A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [41]
The two women took seats several rows ahead of Maud’s. Maud let out her breath. She was safe. Later, when they came to the next station, she would follow Victoria at a distance. “We’ll buy our tickets and watch to make sure you’ve got yours,” Victoria had promised. “Then we’ll make sure you get on the right train, and get on after you.”
Changing stations went according to plan. The second station was large and crowded, but Maud elbowed her way into the line where Victoria and Muffet waited. The gentleman behind her subjected her to an offended stare, but he didn’t say anything. Maud avoided his gaze and raised her chin. She felt that she was getting away with something akin to murder. At the Barbary Asylum, “butting in” was a serious crime.
The second train was more crowded than the first. Maud looked for a seat by a window and found none. She passed Muffet and Victoria without looking at them and sat down beside a large, fat man who was smoking a cigar. It seemed to Maud that this was exactly the sort of stranger Victoria had warned her against, and she responded to his cheerful “Foggy this morning, ain’t it?” with a chilling silence. She sat as far away from him as she could, with her elbows held in and her buttocks tight. An hour later, when he got off the train, she slid over to the window with a sigh of relief.
The view outside the window had changed. The land was flatter than it had been, and the mist had burned off. Half of the sky had turned from gray to blue; it was going to be bright after all. She would be able to raise her parasol to keep off the sun.
“Are you all alone, dear?” A motherly-looking woman with a little boy in her arms leaned across the aisle to speak to Maud. “Where are your mama and papa?”
Mama and Papa. How babyish. Maud’s nostrils flared as she pronounced the words Hyacinth had supplied. “If you please,” she said, with the utmost distinctness, “my mother would rather I didn’t converse with strangers.”
The lady drew back, shifting the little boy in her lap. Maud saw that she felt rebuffed. Make sure you say “converse” instead of “talk,” Hyacinth had cautioned. You look younger than you are. You’ll need to sound older.
Hyacinth. In a little while, she would see Hyacinth again. The prospect filled her with longing and terror. She prayed that Hyacinth would be glad to see her, that she would kiss her or touch her cheek, that she would give some sign that she was the real Hyacinth, the one who was worthy of Maud’s love. Maud’s stomach tightened. Better to think of something else. In a little while she would see the ocean. Rumor had it that the ocean was well worth seeing, and today would be her only chance to look at it. Once she arrived at Victoria’s cottage on Ocean Street, she would remain within. She could not risk being seen. Eleanor Lambert had promised five thousand dollars to the person who could produce a manifestation of her dead child.
Maud tensed in her seat. She knew how important it was to perform well during the séances. She had practiced the glockenspiel and memorized five pages of information about Caroline Lambert. Hyacinth had sent the information to Maud, accompanied by a letter and a package.
My darling Maud,
Why haven’t you written, you wicked child? No, don’t answer me — I know quite well why you haven’t written, because Victoria has written me twice, dreadful scolding letters about what an unfit guardian I am. She says I broke your little heart when I said I didn’t want to be your “Dearest.” Did I? I hope I didn’t. The truth is, I’ve never much cared for Lord Fauntleroy, and I can’t endure his mother. They are both too sweet. If I’d wanted a sickly, sweetish, vapid little girl, I’d have adopted one. But I wanted a child like you — someone tart rather than sweet, and clever enough to help with the family business.
So don’t be cross, my darling girl. I can’t bear it. And do accept the enclosed as a