Laura Schlitz - Splendors and Glooms

He found her waiting with her hands in her lap. In his absence, she had tidied herself, reknotting her sash and finger-combing her hair. It hadn’t done much good. Her curls were snarled, and the skirt of her dress was torn. “Do you suppose Mrs. Fettle will be at breakfast?” she asked.

He shrugged. Then he understood. “She’s going to start askin’ you questions, in’t she? Wot are you goin’ to tell ’er?”

“I don’t know.” Clara clasped her knees. “I suppose I shall have to say that Mr. Grisini kidnapped me and held me prisoner. It’s what happened, after all. Only as soon as I say kidnapped, everyone will want to know where I’ve been, and I can’t tell the truth, because no one will believe me. I suppose I might describe an empty building — I’m sure there are empty buildings about, shepherd’s huts and so forth — but I’ve never been in a shepherd’s hut, and I don’t know what it’s like.” She pinched her skirt between her fingers and added petulantly, “I’m ever so tired of this dress.”

Parsefall sat down next to her. He didn’t care about dresses, but he was always interested in the construction of a plausible lie. “Tell ’em it woz dark. Tell ’em it woz so dark you can’t say what it looked like. Then one night, you found a rusty nail and pried open a loose board and crawled outside, and come ’ere. And then Grisini come after you.”

Clara gazed at him admiringly. “That’s a good story.” She bent her head, hugging her knees tighter. “But whatever story I tell, someone will send a telegram to London, so my parents will know I’m safe. And then I shall have to go home.”

“Why?” demanded Parsefall.

“Because I must. I want to go home,” she corrected herself. She got to her feet and started down the stairs.

Parsefall trailed after her. He saw that her back looked stiff and that she moved like a clockwork figure. He supposed that was what thinking about her family did to her. “Wot if you don’t go back?”

Clara turned to face him. “I must.”

“You don’t want to.”

Clara shook her head in unconscious agreement. “I know Papa and Mamma have been dreadfully worried,” she said, her forehead puckering. “It makes me ache, to think of the pain I’ve caused. Of course, it isn’t all my fault; I didn’t ask Grisini to kidnap me. Our home isn’t a very happy one, but that isn’t why I mind going. It’s leaving you and Lizzie Rose. I never had friends before. I never met anyone —” She stopped to compose herself. “I never met anyone like you in my life.”

Parsefall was immensely flattered. He wondered if “you” meant just himself or himself and Lizzie Rose. He hoped it meant only him. But Clara was still speaking. “I wish we needn’t part. I could bear it if we could go on being friends. But of course, I will bear it. It’s only that I shall miss you. That’s all.”

Parsefall shoved his hands in his pockets. “It ain’t as if we’re going to stay ’ere forever. Lizzie Rose’ll want to stay till the old lady dies, ’cos she feels sorry for ’er. She’s always feelin’ sorry for people,” he added resentfully. “But after the old lady dies, we’ll go back to London.”

Clara shook her head. “Madama’s going to give you Strachan’s Ghyll. I heard her say so this morning. I was half asleep, but I heard quite clearly. She’s leaving the house to both of you.”

“I don’t want the blinkin’ ’ouse,” Parsefall said testily. He swept his hand through the air, dismissing the carved staircase, the gold-framed portraits, the melancholy stags with their branching antlers. “It’s ’andsome enough, but I can’t make a livin’ ’ere. There ain’t no audience. Once the old lady dies, I’ll come back to London an’ live at Mrs. Pinchbeck’s. Only thing is, the coppers is after me.”

“Why?”

“Because I prigged a photograph of your bruvver in ’is coffin.”

“What do you mean — prigged?”

Parsefall wrinkled his nose. “Stole,” he said, as if experimenting with the word. “The frame woz silver. Lizzie Rose wouldn’t let me hock it at the pawnshop, an’ your father went to see Lizzie Rose and saw it on the mantelpiece.”

“Oh,” said Clara. “Well, never mind. I’ll tell Papa you saved my life, and he’ll make the coppers leave you alone.”

Parsefall had forgotten that he had saved Clara’s life. Now that he was reminded of it, it occurred to him that his conduct had been heroic. He had crossed the breaking ice without fear and on bare feet. Under the circumstances, Clara ought to admire him more. “Ain’t you going to thank me?”

Clara considered this. Something flashed in her eyes, and Parsefall recalled that she’d stolen the fire opal in order to keep it from falling into his hands. The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. “Someday.”

It was a curious answer, but it suited Parsefall. Lizzie Rose sometimes wept when she felt grateful or tried to clasp him around the neck. Now that Clara was human again, he didn’t want to get too close to her. She seemed to feel the same way and kept him at arm’s length.

They went on downstairs and descended to the cellars. To their disappointment, the kitchen was empty. The fire was burning, but there was no smell of food, no dishes in the sink, nothing to suggest that a meal had been served or would ever be served. Parsefall had begun to explore the pantry when the door opened and Lizzie Rose came in with Ruby.

Lizzie Rose’s cheeks glowed with cold, but her eyes looked troubled. She knelt down, removed the leash from Ruby’s collar, and said, “There, now! Run upstairs to Madama!” She looked accusingly at Parsefall and Clara. “Did you leave Madama’s door open?”

“Dunno,” Parsefall began, but Clara answered, “Yes.” She went to Lizzie Rose and took her hands. “What’s the matter?”

Lizzie Rose said, “The servants are gone. And Grisini —”

“Ain’t he dead?” gasped Parsefall.

“No, no, he’s dead,” Lizzie Rose said quickly, “but, oh, it was so dreadful! I took Ruby out and she headed for the lake — it’s ice again; it must have frozen overnight. You can see where the cracks were — but Grisini’s there, under the ice, dark with the cracks all round him, like a spider in its web —” She shuddered. “Someone will have to break the ice and get the body out — but the servants are gone, all of them.” She pointed to a sheet of paper on the kitchen table. “I came down this morning and found that letter. Mrs. Fettle wrote that she paid everyone’s wages out of the housekeeping money because they all decided to leave. Everyone at once. We’ve come to our senses and at last we’re free — that’s what the letter says. I suppose they were under a spell, and now it’s broken. But I don’t know if Mr. Fettle ever went for the constable, and Madama ought to see a doctor, and now there’s Grisini, and his horrid, horrid corpse.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. Parsefall felt the familiar knot in his stomach.

Clara drew out a chair and pushed Lizzie Rose into it. “You’ve been up all night, and you’ve had a shock,” she said evenly. “Parsefall, put the kettle on. Lizzie Rose ought to have a cup of tea. And look in the pantry for some sugar. Papa says sugar is good for shock.”

Somewhat to his surprise, Parsefall complied. He hoisted the kettle and found it full, placed it on the stove, and began to search the kitchen shelves for a tin of tea. He wondered if he was going to like Clara now that she could speak. It was plain to him that she was going to be even more domineering than Lizzie Rose.

“We shall have to keep the fires burning,” Clara said, tallying her ideas on her fingers. “That can’t be so very difficult; one puts on coal. There’s likely to be food in the pantry, and I suppose someone could fetch a doctor, if there’s a horse in the stable — only I shouldn’t know how to put on the harness. Have either of you ever harnessed a horse?”