Maud wrinkled her nose at the white dress. The bloodstains had been bleached to a dingy beige color. They wouldn’t show up in the dark, but Maud’s pleasure in the dress was much diminished. “Where will I be?”
“Outside the window. Wait ten — no, fifteen minutes.” Hyacinth turned Maud away from her and began to unbutton her dress. “Five minutes of useless chatter — what a dreadful storm, et cetera — another five to bring up the idea of a séance and talk her into it — two to dim the lights and set the chairs . . . another three or four before you begin to sing. . . . Yes. Fifteen minutes should do nicely. Go downstairs, through the kitchen, out the back door — climb up the side porch and crouch under the stained-glass windows. The parlor lights will be off. If for some reason the lights are still on, don’t sing. And when you do sing, take care you keep down — if the lightning strikes, I don’t want to see your shadow against the glass. Do you know what to sing?”
“‘Shall We Gather at the River,’” Maud answered promptly. It was Caroline’s favorite hymn. She also knew Caroline’s favorite color (green), her favorite food (cinnamon toast), and the name of her favorite toy elephant (Turrible).
“Yes, that’ll do. Two verses, I think. It’s possible Mrs. Lambert will rush out in the storm once she hears Caroline’s voice, so you must be ready to flee if you hear the front door opening. Luckily it sticks — that’ll give you an extra few seconds. Two verses at the most — then off the porch, in the back door, and back to the attic. It couldn’t be simpler.”
Maud thought it could. “It’s thundering and lightning,” she pointed out. She knew quite well she would do what Hyacinth commanded, but she wanted full credit for going out into the storm.
“Pooh!” Hyacinth swooped down and kissed Maud’s cheek. “You’re not afraid of a little rain, are you? You’ll be on the porch almost the whole time — people are never struck by lightning when they’re on a porch.”
Maud gave her a skeptical glance.
“Fifteen minutes.” Hyacinth nodded toward the clock. “Mind you open the kitchen door softly — and shut it — and don’t run into it, for goodness’ sake! You’ll be perfect — I count on you.” Hyacinth kissed her fingertips and blew her a kiss that smelled of violets.
It was a stroke of good luck, Maud thought as she passed through the kitchen, that Muffet was in the water closet. Muffet understood that for some reason Maud was not allowed to leave the house, and she had never seen Maud in her golden wig. Maud knew that the hired woman was quite capable of blocking the doorway and questioning her as best she could. Maud lifted the hook that latched the screen door, took a firm hold on the glockenspiel, and stepped out onto the porch.
The rain fell in gleaming sheets. Maud clutched the glockenspiel to her chest. The glockenspiel was a surprise for Hyacinth; during the fifteen minutes before Maud came downstairs, she had practiced the hymn, hammering the air above the bars. She remembered it well — she was sure that she could play it without mistakes. For a moment she stood poised on the back porch, gathering her nerve. Then she squinted, hunched her shoulders, and plunged out into the rain.
In a matter of seconds, she was drenched. Wig, dress, and skin ran with water; her bare toes squeaked against the wet grass. With one leap, she was up on the porch. She hunkered down under the window ledge.
As Hyacinth had promised, the windows were dark. Maud took in her breath. This time she would not hurry. It was important to get everything exactly right. Methodically, she wiped her face on her sleeve and shoved back the sodden wig. She experimented with crouching positions until she found one that was comfortable — half squatting, half kneeling. From this position, she could get to her feet in an instant.
She listened. She thought she could hear Judith’s voice intoning a prayer. The words were blurred by the tumult of rain. Maud grasped the little hammer and began to play the glockenspiel. The chimes rang out sweetly, unevenly, and Maud began to sing —
“Shall we gather at the river,
Where bright angel feet have trod,
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God —”
She waited a split second, listening. Judith’s voice had stopped. Maud could sense the excitement on the other side of the wall. She struck a single wrong note and made haste to cover her error:
“Yes, we’ll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river —
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.”
The glockenspiel jangled along with her voice, not quite in time. Maud’s fingers tingled with cold and nervousness. Better to stop playing now, before she made another mistake. She gathered the instrument to her chest and shifted position, squatting on tiptoe.
