A Drowned Maiden's Hair (21 page)

“Was the singing all right?”

“The singing was exquisite,” said Hyacinth approvingly. “Neither too loud nor too soft. Eleanor Lambert went white as a sheet — Judith thought she was going to faint.”

“Did she?”

“No. She ran to the window — she stood there with her cheek against the glass — crying and crying. And then she rushed for the door, and Judith and I tried to stop her — while you, my nimble darling, vanished into thin air! Oh, it was perfection! She was certain it was Caroline. Though” — Hyacinth’s eyes crinkled with amusement — “she did say as how Caroline generally sang a little flat. Now, you, pettikins, were absolutely on pitch.”

“I can’t help that,” Maud protested. “You never told me to sing flat.”

“My precious child, I didn’t know! Luckily, it took no time at all to persuade Eleanor that everyone sings on key in heaven — if they didn’t, how dreadful for poor God! Yes, it was an absolute triumph.”

Maud prompted her, “So I was good?”

“My darling child, you were better than good — didn’t I say so? I never thought we should find a child who could improvise so brilliantly.” Hyacinth put down her spoon and pushed the bowl closer to Maud. “There. Finish that.”

Maud spooned up an enormous lump of ice cream and put it in her mouth. She was almost too happy to speak. The circle of candlelight seemed to contain everything she desired. She had done well; Hyacinth was sitting at the foot of her bed; they were eating ice cream in the middle of the night.

“What’ll we do next?”

Hyacinth frowned a little. “I’m not sure. Judith and I disagree. She wants you to materialize soon, so that we’re sure of the money. For myself, I think it better to proceed slowly. Caroline died on August the fifteenth. It would be poetical to have you materialize on the anniversary. Perhaps, between now and then, we’ll have another séance using the map closet. You can speak, but you won’t materialize.”

“What happens when I materialize?” asked Maud. “Won’t she be able to see I’m not a ghost?”

“It’s a problem,” agreed Hyacinth. “We haven’t done much with apparitions — there are tricks with mirrors I’d like to try — but I think Eleanor wants to hold you in her arms. You must be prepared for her to clutch you and kiss you and cry.” She gave a little shudder. “I detest that sort of thing, don’t you?”

“Um,” said Maud. One of her knees was touching Hyacinth’s side. Stealthily she drew it back. “I wish they wouldn’t cry.”

“Dear Maud, they
all
cry.” Hyacinth threw up her hands in comic despair. “We go to such trouble to make them happy, but they always cry. One simply has to get used to it. It’s their money, after all. If Eleanor Lambert’s willing to pay five thousand dollars to cry all over you, who are we to judge?”

Maud took another spoonful of ice cream, dribbling it down her front. “Five thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

Hyacinth gave a low laugh. “Dear Maud! Did Victoria get at you before she left?”

Maud hesitated. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do. She told you we were wrong to take the money, didn’t she?”

Maud risked a glance at Hyacinth and saw that her eyes were dancing. “She said something like that.”

“Of course she did. Now, listen to me.” Hyacinth leaned forward and touched Maud’s cheek, guaranteeing her attention. “If Eleanor Lambert wanted to know that her daughter was dead, who would tell her so?”

“Most anybody, I guess.”

“Exactly so. The doctor. The undertaker. Anyone. She could have the truth for free. But Eleanor Lambert isn’t in the market for truth, and she’s not in the market for religion, either. Any minister worth his salt would tell her she would see her daughter in heaven. But Eleanor Lambert doesn’t want to see her daughter in heaven. She wants her
now.
Do you follow me, Maud?”

Maud nodded.

“In short, she wants to resurrect the dead — which is impossible. And the impossible is bound to be expensive. Why, look at the money we’ve spent! Your white dress, the glockenspiel, the Ouija board, the wig — not to mention the amount of time we’ve spent working to perfect the illusions. Do you really think, Maud, that we could afford to do all this for nothing?”

