Splendors and Glooms by Laura Amy Schlitz Page B

impatiently. “’E knows,” he hissed back. “Don’t you see? That’s why —” He broke off, staring at her incredulously. “God strike me dead, Lizzie Rose, you never went to ’em! You never told ’em wot Mrs. Pinchbeck said!”
    Lizzie Rose pointed to the door of Grisini’s bedchamber. The doorknob was turning. The door opened, and a stranger came out.
    Lizzie Rose uttered a faint cry. Parsefall stared. It took him several seconds to realize that the stranger was Grisini.
    He had changed his clothes. Grisini’s regular clothes were grimy and torn, but they had once been elegant; his tattered frock coat had been cut by a master tailor, and his hat was genuine beaver. The clothes he wore now made him look like a pauper. An overcoat woven of some heavy wool covered him from throat to knee. His boots were clumsy, and his trousers were frayed. The torn brim of a slouch hat cast his face into shadow.
    And his posture had changed. He moved heavily, his shoulders bowed. His hands — Grisini’s long-fingered, theatrical, gesticulating hands — hung from his wrists like a pair of empty gloves. Here was a beggar like ten thousand others: a man so cheerless and commonplace that no one would give him a second glance. Only the eyes were Grisini’s: they were hawk bright and angry.
    Grisini took Lizzie Rose’s jacket from the back of a chair. He flung it down beside her. “Go outside,” he said curtly. “Go and walk the dog. There’s a policeman on the other side of the street. You must distract him — speak to him —
fai la civetta;
play the coquette. Make him turn his back on the house.”
    Lizzie Rose quailed. The color drained from her face. “I can’t,” she faltered. “Ruby’s wet. She can’t —”
    “Ubbidisci!”
Grisini’s voice was a whiplash. “
Subito!
I need to leave the house — quickly and unseen. Obey me, or you will be the worse for it!”
    “I can’t,” Lizzie Rose said desperately. “He won’t believe me —”
    Grisini’s hand lashed out. His fingers curled like a hook, snagging one of Lizzie Rose’s plaits. He yanked her to her feet so violently that she lost her hold on the dog in her arms. Ruby fell to the floor, squealing with pain.
    “How do you know what he will believe?” demanded Grisini. “What do you know of him?” He twisted both plaits around his hand and dragged her closer, peering into her face. There was a moment of utter silence as he glared into her eyes. Then: “Have there been words between you?” he inquired, sotto voce. “Have you betrayed m
e — perfida, ingrata
!”
    “No,” gasped Lizzie Rose. “No!” Her voice rose to a shriek. Grisini forced her head down and slapped her viciously, striking at the back of her neck.
    Lizzie Rose’s knees buckled. Her hands went out to break her fall, but Grisini jerked her to her feet. Ruby circled them, barking wildly. There was the sharp crack of a second slap. On the third slap, the ring on Grisini’s finger cut into Lizzie Rose’s neck. A long scratch appeared, beaded with drops of blood.
    There was a queer, high noise, as piercing as a pennywhistle. Parsefall had no idea that it came from his own throat. He knew only that his whole body had been set in motion. He leaped like a cat onto Grisini’s back, seizing him by the collar. Grisini shook him, but Parsefall tightened his grip, keeping the stranglehold. He swung forward, chest to chest with Grisini. One knee shot out and kicked hard, landing squarely between Grisini’s legs.
    Grisini swore. Parsefall tightened his grip and kicked again, aiming for the same place. He had learned to fight in the workhouse, and his methods were simple and vicious. He went on kicking until the puppet master doubled over. Then, like Ruby, Parsefall tumbled to the floor.
    He was back on his feet in an instant. Lizzie Rose was at his side.
    “Quick.” Parsefall seized her hand. “Out.”
    They swooped for the door with Ruby at their heels, and flung themselves