Maud pressed her fingertips to the door panel and pushed. As Victoria had assured her, the door opened with a soft shhh of wool against wood. Maud emerged from the cabinet. She shook herself, like a cat coming out the rain. “How long does it take for people to run out of air and die?”
Hyacinth looked insulted. “Have you lost your mind? Do you think we’d put you in that closet if there wasn’t any air?”
Maud hesitated.
“There’s plenty of air,” Judith assured her. “The back of the mantel faces a bookcase on the other side of the wall. We drilled airholes behind the books.”
“If she’s frightened, she could wait in the hallway and slip in when it’s dark,” Victoria said worriedly.
Maud looked daggers at her. “I’m not frightened,” she said scornfully. “But I can’t play the glockenspiel in there. There isn’t room.”
“Oh, the glockenspiel!” Hyacinth shrugged, as if the glockenspiel were no longer of importance. “We won’t be using that.” She reached past Victoria to capture Maud’s hand. “Come and see what you’ll be wearing.”
Maud followed Victoria to the table. Before her were a number of objects, only one of which made sense to her. Her fingers stole out to touch the yellow wig. “Is that mine?”
“Yes and no.” Hyacinth smiled. “It’s Caroline Lambert’s.”
Maud drew her fingers back. Her shoulders twitched in an involuntary shudder. “You mean — they cut off her hair after she drowned?”
“No.” Hyacinth and Victoria spoke at the same instant. Victoria looked as horrified as Maud felt. “Even Hyacinth wouldn’t —”
Judith spoke up, drowning out the voices of her sisters. “The wig came from a theatrical costumer. You needn’t be afraid to touch it.”
“What I meant,” Hyacinth sounded both offended and amused, “is that it was Caroline Lambert who had long curls, not you. Really, Maud! I sometimes think you have a morbid streak. You must strive to overcome it. Cultivate wholesome thoughts.”
Maud scowled. She hated it when she couldn’t tell whether Hyacinth was making fun of her. She picked up the wig and draped it over her fist. The ringlets bounced and rippled.
“Try it on,” Hyacinth said eagerly. “It’s a very good wig. I insisted on the best quality.”
Maud pulled the wig over her head. She tucked her own hair under the edges and asked, “How do I look?”
If she had hoped for admiration, her hopes were dashed. All three sisters regarded her with the same startled expression. Maud searched the room for a mirror and saw one over the mantel. She pulled a chair over and climbed up to gaze at herself.
It was a severe disappointment. Ever since she could remember, she had yearned for hair like the hair she had just put on. She had always thought that if she had ringlets, the rest of her would improve; somehow her pointed witch’s chin would grow round and dimpled, and her forehead wouldn’t look so bony. Instead, she appeared plainer than usual. The yellow curls robbed her skin of color, and her face looked small and pinched.
“In the dark —” Hyacinth said, making the best of things.
“Yes, of course. In the dark she will do very well.” Judith cleared her throat. “Maud, stop preening and put the wig back. There’s no need to wear it now.”
Maud stuck her tongue out at the mirror and yanked off the wig. She put it down on the table, on top of a thin wooden board. The board was inscribed with the letters of the alphabet, pictures of the sun and moon, and the words YES, NO, and GOOD-BYE.
“What’s this?”
“Don’t point,” Judith said crisply. “It’s a Ouija board. People use them in séances. Mrs. Lambert wants to try one.”
“This is the planchette —” Hyacinth directed Maud’s attention to a small three-legged table shaped like an arrowhead. “It moves over the board and points out the letters.” She placed the tips of her fingers on the planchette and pushed the little table over the board. M-A-U-D spelled the planchette.
Maud eyed the board with interest. She was thinking of Muffet. She had finished Muffet’s alphabet cards, but there were only twenty-six of them, not enough for words with double letters. The Ouija board would make it easier to spell out sentences.
“Maud.” Hyacinth was recalling her attention. “Have you ever seen a Ouija board used?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then pay attention.” Hyacinth drew aside a chair and sat down. “Two people sit with their fingers on the planchette. One asks a question and the planchette spells out the answer. Quite ordinary people use the Ouija board — one needn’t be a medium. The planchette will move for almost anyone.”
“How does it move?”
Hyacinth laughed. “Oh, someone pushes it!” She put up her hand to silence Victoria, who looked as if she was about to object. “People don’t realize they’re pushing. That’s the best thing about it. The only trouble is, the board says such silly things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Nonsense. The sort of things people say in dreams.” Hyacinth lifted her wrists and let her hands fall back in her lap. “That’s why I don’t like it. You don’t have much control over what it says.”
“Then why —” began Maud.
“Because Mrs. Lambert insisted,” Hyacinth answered. She picked up a dark, shiny object and pushed it across the table to Maud. “What do you make of that?”
Maud studied it. It was a large toy cricket, made of tin. Hyacinth’s smile seemed to imply that there was something special about it, but Maud thought it was ugly. She hoped it wasn’t meant to be a present.
“Press it against the table. No — not the whole thing — the tail end.”
Maud snapped the cricket’s tail. The thin metal let out a loud, sharp rap! It was a sound Maud had heard before. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “So that’s how — at the séance!”
“Yes.” Hyacinth’s smile was dazzling. “Of course, Judith can make rapping sounds, too — with her heel, with her thumbs — but the clicker toy is particularly useful at séances. I always have one — sometimes I wear two.” She lowered her voice to answer Maud’s unspoken question. “Underneath. Under my petticoats.”
Maud averted her eyes, embarrassed. She didn’t want to criticize Hyacinth, even in her thoughts, but it seemed to her that there was something very unladylike about wearing a tin bug under one’s petticoats. “Do I have to wear one?”
“No. But you do have to do your very best in the days to come.” Hyacinth leaned across the table and looked into Maud’s eyes. “You must remember Mrs. Lambert has been tricked before. Our performance must be perfect.”
Maud nodded earnestly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“When Mrs. Lambert first came to me, she was suspicious. I could tell — and I knew not to rush her. I knew it would be a mistake to make Caroline appear too soon. People don’t believe when things happen too fast. So I held back. Every time we tried to contact Caroline, we failed. And every time we failed, Eleanor Lambert became more convinced that she could trust me. Now it is time to succeed.” Hyacinth lifted one hand and brushed her fingers against her palm. “I have arranged it so that she is exactly ready.”
She opened her fingers. A seashell lay in the hollow of her hand. Maud blinked.
“We’ll begin with a present.” Hyacinth handed the shell to Maud. “Caroline Lambert collected shells. On the night of the first séance, you’ll leave this on the table for her mother to find. A gift from the dead.”
Maud warmed the shell in her hand. Her mind drew away from the dark room and the séance that was to come. All at once she seemed to see the sharp blueness of the sky and the white gulls over the water. She envisioned Caroline, lucky Caroline, dabbling her feet at the edge of the ocean, stooping to pick up shells. Maud felt a surge of envy. Caroline had been curly-haired and lovely and spoiled. She had played by the ocean and ridden on the merry-go-round. . . .