Hyacinth sat bolt upright and put out her hand. Rapidly, she tore open the envelope and read the letter.
“Does she want a séance?” demanded Judith.
“Better than that.” The eyes that had been half-shut glittered with anticipation. “She’s having a house party in Philadelphia — all next week — and we’re invited to come.”
“Which one is Mrs. Fortescue?” asked Maud. She had heard the name but paid little attention to it. Mrs. Fortescue, Mrs. Sheffield, Miss Quigley, Mrs. Lugwig. All of them were Hyacinth’s clients, but they were of no importance to Maud. Their dead relations were all grown-ups.
“The wife of a millionaire,” answered Hyacinth. “Judith and I helped her contact her twin sister, who died thirty years ago. She lives in a veritable mansion — she knows all the most fashionable people in Philadelphia — the house will be full of them! No doubt Judith and I will be the entertainment.”
“Séances?” asked Maud.
“Certainly.” Hyacinth put down the letter. “Judith, it’s a splendid opportunity. We’ll see people we’d never meet anywhere else.”
Judith nodded. “We’ll take the steamer, I suppose?”
“It’s an easy journey — five or six hours, I believe — so much pleasanter than the train. Oh, Judith, it’s perfect!” Hyacinth’s eyes were shining. “Think of the clients we can acquire! Rich as Croesus, every man Jack of them!”
“What about me?” asked Maud.
The two women looked startled. They had forgotten her.
“We can’t not go,” Hyacinth said breathlessly.
“I suppose we might ask Victoria to look after —” Judith began.
“No!” Hyacinth’s voice was sharp. “I won’t have Victoria here. Really, I’m surprised at you, Judith! She could put all sorts of morbid ideas into Maud’s head! Why, she could ruin everything!”
Judith glanced meaningfully at Maud. “We can’t leave the child by herself. And I can’t stay with her. You’ll need me for the séances.”
“Can’t I come?” begged Maud. She knew it was futile, even before the sisters chorused, “No.”
“She’ll be with Muffet,” Hyacinth began.
“No.” Judith repeated. “The woman’s close to a half-wit. What if there were a fire — or a burglar? She can’t hear, and Maud —”
“Muffet’s not a half-wit,” interjected Maud.
“Of course not,” Hyacinth said silkily. “She may be deaf, but she’s perfectly well able to look after Maud. Besides, Maud’s not a baby. She’s accustomed to amusing herself, aren’t you, Maud?”
Maud could not think. Her stomach was churning and she didn’t know why. She imagined a week with Hyacinth and Judith gone. She saw herself free, able to walk all over the house, even to sleep on the first-floor sofa, where it would be cool at night. She pictured herself by the ocean every evening, or prowling up and down the boardwalk with Muffet’s dimes in her fist. Nevertheless, she felt a lump in her throat. A moment ago Hyacinth had been saying how clever she was. Now she was leaving.
“How can we tell Muffet?” asked Judith. “We can’t leave her in charge of an empty house, with no one to tell her what to do. How will she know we’re coming back?”
“I can tell her,” Maud said. She was tired of hearing the Hawthorne sisters talk about the hired woman as if she were some kind of animal. “Muffet understands me.”
“There, do you see?” Hyacinth smiled radiantly. “Maud and Muffet will do very well together — and a week isn’t long. Why, it’s no time at all!” Her face clouded. “I wonder if I should buy a new dress. I daresay they will all be very fashionable — my silver moiré is quite —”
“No,” Judith said grimly. “You’ve already spent a fortune on clothes.”
“My dear Judith, if one wants to go among fashionable people, it is essential —”
Maud scowled. They were forgetting her again. “What about Mrs. Lambert?”
Judith looked uneasy. “Oh, gracious, that’s right. We had promised —”
“Yes, but we can put her off.”
“A bird in the hand —”
Hyacinth shook her head. “Now, don’t fuss, Judith! Delay increases desire — you know that. I can tell Eleanor that Mrs. Fortescue needs my help — urgently — she will quite understand if I do it properly, and we’ll have the séance as soon as we come back. Provided” — she inclined her head — “provided our darling Maud practices her lines every day. Will you, Maud?”
“I know my lines,” Maud said gruffly.
“Every day,” Hyacinth said sweetly. She clasped the letter to her breast. “It won’t be long, Maudy. Just a week. Will you miss me so terribly, terribly much?”
