“Who would have thought the child had so much blood in her?” marveled Hyacinth. She advanced within an arm’s length of Maud and plucked off the wig. Then she turned her toward the back hall, steering with the tips of her fingers. “I don’t blame you for crying, you know — it’s too gruesome. I thought I heard a bump when you went back in the closet. It’s providential you didn’t cry out. I’m sure Mrs. Lambert didn’t notice a thing.”
Maud hunched her shoulders. She was sick of hearing about Mrs. Lambert.
Muffet was in the kitchen. Maud, who had a hazy sense that it was the middle of the night, noted this with surprise. The hired woman was seated at the kitchen table, playing a game of solitaire. Even in her agitated state, Maud wondered who had taught Muffet to play cards. Then the woman looked up. She stood up, darting a fierce look at Hyacinth. Three steps and Maud was buried in Muffet’s arms.
It seemed that nosebleeds, like solitaire and gardening, were among the things that Muffet understood. Maud was not aware of Hyacinth’s leaving or of exactly what was happening to herself. She only knew that one moment she was bleeding down the front of Muffet’s apron and the next she was seated at the kitchen table in nothing but her petticoat, with a wet rag on the back of her neck. The white dress was soaking in cold water, and Muffet was holding Maud’s nostrils shut with one hand and wiping the blood off her chin with the other. The horny, callused hands were soft as feathers.
Maud gave a shudder of relief. The wet dishtowel felt good against her skin. It was good to feel the space of the kitchen all around her. She looked up at Muffet, meaning to signal gratitude. The hired woman had never looked grimmer. Maud’s forehead puckered. She couldn’t think of anything she had done to make Muffet angry.
Muffet pressed Maud’s fingers around the sore nose, directing Maud to keep her nostrils shut. Then she got up and fetched pencil and paper. Maud watched as the drawing took shape.
It was a drawing of Maud in her white dress. Then another figure emerged. It was a spider, and not a spider; it wore a stylish shirtwaist and had an elegant, pointed face. Maud emitted a cry of recognition and surprise. Somehow Muffet had drawn a spider that was also Hyacinth. And the spider was reaching out one of its legs, striking the little girl.
Maud looked to Muffet, perplexed. Then she understood. “No, Muffet!” She shook her head emphatically. “No. She didn’t hit me.”
Muffet pushed the pencil and writing pad toward Maud.
Maud sighed. Muffet knew she couldn’t draw. Still, she managed a stick figure with a wide skirt. She drew a rectangle and added a circle on one side for the doorknob. “I walked into the door, that’s all.” She pointed to the door and stood up, miming the collision. Then she remembered that door was one of Muffet’s words. She printed carefully, MAUD WALK INTO DOOR.
Muffet cupped her hands around Maud’s cheeks, forcing Maud to look her in the eye. Are you telling the truth?
Maud nodded. With the pencil, she underlined DOOR.
Muffet nodded in return. Then she went to the icebox. She poured a glass of milk and opened a tin of anise cookies. She put the glass and the cookies in front of Maud and tapped her left hand lightly, giving her permission to let go of her nose.
Early the next morning, Maud was awakened by a series of thuds.
It was not yet dawn. The light was dim. Maud sat up and ran her fingers over her hurt nose. It was sore, but the blood caked inside her nostrils was dry. It was not pain that had wakened her, but noise. Another thud sounded from the other side of the wall.
Someone was in the next room, where the boxes and trunks were kept. Lamplight flickered in the open doorway. Maud slid out of bed and peered inside. Victoria, fully dressed in hat, gloves, and traveling suit, stood between two suitcases. Muffet, clad in her nightgown and barefoot, faced her. At the spectacle of Muffet, Maud rubbed her eyes. The hired woman’s nightdress was elaborately pintucked and adorned with scarlet ribbons. At one end of this confection were Muffet’s feet — short, square, with thick ankles — and at the other was Muffet’s face, which was wearing an obstinate expression.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Maud.
Victoria looked over her shoulder. “Go back to bed.”
“You woke me up,” Maud said defensively. “What are you doing here?”
“We’re leaving,” Victoria said shortly. “We need to catch the early train.”
