She turned her head away. Since Clara’s disappearance, she seemed to dislike his touch. He told himself that the rebuff was not deliberate; he must not let it rankle. Silently he filled his plate and sat down at right angles to his wife.
As he unfolded his napkin, Ada spoke. Her voice was so low that he missed the beginning of the sentence, but he caught the words “Kensal Green.”
Dr. Wintermute cleared his throat and tried to speak in a neutral tone of voice. “My dear, I shall not accompany you to Kensal Green this morning.”
Ada put down her teacup with a suddenness that made the china ring. “But we always go to Kensal Green on Christmas Day.”
“Yes. But not today.” He realized that he sounded brusque. “I beg your pardon, my dear. You must recall the last time I was at Kensal Green.” He looked away from her and caught sight of his own reflection in the glass over the mantel. For one split second, he failed to recognize himself and regarded the reflected image as a patient. A man of robust middle age; prosperous, well nourished, but suffering from melancholia and nervous strain . . .
Ada said again, “We always go to Kensal Green.”
“Yes. Perhaps that was a mistake.” He knew he was on dangerous ground, but he went on. “I have sometimes thought that it made Clara unhappy to visit Kensal Green every Christmas. I’ve even wondered if we mourned our dead children at the expense of the one who lived —”
His wife’s head came up sharply. The tears in her eyes brimmed over and began to fall. He reached for her hand, but she stood up quickly, eluding him.
“Ada, my dear, forgive me! I didn’t mean —”
“You did, you did!” She swayed and caught hold of the back of the chair. “You meant that I made her unhappy — that I forced her to mourn. It’s true, it’s true! I was unkind to her the very day she disappeared. It was her birthday, and that hideous puppet show — I wouldn’t let her laugh — I wouldn’t forgive her —” She caught her breath on a sob. “If she ran away, I was to blame —”
“You were not,” he interrupted sharply. He got up and tried to take her in his arms, but she shrank from him. “Ada, she didn’t run away. I am convinced of that. She was kidnapped — and that mountebank Grisini, that monster, had something to do with it.” He pulled up short, wondering if he should tell her of his recent conversation with Lizzie Rose. He decided not to; Grisini’s wards had vanished, and the landlady had no idea where they had gone. “If anyone was to blame, it was I — I allowed that blackguard into this house! But how could I have known? Clara wanted him, and I wanted to see her happy —” He forced himself to lower his voice. “If we blame ourselves, if we blame one another, we shall both go mad.”
Ada had buried her face in her hands. She was sobbing so hard that he could not distinguish her words. “Ada, what are you saying?”
She let her hands fall and gazed at him with such bitterness that he took a step back. “You do blame me,” she contradicted him, “and it’s true. I didn’t love her the way I did the others. How could I, when I knew she might be taken away? I bore you five children, Thomas. Five children in eight years — I carried them in sickness and bore them in pain. You don’t know what that’s like. No man knows. But I loved them, truly I loved them — and then the cholera came, and they were taken from me. All but Clara. I wanted to love her. I tried — I did love her, but then she was taken, too.” She pressed her knotted hands against her breast. “I was a bad mother, I know I was, but I swear to you, Thomas, I never wanted them to die; I never wanted any of them to die —”
“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!”
Parsefal
l 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.
Lizzie Rose shuddered. She wasn’t squeamish about many things, but she couldn’t bear the way Parsefall dug at himself when his skin was broken. He scratched himself ceaselessly, like an animal; she had once seen him eat one of his scabs. She cried, “Oh, don’t! It’s too horrid! Do stop, or you’ll start bleeding again!”
Somewhat to her surprise, he did as she asked. He reached across the table to take another sausage. “I don’t like it ’ere,” he complained. “I didn’t want to leave London, but Old Wintermute was after us, an’ you made me, so ’ere we are. But there’s nuffink for me to do ’ere, but go round and round the ’ouse and see wot there is to pinch.” He pointed to the Bible on the sofa. “I can’t read, like you can. I can’t sit an’ sew, like a girl. There ain’t no audience — there ain’t even any streets — no penny gaffs, no magic lantern, no Egyptian ’All. And it’s cold outside and me boots is thin, and I don’t see wot the old lady wants wiv all them trees. So I goes round inside the ’ouse, an’ then you start a-carryin’ on, saying that I’m worried. I ain’t worried, but strike me dead if I ain’t blue-deviled, wot wiv ’aving nuffink to do.”
Lizzie Rose leaned her elbows on the table. She knew this was not good manners, but she didn’t care. She stared at him so intently that he wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue. There were dark shadows under his eyes she hadn’t seen before. He looked pale and even ugly; every muscle in his face was tight.
She had told him that she meant to have the truth. Now she saw that the truth could not be forced out of him. The more she pressed him, the more he would lie. And he was lying. He was afraid of something; she could smell it. Whatever it was, she couldn’t protect him — not if he went on hiding from her.
An idea came into her head. She gave a little sigh and changed the subject. “The days are so long here. We ought to rehearse the puppets.”
