A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [49]
Maud leaned toward the window, yearning for a breeze. In a little while, Muffet would light the oven and the kitchen would be as hot as the attic. Maud wished that Hyacinth would summon her upstairs to rehearse the séance. Rehearsal sessions were sometimes followed by a carton of ice cream from the corner store. The thought of ice cream, pure and cold and white, made her mouth water. She wished her part in the séance were more difficult; she would have been happy to rehearse for hours every day. Unfortunately, she had little to do. Hyacinth was taking no chances. Maud’s part in the séance was small, and — Hyacinth had used the word — foolproof.
The map closet was stifling. Maud shifted her weight from one foot to the other and waited for the séance to begin. She was wearing her white dress with the lace frills: dress, petticoat, drawers, stockings, and wig. “Why do I have to be all dressed up if nobody’s s’posed to see me?” Maud had protested, and Hyacinth had replied, “In case something goes wrong.” Maud saw no reason why anything should go wrong. She was well rehearsed. She was eager to begin and miserably hot.
She heard a ripple of laughter from the dining room. What did people laugh about before a séance? She reached up and scratched at the edge of her wig. A trickle of sweat ran down her chest. She gulped air like a panting dog and shoved her hand into the ice bucket fastened to the inside of the cupboard.
The ice bucket was Hyacinth’s idea. Maud was supposed to keep her right hand submersed, so that when she touched Eleanor Lambert her fingers would be eerily cold. Maud was grateful for this somewhat macabre inspiration. Without the little pail of ice, the closet would be even hotter. She dribbled a little water down her face and sucked her fingers. Through the clear flavor of water, she detected the salt of her sweat.
The parlor door opened. Maud pricked up her ears at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Mrs. Lambert — it must be she — sounded like a foreigner. Her pronunciation was clear, but there was a queer tune to her sentences. Her accent reminded Maud of Marta, the Swedish laundress at the Asylum.
“— Your servant has always been deaf?”
“Since childhood, I believe,” Victoria answered. “I know very little about her. The pastor of St. Thomas’s church recommended her to us.”
“I — wondered how you managed to talk to her.” Mrs. Lambert sounded flustered. “Nowadays, there are schools to teach such people — I myself have sponsored students at a school in Washington. . . .” Her voice trailed off, as if she was afraid the sisters might take offense.
“Victoria manages to talk to her with signs,” Judith explained. “I don’t quite understand how she does it, but she’s very good with poor Muffet.”
“I’m sure she is.” Mrs. Lambert paused. “I have an interest in such things. My dear mother was deaf the last years of her life. She suffered greatly from loneliness.”
Maud could not catch Victoria’s answer, but Hyacinth’s voice was clear as a bell. “I think Muffet is a bit old to attend school. Old dogs and new tricks, you know. Poor thing, she’s rather simple.”
Simple meant stupid. Maud stiffened with indignation. She opened her mouth to defend her pupil. Muffet’s not stupid, she wanted to cry out. She learns everything I teach her! But Hyacinth’s tone had changed, and the subject with it.
“Dear Nell, you are not thinking of our hired girl.” There was a hint of steel in the bell-like voice. “You are thinking