Splendors and Glooms

by Laura Amy Schlitz

  “You peached on me,” Parsefall accused her. He didn’t quite believe it, but he watched her narrowly. She drew herself up, eyes flashing.

  “I never! I told him Grisini stole it. Only he didn’t believe me, and oh, Parse —”

  “Oh, never mind,” Parsefall said irritably. He was vastly relieved; she hadn’t betrayed him. “You didn’t peach on me, but you botched the lie. I mighta known. You’re no good at lyin’. You’re never goin’ to make your way in the world if —”

  “Be quiet!” hissed Lizzie Rose. “Don’t you hear what I’m trying to tell you? Dr. Wintermute saw that photograph, and he thinks one of us stole it. He’s going to the coppers to tell them. They’ll come to the house and question us again. That’s why I came to warn you.”

  The knot in Parsefall’s stomach tightened. If the coppers were looking for him, he dared not go home. He tried to imagine where else he could go. It was too cold to spend the night in the streets, and he’d rather freeze to death than go to the workhouse. “Where’m I to go?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Lizzie Rose took a deep breath. “You must give me the wagon, so I can take it back to Mrs. Pinchbeck’s. Then you must go to the coach stand on the King’s Road and wait for me. I’ll bring our things — I can haul the wicker trunk by myself if I put it on the wagon — and we’ll take a hackney coach to King’s Cross Station.”

  Parsefall gaped. “King’s Cross? That’s ’alfway across the bloomin’ city!”

  Lizzie Rose hissed at his language. “That’s why we’re taking a hackney coach. Only we must be quick — to catch the train.” She reached into her muff and pressed a coin into his hand. “You try to get us a coach. I shan’t be long — I’ve packed the trunk, so I need only go home and take the puppet stage off the wagon and strap on the trunk —”

  “The train?” Parsefall echoed. He had never been on a train.

  “We’re going to Westmorland. To Windermere,” Lizzie Rose corrected herself, but the correction was wasted: Parsefall had never heard of either place. “It’ll be all right, Parse. I haven’t told you, but there’s a kind lady there that wants to take care of us —”

  Parsefall’s hackles rose. “Wot kind lady? Wot’s she want wiv us?”

  “She’s dying,” Lizzie Rose answered, sidestepping his question. “I don’t have time to tell you just now. I’ll explain it in the coach.” She tugged at the wagon, which stuck in the mud. Parsefall dodged around her, planting himself in her path.

  “Who is she? I ain’t goin’ unless you tell me.”

  “Her name is Cassandra Sagredo. She’s someone who knows Grisini —”

  “Grisini!” Parsefall caught hold of the wagon handle and jerked it away from her. “If that ain’t just like you! Thinkin’ some old woman’s goin’ to take care of us!” He spoke the words with savage mimicry. “Wot’s she want wiv us?”

  “She wants to give us a legacy. She wrote and invited us to come. I started to write back, but I couldn’t think of the right words — but it’s all right: she said we could come anytime. A legacy’s money, Parsefall. She’s dying and she’s rich and she wants to give away her money —”

  “People don’t give away money,” Parsefall pointed out.

  “They do when they’re dying and don’t need it anymore.”

  “They don’t give it to us,” Parsefall countered. He clenched his fists and shoved them into his pockets. “Sounds to me like a take-in. I’m not goin’ ’alfway round the world to be taken in by a friend of Grisini’s —”

  “Yes, you are,” Lizzie Rose contradicted him. “The coppers are going to come after us — don’t you understand? If they find out you took that photograph, they’ll send you to prison — or Australia. I don’t know which. Only I won’t let them.” She looked suddenly fierce. “I won’t lose you. So we must go away, and we must go tonight, before the coppers come.”

  Parsefall hunched his shoulders. Everything was happening too fast. He did not want to leave London, and the prospect of taking a train was daunting. The chance of inheriting money was too slight to outweigh his fear. Parsefall knew about money. It could be found in the streets, if one were very lucky; it could be stolen; or it could be earned. No one gave it away. “I ain’t goin’,” he said, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.

