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The Hawthorne sisters returned two days later. Maud rushed downstairs to greet Hyacinth with a forgery of her old affection. Hyacinth tweaked her hair and tickled her neck.

“So, you naughty child! Did you miss me after all?”

“Yes,” Maud admitted unwillingly, “I missed you.” It was not wholly untrue. She was glad to hear voices in the house again. She looked from Hyacinth to Judith. Hyacinth had stood the journey well. Her traveling suit was only slightly creased, and her cheeks were flushed with wind and sun. By contrast, Judith looked twenty years older. Her face was a funny color, and her posture was slack.

“What’s the matter?” Maud asked Judith.

Judith set down her valise. Hyacinth leaned over to whisper into Maud’s ear. “She was seasick,” Hyacinth said in a half whisper, as if Judith’s being seasick were some kind of joke. “She’s always seasick.”

Maud wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not. She compromised, smirking to please Hyacinth but speaking to Judith. “Do you want me to take your bag upstairs for you?”

“Thank you, Maud. No. Muffet can carry it.” Judith put her hand on the balustrade, as if she still felt the ground swaying. “I’m going to bed.”

“Poor Judith!” said Hyacinth, once her sister had lurched upstairs. “So dreary, being seasick. You won’t be seasick when we travel, will you, Maudy?”

“No, ma’am.”

“That’s a good child. Let’s go into the back parlor, where we can talk. You can help me unpack later. I brought you a box of chocolates — and you must see my new tea gown — it has a serpentine skirt and bishop sleeves. Judith was furious when I bought it, but I needed it dreadfully — Mrs. Fortescue’s friends change clothes five times a day. One simply must dress.” Hyacinth clasped her hands. “Oh, Maud! Such elegant people! By next year this time, we may be in Newport! That’s where all the nicest people spend the summers. You can’t think how many people we met — Mrs. Fortescue knows everyone, and we were immensely popular, Judith and I. It was all we could do to tear ourselves away.”

Maud asked politely, “Did you meet any people with dead relations?”

Hyacinth laughed. “Dearest Maud, everyone has dead relations! The question is whether we met anyone who wants to talk to their dead relations — and — isn’t it providential? — we did! There’s even a job for you — a little boy who died of scarlet fever. Little Theodore was only six, but you are so tiny, I’m sure we can manage something for his poor grieving parents — and you will look delicious in a Fauntleroy suit.” Her eyes crinkled with laughter. “I wonder if we shouldn’t give you a tablespoon of gin every day. They say it stunts the growth. Of course, Judith would be shocked; she doesn’t approve of spirits — not the alcoholic sort, anyway. Only we must finish up this Lambert business, first of all.” Hyacinth’s quicksilver features underwent a change; she was no longer playful, but earnest. “Did you study your lines?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl. I’ll write Eleanor this evening, and we’ll rehearse tomorrow. Judith and I are agreed at last — I’ve come round to her idea that you should materialize now, so as to be sure of the money.” A faint frown appeared between Hyacinth’s brows. “Do you know you look rather frightened? I hope you’re not going to develop stage fright now, when we’re depending on you.”

“I’m not frightened,” Maud retorted. “It’s just —” She felt her throat tighten. “It’s just that it gets so hot in the map cupboard. I can’t breathe. Can’t Judith drill more holes in the back wall?”

Hyacinth considered the request. “I don’t believe she could. The wood’s rather thin as it is — it’s cracked in spots. Too many holes and it’ll splinter into bits. But never mind — you won’t be inside the whole time. You’ll be able to breathe once you materialize.”

Maud gazed at her distrustfully. “Are you sure when she sees me — she’ll think I’m Caroline?”

“How could I be sure?” Hyacinth sounded surprised that she had asked. “There’s always a risk. But you must remember, Mrs. Lambert will want to believe you’re Caroline. She will want that more than anything else in the world.”

Maud swallowed. It was true. If she succeeded in deceiving Mrs. Lambert, she would be granting her heart’s desire. It was just a question of pulling the thing off. “I know my lines,” Maud said in a small voice.

“Of course you do.” Hyacinth’s gaze was searching. “And so you should. We’re counting on you to do your very best. Remember that.”

On the morning of the séance, Maud woke to the sound of high wind and drenching rain. She left her bed and stood by the window, peering between the curtain and the window frame. The roof slates shimmered with water. Perhaps Mrs. Lambert would not come. Heartened by the thought, Maud tripped down to breakfast with a light step. She was even able to enjoy the pancakes Muffet set before her.

“Of course she’ll come,” Hyacinth assured her when Maud broached the subject. “She has a carriage. Besides, she’d wade through high water to talk to Caroline.”

Maud thought Hyacinth was probably right. She spent the afternoon going through her cues one last time. The Hawthorne sisters rehearsed for two hours before the electricity went out.

Hyacinth was pleased. “That’s the one thing I was worried about — the streetlamps letting in too much light. Now, if only the power lines stay down until this evening —”

“They won’t,” predicted Judith. “The sky’s clearing.”

But Hyacinth got her wish. The lights stayed off. A little before suppertime, the wind blew the clouds into patches, revealing a sky the color of morning glories. Maud’s last hope died. She borrowed Muffet’s cards and played one game of solitaire after another, fretting all the while. When suppertime came, she could not eat. She picked up Ragged Dick but lost patience with it; Dick was so honest and manly and cheerful that Maud wanted to slap him. She shoved the book under her pillow and prayed that Eleanor Lambert would believe she was Caroline.

Mrs. Lambert arrived early. Maud was costumed and wigged when Hyacinth detected the sound of carriage wheels. “Tiresome woman!” Hyacinth hissed as she hustled Maud into the map cupboard. Maud agreed. How foolish of Mrs. Lambert to come early, to imagine that séances could be performed without prior preparation.

Ten minutes passed. Inside the map cupboard, Maud sweated and fumed. She could hear Mrs. Lambert and the Hawthorne sisters chatting in the front parlor, and she wondered how they could sound so lighthearted when so much was at stake. The twisted pain in her belly seemed to have risen to her throat. She had to go to the water closet. She crossed her legs tightly and opened her mouth to breathe. She could scarcely have said which was more miserable, her mind or her body.

The voices grew louder. The three women had come into the back parlor — Maud saw the line around the door brighten. Hyacinth had brought in the kerosene lamp, and the séance was about to begin. Maud caught a whiff of herself and wrinkled her nose. She stank of fear. She wondered what Mrs. Lambert would think when she embraced her long-dead daughter and found her hot and smelly.

“Shall we sing a hymn?” Hyacinth said. That was a signal that all was well. The women were seated around the table as planned.

The light dimmed. Mrs. Lambert began the singing, and her voice shook. For a moment, Maud felt for her: Mrs. Lambert was nervous, too. Maud joined in.