Maud’s eyes went to the suitcases on the floor. Victoria’s bags were already packed. The trunk that Maud shared with Muffet lay open and empty on the floor. Maud’s clothes had been taken out and set aside. “Am I going?”
“No. Only Muffet and I.” Victoria darted a frustrated glare toward the hired woman. “Only she won’t.”
Maud’s gaze shifted to Muffet. The hired woman’s hands were half clenched, and there was something about the way her feet were planted that proclaimed that she would not be moved. Maud’s attention was caught by Muffet’s toenails, which were barbaric enough to erase all other thoughts from her mind. They were dull yellow and curved like the claws of a bear. Maud resolved that no matter how long she lived, she would never have toenails like that.
Victoria seemed to come to a decision. She stalked past Muffet into the hired woman’s bedroom, opened the chest of drawers, and took out a selection of stockings. Muffet pursued her, reclaimed the stockings, and shut them back in the drawer. Maud was intrigued. She sidled away from the doorway and leaned against the wall, where she had an excellent view of the battle that followed.
It was a brief tussle, but vigorous. Once Muffet headed back to bed, Victoria yanked open a second drawer and removed two aprons, a corset, and an armful of petticoats. Briskly she headed for the box room, only to be waylaid by Muffet. Once again, Muffet snatched back her clothes and returned them to the chest. Victoria, changing tactics, went to the box room and brought in a suitcase. She laid it on Muffet’s bed and pointed to the empty interior. Muffet shook her head. She began to replace the items of clothing in the chest. Victoria attempted to reach around her, and Muffet uttered a cry of rage. She slammed the drawer shut so violently that the chest rocked and banged against the wall.
Victoria’s face puckered despairingly. “She’ll wake the whole house!” In her perplexity, she turned to Maud. “What is the matter with her? She’s never behaved so before. Whenever we go traveling, I begin packing, and she understands what I want. What’s possessed her?”
Maud had no intention of entering into a quarrel between grown-ups. “Why are you going away?”
Victoria looked back to Muffet. The hired woman had finished putting her clothes away. Now she thumped back to bed — her limp was more pronounced than usual — and climbed in with the air of a woman who meant to stay there. As she settled herself between the bedclothes, her feet kicked the suitcase off the bed. The message was clear.
“It’s no use,” Victoria said helplessly. “She won’t come. I’ll have to go without her.”
Maud felt a little sorry for Victoria. She went to retrieve the empty suitcase. “Where are you going?”
Victoria went back to the box room. Once the suitcase was back in place, she spoke to Maud. “I hear you hurt yourself last night. How do you feel this morning?”
Maud touched her sore nose. “S’better,” she said cautiously. She didn’t want to fend off any sympathy that might be coming her way. “It still hurts, though.”
Victoria nodded briefly. Her hair had come loose during the quarrel with Muffet, and her hat listed to one side. She tried to tuck her hair back into place. “I’m leaving Cape Calypso. I’m going back to Hawthorne Grove.”
“Why?”
“Because —” Victoria took a deep breath and started over. “After the séance last night, I went back to the hotel with Mrs. Lambert. We talked together for a long time. Maud, I felt so sorry for her! She poured out her heart to me. She can’t get over Caroline’s death. She goes over and over it in her mind, thinking what she ought to have done that last day. . . . Do you kno
w what she told me? She goes to the merry-go-round almost every day. She watches the children circling on their horses and thinks that if only she’d gone with Caroline the day she died . . . Sometimes she thinks Caroline will be there, riding the merry-go-round with the other children, and she’ll be able to reach out her hand and say, ‘Come home!’ And Caroline will slide off her sea monster and come. She won’t be dead any longer.”
Maud felt a prickle of superstitious dread. She didn’t like the idea of Caroline coming back from the grave. It would be one thing if there had been some mistake and Caroline were still alive, but the drowned girl’s body had been found. People who were dead ought to stay dead. Maud said flatly, and perhaps brutally, “That’s stupid.”
“Perhaps. Only if Mrs. Lambert had followed her that day —” Victoria spread her hands in a plea for understanding. “That’s all she can think about, Maud — the impossible chance that she might see her child again. Last night, she thanked me. She thanked me, Maud. She thinks Caroline appeared last night because of me — because I’m such a powerful medium. She holds me responsible.” Tears began to flow down Victoria’s cheeks. “And if she holds me responsible, I must hold myself responsible. I can’t do this any longer. It’s too cruel. I can’t stand by while Hyacinth torments her and takes her money.”