“No.” Maud had a sense that Hyacinth’s reasoning was faulty in some way, but she had no further desire to argue. “When she pays us, may I have a new book?” She was frightened to hear herself say the words, but Hyacinth rewarded her with the sweetest of smiles.

“You shall have a dozen new books,” she assured Maud, “and a new dress — and enough ice cream to sink a ship. There! Are you satisfied?”

“Yes,” Maud said, happily, guiltily.

“Then kiss me good night.” Hyacinth lowered her cheek. “And finish your ice cream and go to sleep. You’ve done a good night’s work.”

T
he following night, Maud stole from the house to play on the shore. The ocean was rough after the storm. Even Maud, who had seen it only twice before, could see the change. The foam from the shallow breakers splashed her to the waist. Maud rejoiced. An evening of freedom stretched before her. Hyacinth and Judith were dining out — Muffet had gone off with her spade and her basket — Maud had escaped. The only flaw in her happiness was that she had little hope of riding the merry-go-round. Last night’s thunderstorm had cooled the air, and tourists thronged the boardwalk, enjoying the breeze and the sunset. The amusement park would be crowded.

Still, there was the ocean. For the first hour, Maud played tag with the waves. Then she settled down to make a sand castle. A large shell served as a spade, and she scooped and patted until she had achieved three mounds of diminishing size, one on top of the other. She clawed a circular moat around this structure and was charmed when the water welled up beneath her fingernails. She had not known there was water under the sand. A vision dazzled her: a complex city of castles and canals. On her hands and knees, she dug for it, not looking up till the air was dim.

Night was falling. Maud sighed and rose to her feet, brushing her dress. A moist crust of sand coated everything — dress, fingers, toes, and knees. The sand had even infiltrated her underclothing. When she reached up to scratch her ear, she found it gritty. Stiff-legged, fingers splayed, she headed for the waves to rinse herself clean.

The chill of the ocean was a shock. Maud squealed as the water climbed to her waist. She ducked so that it came up to her shoulders and fanned out her skirts. All at once the next wave was upon her, curling like the top of a question mark. Maud hopped upward, trying to catch the surge. Her timing was wrong. The wave slapped her face, knocking her headlong into the water.

Maud flailed. Salt burned her throat; she could not breathe; she was choking to death. Instinctively she worked her arms and kicked, but the force of the wave had disoriented her. With increasing desperation, she pawed and thrashed, forcing herself deeper into the water. Her mouth opened for air. Her mind shrieked that she could not be drowning: nothing so disastrous could happen so fast. But her toes had lost bottom, and the water was dark; no matter how frantically she punched and kicked, she could not get free of it. At last her muscles went limp. She stopped propelling herself sideways. In that moment, a wave bore her up, and her face touched the air.

She was saved. Her toes scrabbled, seeking the touch of sand and finding it. Coughing, spluttering, sobbing, she stumbled back to the shore and collapsed. The salt in her sinuses was agony, and she thought she was going to be sick. She snorted and spat, rubbing her eyes with fists of sandpaper.

Little by little, the salty anguish subsided. “I almost drowned,” Maud said to the darkening sky. She had always heard that it was possible to drown in a small amount of water. Now she knew it was true. For the first time, the horror of Caroline Lambert’s death struck home. She had imagined it wrong. Whenever she thought about it, she had pictured Caroline floating on her back and falling asleep, while the water slid over her face like a blanket. Now she knew better. Caroline had died fighting, her body battered by a power too fierce to resist. The words of Hyacinth’s singsong came back to Maud:

They row’d her in across the rolling foam,
     The cruel crawling foam,
     The cruel hungry foam,
     To her grave beside the sea.

Maud shivered. She thought of the figure in her dreams — the ghost-child Caroline. It frightened her that she, who was impersonating Caroline, had nearly shared her fate. She wanted Caroline to leave her alone — she wanted to stop thinking about her — she wanted the dead girl to get out of her dreams.

