A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [33]
“Stop fussing,” Judith commanded. “Mr. Burckhardt, you must take my sister’s hand.”
Maud listened intently. She wished she could lift the tablecloth and take a peek.
“Shall we begin with a hymn?” asked Victoria.
They had come to the part of the program that had been rehearsed. Victoria began “In the Sweet Bye and Bye,” and the others joined in. Maud was surprised by how good they sounded. She knew that Victoria had a fine contralto voice, but the beauty of Burckhardt’s tenor surprised her. He sang harmony — Maud would have liked to listen, to understand the notes he chose, but she had work to do. After the second verse, Maud began to sing along: But no words, just “ah” — and softly, as Hyacinth had cautioned her. It will suggest the idea of a heavenly choir. If you hear Burckhardt stop singing, you stop, too — you don’t want him to ask himself where the voices are coming from.
Burckhardt did not stop to listen. The tune went to the end, and then Victoria began “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.” As they began the final verse, Maud’s fingers unwound the two threads. She then began to pull gently, still singing her angelic “ah.”
For perhaps five seconds, no one noticed. Then Burckhardt gasped, “The chandelier!” and Maud heard the tinkling of the prisms.
“Be still!” commanded Judith. “Don’t move! Hyacinth has fallen into a trance — it is death to startle her now!”
“The spirits are here,” Burckhardt whispered hoarsely. “I heard them as we sang. They are close at hand — they are in the room!”
Gleefully, Maud continued to manipulate the strings. The tinkling was louder now. It was a pity she couldn’t watch.
“Look!” Victoria’s voice was hushed. “One of the candles has gone out. And there’s another!”
This, too, was no surprise. Judith had doctored the candles, cutting the wicks short and digging out the wax around them. As the candles swung back and forth, the molten wax doused the flames.
“Agnes?” queried Burckhardt. Hyacinth had mimicked his intonation with deadly accuracy, but she had failed to convey the anguish in his tones. “Agnes, is it you?”
Maud let go of one thread. Steadily, noiselessly, she wound it around her hand. The tinkling of the prisms was subdued.
“Is there a spirit present?” intoned Judith.
Rap!
Maud felt her skin creep. She had not expected this. She had no idea what was making the rapping noise.
“If there is a spirit present,” Judith said doggedly, “rap once for yes and twice for no.”
Rap!
“Agnes!” cried Burckhardt. His voice shook with emotion. “Agnes, is it you?”
There was no response. Maud heard the sound of chairs shifting. Then she heard a voice, low and sweet — Hyacinth’s voice, though it had undergone a change. It was breathy and faraway, as if it came from the ends of the earth. “Horace —?”
“Agnes!” bellowed Burckhardt, like a bull in agony. Once again, Maud covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Agnes, my angel! My only love!”
“Dear Horace!” There was the faintest hint of laughter in the ghostly voice. “Am I truly your only love? Now?”
There was a pregnant pause; then Maud heard a creak from the table. She wondered if Burckhardt had collapsed. “Oh, Agnes! Do not torment me! In my heart, I have always been true!”
“Dear Horace!” Only Hyacinth’s voice could be so bell-like. “I am not angry. I know you have always been faithful.”
“The bride of my youth,” gasped Mr. Burckhardt. He was sobbing. Maud had never heard a man sob before. Something about the sound made her throat ache. She remembered Hyacinth saying, “People shouldn’t carry on like that unless they’re good-looking.” She swallowed.
“I have never forgotten you, my beloved Agnes! The way you looked on our wedding day — like a white lily, a lily of the valley —”
“Horace —” Though the voice was still sweet, Mr. Burckhardt’s sentiments had been cut off, almost as if Agnes didn’t want to hear any more love talk. “Horace, my darling, I must be quick! The medium