Splendors and Glooms

by Laura Amy Schlitz

  Parsefall surrendered the hand mirror.

  “His ’eart’s beating,” said Mrs. Pinchbeck. “A little more light on the face.”

  Parsefall raised the candle. The shivering light passed over Grisini’s features. His face glistened with blood. There were a few curly hairs growing out of his nostrils.

  Parsefall shuddered.

  Mrs. Pinchbeck adjusted the mirror so that the glass was beneath Grisini’s nose. She stared down at the clouded surface. “He’s breathin’,” she said in a bemused tone of voice, “but he’s bleedin’ like a stuck pig. Which of you clawed ’is face?”

  Parsefall curled his fingers into fists. He wasn’t sure what he’d done during those frantic moments of attack. “’E’s a bleeder,” he said evasively. “’E bleeds more’n other men.”

  Mrs. Pinchbeck wedged her hand underneath Grisini’s skull. When she pulled her hand free, it was coated and dripping with blood. “Ooof,” she said, wiping her hand on Grisini’s coat. “I suppose we ought to send for a surgeon.” She looked from Parsefall to Lizzie Rose. “I don’t suppose one of you children’d go? Seein’ as ’ow I’m in me nightdress?”

  Lizzie Rose gave a great sob and sat down as if her legs would hold her no longer. Ruby leaped into her lap and tried to lick her face.

  “I ain’t going,” Parsefall said defiantly.

  Lizzie Rose buried her face in Ruby’s coat and went on crying.

  “Well, then,” Mrs. Pinchbeck said, “I suppose it’ll ’ave to be me. It’s a pity it’s so late, because they always charge more if they come after dark.” She eyed the body dubiously. “I suppose we could take ’im straight to ’orspital.”

  “How’d we get ’im there?” demanded Parsefall.

  Mrs. Pinchbeck considered. “We’d ’ave to get an ’ackney coach. An omnibus would be cheaper, but he’d bleed, and we’d ’ave to prop ’im up.”

  Lizzie Rose gave a little gurgle of hysterical laughter. Mrs. Pinchbeck eyed her narrowly. Then she hauled herself to her feet and descended the staircase. She went to Lizzie Rose and settled back down on the floor, pulling the crying child into her arms. “There, now, you mustn’t take on so. The surgeon may be able to put ’im right.” Then, “’Ere, now!” she said in quite a different tone of voice. “You’ve a nasty scratch on your neck! Where’d you get that?”

  Parsefall spoke up. “Grisini slapped her. He was bashin’ ’er about.”

  Lizzie Rose pulled away from Mrs. Pinchbeck’s embrace. “Parsefall defended me.” She smiled through her tears. “He was as brave as a lion, Mrs. Pinchbeck.”

  Parsefall felt his lips draw back in a smirk of pride. He couldn’t help it.

  “That’s a very good thing,” Mrs. Pinchbeck said approvingly. “Shame on ’im, striking an ’elpless female!” Her face hardened. “Serve ’im right if he falls down the stairs. He ought,” she added incoherently, “to ’ave ’eld on to the rope.”

  “He was chasing us,” Parsefall explained. He squatted on his haunches and peered at Lizzie Rose. “I nobbled ’im good, didn’t I, Lizzie Rose?”

  Lizzie Rose nodded vigorously. Then a cloud passed over her face. “Where will we go?”

  Mrs. Pinchbeck looked blank.

  “We can’t go upstairs,” Parsefall explained. “The staircase broke.”

  “You can stay in my rooms for the night,” Mrs. Pinchbeck said after a moment’s thought. “Lizzie Rose can share my bed, and you can sleep on the sofa.”

  “Will you lock the door after you leave?” entreated Lizzie Rose. “In case he wakes up — and is angry —?”

  “I’ll lock you in,” promised Mrs. Pinchbeck. “No matter what ’appens, you’ll be safe from him tonight.”

  Lizzie Rose was awakened by Mrs. Pinchbeck’s snores. She smelled the yeasty odor of spirits and saw a large blanket-covered mound beside her. At some point during the night, Mrs. Pinchbeck had crept under the covers and oozed into the center of the bed. Ruby, who had fallen asleep on the pillow, had moved to the floor.

  Lizzie Rose squeezed her eyes shut and tried to go back to sleep. Her stomach felt queasy. As the events of the night came back to her, the queasiness increased. Grisini had found her out and struck her. Parsefall had rushed to her defense. The staircase had broken, and Grisini had tumbled down and hurt his head. At the thought of Grisini bleeding on the stair treads, Lizzie Rose began to tremble. She wondered why none of them had tried to stanch the bleeding. If they had, would it have helped him? And if they hadn’t and he died, were they to blame?

