A Drowned Maiden's Hair

by Laura Amy Schlitz

  Victoria’s cottage was a four-story house with a porch that wrapped around three sides. Maud had little time to study it; as Hyacinth had ordered, she checked to make sure it was the right house, glanced up and down the street, and lunged for the shelter of the hedge. From the hedge, she darted to the back porch. The kitchen door opened before her fingers touched the knob. “There you are!” hissed Hyacinth, seizing her by the forearm. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting and waiting.”

  Maud kissed the cheek that was held to her lips, catching a whiff of violets. She had a confused impression of an untidy kitchen: torn linoleum, shuttered windows, and a sink full of dirty dishes. Hyacinth whisked her past the kitchen table, and up a flight of stairs — steep, narrow stairs, like the ones at the Barbary Asylum.

  “You must always use the back steps,” Hyacinth whispered as she guided Maud ahead of her. “And whisper — always whisper. We have to keep the windows open, because of the heat. You mustn’t forget.” She paused at the first landing and leaned against the balustrade.

  “It’s hot,” whispered Maud.

  “It is,” admitted Hyacinth. She lifted her skirt and resumed the climb. “Hot air rises. Something to do with science, I believe. However, one grows used to it, and there’s often a breeze at night.” She nodded for Maud to go on ahead. They mounted a second flight of stairs and a third. The final flight had no handrail, but ran straight through the floor of the attic. Both Maud and Hyacinth were panting when they emerged from the stairwell.

  “Here’s your room,” gasped Hyacinth, “at the back of the house. The other side of the wall’s — the box room — where we keep our trunks — and then Muffet — has the front.”

  Maud surveyed her new quarters dubiously. She saw a high iron bed with a white counterpane. The dresser was carved oak, with a tarnished mirror that showed only the top of her head. On the washstand was a pitcher decorated with daisies, a matching washbowl — and, on the bottom shelf, a large chamber pot. Maud raised her eyes to Hyacinth’s face. She was afraid to ask.

  Hyacinth read her thoughts. “My poor child, don’t look at me like that! Of course we have a water closet!” She fingered the lace at her collar. “It’s on the first floor, off the back hall. Mr. Llewellyn — the man who left the cottage to Victoria — had it put in years ago, along with the electric lights. I just wanted to prepare you for when we have visitors — you mightn’t be able to go downstairs —” She paused apologetically.

  Maud sank down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. The roof slanted down on either side. Both walls and ceiling were papered: red diamonds on a snuff-colored background. It was not a pattern that appealed to Maud. She was hot, thirsty, and disheartened. She had risen before dawn, taken two trains, seen the ocean, and narrowly avoided making a friend. She was in no state to bear up against chamber pots and ugly wallpaper.

  “We’ll show you the rest of the house tonight,” Hyacinth assured her. “It’s better downstairs. The only thing is, we’re closer to the neighbors than we were in Hawthorne Grove, and the windows are open. You’ll have to be twice as quiet as before.”

  Maud nodded. She glanced at the windows, half expecting to see bars against the glass.

  “The curtains are sewn together down the middle and tacked to the window frame,” Hyacinth explained, “which helps keep out mosquitoes.” She sat down next to Maud and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Maudy,” she said softly, “what’s the matter? Are you homesick?”

  Maud nodded a second time. She could not have said what home she was missing, but “Poor Maudy,” murmured Hyacinth, and Maud closed her eyes and leaned against her. She wished she could curl up against Hyacinth and fall asleep, like the little boy on the train. But the attic was hot. If she leaned too long or nestled too close, she ran the risk of being pushed away. She straightened up, opened her eyes, and blurted out, “I don’t like the wallpaper.”

  Hyacinth looked shocked. “Oh, you mustn’t like the wallpaper!” she flashed back. “It’s quite unspeakable! I should be ashamed of you, Maud Flynn, if you liked the wallpaper.”

  Maud felt a surge of relief. Once again, Hyacinth was on her side, sympathizing with her even when she was rude. She could not keep from smiling. “I like the parasol you sent me,” she said huskily, “but I missed you.”

