A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [73]
Muffet did not touch her. Nevertheless, she made it clear that Maud was in disgrace. The next morning, when Maud got out of bed, she was unable to find her clothes. There was no point in sketching them and shoving the drawing pad under Muffet’s nose: Muffet ignored her. Maud spent the day in her nightdress, feeling slatternly and frustrated. She sulked as hard as she could, but the look on Muffet’s face spoke volumes. We struck a bargain. You broke your promise. It serves you right.
Maud was greatly relieved the following morning, when she found her dresses back on their hooks. The striped dress lay at the foot of her bed. Maud flew to the hired woman with her arms held out. Muffet returned the embrace, but her eyes were skeptical. Maud knew that when she returned that evening, Muffet would be lying in wait, alert for any sign that Maud had disobeyed.
On that night, Maud realized that Mrs. Lambert was following her.
She didn’t expect to see Mrs. Lambert away from the Amusement Park. Maud was building a sand castle when she saw the rich woman approaching. Even at a distance, Maud recognized her. No one else would wear such a ravishing hat at such an awkward angle. Mrs. Lambert’s skirt was fashionably narrow, and her high-heeled boots were the worst possible footwear for walking on sand. Her parasol lurched as she strove to keep her balance. She was risking a turned ankle with every step.
It occurred to Maud that nothing would be easier than to run away from her. Oddly enough, it would be too easy — Maud couldn’t bring herself to do it. She bent over her castle and pretended she was invisible.
“I saw your castle from the boardwalk,” Mrs. Lambert said breathlessly, “and I wanted to see up close. May I?”
Maud sat back on her haunches and spread her sandy hands, as if to say, “Go ahead and look.” She recognized Mrs. Lambert’s excuse for the ploy it was. She had made a study of sand castles during the past week, and she knew that her own were rather crude.
“It’s very nice,” Mrs. Lambert said.
Maud bowed her head. Mrs. Lambert’s slow progress down the beach had given her time to think. She had made up her mind that she wouldn’t speak more than a word or two. The last thing she wanted was for Mrs. Lambert to become familiar with the sound of her voice. She was glad that Rory wasn’t there to wring another thank-you out of her.
Mrs. Lambert surprised Maud. She cast herself down on her knees, stabbing her parasol in the sand. Shocked, Maud reviewed her clothes. A shirtwaist adorned with minute tucks; a starched linen skirt, immaculate boots and gloves. Good clothes, Maud thought — not clothes for groveling on the sand. She was even more surprised to see the rich woman remove her hatpins, her hat, and her gloves.
“Did you ever make a crocodile?”
“What?” blurted out Maud. She blushed for herself. It was horribly rude to say “what.” Hyacinth would be appalled.
“Sand crocodiles,” explained Mrs. Lambert. “My — I used to make them. I’ll show you.” Already the ungloved hands were scooping the sand into a mound. Mrs. Lambert was kneeling in the sand, playing like a child.
Thrown off-guard, Maud watched. She saw that Mrs. Lambert’s crocodile was a beast of some size — the mound taking shape was as long as she was, with a sinuous curve at one end that must be the tail.
“You can’t make many animals in the sand,” Mrs. Lambert told her, as if Maud had asked, “because of the necks. Most animals have heads that stick up, but a crocodile lies flat on the ground.”
“Um,” said Maud, and began to help with the mound.
“The eyes are the hard part. You can mold little balls of very wet sand and put them on top of the head, but generally it’s better if you find two pebbles the same size.” Mrs. Lambert looked directly into Maud’s eyes. “Could you find me two round pebbles, perhaps? And a shell with a curved edge?