Maud stood up. Her eyes met Hyacinth’s. “Actually,” she said slowly, “I don’t expect to miss you at all.”
There was a brief, dreadful pause, during which Maud quailed, certain that she had gone too far. But Hyacinth did not take offense. Her eyes did not even flicker. She ran one finger down Maud’s cheek. “Oh, well said, Maudy!” The whispered words trembled on the brink of laughter. Without another word, she rose from her chair and glided out of the room, leaving Maud torn between relief and something like fear.
Three days later Judith and Hyacinth took the steamer to Philadelphia, leaving Maud to the freedom she craved. It was, Maud found, a limited and disappointing freedom. She had the run of the house, but the front rooms were shuttered and still; though she would not admit it to herself, the silence made her nervous. She walked through the house on tiptoe and whispered when she played. After a day or so, she withdrew to the rooms that had never been forbidden: the attic and Muffet’s kitchen.
She never left the house in the daytime. She had been a secret child long enough to develop a fear of being conspicuous; she could not imagine going out in full sunlight. Instead, she waited until the dinner hour, watching the neighbors’ yards from an upstairs window. Stealthily she crept to the kitchen, opened the screen door, and ran barefoot across the grass.
Then the world was hers, and she was off to the ocean. Each night, it was different: warmer or colder, more or less rough; it changed color as the light changed in the sky. Maud could not resist it. In spite of her promise to Muffet, she waded in the shallows, taking care not to get her skirt wet. Once she followed the shore till she came to the rock wall that stretched from the sand to the horizon. Two boys were out on the rocks, wrestling and shoving each other. Maud watched them until their mother shouted at them to come off that jetty before they broke their necks.
So. The rock wall was called a jetty. Maud was intrigued. Something about the jetty struck her as vaguely familiar. She pictured herself walking on it, striding to the very end, with the sunset around her and the frenzied waves lashing her feet. She would feel like a heroine; people on the beach would marvel at her brave silhouette against the sky. As soon as the boys were out of sight, she clambered up onto the rocks. Climbing was harder than she expected. The rocks were slick and sharp, and there was nothing to hold on to. Almost at once she fell, bruising her leg and skinning the palm of one hand. She took half a dozen steps and fell again. This time, she didn’t get to her feet right away, but sat still, licking the blood off her palm. It was easy to imagine slipping off the jetty into the rough waves. She didn’t know how deep the water was, and she had no one to forbid her to break her neck. Slowly she got up and retraced her steps, anchoring each foothold before shifting her weight. When she reached the shore, she let out her breath. Another time she would walk on the jetty. Not tonight.
She left the jetty for the boardwalk, which she had never had time to explore. The next night she strolled from one end to the other, perusing every sign and peering through doorways. She learned that Ping-Pong was not a delicacy but a sort of parlor game. She risked a nickel on a bag of buttered popcorn and found it tasted even better than it smelled. Once it was gone, she scolded herself — Muffet’s gift was too precious to be squandered on food. She must make it last. The next eve
ning, she happened upon a pushcart where damaged books could be had for a nickel. Maud pawed through it and emerged triumphant with a copy of Ragged Dick: Or, Street Life in New York with the Boot Blacks.
She rode the merry-go-round every night. It was balm to her injured pride to utter the words “One ticket, please” at the ticket booth and to present her ticket to Rory. The carousel keeper greeted her laconically, “Rob a bank?” — to which Maud replied, “No, sir,” in her primmest voice. She was faithful to Angel and rode him night after night, turning a blind eye to the tiger and the stag. It took all her self-control not to ride twice in a row. Each evening, she slid from the saddle with greater reluctance.
There was risk in riding the merry-go-round. More often than not, Maud caught sight of Mrs. Lambert in the surrounding crowd. The rich woman’s gaze was no longer fixed on Caroline’s sea monster. Instead, her eyes followed Maud. One night, as Angel dipped and soared, Maud yielded to impulse: she raised one hand in Mrs. Lambert’s direction and flickered her fingers.
Mrs. Lambert’s face lit up. Her face expanded in a smile; she lifted her gloved hand and waved back so vigorously that Maud could not help herself. With every rotation, she waved at Mrs. Lambert, and Mrs. Lambert beamed and wagged her hand.