  “And I missed you.” Hyacinth flicked a lock of hair away from Maud’s ear. “But we’ll talk tonight.” She rose from the bed. “I’ve left you my little clock. I want you to come downstairs at seven-thirty. By then it will be dusk, and we won’t have callers. I’ll show you the house and tell you about the next séance.” And with that promise, she slipped down the stairs, sinking from sight as if through a trapdoor.

  Maud overslept. After supper, she lay down to rest, meaning to keep one eye on the clock. In ten minutes, she had fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes, the room was dim, and it was quarter past eight. She scrambled to her feet and splashed water on her face.

  Groggily, on tiptoe, she descended the stairs. All the doors in the back hall were closed. Maud turned the knobs stealthily, opening each one a crack. The first led to the kitchen, the second to the water closet.

  The third door opened into a room scarcely six feet wide. A streetlight shone through the single window, illuminating a row of glass-fronted bookcases. There was a globe in one corner, and a marble bust of a man in a wig. Maud realized that the room had been a library. It had been chopped in half to make room for the water closet.

  A voice spoke from the far side of the wall. Maud stepped forward, listening.

  “You assured me this would be the end of it,” accused Victoria. “That was what we agreed —”

  “But we’re just getting established!” Hyacinth sounded exasperated. “This summer alone, I’ve been asked everywhere. Not just for séances, but to speak — I’ve half a dozen engagements in the next month. And if Eleanor Lambert —”

  Victoria interrupted. “You said we’d get the money for the mortgage and stop,” she insisted. “Judith, you were there. We said —”

  It was Hyacinth who answered, not Judith. “Eleanor Lambert is just the beginning. Only consider, Victoria! Once we’ve convinced Eleanor Lambert, we’ll meet others in her circle. People who wouldn’t trust an ordinary medium, people who are discreet —”

  “People whose children have died,” Victoria said harshly. “Judith, this is wrong.”

  “Of course it’s wrong,” Judith said flatly. “But we need the money. During the last two weeks, we’ve had the expense of two households —”

  “We could economize,” pleaded Victoria.

  “You could and I could. Hyacinth won’t. The mortgage must be paid. Muffet doesn’t cost much, but we have to give her something. Even Maud is an expense.”

  Maud felt her stomach twist in terror.

  “Maud is a godsend,” Hyacinth said vehemently, to Maud’s unutterable relief. “Really, Victoria! Have you no imagination? Can’t you see the possibilities now that we have Maud? Besides, it’s a waste — to adopt her and train her and stop after —”

  “We should never have taken her,” Victoria said bitterly. “To force her to go on and on . . . This is the worst possible home for her.” She sounded close to tears. “It’s not just that she’s a child; it’s the kind of child she is.”

  Maud let out a yelp of outrage. Her hands came up to cover her lips. She stood rigid, hoping the sisters had not heard her cry.

  Victoria went on passionately. “If we can’t take her back to the Asylum, we ought to send her away to school —”

  “And how will we pay for the school?” Judith gave a short, mirthless laugh. “For heaven’s sake, Victoria! I don’t like Hyacinth’s schemes any more than you do, but I don’t see how we are to live without money.”

  “There must be something —” Victoria began.

  “Are we likely to marry, do you think?” Judith’s sarcasm was withering. “Do you suppose anyone wants to hire a seventy-year-old housekeeper? Or a fa
ctory worker?”

  Maud had heard enough. She stepped out of the half library and headed for the door at the far end of the passage. She turned the doorknob and stalked inside.

  The three women turned to face her. Hyacinth’s cheeks were becomingly flushed; Victoria’s were mottled with anger. Judith might have been sitting for a portrait, her face was so calm and still.

  “There you are!” Hyacinth sounded as merry as if the three sisters had been having a party. “Welcome to the back parlor. The front parlor’s larger, but this is where we’ll have the séances.” She extended her hand as if she were about to lead Maud into a dance.

  Maud took stock of the room. There was stained glass in the side windows and a chandelier overhead. The walls were hung with dark blue paper and oil paintings of ships. Maud nodded toward the round table in front of her. “Is that where I’ll be hiding? Under there?”

  Hyacinth shook her head. “No. That’s where we sit. We have something much better for you.” She crossed the room and ran her fingers over the carved mantelpiece. “Watch.”

