“Maud,” Hyacinth said gently.
Maud jerked her attention back to the room. She pulled out a chair and sat down so that her back was to Judith and Victoria. She folded her hands on top of the table and lifted her eyes to Hyacinth’s face. “Tell me what to do,” she said, and Hyacinth smiled her sweetest smile and began to instruct her in the art of the séance.
“Now, Muffet,” said Maud in her bossiest voice, “pay attention.”
It was a foolish thing to say. Muffet was already paying attention. The hired woman leaned forward, her palms flat against the kitchen table. Her eyes were fixed on Maud’s lips.
“See, Muffet,” Maud continued, “this is the planchette, and it spells. Watch.” She moved the alphabet cards to spell out M-I-L-K and repeated the word with the planchette. “Milk. You know that one.” She went to the icebox, took out the bottle of milk, and hoisted it into the air. “Milk.”
Muffet glowered. She crossed the room, snatched the bottle from Maud, and slammed it back in the icebox. Maud, who had grown familiar with Muffet’s language of gesture and expression, had no trouble understanding this: Put that back. It’ll go sour. Maud glanced around the kitchen, spied an empty jar, and carried it over to the Ouija board. “Jar, Muffet. J-A-R.”
Muffet took the planchette and flipped it upside down, so that the three peg legs were up in the air. Then she smacked her palm against the cookery book.
Maud sighed. The cookery book had become an obsession with Muffet. Every day she circled words that she wanted Maud to explain. Maud did her best and had managed to convey the meanings of slice, fry, and boil, of put in, take out, and sprinkle over — but now Muffet wanted to know what the meant. Maud feared that the would be her Waterloo. She was surprised to realize that she had no idea what the meant.
“That’s not a real word, Muffet,” she said earnestly. “It’s a stupid word. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Muffet pushed the book closer to Maud and ruffled through the pages. Her forefinger jabbed the circled word. The. The. The.
Maud shrugged, miming, I don’t know.
Muffet’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I can’t tell you,” Maud said. She threw out her arms and raised her eyes to the ceiling. I give up.
Muffet shook her head, frustrated. She put the jar back on the shelf, took the towel off the bread bowl, and brought the bowl to the table. One hand slashed the air, and Maud read the gesture. Get that thing off the table. I need room to work.
Maud removed the Ouija board and went to sit by the window. In the last week, she had come to spend more and more time in the kitchen. Summer had settled over Cape Calypso, and the temperature rose a little every day. By late afternoon, the attic was almost unbearable. Maud knew that if Hyacinth were to see her sitting by the window — where one of the neighbors might glimpse her shadow against the screen — she would be in trouble. Luckily, Hyacinth seldom descended to the kitchen. Maud thumbed through her copy of Andersen’s Fairy Tales, in search of “The Snow Queen.” The Snow Queen’s palace, with its corridors of glittering ice, sounded distinctly attractive.
Muffet squealed, raised her fist, and buried it in the bread. The soft dough collapsed with a sigh of protest. For a moment, Maud watched as the hired woman folded and thumped the dough. The muscles in Muffet’s hirsute arms were impressive. During the past week, the hired woman had scrubbed every inch of the slovenly kitchen and patched the floor with squares of linoleum from the attic. She had whitewashed the walls and blacked the stove. In the backyard, she was digging a garden; every night, after the dishes were done, she disappeared into the dusk and came back with an apron full of young plants. Whether she hypnotized the neighbors into giving them to her or dug them up without permission, Maud had no way of knowing, but the garden was coming along nicely. Muffet had tried to entice her out of doors to admire it, but Maud refused, shaking her head until the hired woman gave up.
Maud leaned toward the window, yearning for a breeze. In a little while, Muffet would light the oven and the kitchen would be as hot as the attic. Maud wished that Hyacinth would summon her upstairs to rehearse the séance. Rehearsal sessions were sometimes followed by a carton of ice cream from the corner store. The thought of ice cream, pure and cold and white, made her mouth water. She wished her part in the séance were more difficult; she would have been happy to rehearse for hours every day. Unfortunately, she had little to do. Hyacinth was taking no chances. Maud’s part in the séance was small, and — Hyacinth had used the word — foolproof.
The map closet was stifling. Maud shifted her weight from one foot to the other and waited for the séance to begin. She was wearing her white dress with the lace frills: dress, petticoat, drawers, stockings, and wig. “Why do I have to be all dressed up if nobody’s s’posed to see me?” Maud had protested, and Hyacinth had replied, “In case something goes wrong.” Maud saw no reason why anything should go wrong. She was well rehearsed. She was eager to begin and miserably hot.
She heard a ripple of laughter from the dining room. What did people laugh about before a séance? She reached up and scratched at the edge of her wig. A trickle of sweat ran down her chest. She gulped air like a panting dog and shoved her hand into the ice bucket fastened to the inside of the cupboard.
The ice bucket was Hyacinth’s idea. Maud was supposed to keep her right hand submersed, so that when she touched Eleanor Lambert her fingers would be eerily cold. Maud was grateful for this somewhat macabre inspiration. Without the little pail of ice, the closet would be even hotter. She dribbled a little water down her face and sucked her fingers. Through the clear flavor of water, she detected the salt of her sweat.
The parlor door opened. Maud pricked up her ears at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Mrs. Lambert — it must be she — sounded like a foreigner. Her pronunciation was clear, but there was a queer tune to her sentences. Her accent reminded Maud of Marta, the Swedish laundress at the Asylum.
“— Your servant has always been deaf?”
“Since childhood, I believe,” Victoria answered. “I know very little about her. The pastor of St. Thomas’s church recommended her to us.”
“I — wondered how you managed to talk to her.” Mrs. Lambert sounded flustered. “Nowadays, there are schools to teach such people — I myself have sponsored students at a school in Washington. . . .” Her voice trailed off, as if she was afraid the sisters might take offense.
“Victoria manages to talk to her with signs,” Judith explained. “I don’t quite understand how she does it, but she’s very good with poor Muffet.”
“I’m sure she is.” Mrs. Lambert paused. “I have an interest in such things. My dear mother was deaf the last years of her life. She suffered greatly from loneliness.”
Maud could not catch Victoria’s answer, but Hyacinth’s voice was clear as a bell. “I think Muffet is a bit old to attend school. Old dogs and new tricks, you know. Poor thing, she’s rather simple.”
Simple meant stupid. Maud stiffened with indignation. She opened her mouth to defend her pupil. Muffet’s not stupid, she wanted to cry out. She learns everything I teach her! But Hyacinth’s tone had changed, and the subject with it.
“Dear Nell, you are not thinking of our hired girl.” There was a hint of steel in the bell-like voice. “You are thinking of Caroline and wondering how long we must talk of trivial things before we try to contact her.”