A Drowned Maiden's Hair (28 page)

“No.”

“You been in the ocean this morning?”

“Yes.” Maud felt her face grow hot. “I had to wash off.”

“That’ll do, then.” He took a bite of the sausage roll. “There’s nothing so good for cuts as salt water. My mother used to say —” He broke off as Maud’s stomach emitted a growl. “You had anything to eat th’s’morning?”

Maud considered lying. “No,” she said humbly.

“Poor little devil.” Rory broke his sausage roll in half. “You eat that and you’ll feel better. And here — take a sip of coffee.”

Maud accepted gratefully. The taste of the coffee was bitter beyond anything she had imagined, but after grimacing through the first mouthful, she wanted another. The sausage roll reeked of garlic. Maud wrinkled her nose at it, nibbled, and decided it wasn’t so bad after all.

“Now, what’s this about Mrs. Lambert?”

“She’s got Muffet.” Rory looked bewildered. “I don’t mean she stole her or anything. Muffet’s the name of our hired girl. When the house was on fire, Muffet tried to get back in the house, but she couldn’t — and she fainted, I guess, and Mrs. Lambert took her away in the carriage. So I need to see her.”

“Wait a minute.” Rory held up a hand to stop her. “Where’s the rest of your folks?”

“They’re with Mrs. Lambert. The house was on fire so they went home with her, too.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?”

“They didn’t see me.” Maud averted her face. “They didn’t know I got out.”

“You mean to say there’s people who think you died in that fire?”

“I guess so. I don’t know.”

Rory set down his coffee mug. “Look here, duckling. You’re not telling me the whole truth. It’s not that I don’t believe you — I can smell the smoke on you — but there’s something else going on, something damned queer from the sound of it, and I want to know what it is.”

Maud said slowly, “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” countered Rory Hugelick. “The park don’t open till ten. Come on, duckling, out with it. Otherwise, you can forget about me telling you where Mrs. Lambert lives, because I’m not doing it.”

Maud took another bite of sausage roll. She chewed meticulously, trying to buy time. Rory would not be easy to fool. She fished for a lie that would account for her present situation and found that her mind was blank. She was all lied out. She couldn’t seem to get interested in keeping any more secrets or protecting the Hawthorne sisters. The night before, she had learned too much. She had cried too hard.

So she surrendered the truth. Her account was a jumble, made worse by Rory’s frequent interruptions, but eventually she got through most of the story. She told about her adoption and the mortgage that needed to be paid, and the séances and the life she had been leading as a secret child. The look on Rory’s face told her just how bizarre her story was. It had been some time since she considered her life surprising. She had grown used to the peculiarities of the Hawthorne sisters.

“So,” Rory summarized, when she had explained most of it, “you’ve been living like a prisoner with three old ladies that cheat grief-stricken people out of their money. They could go to jail for what they’re doing, do you know that? And — in the middle of trying to swindle one of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever met — their house caught fire, and not one of them lifted a finger to save you. Ah, now, don’t cry, duckling!”

“I’m not crying,” Maud said, clenching her teeth and blinking rapidly.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” Rory said back. “I’m just saying. You got out of the fire last night, you slept rough, and now you want to go find this hired girl, because she’s the only one of those hell-hags that might care whether you’re dead or alive.”

Maud’s temper flared. “Muffet’s not a hell-hag,” she threw back at him. “Muffet went into the fire for me. Hyacinth and Judith are bad, and so’m I, but Muffet’s innocent.”

Rory eyed her narrowly. Then he held out his freckled paw, inviting her to put her hand in his. “Then I guess we’d better go find Muffet.” He helped Maud to her feet.

“Then you know where she is?”

“I don’t know for sure.” Rory squinted at the sky. “But Mrs. Lambert’s a rich woman — she’s probably at the Hotel Elysium. Either the Elysium or the Hotel Regina — they’re the two best in town. But you’ve got to promise me something.” He caught her other hand and gave her a little shake. “No more pretending to be Caroline. No more lying to Mrs. Lambert.”

Maud squirmed to avoid his eyes. “We made her happy.”

“You lied to her so you could cheat her out of her money,” Rory said roughly. “That ain’t happy. Listen to me, duckling. I knew Ellie Lambert when her daughter was alive. She and her daughter were regulars — they’d come by just about every day.” He pointed to the hippocampus, with its acid-green body and curlicue tail. “That sea monster — that was Caroline’s favorite. She was a nice little girl and she died. As for her mother, she was never the same since. She’s too rich for her own good — and tenderhearted — but that doesn’t mean people have a right to take advantage of her. Even Caroline —” He stopped. “The point is, I’m not going to let you cheat her anymore. If you don’t tell her the truth, I will. You understand?”

“Yes,” conceded Maud.

“That’s a good girl.” Rory laid a hand on the back of her head. His touch was surprisingly delicate. “Come on, then. We’ll go find Mrs. Lambert.”