  She couldn’t lie still any longer. The snores of the landlady struck her as jarring and even disgusting. Lizzie Rose eased herself out of the bed and tiptoed over to the washstand. She would have liked to wash, but there was no water in the pitcher.

  She saw Mrs. Pinchbeck’s looking glass lying on the chest of drawers and picked it up. She twisted, trying to get the glass to reflect the mark on her neck. There was a long scratch that ended in a scab. She thought that her neck looked bruised, but in the dim room it was hard to tell. If she combed out her plaits, no one would be able to see the mark. Lizzie Rose wasn’t sure whether to hide it or not.

  She was ashamed that Grisini had beaten her, but she wanted someone to see what he had done and be angry on her behalf. She thought of what her father would have said, and her eyes filled with tears. Never in her life had she been treated so roughly. She had seen Grisini cuff Parsefall, but she had been spared such punishment. Lizzie Rose had never liked Grisini, but neither had she feared him. Now she grew cold as she thought of what he might do to her once he recovered consciousness.

  Ruby whimpered, pawing her knee. Lizzie Rose bent down and fondled the dog’s ears, letting a few tears fall on the silky head. Then Lizzie Rose picked up her boots and tiptoed out of the room.

  Her nostrils were greeted by an unwelcome smell. One of the dogs had misbehaved in Mrs. Pinchbeck’s parlor. The room was cluttered with newspapers and empty glasses and bits of clothing. The sofa looked like a rumpled ocean of unmatched shawls, with three tousled spheres afloat in the chaos. One of the spheres was Parsefall’s head. The other furry-looking circles turned out to be cats.

  Punch leaped to his feet and began to bark. Pomeroy, Pug, and Parson swarmed forward. The parrot woke up and shouted, “It’s broken!” Parsefall stirred and began to damn somebody’s eyes.

  Lizzie Rose squatted, shushing the dogs. Then she sat down and put on her boots. After she had tied the laces, she opened the door leading into the hall and looked up the stairs for Grisini.

  There was no body. Shadowy though the passage was, there was no doubt about that. There was only a great dark stain on the stairs and an array of lurid blotches and smears. Lizzie Rose felt her skin crawl as she stared at them.

  A small hot hand gripped hers. Parsefall stood at her side.

  “’E’s gone,” Parsefall whispered. His face broke into a bemused smile.

  “Do you suppose he’s in hospital?”

  Parsefall shook his head, confirming Lizzie Rose’s thoughts. Now that it was broad daylight, neither of them could imagine Mrs. Pinchbeck doing anything as efficient as taking Grisini to the hospital.

  “If he died, she might’ve called in the beadle,” Parsefall suggested. “When somebody’s dead, you call in the beadle.”

  “Does the beadle take the body away?”

  Parsefall shrugged. He didn’t know.

  “We ought to have done something to help him,” Lizzie Rose said in a hushed voice. “We ought to have bandaged his head, or —” She hesitated. “Or poured some gin down his throat.”

  Parsefall contradicted her. “We couldn’t.”

  “Why couldn’t we? Why didn’t we think of it?”

  “Because we couldn’t bear to touch ’im,” Parsefall said reasonably.

  Lizzie Rose remembered Grisini lying unconscious on the stairs. Her shoulders twitched in an involuntary shudder.

  “You see?” Parsefall pointed out.

  There didn’t seem to b
e much point in arguing with him, so Lizzie Rose said, “We ought to put a lamp on the stairs for Mr. Vogelsang-on-the-top-floor.”

  Parsefall shrugged again, as if to say she could bother with that if she wanted to. Lizzie Rose went back to Mrs. Pinchbeck’s lodgings, found a lamp, kindled it, and positioned it close to the broken step. The bloodstains looked even more ominous in the lamplight.

  “What’ll we do now?” Parsefall asked her.

  Lizzie Rose considered. The gnawing in her stomach was worse than ever. She wondered if something to eat would help. “Why don’t you take the dogs out and buy some breakfast? I’ll tidy the parlor and see to the fire.”

  “Ain’t got no money.”

  Lizzie Rose hesitated. She hadn’t either, but she had seen sixpence on Mrs. Pinchbeck’s chest of drawers. She supposed they could pay it back once the stairs were safe to climb.