“Ere we reach the shining river,
Lay we every burden down;
Grace our spirits will deliver,
And provide a robe and crown.
Soon we’ll —”
She heard the forceful sound of the front door sticking — a sound not unlike a sneeze. She leaped to her feet. Without looking back, she jumped from the porch and rushed to the back lawn. Once around the corner of the house, she flew to the door and opened it. At the last moment, she remembered not to slam the door — her muddy foot lashed out and caught it before it banged shut.
For a marvel, Muffet was not in the kitchen. Maud tore off her wig, seized a dishtowel, and wiped her feet. Then she trotted upstairs, quick and self-possessed as a little goat.
She had done it! She half heard, half fancied, the sound of female voices raised in wonder and distress. The sound reminded her to step lightly. In fits and starts, she climbed the stairs, arriving at last in the attic.
Caroline was taking off her boots. She perched on a promontory made of huge dark stones, which stretched from the ocean to the shore. Maud knelt on the sand and watched her. Caroline’s dress was sandy and damp. It was a deliciously pretty dress: pale blue batiste embroidered with forget-me-nots. Maud would have cherished a dress like that, but Caroline was reckless. Caroline didn’t mind if she mussed her dress or whether the wind whipped her hair into disorder.
Maud spoke. “You have a green smear on your skirt.”
Caroline didn’t answer. She rolled her stockings up in a ball and threw them into the air. She had a good arm: the balled-up stockings landed in the mouth of the boot she had just discarded.
“Maud,” whispered Hyacinth, “are you asleep?”
Maud dragged herself out of her dream. The memory faded as she sat up in bed. For the second time that night Hyacinth stood before her. This time she carried a candle and a bowl of ice cream. A whole pint of ice cream, with two spoons stuck in it. Maud blinked in astonishment. “I’m not asleep,” she assured Hyacinth.
“Good!” Hyacinth set the candle before the mirror. The faint light doubled. By the light of glass and candle, Hyacinth appeared supernaturally young. She was wearing what Maud thought of as a “negleyjay,” lavishly embroidered and foamy with lace. Maud feasted her eyes upon it. Someday, perhaps, she would have a “negleyjay.”
Hyacinth held out the ice cream. “The shop was out of vanilla, so I bought peach.”
Maud cupped her hands around the bowl. The china was beaded with cold water, and the ice cream was pure and sugary, with shreds of peach that rasped against her tongue. “Mmmn.”
Hyacinth sat down on the bed. “The rain’s stopped.”
“What time is it?”
“About nine thirty.” Hyacinth leaned forward, skimming her spoon over the mountain of cream. “The shop was closed, but I hammered on the window — I was determined you should have a treat. Maud, you were perfect! The glockenspiel was a masterstroke. You should have heard it — the chimes against the rain — the effect was beyond everything! I felt my own skin prickle, and I knew it was you. You couldn’t have done better if we’d rehearsed for hours.”
“Was the singing all right?”
“The singing was exq
uisite,” said Hyacinth approvingly. “Neither too loud nor too soft. Eleanor Lambert went white as a sheet — Judith thought she was going to faint.”
“Did she?”
“No. She ran to the window — she stood there with her cheek against the glass — crying and crying. And then she rushed for the door, and Judith and I tried to stop her — while you, my nimble darling, vanished into thin air! Oh, it was perfection! She was certain it was Caroline. Though” — Hyacinth’s eyes crinkled with amusement — “she did say as how Caroline generally sang a little flat. Now, you, pettikins, were absolutely on pitch.”
“I can’t help that,” Maud protested. “You never told me to sing flat.”
“My precious child, I didn’t know! Luckily, it took no time at all to persuade Eleanor that everyone sings on key in heaven — if they didn’t, how dreadful for poor God! Yes, it was an absolute triumph.”
Maud prompted her, “So I was good?”
“My darling child, you were better than good — didn’t I say so? I never thought we should find a child who could improvise so brilliantly.” Hyacinth put down her spoon and pushed the bowl closer to Maud. “There. Finish that.”