It was a mistake — Maud knew it. Once the merry-go-round stopped, she jumped off Angel and fled to the other side of the carousel. As soon as her toes touched the ground, she ran. She didn’t look back until she reached the edge of the ocean. The rich woman stood on the boardwalk, beneath the electric lights. Her eyes scanned the dusk without seeing.
Maud turned away and began to walk at the water’s edge. She told herself she would never wave at Mrs. Lambert again. She would keep away from the carousel the next few nights. There were plenty of other things to do, after all. She would save her crusts and feed them to the seagulls. She would gather shells for the collection she was hiding in the box room. Even as she planned for the next night’s amusements, she was wading deeper and deeper into the water, enjoying the fizz of the foam about her knees. Before long, her dress was soaked to the waist.
Maud sighed. Now she had disobeyed Muffet. She would just have to hope that the hired woman wouldn’t be in the kitchen when she returned. She supposed that she might as well go on bathing. She played alertly, bobbing up and down with the waves, retreating whenever they rose to her armpits. When she skipped home, it was with the smug conviction that she had learned how to handle the ocean.
But her luck was out. Muffet met her at the kitchen door. At the sight of Maud’s wet dress, the hired woman’s face turned to stone. Maud flinched. No one had struck her since she left the Barbary Asylum, but Muffet looked angry enough to slap her. Maud dodged past the hired woman and flew upstairs. Muffet pursued her with such vigor that Maud wondered if the steps would give way.
Muffet did not touch her. Nevertheless, she made it clear that Maud was in disgrace. The next morning, when Maud got out of bed, she was unable to find her clothes. There was no point in sketching them and shoving the drawing pad under Muffet’s nose: Muffet ignored her. Maud spent the day in her nightdress, feeling slatternly and frustrated. She sulked as hard as she could, but the look on Muffet’s face spoke volumes. We struck a bargain. You broke your promise. It serves you right.
Maud was greatly relieved the following morning, when she found her dresses back on their hooks. The striped dress lay at the foot of her bed. Maud flew to the hired woman with her arms held out. Muffet returned the embrace, but her eyes were skeptical. Maud knew that when she returned that evening, Muffet would be lying in wait, alert for any sign that Maud had disobeyed.
On that night, Maud realized that Mrs. Lambert was following her.
She didn’t expect to see Mrs. Lambert away from the Amusement Park. Maud was building a sand castle when she saw the rich woman approaching. Even at a distance, Maud recognized her. No one else would wear such a ravishing hat at such an awkward angle. Mrs. Lambert’s skirt was fashionably narrow, and her high-heeled boots were the worst possible footwear for walking on sand. Her parasol lurched as she strove to keep her balance. She was risking a turned ankle with every step.
It occurred to Maud that nothing would be easier than to run away from her. Oddly enough, it would be too easy — Maud couldn’t bring herself to do it. She bent over her castle and pretended she was invisible.
“I saw your castle from the boardwalk,” Mrs. Lambert said breathlessly, “and I wanted to see up close. May I?”
Maud sat back on her haunches and spread her sandy hands, as if to say, “Go ahead and look.” She recognized Mrs. Lambert’s excuse for the ploy it was. She had made a study of sand castles during the past week, and she knew that her own were rather crude.
“It’s very nice,” Mrs. Lambert said.
Maud bowed her head. Mrs. Lambert’s slow progress down the beach had given her time to think. She had made up her mind that she wouldn’t speak more than a word or two. The last thing she wanted was for Mrs. Lambert to become familiar with the sound of her voice. She was glad that Rory wasn’t there to wring another thank-you out of her.
Mrs. Lambert surprised Maud. She cast herself down on her knees, stabbing her parasol in the sand. Shocked, Maud reviewed her clothes. A shirtwaist adorned with minute tucks; a starched linen skirt, immaculate boots and gloves. Good clothes, Maud thought — not clothes for groveling on the sand. She was even more surprised to see the rich woman remove her hatpins, her hat, and her gloves.
“Did you ever make a crocodile?”
“What?” blurted out Maud. She blushed for herself. It was horribly rude to say “what.” Hyacinth would be appalled.
“Sand crocodiles,” explained Mrs. Lambert. “My — I used to make them. I’ll show you.” Already the ungloved hands were scooping the sand into a mound. Mrs. Lambert was kneeling in the sand, playing like a child.