  The side of the mantelpiece swung outward, revealing a closetlike space.

  “You see?” Hyacinth flickered her fingers inside the dark cavity. “This house was built as a summer cottage. The fireplace isn’t real and the mantelpiece is hollow. Mr. Llewellyn used to keep his maps inside. It’s the perfect place to hide you.” She nodded encouragingly. “Come closer.”

  Maud peered inside, intrigued. The space was roughly twenty inches deep and twenty inches wide.

  “She’s too tall,” Judith said waspishly.

  “She isn’t,” contradicted Hyacinth. “Show her, Maud. Go in and pull the door shut after you. See, there’s a handle on the inside of the door.”

  Maud stepped into the cavity. “I told you,” Hyacinth said triumphantly. “I knew she’d fit the first time I saw her.”

  Maud shifted uneasily. The fit was tight. If she stood on tiptoe, her head thumped against the top of the mantel; if she put her hands on her waist, both elbows touched wood. She wished she hadn’t read about Oliver Twist sleeping among the coffins. The image came back to her now, and she had a feeling it would come back to her when she was shut up inside and the cupboard was dark.

  “Try closing the door,” Hyacinth encouraged her.

  Maud took the handle and pulled the panel shut. In the darkness, her eyes searched for the crack of light around the panel. It was hair thin. “How do I get out?”

  “Just push.” Victoria’s voice sounded close by; she must have left her chair and come to stand by the mantel. “Anywhere. The door fits snugly — we glued felt on the sides — but it doesn’t latch. You can always get out.”

  Maud pressed her fingertips to the door panel and pushed. As Victoria had assured her, the door opened with a soft shhh of wool against wood. Maud emerged from the cabinet. She shook herself, like a cat coming out the rain. “How long does it take for people to run out of air and die?”

  Hyacinth looked insulted. “Have you lost your mind? Do you think we’d put you in that closet if there wasn’t any air?”

  Maud hesitated.

  “There’s plenty of air,” Judith assured her. “The back of the mantel faces a bookcase on the other side of the wall. We drilled airholes behind the books.”

  “If she’s frightened, she could wait in the hallway and slip in when it’s dark,” Victoria said worriedly.

  Maud looked daggers at her. “I’m not frightened,” she said scornfully. “But I can’t play the glockenspiel in there. There isn’t room.”

  “Oh, the glockenspiel!” Hyacinth shrugged, as if the glockenspiel were no longer of importance. “We won’t be using that.” She reached past Victoria to capture Maud’s hand. “Come and see what you’ll be wearing.”

  Maud followed Victoria to the table. Before her were a number of objects, only one of which made sense to her. Her fingers stole out to touch the yellow wig. “Is that mine?”

  “Yes and no.” Hyacinth smiled. “It’s Caroline Lambert’s.”

  Maud drew her fingers back. Her shoulders twitched in an involuntary shudder. “You mean — they cut off her hair after she drowned?”

  “No.” Hyacinth and Victoria spoke at the same instant. Victoria looked as horrified as Maud felt. “Even Hyacinth wouldn’t —”

  Judith spoke up, drowning out the voices of her sisters. “The wig came from a theatrical costumer. You needn’t be afraid to touch it.”

  “What I meant,” Hyacinth sounded both offended and amused, “is that it was Caroline Lambert who had long curls, not you. Really, Maud! I sometimes think you have a morbid streak. You must strive to overcome it. Cultivate wholesome thoughts.”

  Maud scowled. She hated it when she couldn’t tell whether Hyacinth was making fun of her. She picked up the wig and draped it over her fist. The ringlets bounced and rippled.

  “Try it on,” Hyacinth said eagerly. “It’s a very good wig. I insisted on the best quality.”

  Maud pulled the wig over her head. She tucked her own hair under the edges and asked, “How do I look?”

  If she had hoped for admiration, her hopes were dashed. All three sisters regarded her with the same startled expression. Maud searched the room for a mirror and saw one over the mantel. She pulled a chair over and climbed up to gaze at herself.

