A Drowned Maiden's Hair Read Online Free PDF

sorry,” she said in a small voice.
    “You appear to be rather hungry,” remarked Judith.
    “It is more — usual,” Victoria said, “to ask to be served. We don’t, as a rule, drag the plates across the table. It wrinkles the cloth. There isn’t any more bacon, I’m afraid, but Muffet — oh, here she is! I asked Muffet to make more toast!”
    Maud’s head turned quickly. A swarthy, middle-aged woman had come into the room. She wore an apron and a printed housedress that was so short that it showed the tops of her boots. Her dark hair had been cut short like a man’s, and she had a shadowy line above her lips: a mustache. Maud stared at her, repelled.
    The woman continued to limp toward the table. A queer sound came from her closed mouth. The sound was wholly unlike anything Maud had ever heard and seemed to be connected, in some way, to the woman’s left foot. Every time the foot touched the floor, the woman uttered a cry. The noises ranged from creaking to guttural, with no two sounds alike.
    Judith took the saucer of toast and placed a slice on Maud’s plate. Victoria said, “Thank you, Muffet,” and jerked her head toward the door. The woman turned with a cry like a foghorn and stalked away.
    “What’s wrong with her?” whispered Maud, after the bulky shape had vanished from the doorway. “Why does she make those noises?”
    “She’s deaf,” Judith explained. “She can’t hear. And she can’t speak.”
    Victoria moved the marmalade to one side. “Once the knife has been used to cut the bacon, dear, it mustn’t go back in the marmalade — let me give you a little with the jam spoon. . . . I don’t know why Muffet makes those noises, but it isn’t her fault. She isn’t aware that she makes those sounds.”
    “She makes all that noise and she doesn’t know it?”
    “No, how would she? She can’t hear.”
    Maud shook her head in confusion. “Is there something the matter with her foot?”
    “I don’t know.” Victoria looked a little sad. “She’s always limped, ever since I’ve known her. There’s no way of asking her what the trouble is.”
    “If she works for you, how do you talk to her?”
    “We don’t,” answered Judith. “Muffet knows her duties. If we have to give an order, Victoria acts it out or draws a picture.”
    “I thought a deaf person would be quiet.”
    “Perhaps some are. Muffet isn’t. Come to think of it, her name isn’t Muffet. That’s just one of Hyacinth’s foolish nicknames.” Judith’s lips were tight with disapproval.
    Maud remembered how Hyacinth had dubbed her Maudy. “Why does Hyacinth call her Muffet?”
    “She’s very much afraid of spiders,” replied Victoria. “Her real name —” She stopped in mid-sentence. “Gracious, how dreadful of Hyacinth! It’s been so long since we called her anything but Muffet, I can’t remember her real name.”
    Maud wasn’t listening. Her memory had reached back in time, bringing to mind a green book with shiny pages. She saw herself, very small, curled up against her mother, while an Irish voice lilted, Along came a spider, and sat down beside her — and frightened Miss Muffet away! She had forgotten that book of nursery rhymes. Now she remembered the cow on the front, a fawn-colored cow that flew over the moon with all its hooves stuck out. One corner of the book cover had been sucked into a curve instead of a point. Samm’l had done that. Maud’s brow knotted. She didn’t want to think about Samm’l. Automatically she reached for the last piece of toast.
    “‘May I have more toast, please,’” Victoria prompted her.
    “May I have more toast, please, ma’am,” Maud echoed, in a voice that Miss Kitteridge would not have recognized.
    “Certainly.” Victoria put a little more marmalade onto her plate. Maud chewed in silence until the last crumb was gone. Then: “If Hyacinth has a headache, does that mean I can’t see her?”
    “Not cannot, may not, ” corrected Victoria.
    “Does