“We’ll show you the rest of the house tonight,” Hyacinth assured her. “It’s better downstairs. The only thing is, we’re closer to the neighbors than we were in Hawthorne Grove, and the windows are open. You’ll have to be twice as quiet as before.”
Maud nodded. She glanced at the windows, half expecting to see bars against the glass.
“The curtains are sewn together down the middle and tacked to the window frame,” Hyacinth explained, “which helps keep out mosquitoes.” She sat down next to Maud and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Maudy,” she said softly, “what’s the matter? Are you homesick?”
Maud nodded a second time. She could not have said what home she was missing, but “Poor Maudy,” murmured Hyacinth, and Maud closed her eyes and leaned against her. She wished she could curl up against Hyacinth and fall asleep, like the little boy on the train. But the attic was hot. If she leaned too long or nestled too close, she ran the risk of being pushed away. She straightened up, opened her eyes, and blurted out, “I don’t like the wallpaper.”
Hyacinth looked shocked. “Oh, you mustn’t like the wallpaper!” she flashed back. “It’s quite unspeakable! I should be ashamed of you, Maud Flynn, if you liked the wallpaper.”
Maud felt a surge of relief. Once again, Hyacinth was on her side, sympathizing with her even when she was rude. She could not keep from smiling. “I like the parasol you sent me,” she said huskily, “but I missed you.”
“And I missed you.” Hyacinth flicked a lock of hair away from Maud’s ear. “But we’ll talk tonight.” She rose from the bed. “I’ve left you my little clock. I want you to come downstairs at seven-thirty. By then it will be dusk, and we won’t have callers. I’ll show you the house and tell you about the next séance.” And with that promise, she slipped down the stairs, sinking from sight as if through a trapdoor.
Maud overslept. After supper, she lay down to rest, meaning to keep one eye on the clock. In ten minutes, she had fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes, the room was dim, and it was quarter past eight. She scrambled to her feet and splashed water on her face.
Groggily, on tiptoe, she descended the stairs. All the doors in the back hall were closed. Maud turned the knobs stealthily, opening each one a crack. The first led to the kitchen, the second to the water closet.
The third door opened into a room scarcely six feet wide. A streetlight shone through the single window, illuminating a row of glass-fronted bookcases. There was a globe in one corner, and a marble bust of a man in a wig. Maud realized that the room had been a library. It had been chopped in half to make room for the water closet.
A voice spoke from the far side of the wall. Maud stepped forward, listening.
“You assured me this would be the end of it,” accused Victoria. “That was what we agreed —”
“But we’re just getting established!” Hyacinth sounded exasperated. “This summer alone, I’ve been asked everywhere. Not just for séances, but to speak — I’ve half a dozen engagements in the next month. And if Eleanor Lambert —”
Victoria interrupted. “You said we’d get the money for the mortgage and stop,” she insisted. “Judith, you were there. We said —”
It was Hyacinth who answered, not Judith. “Eleanor Lambert is just the beginning. Only consider, Victoria! Once we’ve convinced Eleanor Lambert, we’ll meet others in her circle. People who wouldn’t trust an ordinary medium, people who are discreet —”
“People whose children have died,” Victoria said harshly. “Judith, this is wrong.”
“Of course it’s wrong,” Judith said flatly. “But we need the money. During the last two weeks, we’ve had the expense of two households —”
“We could economize,” pleaded Victoria.
“You could and I could. Hyacinth won’t. The mortgage must be paid. Muffet doesn’t cost much, but we have to give her something. Even Maud is an expense.”
Maud felt her stomach twist in terror.
“Maud is a godsend,” Hyacinth said vehemently, to Maud’s unutterable relief. “Really, Victoria! Have you no imagination? Can’t you see the possibilities now that we have Maud? Besides, it’s a waste — to adopt her and train her and stop after —”
“We should never have taken her,” Victoria said bitterly. “To force her to go on and on . . . This is the worst possible home for her.” She sounded close to tears. “It’s not just that she’s a child; it’s the kind of child she is.”
Maud let out a yelp of outrage. Her hands came up to cover her lips. She stood rigid, hoping the sisters had not heard her cry.
Victoria went on passionately. “If we can’t take her back to the Asylum, we ought to send her away to school —”
“And how will we pay for the school?” Judith gave a short, mirthless laugh. “For heaven’s sake, Victoria! I don’t like Hyacinth’s schemes any more than you do, but I don’t see how we are to live without money.”
“There must be something —” Victoria began.
“Are we likely to marry, do you think?” Judith’s sarcasm was withering. “Do you suppose anyone wants to hire a seventy-year-old housekeeper? Or a factory worker?”
Maud had heard enough. She stepped out of the half library and headed for the door at the far end of the passage. She turned the doorknob and stalked inside.
The three women turned to face her. Hyacinth’s cheeks were becomingly flushed; Victoria’s were mottled with anger. Judith might have been sitting for a portrait, her face was so calm and still.
“There you are!” Hyacinth sounded as merry as if the three sisters had been having a party. “Welcome to the back parlor. The front parlor’s larger, but this is where we’ll have the séances.” She extended her hand as if she were about to lead Maud into a dance.
Maud took stock of the room. There was stained glass in the side windows and a chandelier overhead. The walls were hung with dark blue paper and oil paintings of ships. Maud nodded toward the round table in front of her. “Is that where I’ll be hiding? Under there?”
Hyacinth shook her head. “No. That’s where we sit. We have something much better for you.” She crossed the room and ran her fingers over the carved mantelpiece. “Watch.”
The side of the mantelpiece swung outward, revealing a closetlike space.
“You see?” Hyacinth flickered her fingers inside the dark cavity. “This house was built as a summer cottage. The fireplace isn’t real and the mantelpiece is hollow. Mr. Llewellyn used to keep his maps inside. It’s the perfect place to hide you.” She nodded encouragingly. “Come closer.”
Maud peered inside, intrigued. The space was roughly twenty inches deep and twenty inches wide.
“She’s too tall,” Judith said waspishly.
“She isn’t,” contradicted Hyacinth. “Show her, Maud. Go in and pull the door shut after you. See, there’s a handle on the inside of the door.”
Maud stepped into the cavity. “I told you,” Hyacinth said triumphantly. “I knew she’d fit the first time I saw her.”
Maud shifted uneasily. The fit was tight. If she stood on tiptoe, her head thumped against the top of the mantel; if she put her hands on her waist, both elbows touched wood. She wished she hadn’t read about Oliver Twist sleeping among the coffins. The image came back to her now, and she had a feeling it would come back to her when she was shut up inside and the cupboard was dark.
“Try closing the door,” Hyacinth encouraged her.
Maud took the handle and pulled the panel shut. In the darkness, her eyes searched for the crack of light around the panel. It was hair thin. “How do I get out?”
“Just push.” Victoria’s voice sounded close by; she must have left her chair and come to stand by the mantel. “Anywhere. The door fits snugly — we glued felt on the sides — but it doesn’t latch. You can always get out.”