His eyes kindled. Lizzie Rose went on cannily.
“We shall have to be quiet, because of Madama, but we ought to work on the new show, just in case there isn’t any legacy. I don’t know the new acts, not properly — and you’ll have to teach me to be a better figure worker, because I still float the puppets. Will you do that? And perhaps I could teach you skating in return.”
“We could rehearse,” Parsefall said cautiously, but his eyes had brightened. “I’ll teach you.” And as a token of goodwill, he rolled the rest of his bread into a ball and tossed it in the air for Ruby to catch.
They rehearsed in the Green Room. Parsefall tried to persuade himself that he was safe as long as it was daylight and Lizzie Rose was with him. He wanted to believe that Grisini would wait until dark before he returned to the house. But the puppet master’s words echoed in Parsefall’s ears: I can enter the house whenever I like. If you fail me, I will be obliged to hurt you.
And Parsefall had failed. He hadn’t succeeded in stealing the fire opal, and he dared not make a second attempt on the stone. Clara had warned him against it, and he couldn’t get into the old lady’s room. Since Madama’s collapse, the servants had taken turns watching over the sick woman. Parsefall racked his brain, but he could think of no way out of the dilemma. He had never learned to think ahead more than a day or two, and he was too frantic to weigh his choices.
So he rehearsed. When he was busy with the puppets, he was not afraid. Grisini and Madama were only shadows, compared to the solid little manikins on the stage. Parsefall worked tirelessly, ardently, and he saw to it that Lizzie Rose kept pace with him.
Lizzie Rose divided her time between the puppet theatre and the lake. The weather remained cold, and she went skating every afternoon. “You should come, too,” she said earnestly. “It’s good outside — so pure, with the lake and the snow and the fresh air.”
Parsefall did not love fresh air. In his experience, it was apt to be cold. He tried skating once and found it a failure. His ankles were weak, and they buckled. After that, when Lizzie Rose went skating, he retreated to the Tower Room.
There was a spyglass in the room. Using it, Parsefall could see the stone urn where Ruby was tethered. If the dog was tied up, Lizzie Rose was skating; if the long rope hung slack, Lizzie Rose was on her way back to the house. Parsefall listened for her footsteps on the back stairs. When he heard them, he unbolted the tower door and darted across the hall to the Green Room.
He was in the Green Room late one morning when he heard Lizzie Rose shouting for him. There was a note of panic in her voice. “Parsefall! Parsefall!” The door swung open, and she burst in, gasping for breath. “Parsefall — listen — it’s dreadful — but I have to tell you —” She took a great gulp of air. “Grisini’s here.”
Parsefall felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “’Ere? In the ’ouse? Now?”
“No. Not now. Not in the house.” Lizzie Rose flung her skates to the floor. “He’s in the gatehouse. He’s living there. I saw him —” She broke off. “Why, you knew, didn’t you?”
Parsefall widened his eyes, dramatizing his astonishment. It was a weak effort, and a belated one.
“You’ve known ever since we came here, haven’t
you? That’s what’s been wrong with you! Oh, Parsefall! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He told me not to. ’E said he’d hurt you.” Parsefall’s voice cracked. He was almost afraid to look at Lizzie Rose. He lied to her so often and she always believed him. Now that he was telling her the truth, it stood to reason that she wouldn’t. But her face was transparent, revealing a series of emotions: skepticism, shock, pity, indignation.
She commanded, “Tell me what happened.”
He bent his head. He didn’t want to remember Grisini crouched over him. The carpet snagged his attention. Mossy green, with a score of other colors zigzagging through it: sallow gold and rosy brown and blue gray and black . . .
“Parsefall, tell me!”
He parried the question with one of his own. “What’d ’e say to you?”
“Nothing. He was asleep. He didn’t see me.” Lizzie Rose shuddered. “I was skating, and I was thinking about — oh, everything. I know it’s heartless to wonder what will happen after someone dies, but I was wondering what Madama might leave us in her will. I was wishing we could live close to the lake. And then I remembered the first morning we came and how we both liked the little gatehouse with the tower. So I wondered — if I asked Madama — if perhaps she might give us the gatehouse.”
Parsefall began to understand. He went to one of the chairs before the fire and sat down. Lizzie Rose shrugged off her coat and knelt by his feet, with Ruby close at hand. “I decided to look inside. I didn’t think anyone lived there, so there wouldn’t be any harm in peeking in the windows. I took off my skates and walked down to the gatehouse. The ivy’s all over the windows, but there was one window on the ground floor. . . . I looked through, and I saw Grisini! He was asleep in an armchair, as still as wax — oh, Parsefall — I thought he might be dead. I almost hoped it. But he twitched, just a little, and I knew he wasn’t.” She hugged Ruby. “I was dreadfully frightened. I ducked under the windowsill and crept away, and I didn’t run until I was past the trees. It was queer, because he was asleep, but I was so afraid!”
Splendors and Glooms Page 24
