A Drowned Maiden's Hair (27 page)

The kitchen looked surprisingly peaceful. The supper dishes were done. There was one place laid on the table. Muffet had left out Maud’s supper; a covered plate stood between knife, fork, and spoon —

Maud froze with her hand on the door. Was Muffet in the house? Muffet almost always went for a walk after dinner — or out into her garden — Maud flew to the screen door and strained to see out, into the dusk.
Please,
she thought,
let me see Muffet.
But the hired woman was not in the garden. If she were upstairs, she would not hear the cries from the street.

Maud stood paralyzed. She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to flee from the fire. Even if Muffet were upstairs, she wanted to run. She tried to imagine Muffet out walking. The hired woman would come back from her walk, with her basket of seedlings, and Maud would greet her and they would both be safe. Then the drama changed. Maud saw herself leaving the house. Only later would she learn that Muffet had died, trapped in the attic, burned to death. Maud tried to imagine life after that and found it impossible. She let go of the door handle and turned toward the back stair.

Her body rebelled. Just as she couldn’t picture a future in which Muffet died, her legs could not accept the idea of turning back to the fire. Maud knew her time was short. If she was to go upstairs, she must go quickly. But her legs belonged to an animal that didn’t want to die, and they would not budge. Maud forced herself to take a step. Another. Her body fought back every step of the way.

Up the stair she clumped. The smoke pursued her, a ghost without a shape. Another flight — one jerk at a time, each foot a lump of lead. At last she reached the attic. She shrieked, “Muffet!” though she knew Muffet could not hear. She jogged stiffly through the box room and into Muffet’s bedroom. “Muffet!”

The room was dark. Maud stooped and swatted the bedclothes. The quilt was smooth and cool. Muffet was not there.

With that knowledge, Maud’s body underwent a transformation. All at once, she was free to leave the house, and every cell in her body leaped with joy. She flew down the steps with a grace and fluidity she had never known. Her feet scarcely touched the treads of the stairs; her hand soared five inches above the balustrade. Even when she reached the thick clouds of smoke on the second floor, she was euphoric. She soared through the smoke like an owl through the dark. She whisked through the kitchen, palms out, smacking open the screen door so that it slammed behind her.

Once outside, she began to cough. Her eyes watered; the smoke smell was so strong that she fancied that the insides of her nostrils were scorched. She was aware of the sound of great bells ringing and the brassy din of someone hammering a gong. She heard people shouting from the front of the house. There were hoofbeats — galloping horses — the firefighters were coming. Maud pulled off Caroline’s wig and stashed it under the lilac bush. Then she fled, taking the path toward the shore.

She was halfway to the ocean when she stopped running. She halted, panting, one foot on the boardwalk and one on the sand. Why had she come here? She sat down and pulled off Caroline’s stockings.

What should she do? She tried to recover her wits, heartening herself. She was alive and Muffet was alive. That was good; that was better than good. Moreover, she had done well during the séance. But beyond that thought, another lay in wait. Maud shook her head to ward it off. She got to her feet. She had to know what was happening back at the house.

She started down the boardwalk. She slipped up the alley a street beyond her own. She would watch the fire from the opposite side of the street. If she kept to the shadows between the houses, she would not be seen.

A crowd had gathered. Some were neighbors, holding buckets. Others had come to watch. The street was crowded with vehicles: the steam engine, with its three gray horses; the fire chief’s buggy; the ladder truck; the hose carts. The long ladder truck blocked her view of the house, but she could see the flames rising to the second-floor windows.
Judith’s room,
thought Maud, and spared a pang of pity for Judith. She edged forward, careful to keep in the shade of a sycamore tree.

No one noticed her. Night was falling, and the fire drew every eye. The firemen rushed back and forth like actors in a play. The firelight played on the wet street, which seemed to be strewn with snakes; the flames hissed and steamed, brilliant against a background of dingy smoke. Maud tried to catch a glimpse of someone she knew. She almost jumped when a voice spoke on the other side of the tree.

