A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [46]
“She’s too tall,” Judith said waspishly.
“She isn’t,” contradicted Hyacinth. “Show her, Maud. Go in and pull the door shut after you. See, there’s a handle on the inside of the door.”
Maud stepped into the cavity. “I told you,” Hyacinth said triumphantly. “I knew she’d fit the first time I saw her.”
Maud shifted uneasily. The fit was tight. If she stood on tiptoe, her head thumped against the top of the mantel; if she put her hands on her waist, both elbows touched wood. She wished she hadn’t read about Oliver Twist sleeping among the coffins. The image came back to her now, and she had a feeling it would come back to her when she was shut up inside and the cupboard was dark.
“Try closing the door,” Hyacinth encouraged her.
Maud took the handle and pulled the panel shut. In the darkness, her eyes searched for the crack of light around the panel. It was hair thin. “How do I get out?”
“Just push.” Victoria’s voice sounded close by; she must have left her chair and come to stand by the mantel. “Anywhere. The door fits snugly — we glued felt on the sides — but it doesn’t latch. You can always get out.”
Maud pressed her fingertips to the door panel and pushed. As Victoria had assured her, the door opened with a soft shhh of wool against wood. Maud emerged from the cabinet. She shook herself, like a cat coming out the rain. “How long does it take for people to run out of air and die?”
Hyacinth looked insulted. “Have you lost your mind? Do you think we’d put you in that closet if there wasn’t any air?”
Maud hesitated.
“There’s plenty of air,” Judith assured her. “The back of the mantel faces a bookcase on the other side of the wall. We drilled airholes behind the books.”
“If she’s frightened, she could wait in the hallway and slip in when it’s dark,” Victoria said worriedly.
Maud looked daggers at her. “I’m not frightened,” she said scornfully. “But I can’t play the glockenspiel in there. There isn’t room.”
“Oh, the glockenspiel!” Hyacinth shrugged, as if the glockenspiel were no longer of importance. “We won’t be using that.” She reached past Victoria to capture Maud’s hand. “Come and see what you’ll be wearing.”
Maud followed Victoria to the table. Before her were a number of objects, only one of which made sense to her. Her fingers stole out to touch the yellow wig. “Is that mine?”
“Yes and no.” Hyacinth smiled. “It’s Caroline Lambert’s.”
Maud drew her fingers back. Her shoulders twitched in an involuntary shudder. “You mean — they cut off her hair after she drowned?”
“No.” Hyacinth and Victoria spoke at the same instant. Victoria looked as horrified as Maud felt. “Even Hyacinth wouldn’t —”
Judith spoke up, drowning out the voices of her sisters. “The wig came from a theatrical costumer. You needn’t be afraid to touch it.”
“What I meant,” Hyacinth sounded both offended and amused, “is that it was Caroline Lambert who had long curls, not you. Really, Maud! I sometimes think you have a morbid streak. You must strive to overcome it. Cultivate wholesome thoughts.”
Maud scowled. She hated it when she couldn’t tell whether Hyacinth was making fun of her. She picked up the wig and draped it over her fist. The ringlets bounced and rippled.
“Try it on,” Hyacinth said eagerly. “It’s a very good wig. I insisted on the best quality.”
Maud pulled the wig over her head. She tucked her own hair under the edges and asked, “How do I look?”
If she had hoped for admiration, her hopes were dashed. All three sisters regarded her with the same startled expression. Maud searched the room for a mirror and saw one over the mantel. She pulled a chair over and climbed up to gaze at herself.
It was a severe disappointment. Ever since she could remember, she had yearned for hair like the hair she had just put on. She had always thought that if she had ringlets, the rest of her would improve; somehow her pointed witch’s chin would grow round and dimpled, and her forehead wouldn’t look so bony. Instead, she appeared plainer than usual. The yellow curls robbed her skin of color, and her face