A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [61]
Maud shut the book and set it back on the footstool. I beg you who read this letter to treat her well. She felt a twinge of discomfort. She had left Muffet with the supper dishes and damaged her books.
Someone was coming up the stairs. Not Muffet — her clumping, uneven footsteps were unmistakable — but light, staccato steps. Maud froze. Then she jumped up and rushed back to her room. She had left her striped dress by the washstand. There was sand in the pockets — Hyacinth must not find it — Maud grangled the dress into a knot and shoved it under the bed.
Maud heard Hyacinth’s whisper. “Maud! Maud! Maud!”
Hyacinth was carrying a lamp and a clock. She placed both on the dresser and came to clasp Maud’s hands.
“What is it?”
“Mrs. Lambert’s here.” Hyacinth’s eyes glittered with excitement. “Do you remember how to play the glockenspiel?”
Maud goggled at her. “You told me not to practice here,” she reminded Hyacinth. “You said the neighbors might —”
“Hush! Never mind.” Hyacinth dropped Maud’s hands and went to the dresser. From the top drawer, she took the golden wig. “You can sing — it will do just as well. Quickly, get dressed! Mrs. Lambert’s here, and I mustn’t leave her long.”
“Are we having a séance?” There had been no preparation. “How will I get in the map cupboard if she’s already here?”
“We won’t use the map cupboard,” Hyacinth said briskly. “Now, Maud, don’t make difficulties.”
“I’m not making difficulties,” Maud said, stung. “I’ll do anything you want, but you have to tell me what it is.”
Hyacinth held up her palms, silencing her. “Do stop arguing! Mrs. Lambert was out calling and was caught in the rain. She came here because she was nearby — that’s what she says, but that’s not the real reason. She wants a séance — that’s what fetched her. Judith’s helping her into dry things — it’s a perfect night, with the storm — but we must move quickly, quickly.” Hyacinth reached behind the curtain where Maud kept her dresses. “You’ll wear the white dress and the wig. It’s not likely any of the neighbors will see you out the window, but if anyone sees, you must look like Caroline.”
Maud wrinkled her nose at the white dress. The bloodstains had been bleached to a dingy beige color. They wouldn’t show up in the dark, but Maud’s pleasure in the dress was much diminished. “Where will I be?”
“Outside the window. Wait ten — no, fifteen minutes.” Hyacinth turned Maud away from her and began to unbutton her dress. “Five minutes of useless chatter — what a dreadful storm, et cetera — another five to bring up the idea of a séance and talk her into it — two to dim the lights and set the chairs . . . another three or four before you begin to sing. . . . Yes. Fifteen minutes should do nicely. Go downstairs, through the kitchen, out the back door — climb up the side porch and crouch under the stained-glass windows. The parlor lights will be off. If for some reason the lights are still on, don’t sing. And when you do sing, take care you keep down — if the lightning strikes, I don’t want to see your shadow against the glass. Do you know what to sing?”
“‘Shall We Gather at the River,’” Maud answered promptly. It was Caroline’s favorite hymn. She also knew Caroline’s favorite color (green), her favorite food (cinnamon toast), and the name of her favorite toy elephant (Turrible).
“Yes, that’ll do. Two verses, I think. It’s possible Mrs. Lambert will rush out in the storm once she hears Caroline’s voice, so you must be ready to flee if you hear the front door opening. Luckily it sticks — that’ll give you an extra few seconds. Two verses at the most — then off the porch, in the back door, and back to the attic. It couldn’t be simpler.”
Maud thought it could. “It’s thundering and lightning,” she pointed out. She knew quite well she would do what Hyacinth commanded, but she wanted full credit for going out into the storm.
“Pooh!” Hyacinth swooped down and