Maud’s head jerked up. “Five thousand dollars?”
“Five thousand dollars. Enough to pay off the mortgage with a comfortable balance left over.” Judith looked straight into Maud’s eyes. “You see how much is at stake.”
“It won’t be easy,” Hyacinth warned Maud. “Unlike Burckhardt, Eleanor Lambert is no fool. And she’s been tricked before. Last year, she employed a certain Madame Zauberlicht. She caught the medium pretending to be Caroline.”
“How could a grown-up pretend to be a little girl?”
“She was walking around the room on her knees,” Hyacinth explained. “The idiot! Eleanor Lambert reached for her child and found a grown woman kneeling by her chair. It was grotesque. Zauberlicht was ruined, and a good thing too. People like that give the profession a bad name.”
“Hyacinth has spent the last year trying to gain Mrs. Lambert’s trust,” Judith told Maud. “That’s why she’s spent so much time in Cape Calypso. She’s managed to persuade Eleanor Lambert that there are honest mediums — and that she’s one of them.”
“She trusts me,” Hyacinth said. “She is fond of me, even. She’s almost ready . . . and now we have Maud.” She brushed her palm against Maud’s cheek. “You see, Maudy? Do you see why we need you so badly?”
Maud nodded, grave-faced. She saw.
Hyacinth was restless. Maud had come to see the power of Hyacinth’s moods: if she was merry, the household seemed brighter; if she was angry or bored, the house fell silent, and the silence was ominous. In the days that followed the séance, Hyacinth’s moods changed a dozen times. Sometimes she darted about like a moth, astonishing Maud with her energy, teasing and flattering so deftly that Maud danced on air. At other times, she withdrew to her room, wanting only to be alone. Maud knocked at her bedroom door, but no one answered, and the door stayed locked.
It was not only Hyacinth who seemed on edge. Victoria had not forgiven her sister for what she had said about the cottage in Cape Calypso; her manner was stiff and cold. Even Judith seemed to have altered a little. She was more matter-of-fact than usual, signaling that she was not going to be drawn into the quarrel between her sisters.
Maud felt the tension like an itch. She had spent a good bit of her life battling grown-ups — there were even times when she found it stimulating — but she didn’t like it when grown-ups quarreled among themselves. After all the fuss they made about children quarreling, they ought to be able to get along. Maud took her cue from Judith and tried to act as if nothing were the matter.
On the days when Hyacinth remained behind closed doors and Victoria brooded, Maud was left to amuse herself. She continued to tinker with the glockenspiel, and she made a set of alphabet cards for Muffet. It wasn’t easy to persuade Muffet that capital letters and small letters were two versions of the same thing — like tablespoons and teaspoons — but once the hired woman grasped the concept, she tackled the cookery book afresh. Maud spent a lot of time in the kitchen, acting out recipes for Muffet’s benefit. When the bell rang, she dropped everything to run upstairs to Hyacinth. On one occasion, Hyacinth sent her away the moment she arrived; on another Maud was encouraged to peacock about in Hyacinth’s old ball gowns while Hyacinth sat on the bed and applauded.
Most often Maud was summoned to rehearse. Now that she knew that the readings of Little Lord Fauntleroy were more than a game, she found them a little nerve-racking. Hyacinth was strict about her speech. “Lit-tle, not liddle,” she said sharply. “And pret-ty, not priddy. And don’t singsong! You sound like an Irish nursemaid!”
“I am Irish,” Maud said proudly. “My mother was Irish.”
“Me mither was Eye-e-rish,” mimicked Hyacinth.
Maud’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t say it like that!” And you’d better not make fun of my mother, she thought, but she held her tongue.
Hyacinth seemed to sense she had gone too far. She twinkled her fingers in a gesture that might have been an apology. “Did-ent, not dint.”
“I bet Caroline Lambert didn’t say did-ent,” said Maud.
Hyacinth’s face broke out in a smile. “I bet she didn’t, either. Nevertheless, after she drowned, she became an angel child, and angel children speak prettily. Pret-till-lee, if you please.”
“Pret-till-lee,” Maud echoed, pronouncing the word so crisply that spittle flew from her lips.
“Very good. Open your mouth, please.”
Maud opened, worrying that her teeth were not clean. She had brushed them that morning, but Hyacinth’s standards were very high. All at once she felt something round and soft against her tongue.
“Have a caramel,” Hyacinth invited her. “You didn’t see my fingers move, did you? That’s called sleight of hand — I’ll teach you later. As for now, run along, and don’t let me see your little face till after dinner.”
Maud withdrew, obedient to the letter. As she tiptoed upstairs to her bedroom, she wondered what else she could do to make Hyacinth love her. According to her own standards, she was being very good, but Hyacinth seemed less impressed by goodness than other grown-ups were. Maud thought about the little girls she read about in books, who nestled into the hearts of adoring friends and relations. They were usually very pretty, with long curly hair. Maud had no curls, and though her eyes were blue, it wasn’t the sort of blue that people got excited about. The faint hollow in one cheek that she had hoped might be a dimple didn’t seem to work properly. What could she do if she lacked the equipment to win Hyacinth’s heart?
She supposed she might fall ill. Children in books were often ill, or they had dreadful accidents that left them unable to walk. Maud imagined herself in Hyacinth’s bed, with Victoria and Judith weeping and Hyacinth stroking her forehead. “My poor darling,” Hyacinth would say softly, while Maud was most beautifully ill, delicate and pale like a little white snowdrop. . . . Unfortunately, children who were ill often died. Maud felt that this was taking things too far. She preferred to model herself on Lord Fauntleroy, whom everyone loved even though he was healthy. She wondered if there was anything Fauntleroy did that might endear her to Hyacinth.
A week stretched to twelve days. Then a telegram arrived for Hyacinth: Eleanor Lambert, who had been visiting relatives in Boston, had returned early to Cape Calypso. She looked forward to seeing the Misses Hawthorne again.
Hyacinth made up her mind at once. She and Judith would return to Cape Calypso immediately. Would Maud be a darling girl and help Hyacinth pack?
Maud agreed to be a darling girl, but her stomach knotted. Nothing had been said about her going with Hyacinth, and she dreaded being left behind. She wrapped waists and skirts in tissue paper and counted out gloves, hoping that Hyacinth would see that she was too useful to be abandoned. At last she could bear the suspense no longer. “Mayn’t I come with you?” she begged, careful of her grammar. “Please?”
“You’ll come soon,” Hyacinth assured her, “but not yet. Mrs. Lambert has invited Judith and me to stay at her hotel. We’ll go first and get the cottage ready for summer, and then you’ll come, with Victoria and Muffet. Only remember, once we’re in Cape Calypso, we mustn’t be seen together. Mrs. Lambert must never suspect that you’re my little girl.”
Maud was slightly softened by that “my little girl,” though her heart was heavy. Faster than she wished, the trunks were packed and she trailed Hyacinth down the stairs. She knew that once the hired carriage arrived, she would be banished to the third floor. In the days to come, she would have no one to talk to but Muffet, who couldn’t talk back, and Victoria, who would think of new ways she ought to be improved. She descended the stairs as slowly as she could, leaning away from the balustrade and dragging her feet.