T
he lobby of the Hotel Elysium was more magnificent than any place Maud had ever seen. She was overwhelmed by its splendor. She felt that her naked and dirty feet were an insult to its polished floors. She clung tightly to Rory’s hand, expecting at any moment to be swept up and tossed out the door like a stray cat. But Rory was nonchalant. He followed his massive stomach past the doormen with such aplomb that they failed to question him.

Maud kept within his shadow. Before her was a grand staircase, carpeted in crimson; overhead was a forest of Greek columns and a host of chandeliers. A gentleman in a dark suit edged forward, the intention to evict them clear in his eyes.

“You’re just the man I need to help me,” boomed Rory, causing the tourists in the lobby to turn their heads. “I’m Rory Hugelick, and I’m here to see Mrs. Charles Lambert. This little girl” — he yanked Maud’s hand — “almost died in the fire last night. Mrs. Lambert will want to see her.”

The clerk cast a nervous look around the room. He saw that the hotel guests were eavesdropping. Maud heard a woman murmur, “Poor little thing!”

“If you’ll come this way, sir.” The clerk ushered them into a small room off the main lobby. “I’ll tell Mrs. Lambert you wish to see her.”

Maud squeezed Rory’s hand in gratitude.

“Remember,” Rory warned her, “no more lies.”

“All right,” agreed Maud, though how she was going to get through the next hour without lying she had no idea.

They waited only a short time before the hotel clerk held the door open for Mrs. Lambert. At the sight of Maud, the rich woman’s face lit up. Then it knotted with concern. “Mary!” She stooped down, placing her hands on Maud’s shoulders. “Gracious, look at you! You poor child!”

Maud felt her throat tighten. “I’m not Mary,” she croaked. “That isn’t my real name. I lied to you before.”

A faint frown appeared between Mrs. Lambert’s brows. “Never mind. We’ll worry about that later. Let me look at you. Poor lamb, you’re dreadfully cut and bruised! And there are splinters that ought to come out. Perhaps you should see a doctor. Dr. Knowles will be here this mo —”

“I need to see Muffet,” Maud broke in. “Our hired girl. The deaf woman,” she added, wanting to stop Mrs. Lambert before she said anything else that was nice.

Mrs. Lambert brightened. “Then you’re Maud! Oh, now I see! Anna wrote your name — she even drew me a picture — but of course I didn’t know —”

“Who’s Anna?” asked Rory.

“Anna. The Hawthornes’ deaf servant,” explained Mrs. Lambert. “They call her Muffet, but she wrote down that her name was Anna. She’s been greatly distressed — she thinks the child died in the fire.” She held out her hands to Rory. “Thank you for bringing Maud here. You will excuse us, won’t you? I must take her to Anna at once.”

Maud didn’t hear Rory’s answer. Mrs. Lambert had captured her hand and was whisking her back through the lobby, up the grand staircase. Heads turned and voices murmured, but Mrs. Lambert paid no attention. Maud had to trot to keep up with her.

“Anna suffered a bad fracture,” Mrs. Lambert said in a low voice. “The doctor said both bones in her right leg must have been broken at one time and never set properly — perhaps never set at all. When she tried to go back into the building last night, one of the firemen seized her. She struggled with him on the stairs, and the bone just snapped. The pain must have been dreadful — she fainted — so you must be very careful not to jolt her.”

They had come to a pair of double doors. Mrs. Lambert turned the key in the lock and led Maud inside.

Maud had a brief impression of a vestibule, smaller than the great lobby downstairs but decorated in the same style. There were painted cupids on the ceiling and columned archways leading to different rooms. Mrs. Lambert led her into a room that overlooked the ocean.

Muffet lay asleep, covered with a sheet. Her eyes were deeply shadowed, the eyelids reddened from weeping. Maud could see that her right leg was encased in some contraption that kept it immobile. She felt suddenly frightened. She didn’t want Muffet to look like that — so shrunken and sad, with that cruel-looking thing on her leg.

Mrs. Lambert took Muffet’s hand. She rubbed Muffet’s palm between her fingers and thumb. “Anna,” she said urgently. “It’s good news. Wake up.”

Muffet blinked. Her eyes went past Mrs. Lambert to Maud. Her sleep-stiffened face underwent a change: every feature lifted and blossomed with joy. She held out her arms, whimpering like a wounded dog.

Maud forgot about not jolting the bed. She ran into Muffet’s arms and Muffet caught her. The hired woman emitted a squeal of anguish but didn’t let go. She dragged Maud into her lap, squeezing so hard that Maud cried out with pain as well as happiness.

Maud shut her eyes and burrowed into Muffet’s nightgown. She gave herself up to the comfort of being rocked and held. Tears stole out from under her eyelids, but she wasn’t ashamed. Muffet wouldn’t laugh at her. Maud nestled closer, drawing in the warm kitchen smell that was distinctly Muffet’s. She wanted to stay there forever.

But she did have to breathe. Reluctantly she lifted her face. Muffet was beaming. Mrs. Lambert had stepped away and stood in the door frame, watching them with misty eyes.

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.