“Anybody in there?” A boy in knickerbockers jerked his thumb toward the blaze.

Another boy, somewhat older, answered him. “Nobody.” He sounded disappointed. “It’s just old ladies that live there, and they all got out. One of ’em caught her skirt on fire. They said she fainted, but that’s all.”

“See that fellow there?” The younger boy pointed to one of the firemen. “That’s Mr. Dowell from the pharmacy. He’s one of the volunteers. He sold me an egg cream yesterday.”

The other boy was unimpressed. “It’s not much of a fire,” he said gloomily. “All that rain th’s’afternoon.” He took a step forward. “What’s that?”

Maud heard the cry. She recognized it — it was Muffet’s voice. The younger boy said, “What in thunder —?”

“Somebody trying to get in.” The older boy was on his tiptoes. “One of the women — trying to get into the house. She must be crazy.” There was a murmur from the crowd. “One of the firemen’s caught her. There, he’s got her.”

“Mr. Dowell says that’s stupid. He says if you get out, you stay out. It’s different for the firefighters, because they
know,
but ordinary people — well, Mr. Dowell told me about this old maid who went back in the house to save her cat. The roof fell in and crushed her skull. Killed her like that.” He smacked his palms together. “Just plain foolishness.”

“I’d go in for a dog, but not a cat,” remarked the other.

Maud cursed them with a look of hatred and disdain. What did they know about fires? They’d leave their own mothers to burn, probably. She made a wide circle around them, pushing to the front of the crowd.

Muffet sagged in the arms of the fireman. The fireman turned his head from side to side, as if he were searching for someone to take the burden off his hands. A tall woman hurried toward him. Maud saw Mrs. Lambert gesticulate, indicating a point somewhere down the street. The fireman heaved the unconscious woman onto one shoulder and followed Mrs. Lambert to her carriage.

Maud set one foot ahead of the other. She imagined herself sprinting forward, ordering the fireman to let her go with Muffet. Then she imagined Mrs. Lambert’s surprise, and Hyacinth . . . Where was Hyacinth? She supposed they were all together — Mrs. Lambert and Hyacinth and Judith. Mrs. Lambert would take them back to her hotel. . . . Even as Maud pondered what to do next, the carriage began to move. Maud’s mouth fell open. They were leaving her.

Maud spun in her tracks. She sped from the crowd, regaining the cover of the alley. Once in the alley, she increased speed, trying to outrace the demons in her head. She no longer cared what happened to the house. Let it burn. She ran until she crossed the boardwalk and stumbled down to the shore.

The moon was rising. It seemed to Maud that she had never seen so large a moon. A scrap of shining cloud crossed it and turned to smoke. The moon emerged, whiter than the cloud, flawless in its roundness, beautiful. Maud raised her face to the sky. Her mouth stretched wide and she howled.

She had never cried so hard in her life. The moon drew the sound out of her as if she were a dog. She cried because Muffet loved her and because Hyacinth didn’t. She cried for Mrs. Lambert, who was nice, and for Caroline, who had died when she was eight years old. She cried because she had been left alone in a burning house and because she had not been good. She cried for fear, because she was afraid of the dark, and she cried for loneliness, because no one knew she was alive.

W
hen Maud awoke the next morning, the smell of smoke was still in her nostrils.

She sat up shivering. She had burrowed in the sand the night before, with a vague notion that it would keep her warm, but she was cold and damp as well as gritty. The skin over her right elbow felt stretched — when Maud ran her fingers over it, she discovered a mountain range of scabs. She thought that her back was scraped, but she couldn’t reach the places that hurt. Her mouth was dry and her stomach was empty.

She got up, shook the sand out of her dress as best she could, and looked out over the water. The sun had risen behind her; the sea foam glistened, and the sky was streaked with mare’s tails. The gulls swooped and screamed above the waves. Maud stumbled down to the ocean. She thought longingly of the water closet in Victoria’s cottage. When she came out of the water, she was red-faced with shame. She pitied the tourists who would bathe in the ocean that day.