Maud spooned up an enormous lump of ice cream and put it in her mouth. She was almost too happy to speak. The circle of candlelight seemed to contain everything she desired. She had done well; Hyacinth was sitting at the foot of her bed; they were eating ice cream in the middle of the night.
“What’ll we do next?”
Hyacinth frowned a little. “I’m not sure. Judith and I disagree. She wants you to materialize soon, so that we’re sure of the money. For myself, I think it better to proceed slowly. Caroline died on August the fifteenth. It would be poetical to have you materialize on the anniversary. Perhaps, between now and then, we’ll have another séance using the map closet. You can speak, but you won’t materialize.”
“What happens when I materialize?” asked Maud. “Won’t she be able to see I’m not a ghost?”
“It’s a problem,” agreed Hyacinth. “We haven’t done much with apparitions — there are tricks with mirrors I’d like to try — but I think Eleanor wants to hold you in her arms. You must be prepared for her to clutch you and kiss you and cry.” She gave a little shudder. “I detest that sort of thing, don’t you?”
“Um,” said Maud. One of her knees was touching Hyacinth’s side. Stealthily she drew it back. “I wish they wouldn’t cry.”
“Dear Maud, they all cry.” Hyacinth threw up her hands in comic despair. “We go to such trouble to make them happy, but they always cry. One simply has to get used to it. It’s their money, after all. If Eleanor Lambert’s willing to pay five thousand dollars to cry all over you, who are we to judge?”
Maud took another spoonful of ice cream, dribbling it down her front. “Five thousand dollars is a lot of money.”
Hyacinth gave a low laugh. “Dear Maud! Did Victoria get at you before she left?”
Maud hesitated. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you do. She told you we were wrong to take the money, didn’t she?”
Maud risked a glance at Hyacinth and saw that her eyes were dancing. “She said something like that.”
“Of course she did. Now, listen to me.” Hyacinth leaned forward and touched Maud’s cheek, guaranteeing her attention. “If Eleanor Lambert wanted to know that her daughter was dead, who would tell her so?”
“Most anybody, I guess.”
“Exactly so. The doctor. The undertaker. Anyone. She could have the truth for free. But Eleanor Lambert isn’t in the market for truth, and she’s not in the market for religion, either. Any minister worth his salt would tell her she would see her daughter in heaven. But Eleanor Lambert doesn’t want to see her daughter in heaven. She wants her now. Do you follow me, Maud?”
Maud nodded.
“In short, she wants to resurrect the dead — which is impossible. And the impossible is bound to be expensive. Why, look at the money we’ve spent! Your white dress, the glockenspiel, the Ouija board, the wig — not to mention the amount of time we’ve spent working to perfect the illusions. Do you really think, Maud, that we could afford to do all this for nothing?”
“No.” Maud had a sense that Hyacinth’s reasoning was faulty in some way, but she had no further desire to argue. “When she pays us, may I have a new book?” She was frightened to hear herself say the words, but Hyacinth rewarded her with the sweetest of smiles.
“You shall have a dozen new books,” she assured Maud, “and a new dress — and enough ice cream to sink a ship. There! Are you satisfied?”
“Yes,” Maud said, happily, guiltily.
“Then kiss me good night.” Hyacinth lowered her cheek. “And finish your ice cream and go to sleep. You’ve done a good night’s work.”
The following night, Maud stole from the house to play on the shore. The ocean was rough after the storm. Even Maud, who had seen it only twice before, could see the change. The foam from the shallow breakers splashed her to the waist. Maud rejoiced. An evening of freedom stretched before her. Hyacinth and Judith were dining out — Muffet had gone off with her spade and her basket — Maud had escaped. The only flaw in her happiness was that she had little hope of riding the merry-go-round. Last night’s thunderstorm had cooled the air, and tourists thronged the boardwalk, enjoying the breeze and the sunset. The amusement park would be crowded.
Still, there was the ocean. For the first hour, Maud played tag with the waves. Then she settled down to make a sand castle. A large shell served as a spade, and she scooped and patted until she had achieved three mounds of diminishing size, one on top of the other. She clawed a circular moat around this structure and was charmed when the water welled up beneath her fingernails. She had not known there was water under the sand. A vision dazzled her: a complex city of castles and canals. On her hands and knees, she dug for it, not looking up till the air was dim.
