Laura Schlitz: A Drowned Maiden's Hair

“You mean to say there’s people who think you died in that fire?”

“I guess so. I don’t know.”

Rory set down his coffee mug. “Look here, duckling. You’re not telling me the whole truth. It’s not that I don’t believe you — I can smell the smoke on you — but there’s something else going on, something damned queer from the sound of it, and I want to know what it is.”

Maud said slowly, “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” countered Rory Hugelick. “The park don’t open till ten. Come on, duckling, out with it. Otherwise, you can forget about me telling you where Mrs. Lambert lives, because I’m not doing it.”

Maud took another bite of sausage roll. She chewed meticulously, trying to buy time. Rory would not be easy to fool. She fished for a lie that would account for her present situation and found that her mind was blank. She was all lied out. She couldn’t seem to get interested in keeping any more secrets or protecting the Hawthorne sisters. The night before, she had learned too much. She had cried too hard.

So she surrendered the truth. Her account was a jumble, made worse by Rory’s frequent interruptions, but eventually she got through most of the story. She told about her adoption and the mortgage that needed to be paid, and the séances and the life she had been leading as a secret child. The look on Rory’s face told her just how bizarre her story was. It had been some time since she considered her life surprising. She had grown used to the peculiarities of the Hawthorne sisters.

“So,” Rory summarized, when she had explained most of it, “you’ve been living like a prisoner with three old ladies that cheat grief-stricken people out of their money. They could go to jail for what they’re doing, do you know that? And — in the middle of trying to swindle one of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever met — their house caught fire, and not one of them lifted a finger to save you. Ah, now, don’t cry, duckling!”

“I’m not crying,” Maud said, clenching her teeth and blinking rapidly.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” Rory said back. “I’m just saying. You got out of the fire last night, you slept rough, and now you want to go find this hired girl, because she’s the only one of those hell-hags that might care whether you’re dead or alive.”

Maud’s temper flared. “Muffet’s not a hell-hag,” she threw back at him. “Muffet went into the fire for me. Hyacinth and Judith are bad, and so’m I, but Muffet’s innocent.”

Rory eyed her narrowly. Then he held out his freckled paw, inviting her to put her hand in his. “Then I guess we’d better go find Muffet.” He helped Maud to her feet.

“Then you know where she is?”

“I don’t know for sure.” Rory squinted at the sky. “But Mrs. Lambert’s a rich woman — she’s probably at the Hotel Elysium. Either the Elysium or the Hotel Regina — they’re the two best in town. But you’ve got to promise me something.” He caught her other hand and gave her a little shake. “No more pretending to be Caroline. No more lying to Mrs. Lambert.”

Maud squirmed to avoid his eyes. “We made her happy.”

“You lied to her so you could cheat her out of her money,” Rory said roughly. “That ain’t happy. Listen to me, duckling. I knew Ellie Lambert when her daughter was alive. She and her daughter were regulars — they’d come by just about every day.” He pointed to the hippocampus, with its acid-green body and curlicue tail. “That sea monster — that was Caroline’s favorite. She was a nice little girl and she died. As for her mother, she was never the same since. She’s too rich for her own good — and tenderhearted — but that doesn’t mean people have a right to take advantage of her. Even Caroline —” He stopped. “The point is, I’m not going to let you cheat her anymore. If you don’t tell her the truth, I will. You understand?”

“Yes,” conceded Maud.

“That’s a good girl.” Rory laid a hand on the back of her head. His touch was surprisingly delicate. “Come on, then. We’ll go find Mrs. Lambert.”

The lobby of the Hotel Elysium was more magnificent than any place Maud had ever seen. She was overwhelmed by its splendor. She felt that her naked and dirty feet were an insult to its polished floors. She clung tightly to Rory’s hand, expecting at any moment to be swept up and tossed out the door like a stray cat. But Rory was nonchalant. He followed his massive stomach past the doormen with such aplomb that they failed to question him.

Maud kept within his shadow. Before her was a grand staircase, carpeted in crimson; overhead was a forest of Greek columns and a host of chandeliers. A gentleman in a dark suit edged forward, the intention to evict them clear in his eyes.

“You’re just the man I need to help me,” boomed Rory, causing the tourists in the lobby to turn their heads. “I’m Rory Hugelick, and I’m here to see Mrs. Charles Lambert. This little girl” — he yanked Maud’s hand — “almost died in the fire last night. Mrs. Lambert will want to see her.”

The clerk cast a nervous look around the room. He saw that the hotel guests were eavesdropping. Maud heard a woman murmur, “Poor little thing!”

“If you’ll come this way, sir.” The clerk ushered them into a small room off the main lobby. “I’ll tell Mrs. Lambert you wish to see her.”

Maud squeezed Rory’s hand in gratitude.

“Remember,” Rory warned her, “no more lies.”

“All right,” agreed Maud, though how she was going to get through the next hour without lying she had no idea.

They waited only a short time before the hotel clerk held the door open for Mrs. Lambert. At the sight of Maud, the rich woman’s face lit up. Then it knotted with concern. “Mary!” She stooped down, placing her hands on Maud’s shoulders. “Gracious, look at you! You poor child!”

Maud felt her throat tighten. “I’m not Mary,” she croaked. “That isn’t my real name. I lied to you before.”

A faint frown appeared between Mrs. Lambert’s brows. “Never mind. We’ll worry about that later. Let me look at you. Poor lamb, you’re dreadfully cut and bruised! And there are splinters that ought to come out. Perhaps you should see a doctor. Dr. Knowles will be here this mo —”

“I need to see Muffet,” Maud broke in. “Our hired girl. The deaf woman,” she added, wanting to stop Mrs. Lambert before she said anything else that was nice.

Mrs. Lambert brightened. “Then you’re Maud! Oh, now I see! Anna wrote your name — she even drew me a picture — but of course I didn’t know —”

“Who’s Anna?” asked Rory.

“Anna. The Hawthornes’ deaf servant,” explained Mrs. Lambert. “They call her Muffet, but she wrote down that her name was Anna. She’s been greatly distressed — she thinks the child died in the fire.” She held out her hands to Rory. “Thank you for bringing Maud here. You will excuse us, won’t you? I must take her to Anna at once.”

Maud didn’t hear Rory’s answer. Mrs. Lambert had captured her hand and was whisking her back through the lobby, up the grand staircase. Heads turned and voices murmured, but Mrs. Lambert paid no attention. Maud had to trot to keep up with her.

“Anna suffered a bad fracture,” Mrs. Lambert said in a low voice. “The doctor said both bones in her right leg must have been broken at one time and never set properly — perhaps never set at all. When she tried to go back into the building last night, one of the firemen seized her. She struggled with him on the stairs, and the bone just snapped. The pain must have been dreadful — she fainted — so you must be very careful not to jolt her.”