Read Online Splendors and Glooms by Laura Amy Schlitz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Amy Schlitz
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he’s flimflammin’ ’em.”
Lizzie Rose’s thoughts were elsewhere. “I hope they find Clara,” she said. “It seems heartless to just go on with the day.”
“It don’t seem ’eartless to me,” answered Parsefall. “I’m ’ungry.”
Lizzie Rose wrinkled her nose at him, but she was hungry, too. She reached into her pocket. “Here’s thruppence,” she said. “You could get us each a penny loaf and some milk. And take the dogs.”
“Why do I ’ave to take ’em?” protested Parsefall, as he did every morning.
“Because if they don’t go out and they make a mess, you’ll have to clean it up. I cleaned up yesterday,” Lizzie Rose pointed out. “And I’m the one Mrs. Pinchbeck will want to talk to after her Spasm.”
Parsefall was out-argued, and he knew it. He was not skillful with Mrs. Pinchbeck’s complaints, and Lizzie Rose was. He went to get his jacket. Ruby began to frisk around his feet.
“And carry Ruby on the stairs,” Lizzie Rose commanded. “Her toenails slip out from under her and it frightens her, poor darling.”
Parsefall made a wordless grumbling noise but scooped up the dog. Lizzie Rose returned to her makeshift bedroom. She made her bed and put on the rest of her petticoats. Then she went downstairs to tend to Mrs. Pinchbeck.
The staircase of the lodging house was dark and steep. The late Mr. Pinchbeck had provided a handrail in the form of a rope screwed into the wall. Since Mr. Pinchbeck had been dead nine years and the plaster was crumbling, Lizzie Rose had little faith in this contrivance. She descended cautiously, bringing her feet together on every tread. At last she knocked on the door of Mrs. Pinchbeck’s parlor.
“Come in, dearie!”
Mrs. Pinchbeck lay on the sofa, scanning a newspaper. She wore a poppy-colored wrapper and a soiled cap adorned with green ribbons. She had evidently found the gin bottle and was looking more cheerful than Lizzie Rose had expected. Lizzie Rose eyed her warily. Mrs. Pinchbeck with a little gin inside her was rakish and lively, but Mrs. Pinchbeck with too much gin was inclined to dwell on the day when Titus Pinchbeck, the only man she had truly loved, had been struck down by an omnibus.
Mrs. Pinchbeck tossed aside the newspaper and clutched her heart. “Oh, child!”
That was all Mrs. Pinchbeck said, but it was enough for Lizzie Rose, who had spent her life in the theatre. From the deep, foghorn-y sound of Mrs. Pinchbeck’s voice, it was clear that a play was under way, a play in which Mrs. Pinchbeck was the heroine. With light, dainty steps, Lizzie Rose crossed the threadbare carpet and flung herself onto her knees beside the sofa.
Mrs. Pinchbeck stretched out her hand to Lizzie Rose. Lizzie Rose caught it and held it against her cheek. Both females turned their bodies away from the back of the sofa, offering three-quarter profiles to the far end of the room.
“Dear Mrs. Pinchbeck,” Lizzie Rose said breathlessly, “are you quite well?”
“Alas, poor child,” Mrs. Pinchbeck replied, “I wonder if I shall e’er be well again. Coppers — first thing in the morning!” She dropped her voice half an octave. “And oh, child, the way they spoke to me!”
Lizzie Rose clasped her hands. “How dare they, ma’am?” she cried, her voice throbbing with indignation.
“I don’t know how they dared,” Mrs. Pinchbeck said darkly, “but it was something ’orrible — as if I was
common.
” She collapsed back on the sofa. Then a thought struck her, and she raised herself on one elbow. “Dearest child! Did those fiends lay their wicked hands on you?”
“No, not at all,” Lizzie Rose answered. She almost said that the policemen had been very kind to her, but remembered just in time that this was not that sort of play.
“All over the ’ouse, they went,” Mrs. Pinchbeck said. “I couldn’t stop ’em. That sergeant wanted to see everything — kitchen and larder and coal cellar and all!” She lowered her voice.