  It was a severe disappointment. Ever since she could remember, she had yearned for hair like the hair she had just put on. She had always thought that if she had ringlets, the rest of her would improve; somehow her pointed witch’s chin would grow round and dimpled, and her forehead wouldn’t look so bony. Instead, she appeared plainer than usual. The yellow curls robbed her skin of color, and her face looked small and pinched.

  “In the dark —” Hyacinth said, making the best of things.

  “Yes, of course. In the dark she will do very well.” Judith cleared her throat. “Maud, stop preening and put the wig back. There’s no need to wear it now.”

  Maud stuck her tongue out at the mirror and yanked off the wig. She put it down on the table, on top of a thin wooden board. The board was inscribed with the letters of the alphabet, pictures of the sun and moon, and the words YES, NO, and GOOD-BYE.

  “What’s this?”

  “Don’t point,” Judith said crisply. “It’s a Ouija board. People use them in séances. Mrs. Lambert wants to try one.”

  “This is the planchette —” Hyacinth directed Maud’s attention to a small three-legged table shaped like an arrowhead. “It moves over the board and points out the letters.” She placed the tips of her fingers on the planchette and pushed the little table over the board. M-A-U-D spelled the planchette.

  Maud eyed the board with interest. She was thinking of Muffet. She had finished Muffet’s alphabet cards, but there were only twenty-six of them, not enough for words with double letters. The Ouija board would make it easier to spell out sentences.

  “Maud.” Hyacinth was recalling her attention. “Have you ever seen a Ouija board used?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then pay attention.” Hyacinth drew aside a chair and sat down. “Two people sit with their fingers on the planchette. One asks a question and the planchette spells out the answer. Quite ordinary people use the Ouija board — one needn’t be a medium. The planchette will move for almost anyone.”

  “How does it move?”

  Hyacinth laughed. “Oh, someone pushes it!” She put up her hand to silence Victoria, who looked as if she was about to object. “People don’t realize they’re pushing. That’s the best thing about it. The only trouble is, the board says such silly things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Nonsense. The sort of things people say in dreams.” Hyacinth lifted her wrists and let her hands fall back in her lap. “That’s why I don’t like it. You don’t have much control over what it says.”

  “Then why —” began Maud.

  “Because Mrs. Lambert insisted,” Hyacinth answered. She picked up a dark, shiny
object and pushed it across the table to Maud. “What do you make of that?”

  Maud studied it. It was a large toy cricket, made of tin. Hyacinth’s smile seemed to imply that there was something special about it, but Maud thought it was ugly. She hoped it wasn’t meant to be a present.

  “Press it against the table. No — not the whole thing — the tail end.”

  Maud snapped the cricket’s tail. The thin metal let out a loud, sharp rap! It was a sound Maud had heard before. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “So that’s how — at the séance!”

  “Yes.” Hyacinth’s smile was dazzling. “Of course, Judith can make rapping sounds, too — with her heel, with her thumbs — but the clicker toy is particularly useful at séances. I always have one — sometimes I wear two.” She lowered her voice to answer Maud’s unspoken question. “Underneath. Under my petticoats.”

  Maud averted her eyes, embarrassed. She didn’t want to criticize Hyacinth, even in her thoughts, but it seemed to her that there was something very unladylike about wearing a tin bug under one’s petticoats. “Do I have to wear one?”

  “No. But you do have to do your very best in the days to come.” Hyacinth leaned across the table and looked into Maud’s eyes. “You must remember Mrs. Lambert has been tricked before. Our performance must be perfect.”

  Maud nodded earnestly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “When Mrs. Lambert first came to me, she was suspicious. I could tell — and I knew not to rush her. I knew it would be a mistake to make Caroline appear too soon. People don’t believe when things happen too fast. So I held back. Every time we tried to contact Caroline, we failed. And every time we failed, Eleanor Lambert became more convinced that she could trust me. Now it is time to succeed.” Hyacinth lifted one hand and brushed her fingers against her palm. “I have arranged it so that she is exactly ready.”

  She opened her fingers. A seashell lay in the hollow of her hand. Maud blinked.

  “We’ll begin with a present.” Hyacinth handed the shell to Maud. “Caroline Lambert collected shells. On the night of the first séance, you’ll leave this on the table for her mother to find. A gift from the dead.”