  “We’ll borrow from Mrs. Pinchbeck,” she said. “She’ll be hungry, too, when she wakes up.” She thought for a moment. There was nothing cheaper than bread and milk, but as always she longed for meat. “You might buy a mutton pie.”

  Parsefall, who had been about to argue about having to take the dogs out, shut his mouth at the mention of the mutton pie. In less than a minute he had pocketed the sixpence and collected the dogs.

  Left alone, Lizzie Rose turned her attention to the dog’s mess in the corner. She got rid of it, cleaned the canary cage, and built up the fire. Once that was done, she circled the room, folding shawls and newspapers, and retrieving a tray of sticky glasses and empty plates. She had a vague hope that tidying the room might make the world seem less chaotic. By the time Parsefall was back with the mutton pie, the parlor was transformed. The fire was bright, the worst of the clutter had been sorted through, and the table was set for three.

  An hour later, when Mrs. Pinchbeck emerged from the bedroom, the children had finished eating and begun a game of cards before the fire. They looked up from their game and asked, almost in unison, “What happened to Grisini?”

  Mrs. Pinchbeck caught hold of the nearest armchair and staggered theatrically. Lizzie Rose leaped to her feet. “Oh, Mrs. Pinchbeck, I’m sorry! It’s just that Parsefall and I have been so anxious — do sit down, and let me give you a slice of mutton pie!”

  Mrs. Pinchbeck sat down heavily. Lizzie Rose poured her a cup of milk and brought the last slice of pie. It was not a very large slice, but it had taken all Lizzie Rose’s self-control not to eat it. Mrs. Pinchbeck, who didn’t seem to be feeling well, regarded it without enthusiasm. She glanced over at the table where the gin bottle had last sat. The bottle had been replaced by a china Cupid on a piece of paper lace.

  “Please, Mrs. Pinchbeck,” Lizzie Rose said, “can’t you tell us about Grisini? Is he in hospital? What did the surgeon say?”

  Mrs. Pinchbeck sighed. “I don’t know,” she said blankly.

  “Don’t know?” echoed Lizzie Rose.

  “I knew it,” Parsefall said triumphantly. “’E’s dead, ain’t he?”

  “He ain’t in ’orspital,” Mrs. Pinchbeck said, “and I don’t suppose ’e could be dead, because he walked out of ’ere last night on ’is own two feet.”

  It was the children’s turn to look blank. Mrs. Pinchbeck took a forkful of pie and swallowed carefully. “It was like this: Last night, after I locked you in, I headed off for Church Street. There’s an apothecary lives over there, name of Mr. Whitby, and I thought he might be cheaper than a surgeon. Only on the way, I ’ad to pass the Cock and Bottle”— referring to a nearby public house —“and it struck me as ’ow I’d seen Mr. Whitby in there once or twice. So I went in and the barmaid said to me, ‘Why, Bella Pinchbeck, you’re as white as a sheet!’ And ‘Bella Pinchbeck, you’re all a-tremble!’ And I was,” she added stoutly. “I always was delicate. Of course, I’d made meself strong for your sakes. But after a bit, the strain was too much for a poor frail woman, and I turned faint and fluttery and was all in a swoon. The shock took ’old of me.”

  “Did you see the apothecary?” Lizzie Rose asked tactlessly.

  “I did not,” answered Mrs. Pinchbeck with asperity. “And if I had, ’e’d ’ave been worried about me. I ’ad Spasms an’ dizzy spells an’ I don’t know what all. All my friends at the Cock and Bottle said they’d never seen anyone so pale and trembly, and they made me sit before the fire and drink a glass of spirits. It was to bring me back to meself, as it were.”

  Lizzie Rose looked at Parsefall, and Parsefall looked at Lizzie Rose. They knew the rest of the story without being told.

  “So I drank it,” Mrs. Pinchbeck said unnecessarily, “and it was a good thing I did, because I was in ever such a state. The spirits did me good, but I still wasn’t meself, so they gave me a bit more and bade me stay by the fire. So I did, and by the time they closed, I was well enough to get back on my feet. But by then the fog was bad, very bad indeed, and I daren’t go wandering off looking for Church Street, because what if I was to fall into the river? So I come back ’ome. But when I opens the door, Grisini was gone. He weren’t there.”

  The children were silent. They were recalling the bloodstains on the staircase. How had a man who had lost so much blood managed to get to his feet and leave the house?

  “Do you think ’e’ll come back?” asked Parsefall.

  “I don’t see why he wouldn’t,” Mrs. Pinchbeck answered. “All ’is things are here, and it’s not every landlady that would give ’im such fine rooms for five shillings a week. And keeping the caravan chained in the area, too, which is inconvenient, but I don’t complain of it.”

