A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [82]
Maud had no idea why she was crying. She felt Mrs. Lambert’s buttons dig into her cheek. She breathed in the scent of starched linen and lavender water. She wrapped her arms around the rich woman’s waist and hugged back. “I love you, Mama.” The words that had sounded false in rehearsal came easily now. “I love you!”
“Oh, Caroline, I love you, too,” Mrs. Lambert whispered. “I love you, I love you — and oh, my dearest, forgive me those ugly words! I didn’t mean them —”
“I know, Mama.” Maud felt her wig lurch as Mrs. Lambert caressed her curls. She removed one arm from the woman’s waist so that she could hang on to it. “I understand.”
“Help me!” Judith’s voice was a shock. She was almost screaming. “My sister! My sister! Help me!”
Maud felt Mrs. Lambert’s arms loosen. Reluctantly she turned back toward the two spiritualists.
“She’s dying! Help me!”
Slowly, Mrs. Lambert released her phantom daughter. Maud stepped to one side. As soon as she saw Mrs. Lambert lean over Hyacinth, she backed up, step by step, reached for door of the map closet, found it, and hid herself within. She pulled at her skirt, taking care that none of the cloth was caught in the door —
There was a tinkle of broken glass. Someone was screaming. Maud blinked in the darkness. Something was happening on the other side of the panel, something that had not been rehearsed. Hyacinth, who was supposed to be emerging from her trance, was shouting, and Judith, who never lost self-control, was shrieking like a banshee. The din was so terrible that Maud could not distinguish the words. The light outside the door increased — Hyacinth must have turned up the lamp — and the screaming went on. There was a sound like cloth tearing, a heavy thud, and several sharp cracks, different in timbre from Judith’s rappings. “Quickly!” “No time!” “Look there!” “She’s hurt!” and — from Mrs. Lambert — “Your servant —?” and from Hyacinth, sharply, “Out!”
The door slammed. Someone had come in, or gone out, the front door. Maud strained to hear. She heard a queer trickling noise, like a stream with a strong current — the sound of people shouting outside the house — was that Hyacinth? — and then a man, shouting about fire. There must be a fire, Maud thought, and they’ve gone outside to look at it, but why? It didn’t make sense.
The light outside the door grew brighter. Maud’s nostrils twitched. Something was burning — but supper was over and Muffet never . . . Smoke. Still disbelieving, Maud opened the door of the map cupboard.
The room was bright with fire. The kerosene lamp had fallen, and flames sprouted from the broken glass. The tablecloth lay rumpled on the carpet, cradling a lapful of fire. Fire danced on the threshold of the doorway, making the velvet curtains shrink and twitch. The women had left the house just in time.
Maud retreated. She had a crazy desire to rush back inside the map closet, squeeze shut her eyes, and hide until the fire went away. Then Hyacinth’s words came back to her, as clearly as if she stood at Maud’s side. The wood’s cracked. Too many holes and it’ll splinter into bits.
Maud whirled. Using her body as a battering ram, she flung herself at the back wall of the map cupboard. The wood panel creaked, but it didn’t splinter. Maud cast a frantic look around the room. There was a bronze sailing ship on the mantel — heavy, with a sharp-pointed bow — and she seized it with both hands. Her arms sagged with its weight — it was heavier than it looked — but she gripped it tightly and beat it against the back wall.
At the first blow, the panel splintered. With the second and third, she smashed a hole big enough to crawl through. She forced herself into the breach, wiggling like an animal trapped in a hedge. Her arms toppled the books on the other side of the wall and pushed open the glass doors of the bookcase. She kicked forward until her arms caught hold of the shelf’s front edge. Then she