  “Yes, you are,” Lizzie Rose said grimly. “I’m not letting the coppers take you. I’ve planned everything — I pawned the bracelets and the snuffboxes — and I packed, and I found out about the trains. This may be our chance, Parsefall.” Her voice was shaky but resolute. “I want that money. I’m tired of working like a slave, and I want to get away from that horrid Fitzmorris. So we’re going, and you needn’t say one more word, because if you argue with me, I’ll drag you.” She bared her teeth at him; for a split second she looked like a mad dog. He was so taken aback that he forgot to hold on to the wagon, and she yanked the handle away from him. She was six paces away before he came to his senses.

  He ran to catch up with her. “What about the puppets?”

  “What about them?”

  “I need ’em,” Parsefall said. “You’ll pack ’em, won’t you?”

  “Parse, there isn’t room —”

  “You ’ave to,” Parsefall insisted. “If this old lady cheats us, ’ow are we to earn our living? Besides, there’s Clara.”

  Lizzie Rose winced at the sound of Clara’s name. “I’ll pack Clara,” she conceded. “But there isn’t much room in the trunk, Parse. I couldn’t tell Mrs. Pinchbeck that we’re leaving, but I shouldn’t think she’d throw away the puppets; heavens, she never throws anything away! After a little time, we’ll come back to London and sort things out —”

  “I need ’em.” Parsefall heard the panic in his own voice and amplified it, knowing that Lizzie Rose was always tender toward him when he acted like a little boy. “I don’t want no clothes — I can wear what I ’ave on — but I must ’ave the puppets. I need ’em.”

  Lizzie Rose sighed. “Very well. I’ll pack as many as I can wedge in.”

  “And the backdrops,” persisted Parsefall. “You can roll ’em up — they won’t take much room. I can’t paint like Grisini — we got to ’ave the backdrops.”

  Lizzie Rose looked a little desperate, but she nodded. “Very well! I’ll pack the backdrops — only you must go now, Parsefall — to the cabstand in the King’s Road. I’ll come as soon as I can — it’ll be safest if we catch the night train.”

  Parsefall jerked his head in acknowledgment. He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched until she disappeared into the dusk.

  It was fully dark by the time the children met at the coach stand in the King’s Road. The cabbie unstrapped the wicker trunk from the wagon and loaded it into his coach. To Parsefall’s anguish, the wagon was left behind; there was no time to return it to Mrs. Pinchbeck’s if they were to catch the night train.

  The journey began easily enough. The driver of the hackney coach navigated the London traffic with surprising ease. It was only when he brought them to King’s Cross Station that he named his fee, a price so high that even Lizzie Rose, who wished to think well of him, knew they were being cheated. She could think of no other way to punish the cabbie than to refuse his help with the luggage. She raised her chin haughtily and nodded to Parsefall to take one handle of the wicker trunk. She gripped the other handle, shifted the burlap sack in her arms, and descended the steps of the coach. Together they hauled the luggage into the railway station.

  Inside the station, all was confusion: crowds of hurrying people, pyramids of luggage, and great clouds of smoke. Parsefall inhaled the sulphurous air in short puffs, like a nervous horse. Lizzie Rose steered him toward the booking clerk. Bravely she took out her purse and requested two first-class tickets.

  The booking clerk looked startled. He knew his passengers at a glance, and it was clear to him that Lizzie Rose and Parsefall belonged in a third-class carriage. But he sold them the tickets and summoned a guard to take
charge of their luggage. The guard led the children down a long platform, opened the coach doors, and hoisted the trunk into the luggage rack. He reached for the burlap sack, but Lizzie Rose told him that she preferred to hold it in her lap.

  Parsefall whispered, “Is that Ru —?” but Lizzie Rose shushed him. She waited until the guard had gone before admitting that Ruby was inside the sack. No, she hadn’t told Mrs. Pinchbeck, but that didn’t mean she was stealing. No, she didn’t know if animals were allowed inside the coaches. She had drugged the dog with a large saucer of rum and milk and hoped that Ruby would sleep through the journey.

  Parsefall was impressed. According to his lights, Lizzie Rose had stolen a dog and was defrauding the railway, two things of which he approved. He lolled back against the leather upholstery, admiring the first-class coach.

  The coach door opened. A cross-looking man in a clerical collar sat down on the far end of Parsefall’s seat. When the door opened a second time, it admitted a stout man, his peevish wife, and a nursemaid with a crying baby. The man frowned at the children and stepped back outside the coach, where he held a low-voiced argument with the guard. Lizzie Rose caught the words paupers, dirty, and most improper. The nursemaid with the baby settled down between Parsefall and the clergyman, to the disgust of both. When the stout man returned and took his seat, the carriage was full.

