Laura Schlitz - Splendors and Glooms

“Ada, hush.” He opened his arms, but she shook her head, guarding the distance between them. “I know you loved them. You must not torment yourself like this. Let the dead bury the dead.” It was not what he had intended to say, but the Biblical phrase seemed strangely apt. “No matter how much we grieve for them, we can’t bring back our children. The death masks and the photographs and the portraits . . . They’re things; they’re not our children.” He had a sudden vision of himself lifting the death masks off the wall and wrapping them tenderly in cotton wool. He could do it if he chose; he was the master of the house. “Our children are with God, Ada. They don’t need us to visit them on Christmas Day. They are with God, in heaven.”

“And Clara?” He saw her eyes narrow as she drove her point home. “Where is Clara?”

Darkness fell early on Christmas Day. When Lizzie Rose came in from skating, she settled in the Green Room and lay in wait for Parsefall. She took up her mother’s Bible and passed the time reading the Christmassy bits from Matthew and Luke. By the time Parsefall appeared, she felt that she had been refreshed in body and spirit, and she hailed him sweetly: “Merry Christmas! Where have you been all day?”

Parsefall blinked at her. He fished in his pocket and drew out a glittering object. “’Ere,” he said briefly, and dropped it in her lap. “Merry Christmas.”

It was the emerald necklace. Lizzie Rose was both touched and slightly appalled. “Oh, Parsefall, you mustn’t! I’m sure Madama wouldn’t want — but how dear of you! But, oh, Parsefall, I haven’t anything for you! If we’d stayed in London, I’d have bought you a proper jackknife for Christmas — I meant to —”

Parsefall slipped out from under her arm. “Don’t need a jackknife,” he said magnanimously. “The old lady gave me a pistol — only it won’t shoot. Put yer gewgaws on, and let’s ’ave a look.”

Lizzie Rose held the necklace on the tips of her fingers, as if she were about to play cat’s cradle. “I’m sure I mustn’t keep it. I told Madama I didn’t need jewels, and I don’t think she’d approve —”

“Who cares wot she thinks?” demanded Parsefall. “I knew you wanted ’em. I saw you lookin’ at ’em that first night. So on Christmas Eve, I went into Madama’s room and took ’em off the table. An’ Madama knew I took ’em, and she didn’t make me give ’em back. So you can ’ave ’em, and if she don’t fork over the stumpy, we can take ’em to the pawnshop an’ live like kings and queens.”

Lizzie Rose was about to argue with this plan of action, but at that moment the door opened, and Esther came in with the dinner tray. Madama’s illness hadn’t deprived the servants of their yearly Christmas dinner. The tray was loaded with roast goose, sausages, mashed potatoes, peas, bread and butter, mince pie, and plum pudding. The sight and smell of so much food put an end to all conversation. Lizzie Rose dragged a table before the fire and spread the cloth. Parsefall set the chairs in place. Ruby leaped onto one of them and made off with one of the sausages. A brief scuffle ensued; the spaniel took refuge under the bed, and Parsefall pursued her there, determined to reclaim the sausage. Esther finished setting out the dishes and stalked out, disgusted. In due time, the sausage was relinquished, the dog was pardoned, and the children took their seats at the table.

Lizzie Rose spread her napkin on her lap and unfolded Parsefall’s, as a gentle reminder that that he might wipe his hands on it, instead of the tablecloth. Parsefall nipped a piece of goose off the serving platter, twirled it in his mashed potatoes, and bit off the end, as if it were a carrot.

Lizzie Rose opened her mouth to criticize his table manners but remembered that they had more important matters to discuss. “Parsefall, where were you today? I looked for you this morning, and I couldn’t find you. Then I went skating on the lake — oh, Parsefall, it was so beautiful! I wanted to take you with me, but you weren’t anywhere in the house. Were you hiding from me? Parsefall,” she coaxed, “do tell. Where have you been?”

Parsefall shoveled another chunk of goose in his mouth. His throat bulged; he looked like a snake ingesting an egg. “Slept all day,” he said curtly. “Couldn’t sleep last night, could I? Bloomin’ servants kep’ me awake, carrying on about Madama. She was right outside my door last night, did you know that? They had to get Mark to take ’er to ’er room, and she was so ’eavy he ’ad to drag ’er.”

“Out in the hall!” exclaimed Lizzie Rose. “I didn’t know she could walk!”

Parsefall nodded sagely. “I thought she woz bedrid, too, but she ain’t. She’s a downy one, ain’t she?”

Lizzie Rose passed Ruby the gristle from her drumstick. “If you mean she’s dishonest, I suppose she might be. Though,” she added, trying to be fair, “she never said she couldn’t walk. We only thought so because we never saw her out of bed. I wonder what she was doing, wandering about the house at night.”

“Up to ’er tricks,” Parsefall said cryptically.

Lizzie Rose wondered what kind of tricks an elderly lady could play, all alone in the middle of the night. “I don’t distrust her as much as I did,” she confessed. “We talked on Christmas Eve, and she seemed kinder. And she is planning to leave us something in her will — Mrs. Fettle said so.” She frowned, realizing that once again she had become distracted. “If you were asleep all day, where were you sleeping? You weren’t in here — I looked for you. Why did you hide yourself away?”

“I woz in a room with a big bed,” Parsefall said evasively. “I woz tired of this room.”

“All these rooms have big beds,” countered Lizzie Rose. “And I looked though every one. Then I came back and looked here —” All at once she knew what she had missed before. “Parsefall! Where’s Clara?”

Parsefall gave a little jump. Then he shrugged. “Dunno. Must’ve laid ’er down somewhere.”

“I don’t understand you,” said Lizzie Rose. “You were hiding from me — and you’re not telling the truth about where, or why, and you’d never leave Clara just somewhere. I thought you were avoiding me because you were cross — but you wouldn’t have given me a Christmas present if you were cross. Parsefall, what is the matter? Have the servants been horrid to you? Are you afraid of Madama? If you tell me what’s worrying you, I can help — in fact, you must tell me, because I mean to have the truth.”

Parsefall made a face. He snatched a slice of bread from the plate and used his forefinger to butter it, taking great care to ensure that the butter was slathered from crust to crust. He was stalling; Lizzie Rose knew it, and she suspected that he knew she knew it. Finally he muttered, “I wish we could go back t’London.”

“Back to London?” echoed Lizzie Rose. “Parse, we can’t. The police —”

“Maybe we could go see Old Wintermute,” Parsefall said desperately. “Maybe we could give him the emeralds and ask ’im to tell the coppers ’e made a mistake —”

“I don’t think that would work,” said Lizzie Rose. “Dr. Wintermute isn’t the sort of man who tells lies to the police. Besides, there’s the legacy to think of. Madama told Mrs. Fettle that she’s going to send for a lawyer —” All at once she stopped. “Parsefall, what happened to your ear?”

Parsefall fingered the torn earlobe. He looked extraordinarily furtive. “Dunno. I ’ad a scratch on it, and then I picked it.” He fitted the action to the word, plucking at the scab with his fingernail.