The boardwalk was almost deserted, which was a relief; Maud was fairly certain she looked awful. As a shabby child, she had passed among the crowds unnoticed; in Caroline’s frilly dress, with its torn lace and bloodstains, she was a thing to be stared at. Maud ducked her head and walked briskly. Before long, she stood before Victoria’s cottage, surveying the wreckage.

The cottage was still standing. Maud was surprised; she had expected to find it a heap of ashes. Nevertheless, the damage was substantial. The front of the building was scorched, and the porch had collapsed. The entire front was off-kilter, as if the frame of the house was buckling. The back of the house was still intact. Maud toyed with the idea of scurrying up the back stairs to see if any of her clothes had survived the fire. Then she shrugged. It wasn’t worth it.

She headed back to the boardwalk and set off for the Amusement Park. When she reached the gates, she stopped. They were chained and padlocked. Maud’s lip curled. It took her less than a minute to scramble to the top of the fence and leap down.

It was queer, seeing the park by day. The booths that seemed to glow in the dark were only wooden boxes; the painted signs, with their unlit lightbulbs, were lackluster, like stained glass after sunset. Maud made her way straight to the merry-go-round. Now that the park was deserted, she could see that the carousel stood at its center. All paths led to it. It was no accident that she had been drawn here, or Caroline before her.

She stepped up on the carousel platform, searching for Angel. Her eyes fell upon an eyesore: a great mound of a man, fast asleep on a heap of blankets. It was Rory. Maud could scarcely believe her luck. She had thought she would have to wait to see him, perhaps for hours. Instead, there he lay, his feet beneath the paws of the tiger.

Maud eyed him nervously. Grown-ups didn’t like being awakened, and Rory Hugelick was a man. Stalling for time, she went to Angel and put her arms around his neck. His glassy eyes were full of compassion. Maud fitted her fingers into the furrows of his mane. A fragment of memory swam to the surface of her mind. She had dreamed again last night, a surprisingly buoyant and blissful dream. She had been riding Angel, while Caroline rode the sea monster in front of her. From time to time, Caroline twisted around to wave at her, shouting with excitement. Together they had floated and whirled, calling to each another in shrill delight.

The carousel keeper stirred. His eyes blinked, passed over Maud, and came back to her. A short, interrogatory grunt came from him. “What the —?” He shifted sideways and propped up his head on his elbow. Drowsy irritation gave way to a look of concern. “God Almighty! What happened to you?”

Maud took in her breath to tell a lie and exhaled before she could think of one. She went straight to the point. “Do you know where Mrs. Lambert is?”

“Mrs. Lambert?” Rory sat up and rubbed the palm of his hand over his chin. He yawned. “She thought there was something the matter with you. I guess she was right.”

Maud repeated, “Do you know where —”

Rory interrupted her. “What happened to you?”

Maud sighed. “The house was on fire, and I had to crawl through a hole.”

“On fire.” Rory took this in. “I heard the bells last night.” He rubbed his eyes. “Anybody hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” Maud said patiently, “but I have to find Mrs. Lambert. Do you know where she lives?”

“Duckling,” Rory said pathetically, “I haven’t had so much as a drop of coffee.” He fumbled in his trouser pocket. “Do you know Vicelli’s?”

Maud shook her head.

“You go out the side gate” — Rory pointed — “few steps to the left, and across the boardwalk, that’s Vicelli’s. You tell them Rory Hugelick wants a sausage roll and a cuppa coffee.” He handed her a quarter. “Bring back the change. After I’ve had my coffee, we’ll talk about Mrs. Lambert. All right?”

“All right,” conceded Maud.

She returned shortly afterward, balancing a tin plate on top of a mug of coffee. Rory Hugelick had tidied away his blanket roll and was polishing the brass on the carousel. When he saw Maud, he sat down and patted the platform next to him. “Good girl.” He took a draft of coffee. “First things first. You got some nasty cuts and scrapes. You put anything on ’em?”