Maud leaped to her feet. She would leave the ocean and the solitude of the shore. She wanted lights, people, noise, Hyacinth — or Muffet. . . . But Hyacinth was not at home and Muffet mustn’t see her all sandy and wet. She couldn’t risk either of them knowing what had happened that night.

The Amusement Park. Maud broke into a run. Even if she couldn’t ride the carousel, she would be among people. There would be crowds, laughter, the smell of good things to eat. Caroline’s ghost would not haunt her there.

She felt better the moment she passed under the brightly lit arch. As she had guessed, the park was crowded, and the crowds seemed particularly merry. Maud eavesdropped and lollygagged, wending her way toward the merry-go-round.

By the time she reached it, the sky was black and the stars were coming out. Maud wormed her way to the front of the crowd and drank in the music of the calliope. Lips parted, she gazed at the animals: which would she ride, if she had a nickel?

She had daydreamed through four rides when the red-haired man beckoned. He was holding up a fragment of cardboard. Maud plunged forward, agog with hope.

“What’s that?” demanded Maud, though she knew.

“That’s your ticket,” answered the man. “A nice lady saw you watching and bought you a ticket.”

A nice lady. Maud’s heart sank. She had forgotten all about Mrs. Lambert. Her eyes raked the crowd, catching sight of a fashionably wide-brimmed hat. Yes, Mrs. Lambert was there. It would be Mrs. Lambert. She was watching expectantly, waiting for Maud to betray some sign of pleasure. Maud imagined what Hyacinth would say if she knew that her partner in crime was in the company of their chosen victim. She thrust the thought aside. This might be her only chance to ride the carousel.

“All right,” she said tersely. She nipped the ticket out of the man’s fingers and turned her back on Mrs. Lambert, heading for the tiger. There was only one tiger, and she meant to ride him — but a long-legged boy was already astride him. All around her, children swarmed, claiming their mounts. Parents lifted the smallest children to the horses’ backs. Maud was terrified that all the most beautiful animals would be chosen and her ride would be wasted on an animal she didn’t like. She didn’t want to ride the pig or the leaping frog, and the zebra in front of her was baring his teeth in an uncouth fashion. She heard the first notes of music and scrambled into the saddle of the nearest horse.

He was a beautiful horse. Maud let out her breath. He was as white as sugar, and his mane swirled and peaked like icing. He had glass jewels on his harness: rubies and sapphires and emeralds. If she leaned sideways, she could admire the curving arch of his neck and the sweet expression on his face. He was serene, magnificent. As the music grew louder, he leaped into the air and eased downward. Maud floated. She was weightless, soaring, splendid. She squinted a little so that the electric lights wavered and swelled.

For several blissful minutes, she circled and flew. All too soon, the music slowed. At last the white horse halted, halfway up his pole. Children slid off their mounts and parents surged forward, calling their names.

Maud pressed her palms on either side of the horse’s neck. “I’ll always ride you,” she promised rashly. “I’ll always like you best, and I’ll name you —” She hesitated. She knew if she chose the right name, he would be hers forever. “I’ll call you Angel.”

It was the right name. He was white and benevolent, and he flew. Maud slid off and looked at him from the side. There was a sculpted hollow at the edge of his lips, which made him look as if he were smiling. Maud caressed it, smiling back tenderly. She was still smiling as she walked to the platform’s edge.

“Just a moment.” The red-haired man caught her as she stepped off. “Wait a minute, duckling. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

During the ride, Maud had forgotten everything. Now her eyes grew wide with dismay.

“I’m talking about ‘thank you,’” said the red-haired man. “Don’t you want to say ‘thank you’ to the nice lady who bought you the ticket?”

Maud’s mouth fell open.
No,
she wanted to say, but the red-haired man was steering her straight for Mrs. Lambert. His hands on her shoulders were strong and purposeful. She had an idea that she could drag her feet or squirm but it wouldn’t make any difference.

“Rory, don’t force her!” Mrs. Lambert’s voice was disagreeably familiar. “I don’t need her to thank me. Leave her alone — you’ll frighten her.”