Night was falling. Maud sighed and rose to her feet, brushing her dress. A moist crust of sand coated everything — dress, fingers, toes, and knees. The sand had even infiltrated her underclothing. When she reached up to scratch her ear, she found it gritty. Stiff-legged, fingers splayed, she headed for the waves to rinse herself clean.
The chill of the ocean was a shock. Maud squealed as the water climbed to her waist. She ducked so that it came up to her shoulders and fanned out her skirts. All at once the next wave was upon her, curling like the top of a question mark. Maud hopped upward, trying to catch the surge. Her timing was wrong. The wave slapped her face, knocking her headlong into the water.
Maud flailed. Salt burned her throat; she could not breathe; she was choking to death. Instinctively she worked her arms and kicked, but the force of the wave had disoriented her. With increasing desperation, she pawed and thrashed, forcing herself deeper into the water. Her mouth opened for air. Her mind shrieked that she could not be drowning: nothing so disastrous could happen so fast. But her toes had lost bottom, and the water was dark; no matter how frantically she punched and kicked, she could not get free of it. At last her muscles went limp. She stopped propelling herself sideways. In that moment, a wave bore her up, and her face touched the air.
She was saved. Her toes scrabbled, seeking the touch of sand and finding it. Coughing, spluttering, sobbing, she stumbled back to the shore and collapsed. The salt in her sinuses was agony, and she thought she was going to be sick. She snorted and spat, rubbing her eyes with fists of sandpaper.
Little by little, the salty anguish subsided. “I almost drowned,” Maud said to the darkening sky. She had always heard that it was possible to drown in a small amount of water. Now she knew it was true. For the first time, the horror of Caroline Lambert’s death struck home. She had imagined it wrong. Whenever she thought about it, she had pictured Caroline floating on her back and falling asleep, while the water slid over her face like a blanket. Now she knew better. Caroline had died fighting, her body battered by a power too fierce to resist. The w
ords of Hyacinth’s singsong came back to Maud:
They row’d her in across the rolling foam,
The cruel crawling foam,
The cruel hungry foam,
To her grave beside the sea.
Maud shivered. She thought of the figure in her dreams — the ghost-child Caroline. It frightened her that she, who was impersonating Caroline, had nearly shared her fate. She wanted Caroline to leave her alone — she wanted to stop thinking about her — she wanted the dead girl to get out of her dreams.
Maud leaped to her feet. She would leave the ocean and the solitude of the shore. She wanted lights, people, noise, Hyacinth — or Muffet. . . . But Hyacinth was not at home and Muffet mustn’t see her all sandy and wet. She couldn’t risk either of them knowing what had happened that night.
The Amusement Park. Maud broke into a run. Even if she couldn’t ride the carousel, she would be among people. There would be crowds, laughter, the smell of good things to eat. Caroline’s ghost would not haunt her there.
She felt better the moment she passed under the brightly lit arch. As she had guessed, the park was crowded, and the crowds seemed particularly merry. Maud eavesdropped and lollygagged, wending her way toward the merry-go-round.
By the time she reached it, the sky was black and the stars were coming out. Maud wormed her way to the front of the crowd and drank in the music of the calliope. Lips parted, she gazed at the animals: which would she ride, if she had a nickel?
She had daydreamed through four rides when the red-haired man beckoned. He was holding up a fragment of cardboard. Maud plunged forward, agog with hope.
“What’s that?” demanded Maud, though she knew.
“That’s your ticket,” answered the man. “A nice lady saw you watching and bought you a ticket.”
A nice lady. Maud’s heart sank. She had forgotten all about Mrs. Lambert. Her eyes raked the crowd, catching sight of a fashionably wide-brimmed hat. Yes, Mrs. Lambert was there. It would be Mrs. Lambert. She was watching expectantly, waiting for Maud to betray some sign of pleasure. Maud imagined what Hyacinth would say if she knew that her partner in crime was in the company of their chosen victim. She thrust the thought aside. This might be her only chance to ride the carousel.
A Drowned Maiden's Hair Page 15