Lizzie Rose’s thoughts were elsewhere. “I hope they find Clara,” she said. “It seems heartless to just go on with the day.”
“It don’t seem ’eartless to me,” answered Parsefall. “I’m ’ungry.”
Lizzie Rose wrinkled her nose at him, but she was hungry, too. She reached into her pocket. “Here’s thruppence,” she said. “You could get us each a penny loaf and some milk. And take the dogs.”
“Why do I ’ave to take ’em?” protested Parsefall, as he did every morning.
“Because if they don’t go out and they make a mess, you’ll have to clean it up. I cleaned up yesterday,” Lizzie Rose pointed out. “And I’m the one Mrs. Pinchbeck will want to talk to after her Spasm.”
Parsefall was out-argued, and he knew it. He was not skillful with Mrs. Pinchbeck’s complaints, and Lizzie Rose was. He went to get his jacket. Ruby began to frisk around his feet.
“And carry Ruby on the stairs,” Lizzie Rose commanded. “Her toenails slip out from under her and it frightens her, poor darling.”
Parsefall made a wordless grumbling noise but scooped up the dog. Lizzie Rose returned to her makeshift bedroom. She made her bed and put on the rest of her petticoats. Then she went downstairs to tend to Mrs. Pinchbeck.
The staircase of the lodging house was dark and steep. The late Mr. Pinchbeck had provided a handrail in the form of a rope screwed into the wall. Since Mr. Pinchbeck had been dead nine years and the plaster was crumbling, Lizzie Rose had little faith in this contrivance. She descended cautiously, bringing her feet together on every tread. At last she knocked on the door of Mrs. Pinchbeck’s parlor.
“Come in, dearie!”
Mrs. Pinchbeck lay on the sofa, scanning a newspaper. She wore a poppy-colored wrapper and a soiled cap adorned with green ribbons. She had evidently found the gin bottle and was looking more cheerful than Lizzie Rose had expected. Lizzie Rose eyed her warily. Mrs. Pinchbeck with a little gin inside her was rakish and lively, but Mrs. Pinchbeck with too much gin was inclined to dwell on the day when Titus Pinchbeck, the only man she had truly loved, had been struck down by an omnibus.
Mrs. Pinchbeck tossed aside the newspaper and clutched her heart. “Oh, child!”
That was all Mrs. Pinchbeck said, but it was enough for Lizzie Rose, who had spent her life in the theatre. From the deep, foghorn-y sound of Mrs. Pinchbeck’s voice, it was clear that a play was under way, a play in which Mrs. Pinchbeck was the heroine. With light, dainty steps, Lizzie Rose crossed the threadbare carpet and flung herself onto her knees beside the sofa.
Mrs. Pinchbeck stretched out her hand to Lizzie Rose. Lizzie Rose caught it and held it against her cheek. Both females turned their bodies away from the back of the sofa, offering three-quarter profiles to the far end of the room.
“Dear Mrs. Pinchbeck,” Lizzie Rose said breathlessly, “are you quite well?”
“Alas, poor child,” Mrs. Pinchbeck replied, “I wonder if I shall e’er be well again. Coppers — first thing in the morning!” She dropped her voice half an octave. “And oh, child, the way they spoke to me!”
Lizzie Rose clasped her hands. “How dare they, ma’am?” she cried, her voice throbbing with indignation.
“I don’t know how they dared,” Mrs. Pinchbeck said darkly, “but it was something ’orrible — as if I was
common.
” She collapsed back on the sofa. Then a thought struck her, and she raised herself on one elbow. “Dearest child! Did those fiends lay their wicked hands on you?”
“No, not at all,” Lizzie Rose answered. She almost said that the policemen had been very kind to her, but remembered just in time that this was not that sort of play.
“All over the ’ouse, they went,” Mrs. Pinchbeck said. “I couldn’t stop ’em. That sergeant wanted to see everything — kitchen and larder and coal cellar and all!” She lowered her voice.
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