A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [78]
She stuck her feet over the edge of the bed and lunged forward quickly, so that Caroline couldn’t grab her ankles. Then she tiptoed into the box room. By day, the room was cluttered and ugly; by night, it was a storehouse of terrors. The bulky oblongs of trunks looked like coffins; the shadows in the corners loomed and smoked. Maud tried not to see them. Almost running, she passed into the next room.
Muffet was snoring. Maud crept to the rag rug and sank down beside the bed. She clutched two fistfuls of sheet and felt a little better. It struck her as queer that someone who was mute could make so much noise snoring. The hired woman lay on her back — in the dark her face was unfamiliar — and the sounds that came from her were as homely as a dishpan. There was a sort of snuffle, which sometimes erupted into a snort, followed by a drawn-out wheeze. No ghost could tolerate a sound like that. The specter of Caroline fled.
Listening to Muffet snore, Maud grew calmer. Perhaps the séance would go as planned. Then everything would be all right. The Hawthorne sisters would get the money they needed. Hyacinth would be overjoyed. Even Mrs. Lambert would be better off — in a way — because she would get what she wanted most. It was Mrs. Lambert, after all, who had offered five thousand dollars to anyone who would help her contact her dead child. Mrs. Lambert wanted to see Caroline more that she wanted anything else in the world. Maud set her chin. She would see to it that Mrs. Lambert got her money’s worth. She would play the role to the hilt. She would make Caroline speak loving words to her grieving mother; she wouldn’t omit a single “dear Mama.” Her mind made up, Maud lowered herself to the floor. She braced one arm under her head and tried to go to sleep.
The Hawthorne sisters returned two days later. Maud rushed downstairs to greet Hyacinth with a forgery of her old affection. Hyacinth tweaked her hair and tickled her neck.
“So, you naughty child! Did you miss me after all?”
“Yes,” Maud admitted unwillingly, “I missed you.” It was not wholly untrue. She was glad to hear voices in the house again. She looked from Hyacinth to Judith. Hyacinth had stood the journey well. Her traveling suit was only slightly creased, and her cheeks were flushed with wind and sun. By contrast, Judith looked twenty years older. Her face was a funny color, and her posture was slack.
“What’s the matter?” Maud asked Judith.
Judith set down her valise. Hyacinth leaned over to whisper into Maud’s ear. “She was seasick,” Hyacinth said in a half whisper, as if Judith’s being seasick were some kind of joke. “She’s always seasick.”
Maud wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not. She compromised, smirking to please Hyacinth but speaking to Judith. “Do you want me to take your bag upstairs for you?”
“Thank you, Maud. No. Muffet can carry it.” Judith put her hand on the balustrade, as if she still felt the ground swaying. “I’m going to bed.”
“Poor Judith!” said Hyacinth, once her sister had lurched upstairs. “So dreary, being seasick. You won’t be seasick when we travel, will you, Maudy?”
“No, ma’am.”
“That’s a good child. Let’s go into the back parlor, where we can talk. You can help me unpack later. I brought you a box of chocolates — and you must see my new tea gown — it has a serpentine skirt and bishop sleeves. Judith was furious when I bought it, but I needed it dreadfully — Mrs. Fortescue’s friends change clothes five times a day. One simply must dress.” Hyacinth clasped her hands. “Oh, Maud! Such elegant people! By next year this time, we may be in Newport! That’s where all the nicest people spend the summers. You can’t think how many people we met — Mrs. Fortescue knows everyone, and we were immensely popular, Judith and I. It was all we could do to tear ourselves away.”
Maud asked politely, “Did you meet any people with dead relations?”
Hyacinth laughed. “Dearest Maud, everyone has dead relations! The question is whether we met anyone who wants to talk to their dead