“Did you tell Hyacinth that?”
“Hyacinth? No.” Victoria took out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “What’s the use of talking to Hyacinth?” She broke off. “Never mind Hyacinth. The point is I won’t do it. I’m going back to Hawthorne Grove.”
Maud summed it up. “You’re running away.” She spoke as if Victoria were one of the children at the Barbary Asylum.
Victoria flinched. “Yes,” she said, “I’m a coward, I know. I’ve no faith that I can withstand Hyacinth if I stay here.” She cast a resentful glance over her shoulder. “Only Muffet won’t go with me.”
Maud considered Muffet’s disobedience. She realized that she understood why Muffet was refusing to go. Muffet was learning to read and write. She wanted the words that Maud was teaching her.
“What if I come with you?” The words slipped out before Maud made up her mind to say them. She didn’t know if she wanted to go with Victoria.
“I can’t take you with me,” Victoria answered in a voice that struck Maud as surprisingly harsh. “I have no legal right. I’m not your guardian. Hyacinth is.”
“Oh.”
“I can’t take you,” Victoria repeated, as if Maud were refusing to take no for an answer. “I was against adopting you. Hyacinth went behind my back. I don’t have the power to take you away from her. And if I did, you wouldn’t agree. I was never your ‘Dearest.’” The last word cut like a whip. Then Victoria’s face crumbled. “Oh, Maud, forgive me! It’s just that — all my life —” Her mouth wobbled. The elderly woman looked like a baffled child. “I’ve always tried to be good. Surely to be good is to be lovable? But no one has ever cared for me. And Hyacinth — Hyacinth never tries to be good and yet . . . The house in Hawthorne Grove belongs to her, did you know that? Our father left the estate to Hyacinth. Judith and I live there on her charity.”
Maud felt a pang of sympathy. She knew all about charity. She searched for words of comfort. “But this house is yours,” she pointed out. “Isn’t this your house? Not Hyacinth’s?”
Victoria slumped down on the nearest trunk. She reached up and removed the pins from her hat. Slowly, mechanically, she took off her hat and placed it in her lap. Then she began to re-knot her hair.
“It’s true. This house is mine, to my shame. It’s the fruit of my wickedness.”
Maud was tired of standing. She dropped down at Victoria’s feet and looked up expectantly, as if waiting to be told a fairy tale. Something about the posture made Victoria laugh, though her eyes were full of tears.
“Years ago, Maud, I used to dream of the dead. Judith says it’s all nonsense, but I did, Maud, I did! I had a gift, you see. People would tell me about their loved ones, and I would dream of them. . . . It wasn’t the kind of heaven you read about in books, with harps and cities of gold. But there were trees and rocks and the river — and oh, the light! The colors in my dreams weren’t like earthly colors. The light shone through them, like stained glass. And in my dreams, I would talk to the dead and see their happiness, and then I could tell the people left behind that all was well. I comforted them. It really was a gift, but I suppose I grew conceited.” Victoria toyed with the veil on her hat. “And then there was Mr. Llewellyn. He owned this house. His son died young — consumption. He used to send little Tom to the ocean, in the hopes that it would cure his lungs — but it was no use. After Tom died, Mr. Llewellyn used to come and ask me if I would dream of Tom, and I did dream and I told him — but it wasn’t enough. You see, in the dreams, I just saw Tom — he didn’t speak. And Mr. Llewellyn wanted him to say something.”
“So you made things up,” Maud said matter-of-factly. She felt that she might have done the same thing.
“No — yes. It wasn’t just that. You see, Maud, Mr. Llewellyn owned a cotton mill, and he used child laborers. Little children — some of them younger than you — I visited him at the mill, and they almost broke my heart. They were so frail and dingy and crooked, and I thought it was a shame.” Victoria’s head was up now. “It was dreadful, Maud! He loved his son — but he couldn’t see that those poor factory waifs were children, too. He saw nothing wrong with forcing them to work ten hours a day for two dollars a week, and I couldn’t help myself. I told him” — she gulped — “I told him Tom came to me in a dream. I told him Tom wanted him to build a school for those children and pay them for learning their lessons. And he did. He built the school. The children worked half a day, and the rest of the time they studied and played.”
