might be able to do with it….