A Drowned Maiden's Hair_ A Melodrama - Laura Amy Schlitz [9]
“What is the point, if we don’t do it properly?”
“The point is that we shouldn’t do it at all.”
“You forget that this is not a question of what we should like or not like —”
“I believe it is.” The response came back quickly. “For Hyacinth, I really think it is. She thinks of it as a sport.”
Hyacinth’s voice, quick and girlish, cut in. “It was you who began it —”
“And I repent of it —”
The voices lowered again. Maud could not sort them out. At last she heard, “a child of that age —!” They were talking about her. She stepped close to the balustrade, leaning toward the sound.
“— can’t believe you would subject a child —”
“For heaven’s sake, Victoria!” It was Judith’s voice again. “Children are working in coal mines, blacking boots in the street! For that matter, the Asylum where the child was living —”
“Where she ought to be living still —”
“She doesn’t think so.” Hyacinth’s voice was sharp, the consonants very crisp. “Ask her. She’d rather be here, I promise you.”
“You’d have taken her, too,” Judith argued. “I admit I was of two minds, Victoria, but the child did everything but get down on her knees to us. Of course, she’s under Hyacinth’s spell, but even so — I couldn’t have refused her, and you’re a deal more tenderhearted than I ever was. And you must admit that Hyacinth has an instinct. If she thinks the child —”
Once again the voices fell. Maud strained to hear. She had all but forgotten her discomfort. She wondered confusedly if Victoria meant to have her thrown out in the streets or sent to work in the coal mines. If Hyacinth and Judith adopted her, could their sister throw her out?
Victoria spoke again. “If you take her to the Cape, I will not go with you. I will not continue with this —”
Hyacinth interrupted. She was evidently furious; her voice was lowered to a hiss. Maud could not decipher her words. A door slammed. Maud jumped. Before she knew it, she had turned the door handle and was inside the water closet. No one was there. Quickly, soundlessly, she closed the door, grateful for a place to hide.
Later that morning, Maud spent a good ten minutes making her bed. She stroked the sheets and swatted the pillows. She dressed carefully, rolling the waistband of her petticoat so that it wouldn’t hang crookedly. She was stalling, giving the Hawthorne sisters time to make peace before she saw them again. While she was combing her hair a second time, the door opened, and a woman came in.
Maud supposed the woman must be Victoria. She was, Maud judged, the plainest of the Hawthorne sisters. She was dumpy, though her corsets trussed her fat into tidy mounds. She wore spectacles, which made her eyes appear misty and overlarge. It was clear that her hair had once been red, and the reddish streaks amidst the gray looked peculiar. Maud made up her mind that if she ever had to be an old woman, she would have snow-white hair, like Hyacinth’s.
“Good morning, Maud,” said the woman. She sounded surprisingly cordial. “How neatly you’ve made your bed!”
Maud, remembering the words she had overheard, eyed her skeptically. This was the sister who thought she belonged back at the Asylum. Then she reminded herself that she was being perfectly good. She lowered her eyes modestly. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“I am Victoria Hawthorne. You may call me Aunt Victoria. I was wondering” — Victoria’s voice was a little uncertain — “if you’d like a bath before breakfast.”
Maud felt suddenly dirty. Her eyes strayed to the mirror, where she saw a face as plain as Victoria’s own: wide bony forehead, deep-set eyes, a crooked mouth with frown shadows at the corners. She wondered if she smelled bad. She had noticed a sour reek when she pulled her dress over her head, but she hoped it was only the dress.
“I drew the water for you. Hyacinth said you weren’t used to modern conveniences, and the boiler is a little dangerous, so I thought you might like some help —”
“Yes,