Laura Schlitz - A Drowned Maiden's Hair

“Maud!” Hyacinth’s eyes flew open. She sat up and leaned forward, hands held out. “Maud, you darling child! You came to see me!”

Maud was flooded with happiness. Judith and Victoria had been wrong. Hyacinth did want to see her. “I brung you these,” she said, losing her grammar in her eagerness. Shyly she held out the daffodils, with their mud-splashed trumpets.

“Have you been out in the garden, then?” demanded Hyacinth, as if the garden held some incomparable treasure. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” lied Maud. “I’ve been missing you, though.”

“Have you?” Hyacinth took the flowers and held them two inches from her nose. “I’ve missed you, too, but I do have such dreadful headaches — and Victoria gets cross with me because I don’t eat anything.” She waved her hand toward the untouched tray beside her bed. “I hope you don’t miss me too terribly badly.”

“I do,” vowed Maud.

Hyacinth laughed, and then sighed. “That’s a pity, really. I shall have to go away soon. I have a friend in Cape Calypso who is very low-spirited. She expects me to come for a visit. But never mind. You’ll soon grow fond of Judith and Victoria.”

Maud wrinkled her nose. “I like them,” she conceded, “but they aren’t you. Can’t you take me with you?”

“Certainly not,” reproved Hyacinth. “For one thing, you haven’t been invited, and for another, you ought to settle down here. Besides, Mrs. Lambert . . .” She broke off as if she had just lost interest in Mrs. Lambert. Her smile shone out, bright as a diamond. “What about your bedroom — do you like it? Do you like having your own room, or are you lonely, sleeping all by yourself?”

“I like it,” Maud asserted. “I never had wallpaper before.”

“And Muffet.” Hyacinth’s eyes danced. “What do you think about Muffet?”

Maud decided to take a risk. “She has a mustache,” she said cautiously, and was rewarded with a ripple of laughter from Hyacinth.

“Yes, hasn’t she? She looks like a blacksmith in petticoats. She really is a terrible-looking old thing — but such a good cook, and so devoted to Victoria.” Hyacinth fetched an exaggerated sigh. “And our modern improvements — do you like using them? Do you like pulling the chain in the water closet?”

Maud giggled uncontrollably. Imagine a grown-up who knew that water closets were funny and admitted it. “I love pulling the chain,” she said. “And the bathtub with the lion’s mouth.”

“I knew you would be happy here,” Hyacinth said triumphantly. “Come and sit on the bed and let me look at you. Gracious, how pretty you look! We were quite right to choose that dress.”

Maud sat down sidesaddle. “It’s good, isn’t it?” she said earnestly. “And look at my boots.” She pointed her toes. “They’re shiny.”

“Lovely,” agreed Hyacinth. “You have dear little feet. Only you must have your hair cut. Are Judith and Victoria taking good care of you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” responded Maud. “They’ve been teaching me the secret things — like going upstairs when the doorbell rings. And Victoria changed the curtains in my room for thicker ones; they’re called brocade and they’re pinkish red.” She paused for a moment. “I guess if the curtains were too thin, people might be able to see someone moving around inside . . . or if I lit a candle. Judith warned me about that. She says I can have all the blankets I want, but no fire.”

She waited for Hyacinth to answer. Perhaps Hyacinth would drop some hint as to why it would be so bad if light shone from the third-floor window.

“Maud!” Hyacinth squeezed her hand. “Have you ever seen my jewel box?”

“No,” replied Maud. “How would I have seen your jewel box? I’ve only known you five days.”

Hyacinth pinched her so that she yelped. “It’s over there on the chest of drawers — the red Chinese box. Go and get it, and we’ll dress ourselves up in every jewel in the box. We’ll play at being queens.”

Maud giggled with happiness. She ran to the chest of drawers and scooped up the jewel box, eager to be a queen.

Dear Hyacinth Hawthorne,

Aunt Victoria said since I was missing you so much, I ought to write you a letter. When I say Aunt Victoria, I mean your sister. She said from now on I should say Aunt Victoria and Aunt Judith —

Maud leaned her chin on her fist and thought about her two new aunts. In the past two weeks, she had learned that Aunt Judith was the sort of adult who wanted to be left alone and that Aunt Victoria was inclined to preach. Aunt Victoria seemed to feel that Maud ought to be improved. She didn’t scold, but she nagged. Maud had yes ma’amed her way through a number of gentle little talks about ladylike manners, tidy habits, and doing her duty. Her resolve to be perfectly good was beginning to fray at the edges.

— but she said I shouldn’t call you Aunt Hyacinth because you mightn’t like it. She said she was tired of me calling her “ma’am” all the time.

Maud dipped her pen in ink. She thought it ungrateful of Victoria to tire of “ma’am” when she was working so hard to be polite. On the other hand, she was tired of it, too.

I miss you very much.

Maud searched the ceiling for something else to write. She thought of writing I wish you hadn’t gone or Why do you have to stay with Mrs. Lambert instead of me? but she didn’t dare.

Thank you for the book you sent me about Little Lord Fauntleroy. I read it twice. His mother, that he called Dearest, reminded me of you, because her voice sounded like little silver bells.

There, that was good. Hyacinth would be flattered by the comparison.

I liked how Fauntleroy rode that pony even though he never rode before.

Maud paused, considering the perfection of Lord Fauntleroy. The storybook hero was so perfect that the adults around him spent every spare minute comparing notes on just how perfect he was. Lord Fauntleroy had golden curls and lace collars. If he had been an orphan, he would have been adopted immediately. Maud sighed with envy.

I have a lot of time for reading since I don’t go to school. At first I read all the time but then Aunt Victoria said I should have a timetable. So now I dust the first floor every morning before anyone would come to the house and then I read and do arithmetic and help Muffet set the table. And then I have to sew, which I hate because it’s boring —

Maud stopped and crossed out the second half of the sentence, cross-hatching the lines so that it was no longer legible. Ladies, Aunt Victoria informed her, were sparing with the word hate. Victoria had also complained that Maud was too fond of the words boring, stupid, and horrid. Maud was puzzled as to how Victoria knew this, since she took care to guard her tongue in Victoria’s presence. Maud felt, in fact, that she was growing downright mealymouthed.

— which is tedious except it will be a summer dress with stripes. Of course I like the dresses you bought me better. I let Aunt Victoria cut my hair the way you wanted. Anyway, I have to sew and then read history or geography and walk in the garden. The plants are all dead.

Maud reread the last sentence, which was not complimentary. But what did Hyacinth expect? She had told Maud that the garden was large and lovely, but it wasn’t lovely at all. It was full of stickers, and the tall hemlocks cast so much shade that there was still snow on the ground. The hour that Maud spent outdoors was the dullest hour of the day. Victoria, however, insisted. Children needed fresh air and exercise.