She stirred and her eyes opened. One cheek was red from the arm of the chair. “Is there any hot water?”
Parsefall shrugged. He had a vague knowledge that the servants at Strachan’s Ghyll brought water for washing every morning, but the matter had never much interested him. It occurred to him that Clara was probably going to be like Lizzie Rose, always wanting to clean herself. She tiptoed to the washstand, dipped her fingers into the water pitcher, and frowned. Then she came back and picked up her slippers. He followed her into the hallway.
She spoke in a low voice. “I’m hungry. Do you suppose there’ll be anything to eat?”
“There usually is,” Parsefall said. He sniffed hopefully, but he lacked Lizzie Rose’s acute sense of smell, and he could pick up no scent of bacon or frying ham. “Let’s go and see.”
They fell into step. When they came to the staircase, Clara sat down on the top stair to put on her slippers. It reminded Parsefall that he was still in his nightshirt. “Wait ’ere,” he directed her, and went back to the White Room to change. He threw on his clothes, shoved his feet into his boots, and clomped back down the hall to Clara.
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 nig
ht, 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?”
Parsefall looked blank. Lizzie Rose only sobbed.
“I suppose not,” Clara said, answering her own question. She patted Lizzie Rose’s shoulder. “Never mind, dearest, we’ll manage. There must be a road somewhere, and we can ask . . .” Her voice trailed away, as if she, too, felt daunted by the problems ahead. She turned to Parsefall. “Have you found any sugar for your sister’s tea?”
Parsefall began mechanically, “She ain’t my true sister —”
Clara slapped his face.
The slap shocked all three of them. Parsefall stepped back with his hand to his cheek. Lizzie Rose cried, “How dare you?” and leaped to her feet, ready to fly at Clara.
Clara spoke up fiercely. “He oughtn’t to say that,” she said. “Parsefall, you mustn’t, do you hear me?” Her voice softened. “He doesn’t mean to be unkind,” she told Lizzie Rose. “It’s just that he had another sister, who died in the workhouse. Her name was Eppie.”
“Eppie?” echoed Lizzie Rose.
“That was her name, wasn’t it?” Clara asked Parsefall. “Eppie was his true sister, and she was very good to him. Parsefall’s loyal. He doesn’t want to forget her — but you mustn’t say that anymore, Parsefall, because Lizzie Rose is your true sister. I’ve seen her fight for you and share her food and hold your head when you’re sick. There isn’t anything truer than that.”
Parsefall cast a hangdog look at Lizzie Rose. Lizzie Rose knew this for the apology it was and forgave him at once. “Oh, Parsefall!” she cried — but all at once, they heard a bell ringing, and Ruby began to bark.
“It’s Madama,” Lizzie Rose said breathlessly, but the placard under the ringing bell read FRONT DOOR. “Perhaps it’s Mrs. Fettle coming back. Or even the doctor —” She snatched up her skirts and ran.
Parsefall and Clara trailed after her. Neither of them cared to admit it, but the idea that an adult had come to the house was reassuring. An adult would know where the village was and what to do about Madama.
“Clara!” shrieked Lizzie Rose. “Your papa! Oh, Clara, Clara!”
Clara was a little behind Parsefall. Now she flashed past him like a falling star. She flew up the stairs and through the rooms and across the tiles of the Great Hall. She flung herself at her father, and he lifted her and spun her in circles. There was a great confusion of sound: shouting and sobbing and Ruby barking, accompanied by sympathetic noises from Lizzie Rose. The front door stood open, and a cold draft roared in.
Parsefall shivered. He wished someone would shut the door. He considered doing it himself but held back; in order to get to the door, he would have to pass through what seemed a great crowd of weeping, rejoicing people. He remained in the shadow of the stone columns, watching the scene with his hands in his pockets.
“Mrs. Wintermute, ma’am! Oh, Dr. Wintermute, help me!” Lizzie Rose ran to support Clara’s mother. “Oh, please, sir — she’s quite faint!”
Clara broke away from her father and rushed to her mother’s side. Dr. Wintermute caught his wife before she fell and dragged her to the staircase. He ordered her to sit with her head between her knees. “Oh, poor Mamma,” breathed Clara while her mother wailed, “Oh, Clara, my dearest, why did you run away? How could you be so cruel?”
Clara was speechless. Parsefall stepped out from behind the column. “She didn’t run away,” he said coolly. “She woz kidnapped and locked in the tower.”
Clara flashed him a look of intense gratitude.
“In the tower that fell down last night.” Parsefall pointed in the direction of the ruin. “Grisini kidnapped ’er and locked ’er up all right and tight. And the tower woz fallin’ down, an’ everyone said not to go near it. Didn’t they, Lizzie Rose?”
Lizzie Rose picked up her cue. “Oh, yes, they did!”
“I didn’t know where I was,” Clara said, taking up the thread of the tale. “All I knew was that I couldn’t get out. But Lizzie Rose and Parsefall were suspicious of Grisini, and they came to Strachan’s Ghyll to find me.”