Maud clapped her hands, tickled by the idea that decorous Victoria had thought of such a scheme. “But that was good!”
“That’s what I thought.” Victoria shook her head. “I told myself it was a good lie. I hadn’t hurt anyone. And Mr. Llewellyn was greatly admired for treating the children well — for the first time in his life, people looked up to him. But it was a lie, Maud, and I was punished for it. After that lie, I lost my gift. I no longer dream of the dead.”
“Do you miss it so much?”
“Yes.” Victoria spoke the monosyllable very softly. “But it isn’t just that. Mr. Llewellyn left me this house when he died — he had others, but this was the one where Tom died — and that made me feel dreadful, but that wasn’t the worst thing, either. The worst thing was that after I stopped dreaming, people still came to me for comfort, and I had none to give. And then Hyacinth began to say she was a medium and to hold séances. . . . I never asked for anything, ever, but she accepted gifts, and after a while we were making money. Oh, we needed it — Hyacinth spends so recklessly — but it wasn’t right. And so we became what we are now. Liars and the cruelest sort of thieves.” With great gentleness, Victoria laid her fingertips against Maud’s nose. “And now there’s you. Hyacinth took you from the Asylum so that you could learn the family business. Can’t you see that what she is making you do is wrong? Think of Eleanor Lambert — think of all she’s suffered! What will become of you, Maud?”
Maud lowered her eyelids. She didn’t like the question. In her opinion, the problem of what was to become of her had been solved, and solved to her full satisfaction. She had a good home and a guardian. If there was a price attached to both, she was willing to pay. As for Eleanor Lambert, she was a grown-up — and rich. She would have to look after herself. “Don’t worry about me,” Maud said gruffly. “I’ll be all right.”
Victoria sighed and got to her feet. She replaced her hat on her head and took up her suitcases. “I must be going,” she said hopelessly. “I must catch the early train.”
Maud took the kerosene lamp and walked the stairs to light her way. She held out her free hand. “Good-bye,” she said. “I’m sorry —” She almost said, I’m sorry I love Hyacinth
better than you, but stopped herself just in time. “I’m sorry you’re going away. I’ll miss you.”
Victoria bent and kissed her forehead. She had had no breakfast, and her breath was unpleasant. “I’ll write to you,” she promised. Maud watched as she descended the stairs, casting her shadow before her.
That night Maud dreamed of Caroline Lambert for the first time.
Four days later, the temperature rose to one hundred degrees, and Maud abandoned being perfectly good.
It was not only the heat that drove her to disobedience. Since Victoria’s leaving, both Hyacinth and Judith were edgy and short-tempered. Hyacinth was giving a series of lectures on spiritualism at a nearby hotel, and she had little time for Maud. Muffet was cross because Hyacinth’s outings demanded freshly ironed clothes every day, which meant that the kitchen stove had to be lit to heat the irons. Maud strayed back and forth between the airless attic and the steamy kitchen. She had nothing to read. When she complained, Judith provided her with one of Mr. Llewellyn’s old books, which was supposed to be about a whale. Maud skimmed over a hundred pages of dense prose without encountering the promised monster. Feeling cheated, she flung the book aside in disgust. Her head ached. She was bored, hot, sticky, and lonesome.
In her quest for something to do, she explored the box room. Inside the trunk she shared with Muffet, she came across the striped dress she had sewn under Victoria’s instruction. Maud had never worn this garment, which had not been a success. The gathers of the skirt were uneven, and one sleeve jutted out in a peculiar way. The cloth itself was thin and flimsy — Victoria was too frugal to waste good cloth on an unskilled seamstress.
Maud eyed the dress speculatively. It was a dress of no value, a dress she could get dirty if she liked. Maud had a sudden vision of herself cavorting by the edge of the ocean, wearing the striped dress. It would be terrible if she left the house and Hyacinth found out, but the risk was small. The Hawthorne sisters were at a dinner party given by a rich lady named Mrs. Fortescue. They would be spending the evening indoors.
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