It was a mistake — Maud knew it. Once the merry-go-round stopped, she jumped off Angel and fled to the other side of the carousel. As soon as her toes touched the ground, she ran. She didn’t look back until she reached the edge of the ocean. The rich woman stood on the boardwalk, beneath the electric lights. Her eyes scanned the dusk without seeing.
Maud turned away and began to walk at the water’s edge. She told herself she would never wave at Mrs. Lambert again. She would keep away from the carousel the next few nights. There were plenty of other things to do, after all. She would save her crusts and feed them to the seagulls. She would gather shells for the collection she was hiding in the box room. Even as she planned for the next night’s amusements, she was wading deeper and deeper into the water, enjoying the fizz of the foam about her knees. Before long, her dress was soaked to the waist.
Maud sighed. Now she had disobeyed Muffet. She would just have to hope that the hired woman wouldn’t be in the kitchen when she returned. She supposed that she might as well go on bathing. She played alertly, bobbing up and down with the waves, retreating whenever they rose to her armpits. When she skipped home, it was with the smug conviction that she had learned how to handle the ocean.
But her luck was out. Muffet met her at the kitchen door. At the sight of Maud’s wet dress, the hired woman’s face turned to stone. Maud flinched. No one had struck her since she left the Barbary Asylum, but Muffet looked angry enough to slap her. Maud dodged past the hired woman and flew upstairs. Muffet pursued her with such vigor that Maud wondered if the steps would give way.
Muffet did not touch her. Nevertheless, she made it clear that Maud was in disgrace. The next morning, when Maud got out of bed, she was unable to find her clothes. There was no point in sketching them and shoving the drawing pad under Muffet’s nose: Muffet ignored her. Maud spent the day in her nightdress, feeling slatternly and frustrated. She sulked as hard as she could, but the look on Muffet’s face spoke volumes. We struck a bargain. You broke your promise. It serves you right.
Maud was greatly relieved the following morning, when she found her dresses back on their hooks. The striped dress lay at the foot of her bed. Maud flew to the hired woman with her arms held out. Muffet returned the embrace, but her eyes were skeptical. Maud knew that when she returned that evening, Muffet would be lying in wait, alert for any sign that Maud had disobeyed.
On that night, Maud realized that Mrs. Lambert was following her.
She didn’t expect to see Mrs. Lambert away from the Amusement Park. Maud was building a sand castle when she saw the rich woman approaching. Even at a distance, Maud recognized her. No one else would wear such a ravishing hat at such an awkward angle. Mrs. Lambert’s skirt was fashionably narrow, and her high-heeled boots were the worst possible footwear for walking on sand. Her parasol lurched as she strove to keep her balance. She was risking a turned ankle with every step.
It occurred to Maud that nothing would be easier than to run away from her. Oddly enough, it would be too easy — Maud couldn’t bring herself to do it. She bent over her castle and pretended she was invisible.
“I saw your castle from the boardwalk,” Mrs. Lambert said breathlessly, “and I wanted to see up close. May I?”
Maud sat back on her haunches and spread her sandy hands, as if to say, “Go ahead and look.” She recognized Mrs. Lambert’s excuse for the ploy it was. She had made a study of sand castles during the past week, and she knew that her own were rather crude.
“It’s very nice,” Mrs. Lambert said.
Maud bowed her head. Mrs. Lambert’s slow progress down the beach had given her time to think. She had made up her mind that she wouldn’t speak more than a word or two. The last thing she wanted was for Mrs. Lambert to become familiar with the sound of her voice. She was glad that Rory wasn’t there to wring another thank-you out of her.
Mrs. Lambert surprised Maud. She cast herself down on her knees, stabbing her parasol in the sand. Shocked, Maud reviewed her clothes. A shirtwaist adorned with minute tucks; a starched linen skirt, immaculate boots and gloves. Good clothes, Maud thought — not clothes for groveling on the sand. She was even more surprised to see the rich woman remove her hatpins, her hat, and her gloves.
“Did you ever make a crocodile?”
“What?” blurted out Maud. She blushed for herself. It was horribly rude to say “what.” Hyacinth would be appalled.
“Sand crocodiles,” explained Mrs. Lambert. “My — I used to make them. I’ll show you.” Already the ungloved hands were scooping the sand into a mound. Mrs. Lambert was kneeling in the sand, playing like a child.
Thrown off-guard, Maud watched. She saw that Mrs. Lambert’s crocodile was a beast of some size — the mound taking shape was as long as she was, with a sinuous curve at one end that must be the tail.
“You can’t make many animals in the sand,” Mrs. Lambert told her, as if Maud had asked, “because of the necks. Most animals have heads that stick up, but a crocodile lies flat on the ground.”
“Um,” said Maud, and began to help with the mound.
“The eyes are the hard part. You can mold little balls of very wet sand and put them on top of the head, but generally it’s better if you find two pebbles the same size.” Mrs. Lambert looked directly into Maud’s eyes. “Could you find me two round pebbles, perhaps? And a shell with a curved edge?”
Maud nodded and got to her feet. Still perplexed, she headed down to the water. It was another opportunity to escape. She could run away before Mrs. Lambert noticed she was gone. She turned to look over her shoulder. Mrs. Lambert was sculpting the back leg of the crocodile. Her hair was coming undone; flaxen wisps unfurled in the breeze. Maud began to search for pebbles.
By the time she found two the same size, three of the crocodile’s legs were finished. Maud held out the pebbles and the shell. “What’s the shell for?”
“Scales,” answered Mrs. Lambert. She demonstrated, sinking the edge of the shell in the sand, making a curved line. Then she handed the shell back to Maud. Maud squatted down to continue the pattern.
She went on scaling the crocodile as Mrs. Lambert nestled the pebbles into the eye sockets. Now that the beast had eyes, it looked alive. An idea came to Maud. She picked up a water-rotted stick and held it out.
“What’s that for?” asked Mrs. Lambert.
“Teeth,” mumbled Maud.
“Ohhh,” Mrs. Lambert said appreciatively. She began to break the stick into inch-long pieces, pressing them into the crocodile’s jaws. Satisfied that she was doing a good job, Maud resumed making scales. When the crocodile was scaly from nose tip to tail tip, Maud sat back on her heels and watched Mrs. Lambert. She was applying the finishing touches — poking the left nostril, which was shallower than its mate, pinching a finer claw on the left foreleg.
“Why are you following me?”
During the making of the crocodile, Mrs. Lambert had relaxed. Maud’s question caught her off-guard. “I hope I haven’t frightened you.”
Maud shook her head.
A faint flush stained Mrs. Lambert’s cheeks. She looked younger, bareheaded. She’s bashful, thought Maud. She had come to think that Mrs. Lambert was foolish, or a little mad. Now she saw that the woman was shy.
“I — noticed you.” Mrs. Lambert was almost stammering. “I used to have a little girl, so I notice little girls — especially the ones the same age as my daughter.”
“I’m eleven,” Maud said rashly.
“I wondered,” Mrs. Lambert went on, “if you were — all right. I’ve seen you playing in the water by yourself — always at night — and it’s worried me. It really isn’t safe for you to bathe by yourself. And I’ve been afraid — because you said your mother was dead — that you didn’t have any home.” The last words came in a rush. “That’s why I’ve been watching you. I’ve been worried that you had no one to look after you.”