Free A Drowned Maiden's Hair by Laura Amy Schlitz Page A

ribbons, and a rock-candy goldfish too pretty to eat. Maud crowed over these and accepted the invitation to try on Hyacinth’s new hat.
    “It’s ess-quisite,” breathed Maud as the crown came down over her eyebrows, robbing her of half her vision.
    “It’s stylish, isn’t it?” agreed Hyacinth. “Judith does croak so — and over the tiniest sums of money! — but it’s only economical to buy a good hat. You get so much more wear out of them when they’re becoming. How are you doing with Little Lord Fauntleroy ?”
    Maud looked blank.
    “I mean,” explained Hyacinth, “do you know it well? Did you really read it?”
    “I read it twice,” Maud said pertly. “Didn’t you read my letter?”
    Hyacinth clapped her hands together. “Go and get it,” she ordered, “and we’ll read it together. Like a play. You can be Lord Fauntleroy and I’ll be all the other characters.”
    Maud stopped halfway to the door. “Shouldn’t you be Lord Fauntleroy?” she said anxiously. “He’s the best part.”
    “No, you must be Fauntleroy,” Hyacinth assured her. “I want to hear you be him.”
    Maud gave her a look of shining admiration. Not only was Hyacinth willing to play, but Maud was to have the starring role.
    “Don’t stand there mooning,” Hyacinth said merrily. “Run and get it. Don’t keep me waiting a second longer, you tiresome girl!”
    Maud charged up the stairs.
    After so heady and joyful an afternoon, supper was curiously subdued. Victoria and Judith had little to say. As the meal progressed and the evening wore on, the sisters spoke less and less.
    Maud was also silent — not because she had nothing to say, but because she had resumed being perfectly good. In fact, she was showing off. Judith had told her that children should not speak at the table unless a grown-up spoke to them. Maud felt that this was as unjust as it was idiotic, but for one night only, she was willing to obey. From time to time, she stole a sideways glance at Hyacinth, checking to see if her good manners were making the proper impression. Hyacinth rewarded her with a smile that made her glow with happiness.
    Maud was altogether blissful. For the first time, she was wearing the white muslin dress that was her best, and she was drunk with the glory of so much lace. Hyacinth had tied the bow of her sash and encouraged her to adorn herself with her new glass beads. Maud felt almost too fine to breathe. She sat dagger straight, cut her food into minuscule portions, and ate with impeccable daintiness.
    Dessert was blancmange. Maud remembered not to suck her spoon, or even to turn it upside down against her tongue, though this was a very pleasant thing to do and only the most evil-minded adult would consider it rude. She didn’t scrape the bowl; when most of the pudding was gone, she folded her napkin and cupped her hands in her lap. After Muffet had cleared the plates away, Judith turned to Hyacinth. “You wanted to be the one to tell her.”
    “Yes,” agreed Hyacinth. She looked at Maud, who gave a little bounce of excitement.
    But it seemed that Hyacinth was not quite sure where to begin. Victoria rose and began to draw the curtains. Maud turned to watch. Afterward, it was that moment her eye remembered: the gathering dark outside the glass, the windows reflecting the candle flames and the four females in the room: Hyacinth in silver, Judith in gray, Victoria in dull green, herself in white. The clock in the hall struck seven.
    “Maud,” Hyacinth said softly, “what do you think happens when people die?”
    This was not what Maud had been expecting, but she answered readily enough. “They go to heaven,” she said primly. “Or they don’t.”
    Silence repossessed the room. Hyacinth leaned closer to the candle flames, her eyes searching Maud’s.
    “Have you ever heard that there are spirits who come back from the grave in order to speak to the people who loved them?”
    “You mean ghosts?” Maud’s gaze strayed to