  The baby’s sobs rose to a scream. The nursemaid bounced and patted it, but the baby refused all comfort and shrieked as if it were being disemboweled. Parsefall rolled his eyes. The coach began to vibrate. There was a blast from a trumpet — a series of rumbles — and the train surged into the darkness of the December night.

  Parsefall peered out the window. They were traveling in a cloud of coal smoke and red cinders. The baby’s screams sank to an incessant wail, less piercing than its screams, but no less irritating. Parsefall’s eyes met Lizzie Rose’s. He placed his fists together and gave a vicious little twist of one hand. Lizzie Rose nodded, her eyes thoughtful.

  Several hours passed. Then a whistle blew, and lights appeared in the darkness. Doors opened and slammed. Lizzie Rose heard a man bellow, “Soup!” and saw passengers hurry out of the train, intent on purchasing supper. In less than a quarter of an hour, the trumpet blew and the train started up again. Lizzie Rose closed her eyes, wondering if she might sleep through the remaining hours. Before she had time to grow drowsy, the stout man drew a hamper out from under his seat. Lizzie Rose’s nostrils twitched. She smelled chicken-and-leek pie, ripe cheese, and oranges. Parsefall leaned forward, eyes glistening, hoping to partake of the feast. But the husband, the wife, and the nursemaid behaved as if there were no other people in the coach. When they finished eating, they wrapped the leftovers in napkins and returned them to the hamper.

  The train rattled onward. The night was frosty, and the padded seats felt as hard as iron. Parsefall squirmed and shivered. Lizzie Rose’s toes ached with cold, and she tensed her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. She was grateful for the warmth of the dog in her lap.

  The whistle shrilled. The train slowed. They had come to another station. This time the clergyman left the train. Parsefall, who had taken a strong dislike to him, hoped he would not return. But before a quarter of an hour had passed, the man reappeared with two dry jam puffs, which he thrust into the hands of the children. “‘Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water shall in no wise lose his reward,’” he thundered.

  Lizzie Rose, who recognized the Bible verse, said, “Thank you, sir.” Tears of gratitude and humiliation filled her eyes. She accepted the jam puff and tried to nibble it daintily, as if she weren’t hungry. Parsefall wolfed his down and looked around for the cold water. He might have demanded it if he hadn’t been distracted: the burlap sack in Lizzie Rose’s arms was moving, and a faint whine issued from it.

  The spaniel’s head emerged from the sack. The nursemaid gave a little shriek. The stout man muttered an oath and shouted for the guard, but the trumpet blared, signaling that the train was about to move again.

  They reached Lancaster at three in the morning. Lizzie Rose and Parsefall wrestled the trunk from the luggage rack and dragged it to a corner of the railway station. Parsefall went exploring and found the lavatories. When he returned, Lizzie Rose took Ruby for a walk. She bought two cups of tea and a sandwich, which the children shared: five knobs of gristle swaddled in stale bread.

  They waited for three more hours. When at last the next train arrived, the guard showed the children to a second-class carriage. Parsefall glanced at Lizzie Rose to see if she would object, but she took her place on the hard wooden seat without a murmur. Parsefall yawned as the train shot out of the station. He was sick of watching the red sparks, and it was too dark to see anything else. He turned to ask Lizzie Rose how much longer they had to travel, but saw that she had fallen asleep. Her face was very pale. Parsefall studied her narrowly and held his tongue.

  While Lizzie Rose slumbered, Dr. Wintermute lay awake. For once, he was not thinking of Clara. He was thinking of Lizzie Rose. He recalled her stricken eyes when they parted. “You don’t know how it is with us — how hard —” He hadn’t let her finish the sentence. Now, in the dark, he finished it for her: You don’t know how hard our life is.

  It was true. He didn’t know, but he could imagine. He had seen her shabby lodgings and sat by her meager fire. He remembered the darns and patches on her frock, and the way the sole of her boot parted from the upper. How could he, who had lived in comfort all his life, condemn her for stealing? The girl had no one to provide for her, no one to protect her. He remembered the beefy young fellow who had kissed her, and regretted that he hadn’t punished the man with his fists.

