A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [37]
“Hyacinth has spent the last year trying to gain Mrs. Lambert’s trust,” Judith told Maud. “That’s why she’s spent so much time in Cape Calypso. She’s managed to persuade Eleanor Lambert that there are honest mediums — and that she’s one of them.”
“She trusts me,” Hyacinth said. “She is fond of me, even. She’s almost ready . . . and now we have Maud.” She brushed her palm against Maud’s cheek. “You see, Maudy? Do you see why we need you so badly?”
Maud nodded, grave-faced. She saw.
Hyacinth was restless. Maud had come to see the power of Hyacinth’s moods: if she was merry, the household seemed brighter; if she was angry or bored, the house fell silent, and the silence was ominous. In the days that followed the séance, Hyacinth’s moods changed a dozen times. Sometimes she darted about like a moth, astonishing Maud with her energy, teasing and flattering so deftly that Maud danced on air. At other times, she withdrew to her room, wanting only to be alone. Maud knocked at her bedroom door, but no one answered, and the door stayed locked.
It was not only Hyacinth who seemed on edge. Victoria had not forgiven her sister for what she had said about the cottage in Cape Calypso; her manner was stiff and cold. Even Judith seemed to have altered a little. She was more matter-of-fact than usual, signaling that she was not going to be drawn into the quarrel between her sisters.
Maud felt the tension like an itch. She had spent a good bit of her life battling grown-ups — there were even times when she found it stimulating — but she didn’t like it when grown-ups quarreled among themselves. After all the fuss they made about children quarreling, they ought to be able to get along. Maud took her cue from Judith and tried to act as if nothing were the matter.
On the days when Hyacinth remained behind closed doors and Victoria brooded, Maud was left to amuse herself. She continued to tinker with the glockenspiel, and she made a set of alphabet cards for Muffet. It wasn’t easy to persuade Muffet that capital letters and small letters were two versions of the same thing — like tablespoons and teaspoons — but once the hired woman grasped the concept, she tackled the cookery book afresh. Maud spent a lot of time in the kitchen, acting out recipes for Muffet’s benefit. When the bell rang, she dropped everything to run upstairs to Hyacinth. On one occasion, Hyacinth sent her away the moment she arrived; on another Maud was encouraged to peacock about in Hyacinth’s old ball gowns while Hyacinth sat on the bed and applauded.
Most often Maud was summoned to rehearse. Now that she knew that the readings of Little Lord Fauntleroy were more than a game, she found them a little nerve-racking. Hyacinth was strict about her speech. “Lit-tle, not liddle,” she said sharply. “And pret-ty, not priddy. And don’t singsong! You sound like an Irish nursemaid!”
“I am Irish,” Maud said proudly. “My mother was Irish.”
“Me mither was Eye-e-rish,” mimicked Hyacinth.
Maud’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t say it like that!” And you’d better not make fun of my mother, she thought, but she held her tongue.
Hyacinth seemed to sense she had gone too far. She twinkled her fingers in a gesture that might have been an apology. “Did-ent, not dint.”
“I bet Caroline Lambert didn’t say did-ent,” said Maud.
Hyacinth’s face broke out in a smile. “I bet she didn’t, either. Nevertheless, after she drowned, she became an angel child, and angel children speak prettily. Pret-till-lee, if you please.”
“Pret-till-lee,” Maud echoed, pronouncing the word so crisply that spittle flew from her lips.
“Very good. Open your mouth, please.”
Maud opened, worrying that her teeth were not clean. She had brushed them that morning, but Hyacinth’s standards were very high. All at once she felt something round and soft against