Maud never forgot her first walk down the boardwalk. The sky had cleared and the wind had risen. Maud felt the pull of the breeze against her parasol; the scalloped edge trembled violently. She felt that if she let go of the handle, the parasol would sail off like a kite. Beyond the circle of cloth, the sky was intensely blue.
And wide. Over the ocean, the sky was immeasurable. Maud gazed at the two vastnesses in wonder. The brilliance of sun on water made her blink. Before her was a world she had never thought to imagine: the pale, clean-looking sand, the foaming water, the jeering white birds against the blue.
Maud stole a glance over her shoulder. Victoria and Muffet were behind her, strolling arm in arm. Slowly, drawing out her steps, Maud processed down the boardwalk. She had a map of the streets in her head. When she came to Ocean Street, she would turn left and go two blocks. Our cottage is sage green, Hyacinth had written. You must look up and down the street to make sure no one is looking and then dart between the left side and the hedge. Knock on the back door. I’ll be waiting to let you in.
The signs on the boardwalk vied for Maud’s attention. FRANKFURTERS, SALT WATER TAFFY, ICE-CREAM SODAS, PING-PONG. What, Maud wondered, was Ping-Pong? It sounded delicious. The smell of frankfurters made her nostrils quiver; she wished she had money to buy one, or ice cream, or Ping-Pong.
She spun the handle of her parasol between her fingers and watched the stripes blur. She dawdled: she was going to make it last, this one lovely saunter down the street. She strolled slowly, admiring herself in the mirror of her imagination. Around her was a loosely connected crowd: ladies and gentlemen and children, all enjoying the breeze for which Cape Calypso was famous. The women wore parasols and enormous hats; many were dressed in white. It dawned upon Maud that they were different from the grown-ups she had known. They had no work to do. They had left their cares behind, in Philadelphia, Baltimore, and New York; they had come to this town for pleasure. It was oddly uplifting to be among such idle, genteel people. Maud tried to fancy she was one of them. There were children down by the water, wading and splashing; she envisioned herself with the ocean frothing around her ankles. She felt a pang of surprise when she realized that she would never be allowed to wade in the ocean.
All at once, she could not bear it. With quick fingers, she collapsed her parasol and took off across the sand, heading straight for the water.
Or such was her intention. Running in sand was harder than she had expected. She stumbled and almost fell. Righting herself, she scuffed on, not looking back. What could Victoria do to her, after all? She couldn’t call after her. She would just have to wait until Maud came back.
The sand beneath her boots grew firmer. Maud looked down and saw that it had changed color. It was grainy, dark gold, smudged as if with charcoal. She was almost at the edge of the water. She could smell the salt and feel the coolness of the spray against her shins. Her eyes followed the movement of the waves.
She had never seen waves before. Her eye rested upon them, fascinated; how much time passed, or how many waves she tracked, she had no idea. Farther out to sea, they weren’t waves at all, only mounds, like furrows in a field. Then, somehow, each mound rose to an edge, thin as the blade of knife. The knife-edge tilted, the wave coiled, and there was a moment when it seemed as if it must break — and yet it did not. Then a line of brightness, crooked and notched like paper catching fire, rippled across the top edge of the wave. The water crashed and erupted, droplets spurting straight up and leapfrogging off the surface of the foam.
“Do you want to play?”
Maud dragged her eyes away from the ocean. A girl her own age had come to stand beside her. She was holding out a spade. “We’re making a castle. Do you want to play, too?” The girl gestured toward a patch of sand several yards back. Two little boys labored over a series of sandy hillocks and low walls. Maud understood at once that this was what was meant by a castle. Her eyes searched the girl’s face. It was a round, sunburned face, with clear green eyes. The strange girl wasn’t trying to trick her. She was inviting her to play. Of course, Maud realized, the girl had never visited the Barbary Asylum. She had no way of knowing that Maud was nasty. All the same, it was a remarkable thing, as unexpected as the ocean itself.
For a split second, Maud entertained the invitation. She could put her parasol somewhere safe, so that the ocean couldn’t carry it off. Perhaps she might remove her shoes and stockings — the other girl had done so; it must be a thing one could do. She pictured herself kneeling in the moist sand. Her fingers almost closed around the handle of the spade. Then she snatched back her hand. “I can’t,” she told the other girl, and fled.
Victoria’s cottage was a four-story house with a porch that wrapped around three sides. Maud had little time to study it; as Hyacinth had ordered, she checked to make sure it was the right house, glanced up and down the street, and lunged for the shelter of the hedge. From the hedge, she darted to the back porch. The kitchen door opened before her fingers touched the knob. “There you are!” hissed Hyacinth, seizing her by the forearm. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting and waiting.”
Maud kissed the cheek that was held to her lips, catching a whiff of violets. She had a confused impression of an untidy kitchen: torn linoleum, shuttered windows, and a sink full of dirty dishes. Hyacinth whisked her past the kitchen table, and up a flight of stairs — steep, narrow stairs, like the ones at the Barbary Asylum.
“You must always use the back steps,” Hyacinth whispered as she guided Maud ahead of her. “And whisper — always whisper. We have to keep the windows open, because of the heat. You mustn’t forget.” She paused at the first landing and leaned against the balustrade.
“It’s hot,” whispered Maud.
“It is,” admitted Hyacinth. She lifted her skirt and resumed the climb. “Hot air rises. Something to do with science, I believe. However, one grows used to it, and there’s often a breeze at night.” She nodded for Maud to go on ahead. They mounted a second flight of stairs and a third. The final flight had no handrail, but ran straight through the floor of the attic. Both Maud and Hyacinth were panting when they emerged from the stairwell.
“Here’s your room,” gasped Hyacinth, “at the back of the house. The other side of the wall’s — the box room — where we keep our trunks — and then Muffet — has the front.”
Maud surveyed her new quarters dubiously. She saw a high iron bed with a white counterpane. The dresser was carved oak, with a tarnished mirror that showed only the top of her head. On the washstand was a pitcher decorated with daisies, a matching washbowl — and, on the bottom shelf, a large chamber pot. Maud raised her eyes to Hyacinth’s face. She was afraid to ask.
Hyacinth read her thoughts. “My poor child, don’t look at me like that! Of course we have a water closet!” She fingered the lace at her collar. “It’s on the first floor, off the back hall. Mr. Llewellyn — the man who left the cottage to Victoria — had it put in years ago, along with the electric lights. I just wanted to prepare you for when we have visitors — you mightn’t be able to go downstairs —” She paused apologetically.
Maud sank down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. The roof slanted down on either side. Both walls and ceiling were papered: red diamonds on a snuff-colored background. It was not a pattern that appealed to Maud. She was hot, thirsty, and disheartened. She had risen before dawn, taken two trains, seen the ocean, and narrowly avoided making a friend. She was in no state to bear up against chamber pots and ugly wallpaper.