Thrown off-guard, Maud watched. She saw that Mrs. Lambert’s crocodile was a beast of some size — the mound taking shape was as long as she was, with a sinuous curve at one end that must be the tail.
“You can’t make many animals in the sand,” Mrs. Lambert told her, as if Maud had asked, “because of the necks. Most animals have heads that stick up, but a crocodile lies flat on the ground.”
“Um,” said Maud, and began to help with the mound.
“The eyes are the hard part. You can mold little balls of very wet sand and put them on top of the head, but generally it’s better if you find two pebbles the same size.” Mrs. Lambert looked directly into Maud’s eyes. “Could you find me two round pebbles, perhaps? And a shell with a curved edge?”
Maud nodded and got to her feet. Still perplexed, she headed down to the water. It was another opportunity to escape. She could run away before Mrs. Lambert noticed she was gone. She turned to look over her shoulder. Mrs. Lambert was sculpting the back leg of the crocodile. Her hair was coming undone; flaxen wisps unfurled in the breeze. Maud began to search for pebbles.
By the time she found two the same size, three of the crocodile’s legs were finished. Maud held out the pebbles and the shell. “What’s the shell for?”
“Scales,” answered Mrs. Lambert. She demonstrated, sinking the edge of the shell in the sand, making a curved line. Then she handed the shell back to Maud. Maud squatted down to continue the pattern.
She went on scaling the crocodile as Mrs. Lambert nestled the pebbles into the eye sockets. Now that the beast had eyes, it looked alive. An idea came to Maud. She picked up a water-rotted stick and held it out.
“What’s that for?” asked Mrs. Lambert.
“Teeth,” mumbled Maud.
“Ohhh,” Mrs. Lambert said appreciatively. She began to break the stick into inch-long pieces, pressing them into the crocodile’s jaws. Satisfied that she was doing a good job, Maud resumed making scales. When the crocodile was scaly from nose tip to tail tip, Maud sat back on her heels and watched Mrs. Lambert. She was applying the finishing touches — poking the left nostril, which was sha
llower than its mate, pinching a finer claw on the left foreleg.
“Why are you following me?”
During the making of the crocodile, Mrs. Lambert had relaxed. Maud’s question caught her off-guard. “I hope I haven’t frightened you.”
Maud shook her head.
A faint flush stained Mrs. Lambert’s cheeks. She looked younger, bareheaded. She’s bashful, thought Maud. She had come to think that Mrs. Lambert was foolish, or a little mad. Now she saw that the woman was shy.
“I — noticed you.” Mrs. Lambert was almost stammering. “I used to have a little girl, so I notice little girls — especially the ones the same age as my daughter.”
“I’m eleven,” Maud said rashly.
“I wondered,” Mrs. Lambert went on, “if you were — all right. I’ve seen you playing in the water by yourself — always at night — and it’s worried me. It really isn’t safe for you to bathe by yourself. And I’ve been afraid — because you said your mother was dead — that you didn’t have any home.” The last words came in a rush. “That’s why I’ve been watching you. I’ve been worried that you had no one to look after you.”
Maud uttered an “oh” of pure surprise. She had never imagined that anyone could think she was a street child, like Oliver Twist or Ragged Dick the Bootblack. Her eyes fell to the striped dress she had sewed. It was worse than she thought if it made people think she had no home.
“There are places for children who need someone to look after them,” Mrs. Lambert continued. “Some of them aren’t very nice, but some are good places. There’s a small orphanage just outside Cape Calypso — it’s very friendly, and the children have toys and ice cream and regular outings — I know the people who run it and —”
At the word orphanage, Maud rebelled. “I don’t need an orphanage,” she flared. “I have a home. I live with — my father. So there!”
“I see,” Mrs. Lambert said. She looked unconvinced.
“Yes,” Maud said firmly, “with my father. And my little brothers — I have to look after them, because I’m the oldest and” — triumphantly — “that’s why I only come out at night. All day long I have to stay home and look after my brothers because they’re babies — and my father works all day in —” She hesitated only a second. “In a canning factory.” She did not know if there was a canning factory in Cape Calypso, but she knew about canning factories; the girls at the Barbary Asylum often ended up at the canning factory. “So he doesn’t get home until late, see, and when he does, he tells me to go out and get some fresh air. But I can’t bring my brothers with me, because they’re too little. They’d drown,” finished Maud, and grimaced at the word.
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