A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [89]
Muffet stuck out her hand imperiously. It was Mrs. Lambert who read her intention and stepped forward to give Muffet pencil and paper. Maud watched as the hired woman scrawled MAUD IN FIRE.
Maud nodded vehemently. She took the tablet and drew the steps. She drew herself climbing them, with wavy lines to indicate smoke. She wrote MAUD GO SEE MU ANNA IN FIRE. “I tried to find you,” she said earnestly, hoping that Muffet would be able to read the truth in her eyes. “When the fire came, I tried to find you, but you weren’t in the house.”
Muffet fingered Maud’s torn dress. She sniffed loudly. You smell of smoke. She examined Maud critically, running her fingers over every scraped patch of skin, every scab and splinter. Maud waited for the diagnosis. When Muffet finished, she nodded, and though the nod was grim, Maud relaxed. It’s not so bad. You’ll live.
The hired woman took up her pencil. She sketched two small pictures: one of Maud in a bathtub, and the other of Maud sitting before a plate, spoon in hand. She wrote, MAUD GO IN BATHTUB. MAUD EAT. — and passed the tablet to Mrs. Lambert.
Mrs. Lambert laughed. “Very well, Anna. I’ll manage it. You sleep.” She pillowed her head on her arms, raising her eyebrows to emphasize the command. She reached for Maud’s hand. “Come. I’ll look after you. She really must sleep. The doctor gave her a sleeping draft last night, but she was so distraught, it did very little good. We didn’t understand.” A faint line appeared between her brows. “None of us understood why she was so upset. Of course, the others didn’t know you were in the house.”
They had come back to the vestibule. Maud pulled her hand out of Mrs. Lambert’s. She glanced at the other archways. Any minute now, Hyacinth and Judith might appear and swoop down on her like a pair of harpies. She cleared her throat. “They knew I was in the house.”
Mrs. Lambert shook her head. “No. They couldn’t have. Why, I was there when the fireman asked. He asked if there was anyone in the house, and Hyacinth —” Her voice trailed off. Maud saw the dawning horror in her face.
“Hyacinth knew,” Maud said in a muffled voice. “She left me there.”
“Left you —? That’s impossible! No one would — Where were you?”
“In the map cupboard. That’s what we call the place inside the mantel — the fireplace in the parlor’s hollow. I was hiding.” Maud averted her eyes. “Mrs. Lambert,” she confessed, “I was Caroline.”
“Caroline?” The whisper hung in the air like a ghost. Mrs. Lambert touched her fingers to her lips. Her face was white.
Maud swallowed. For the past six months it had been drummed into her that any indiscretion on her part would result in Mrs. Lambert’s understanding the plot against her. The minute Mrs. Lambert knew of Maud’s existence, she would spring to the conclusion that it was Maud who was impersonating her dead child. But Mrs. Lambert had suspected nothing. Maud was going to have to explain the whole thing. In the midst of remorse and fear, Maud felt a pang of regret for what she was about to forfeit: the hot bath, the good food, and Mrs. Lambert’s coddling.
“Rory says I have to tell you the truth. Mrs. Lambert, I was Caroline in the séances. Hyacinth taught me how to be her.”
“You?” Mrs. Lambert stared as if Maud were the most appalling creature she had ever seen. “Then — it wasn’t true? Caroline never spoke to me? It was all a lie?” Her whole body swayed and sagged, as if she were a marionette and her strings had been cut. She fell to her knees. “Oh, dear God!”
“I’m sorry,” Maud said inadequately. “I wish I hadn’t.” She wanted to put her arms around the grieving woman, but she didn’t dare. “Mrs. Lambert, I’m really, really sorry. I’ve never been so sorry in my life. Please don’t —” She looked at the ceiling, desperate to find words that would make things better. The painted cupids went on scattering rose petals. “Mrs. Lambert,” she went on awkwardly, “you shouldn’t have offered all that money to see your daughter after she was dead. Someone was bound to try to