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“We’ll begin with a present.” Hyacinth handed the shell to Maud. “Caroline Lambert collected shells. On the night of the first séance, you’ll leave this on the table for her mother to find. A gift from the dead.”

Maud warmed the shell in her hand. Her mind drew away from the dark room and the séance that was to come. All at once she seemed to see the sharp blueness of the sky and the white gulls over the water. She envisioned Caroline, lucky Caroline, dabbling her feet at the edge of the ocean, stooping to pick up shells. Maud felt a surge of envy. Caroline had been curly-haired and lovely and spoiled. She had played by the ocean and ridden on the merry-go-round. . . .

“Maud,” Hyacinth said gently.

Maud jerked her attention back to the room. She pulled out a chair and sat down so that her back was to Judith and Victoria. She folded her hands on top of the table and lifted her eyes to Hyacinth’s face. “Tell me what to do,” she said, and Hyacinth smiled her sweetest smile and began to instruct her in the art of the séance.

“Now, Muffet,” said Maud in her bossiest voice, “pay attention.”

It was a foolish thing to say. Muffet was already paying attention. The hired woman leaned forward, her palms flat against the kitchen table. Her eyes were fixed on Maud’s lips.

“See, Muffet,” Maud continued, “this is the planchette, and it spells. Watch.” She moved the alphabet cards to spell out M-I-L-K and repeated the word with the planchette. “Milk. You know that one.” She went to the icebox, took out the bottle of milk, and hoisted it into the air. “Milk.”

Muffet glowered. She crossed the room, snatched the bottle from Maud, and slammed it back in the icebox. Maud, who had grown familiar with Muffet’s language of gesture and expression, had no trouble understanding this: Put that back. It’ll go sour. Maud glanced around the kitchen, spied an empty jar, and carried it over to the Ouija board. “Jar, Muffet. J-A-R.”

Muffet took the planchette and flipped it upside down, so that the three peg legs were up in the air. Then she smacked her palm against the cookery book.

Maud sighed. The cookery book had become an obsession with Muffet. Every day she circled words that she wanted Maud to explain. Maud did her best and had managed to convey the meanings of slice, fry, and boil, of put in, take out, and sprinkle over — but now Muffet wanted to know what the meant. Maud feared that the would be her Waterloo. She was surprised to realize that she had no idea what the meant.

“That’s not a real word, Muffet,” she said earnestly. “It’s a stupid word. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Muffet pushed the book closer to Maud and ruffled through the pages. Her forefinger jabbed the circled word. The. The. The.

Maud shrugged, miming, I don’t know.

Muffet’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I can’t tell you,” Maud said. She threw out her arms and raised her eyes to the ceiling. I give up.

Muffet shook her head, frustrated. She put the jar back on the shelf, took the towel off the bread bowl, and brought the bowl to the table. One hand slashed the air, and Maud read the gesture. Get that thing off the table. I need room to work.

Maud removed the Ouija board and went to sit by the window. In the last week, she had come to spend more and more time in the kitchen. Summer had settled over Cape Calypso, and the temperature rose a little every day. By late afternoon, the attic was almost unbearable. Maud knew that if Hyacinth were to see her sitting by the window — where one of the neighbors might glimpse her shadow against the screen — she would be in trouble. Luckily, Hyacinth seldom descended to the kitchen. Maud thumbed through her copy of Andersen’s Fairy Tales, in search of “The Snow Queen.” The Snow Queen’s palace, with its corridors of glittering ice, sounded distinctly attractive.

Muffet squealed, raised her fist, and buried it in the bread. The soft dough collapsed with a sigh of protest. For a moment, Maud watched as the hired woman folded and thumped the dough. The muscles in Muffet’s hirsute arms were impressive. During the past week, the