  Five shillings a week. Lizzie Rose felt her stomach tighten as she realized that if Grisini were gone, she and Parsefall would have to come up with five shillings a week. She laid her hand on Mrs. Pinchbeck’s arm. “Has — has Grisini paid the rent this week?”

  “He ’asn’t,” Mrs. Pinchbeck said, “because ’e said the takings was bad. He were a shilling short last week, and he promised me ’e’d pay this week, with an extra sixpence for my trouble.” She took a last gulp of milk and set her cup down. All at once, the trouble in Lizzie Rose’s face seemed to strike her. “’Ere, now! You ain’t worried about that, are you?”

  Lizzie Rose opened her mouth to speak but found her voice was only a faint croak. “Just now I don’t — of course we’ll pay — only —”

  “I ain’t turning orphelings into the street,” Mrs. Pinchbeck said grandly. “I ’aven’t the ’eart. It’s one thing if you ’ad the money, but if you ’aven’t, you can”— she thought for a moment —“you can ’elp Luce around the ’ouse. Tidy up.” She raised her hand in a graceful flourish, drawing attention to the improved state of the room. “Or ’elp in the kitchen. Or with the dogs.”

  Lizzie Rose’s eyes filled with tears of relief. “Oh, Mrs. Pinchbeck!”

  Mrs. Pinchbeck nodded majestically. All at once the dramatic possibilities of the situation struck her full force. She rose from the chair, flung out her arms, and gathered both children to her bosom. Parsefall didn’t want to be held, but she caught him off balance and lugged him against her. Lizzie Rose, understanding what was required for the scene, clasped her arms around Mrs. Pinchbeck’s neck. The landlady smelled of sweat and bacon grease and dogs.

  “Poor little lambs,” crooned Mrs. Pinchbeck, “poor little orphelings! You’ve ’ad a dreadful shock! But don’t you be afraid!” Her voice deepened and grew strong, as if there were an audience beyond the front window. “You shan’t be ’omeless as long as Arabella Pinchbeck’s in the world! As long as Arabella Pinchbeck’s alive,” she vowed, “there’ll be a roof over your ’eads! And Arabella Pinchbeck ’erself will comfort and protect you in your distress!”

  Parsefall pulled himself free. “Wot distress?”

  “Any distress,” Mrs. Pinchbeck retorted testily. “Losing your guardian.”

  “That ain’t distress,” said Parsefall.

  Grisini did not come back. Each morning when Parsefall awakened, he listened for the sound of h
is old master’s footsteps. When he heard only Lizzie Rose and Ruby, he smiled to himself and went back to sleep. He had no more nightmares. By the time ten days had passed, he was happily convinced that Grisini had bled to death in the London streets.

  Mrs. Pinchbeck and Lizzie Rose were not so sure. They reasoned that if Grisini had been strong enough to leave the house, he might have been strong enough to survive his injuries. The police returned to the house, first asking to see Grisini and then demanding to know his whereabouts. Mrs. Pinchbeck treated them to a dramatic account of Grisini’s injury, ending with a Spasm so harrowing that the constable sent Parsefall to the nearest public house for a pennyworth of gin. The policemen left the house deeply shaken; Mrs. Pinchbeck dried her tears and set about finding a workman to fix the broken staircase. She toyed with the idea of renting out Grisini’s bedroom but could not quite make up her mind to do so.

  Parsefall was tempted to occupy the empty room himself. Never in his life had he slept in a comfortable bed. All the same, he felt it might be dangerous to sleep in Grisini’s. He told himself he would wait until Grisini’s body was found. He looked forward to this macabre discovery, even going so far as to envision a pauper’s funeral for his dead master. He had seen many a penniless corpse dragged through London as the street urchins sang:

  “Rattle ’is bones

  Over the stones.

  ’E’s only a pauper

  Who nobody owns.”

  The idea of serenading Grisini with this chorus was delicious, but days went by and the body was not found. Parsefall had little time to wonder over its whereabouts. He had work to do. However delightful it might be to imagine Grisini’s corpse on a handcart, the death of the showman was a loss to the puppet theatre. The scarlet caravan was too cumbersome for two children to manage alone, and the acts had to be shortened and simplified.

  Parsefall flung himself into the task of working out the alterations. For the first time in his life, he regretted that he could not write. It would have been easier if he had been able to keep a record of the changes he envisioned. As it was, he had to practice the altered shows again and again, until he knew them by heart.