Parsefall grinned, appreciating the fact that he had just been promoted to the role of rescuer. “So then we come.” He crossed to the door and slammed it shut, enjoying the bang. “We ’ad our suspicions, didn’t we, Lizzie Rose? We followed Grisini up ’ere, and we looked for Clara, but we didn’t go into the tower, ’cos it was too dangerous and might fall down.”
“But I escaped,” explained Clara. “There was a loose board and I pried it open with a rusty nail. Then Grisini came after me — and it was dark, and I was running away from the house, and he chased me out onto the frozen lake. It was only last night,” she said, amazed that it had all happened so recently.
“And there was an earthquake,” Lizzie Rose put in. “It made the ice break and the tower fall —”
“And Grisini fell through the ice — and I should have fallen, too, only Lizzie Rose called out to me and told me to lie flat. And Parsefall brought me a rope — he walked across the ice as it was cracking into pieces. He saved my life!”
Clara drew herself out of her mother’s embrace and stood erect. She stretched out her hands, and the other two children stepped forward, as if the three of them were playing a scene they had rehearsed.
“Papa, Mamma,” said Clara, clinging to Lizzie Rose’s hand, “this is my sister. And Parsefall is my brother.” She extended her other hand, and Parsefall gripped it tightly. “They set me free and they saved my life. They’re my brother and sister, now and forever. They must come back with us and live with us in Chester Square.”
Dr. Wintermute looked bewildered. Mrs. Wintermute stopped in mid-sob.
“Only, Papa, dear Papa, you mustn’t send Parsefall to school or make him be a gentleman,” Clara went on. “He doesn’t want to be a doctor, do you, Parsefall? He wants to be an apprentice with the Royal Marionettes. You could arrange that, couldn’t you, Papa? And then someday he’ll have his own theatre.”
Parsefall nodded emphatically, squeezing her fingers.
“But Lizzie Rose can be a lady,” Clara said coaxingly, “because she’s going to inherit Strachan’s Ghyll. Madama — the woman who lives here — is going to leave her estate to Parsefall and Lizzie Rose. So Lizzie Rose will be an heiress, and we can have lessons together from Miss Cameron. And Parsefall will work during the day, but he’ll come home every evening, so we can be together.”
Her parents continued to look stupefied. Lizzie Rose intervened. “Clara,” she said, “I don’t think this is the time —”
“There is no other time.” Clara’s face was implacable. “Please, Mamma, say you agree! Please say that Parsefall and Lizzie Rose may come and live with us! I want them so — oh, Mamma, please!”
Mrs. Wintermute began to weep again. It didn’t seem to Parsefall that this was any kind of an answer, but it seemed to satisfy Clara. She flew at her mother and kissed her rapturously. “Oh, Mamma, dear Mamma! Oh, thank you! Oh, we’re going to be so happy!”
Mrs. Wintermute’s face was a study. She was smiling tremulously, but her face was pale. She touched the tips of her fingers to her forehead and gasped for breath.
“Clara,” said Lizzie Rose reproachfully, “we ought to give your mamm
a a glass of wine. There’s some in Madama’s room — oh!” She turned to Dr. Wintermute, clasping her hands. “Oh, Dr. Wintermute, please, won’t you come upstairs and see Madama? She lives here and she’s very ill, and it wasn’t her fault Grisini kidnapped Clara, and the servants have all left. We’ve been so worried! But thank goodness, you’re a doctor, so if you would just come and examine her —”
Dr. Wintermute’s face changed. It lost none of its happiness but became alert and purposeful. “I will certainly see to Madama,” he promised, and, as yet unable to part with Clara, he took his daughter’s hand and followed Lizzie Rose up the stairs.
There was a Thing on the ceiling. In the last days of her life, Cassandra felt it brooding over her: a Thing that hovered, waiting. She couldn’t see it, because the canopy of the bed blocked her vision; when she was in her right mind, she told herself it wasn’t there. Nevertheless, the fancy persisted. She felt its presence most powerfully when her eyes were closed and she heard the rush of air beneath its wings. Once she dreamed that she floated up on the ceiling and hung beside it, gazing down at her swollen body. Then she tumbled down again, into that body and onto the bed.
The house had changed. There was mercy in it now. The servants who tended her were strangers who didn’t know her and therefore did not hate her. They treated her as if she were deserving of pity and respect. There was a new doctor, an imposing man with a deep voice and deft hands. He spoke to her kindly, and his drugs eased her pain. In her moments of clarity, she understood that the doctor was Clara’s father. Then the fever returned, and he became a hobgoblin, an impostor. Cassandra shrieked at him, demanding to know where he came from and why he didn’t cure her.
He couldn’t cure her. Even as she clung to life, Cassandra understood that. Her body was failing. At intervals, her old nightmares returned to mock her. She cowered inside a ring of flames: scarlet and yellow and green and blue. She screamed and thrashed with terror until the doctor came and held her, murmuring nonsense, as if she were a sick child.
Splendors and Glooms Page 30