  He thanked God he had not gone to the police station, as he had threatened to do. The girl might be telling the truth, after all; the photograph of Charles Augustus might have been stolen by Grisini, or even by the boy in Ebury Square. Perhaps if he questioned her a second time — kindly and patiently — she might tell him the truth about the matter. At the very least, he could apologize for his rash behavior, provide money for her immediate wants, and make sure that the beefy fellow left her alone.

  He turned the thought over in his mind, and found, to his surprise, that it eased him a little. He closed his eyes and promised himself that he would return to Danvers Street that very day.

  “Oh,” breathed Lizzie Rose. Her breath came out in a white mist. She stood with Ruby on the platform at Windermere, gazing over the wide space around her.

  The children had slept through the last stage of their journey. The guard had shaken them awake. Now groggy, thirsty, and stiff with cold, they stood on the platform with the wicker trunk between them.

  They had come to a new world, a world of immense space and ample light. Everything was foreign, majestic, and sublimely clean. Three inches of pristine snow lay on the grass. The sky was coldly blue. White clouds soared like galleons overhead, shadowing the snowy fells. The train station stood in the midst of steep hills: great, curving humps, one beyond the other, like a pod of whales breaching and diving.

  Parsefall whistled. He had expected Windermere to be like London or Leeds: another city, with rows of begrimed houses pressed tightly together. He shook his head in amazement. “It’s like scenery,” he said at last. “Like a painted backdrop.” He could give no higher praise.

  “I never thought it would be like this,” Lizzie Rose said. Her voice caught, and her eyes brimmed over.

  “It ain’t nuffink to cry about,” Parsefall said disapprovingly.

  “No,” agreed Lizzie Rose. She brushed her cheeks with the tips of her fingers. “We’ll have to hire a gig,” she said, and turned to face the station.

  A man in a rough jacket came toward them. He spoke to them in a voice that was gruff but not unkind. Lizzie Rose did not catch his words, but they ended with something that sounded like strawns-gill.

  It took Lizzie Rose a moment to decipher this. She had thought of Strachan�
��s Ghyll as stratch-hans-guy-el, not strawns-gill. The man jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating a carriage drawn by two chestnut horses. He repeated, “Are you bound for Strachan’s Ghyll?”

  “Yes, please,” said Lizzie Rose. “That is, if that’s where Mrs. Sagredo lives. She invited us to stay. I have her letter with me —”

  “Madama,” the man corrected her, taking off his cap. “We call her Madama; it’s what she prefers. She had one of her fancies today and thought you’d come.” He replaced his cap and picked up the trunk, heaving it onto his shoulder as if it were weightless.

  Parsefall emitted a squeak of protest. The man grinned at him. “Don’t you mind, now! I’m supposed to carry your things, and I’m not likely to drop ’em. I’m Mr. Fettle, coachman. Footman, too, when Madama needs one. My mother’s the housekeeper at Strachan’s Ghyll.”

  Parsefall darted a nervous look toward Lizzie Rose. He didn’t like the idea of Madama’s fancies — how had the woman known they would come? But Lizzie Rose only tugged Ruby’s leash and answered, “Come, Parsefall,” as if he were as bound to obey her as the spaniel was.

  Parsefall had never ridden in a private coach. The inside was leather and tufted velvet, and there were two lap robes on the seat: glossy pelts from some immense black animal. “Look, Parsefall,” exclaimed Lizzie Rose. “Fur robes! Isn’t that kind?” She wrapped one end of the robe around Ruby, who was once again swaddled in the burlap sack. “Poor Roo,” she crooned. “She’s cold.” Ruby shivered theatrically. Lizzie Rose kissed her and made loving little noises that set Parsefall’s teeth on edge.

  He hauled the lap robe around his shoulders and tried to anchor it in place by leaning back against the seat. The fur smelled queer, and he sneezed. He could have cried. He was half frozen, and everything familiar was hundreds of miles away. For the first time since the journey began, he thought of Clara, crammed into the wicker trunk. She had no choice as to where she was going; neither did he. His stomach growled, and he wished they’d bought two sandwiches at Lancaster. There weren’t any coffee stalls or baked potato stands in this clean, cold country, and they couldn’t eat the snow off the trees.