this year’s affair off with a bang!”
All so very happy until Professor Dawes, with a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth, pushed back his chair and said,
“By all means, Tod. But not, let us hope, with the same kind of ‘bang’ that concluded last year’s affair.”
CHAPTER 6
There was nothing quite so frustrating as being a stranger in Bellville. Unfinished conversations seemed to be a civic pastime. To everyone else in the room, Professor Dawes’s words had meaning, unpleasant meaning if one judged by the stricken expressions on seven faces; but nobody bothered to explain to the uninitiated, and it certainly wasn’t the moment to ask. As a conversation stopper, the professor was even more adept than Nydia Cornish. Lisa tried to catch his eye. They might at least meet outside where he could make some kind of explanation. But the professor hadn’t lost his sense of timing. He was still smiling faintly as he brushed past Mrs. Cornish and took his leave—but not before Joel Warren, his face flushed with anger, had given his uncle a most eloquent view of his back.
And then the awkward moment broke. Tod said something insignificant, which Lisa failed to catch; Miss Pratt tittered appreciatively, and Nydia Cornish, who of the entire group had not quite lost her poise, followed through with her announced departure. It was a signal for general dismissal, but now the questions piled up in Lisa’s mind. What
had
concluded last year’s festival? Where could she get the answer? The professor had already left the building by the time she reached the stairway. An infuriating man with his half-told tales! Slowly, Lisa began the descent. This was the only action that really troubled her, getting downstairs. It was tedious and unsightly. People who never noticed her limp were made aware of it on staircases. At the bottom of the stairs she paused to catch her breath and collect her wits. It had been a bewildering morning.
And what was that other thing nagging at her mind, a thing momentarily forgotten in the aftereffect of the professor’s parting remark?
“You must be mistaken, Miss Bancroft. Marta hasn’t worked at her music for a week.”
But how could she be mistaken? The haunting theme she’d heard down by the old studio ruins couldn’t have been imagination. Carrie had heard it, too. Mistaken?
“May I drop you somewhere, Miss Bancroft?”
Lisa turned about, annoyance on her face. Dr. Hazlitt had followed her down the stairs. Dr. Hazlitt with his professional mind and diagnostic eyes. He couldn’t have helped but notice her limp on the stairway. There would be questions to answer, and Lisa was in no mood for questions.
“Thank you,” she said, “but my secretary will be here for me shortly.”
He didn’t seem to hear. He stood there staring at her with those sleepy eyes that, now that she noticed, didn’t seem so sleepy after all. He still waited. She might have to repeat—
And then the head that hung so wearily between his shoulders shook thoughtfully.
“Bancroft,” he murmured, half to himself. “You do remind me of someone, but I just can’t place the name. I guess my memory isn’t all it used to be.”
Lisa didn’t answer. If she said nothing, he would just go away. She waited and he went, a tired old man still fingering his watch chain. She watched him pass through the hall and out of the front door. Only then did she follow.
Outside, the collection of cars that had gathered since her arrival was dispersing. The doctor was climbing into an old sedan, Miss Oberon into a small coupe, and she caught a glimpse of an old but expensive limousine pulling off down the drive that could only be transportation for the reigning monarch of the board room. There was no sign of the professor or his nephew, and no sign of Johnny.
But Lisa wasn’t alone. The little girl with the pony tail hadn’t forgotten. Little girls with pony tails never forgot.
“May we talk now, Miss
All so very happy until Professor Dawes, with a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth, pushed back his chair and said,
“By all means, Tod. But not, let us hope, with the same kind of ‘bang’ that concluded last year’s affair.”
CHAPTER 6
There was nothing quite so frustrating as being a stranger in Bellville. Unfinished conversations seemed to be a civic pastime. To everyone else in the room, Professor Dawes’s words had meaning, unpleasant meaning if one judged by the stricken expressions on seven faces; but nobody bothered to explain to the uninitiated, and it certainly wasn’t the moment to ask. As a conversation stopper, the professor was even more adept than Nydia Cornish. Lisa tried to catch his eye. They might at least meet outside where he could make some kind of explanation. But the professor hadn’t lost his sense of timing. He was still smiling faintly as he brushed past Mrs. Cornish and took his leave—but not before Joel Warren, his face flushed with anger, had given his uncle a most eloquent view of his back.
And then the awkward moment broke. Tod said something insignificant, which Lisa failed to catch; Miss Pratt tittered appreciatively, and Nydia Cornish, who of the entire group had not quite lost her poise, followed through with her announced departure. It was a signal for general dismissal, but now the questions piled up in Lisa’s mind. What
had
concluded last year’s festival? Where could she get the answer? The professor had already left the building by the time she reached the stairway. An infuriating man with his half-told tales! Slowly, Lisa began the descent. This was the only action that really troubled her, getting downstairs. It was tedious and unsightly. People who never noticed her limp were made aware of it on staircases. At the bottom of the stairs she paused to catch her breath and collect her wits. It had been a bewildering morning.
And what was that other thing nagging at her mind, a thing momentarily forgotten in the aftereffect of the professor’s parting remark?
“You must be mistaken, Miss Bancroft. Marta hasn’t worked at her music for a week.”
But how could she be mistaken? The haunting theme she’d heard down by the old studio ruins couldn’t have been imagination. Carrie had heard it, too. Mistaken?
“May I drop you somewhere, Miss Bancroft?”
Lisa turned about, annoyance on her face. Dr. Hazlitt had followed her down the stairs. Dr. Hazlitt with his professional mind and diagnostic eyes. He couldn’t have helped but notice her limp on the stairway. There would be questions to answer, and Lisa was in no mood for questions.
“Thank you,” she said, “but my secretary will be here for me shortly.”
He didn’t seem to hear. He stood there staring at her with those sleepy eyes that, now that she noticed, didn’t seem so sleepy after all. He still waited. She might have to repeat—
And then the head that hung so wearily between his shoulders shook thoughtfully.
“Bancroft,” he murmured, half to himself. “You do remind me of someone, but I just can’t place the name. I guess my memory isn’t all it used to be.”
Lisa didn’t answer. If she said nothing, he would just go away. She waited and he went, a tired old man still fingering his watch chain. She watched him pass through the hall and out of the front door. Only then did she follow.
Outside, the collection of cars that had gathered since her arrival was dispersing. The doctor was climbing into an old sedan, Miss Oberon into a small coupe, and she caught a glimpse of an old but expensive limousine pulling off down the drive that could only be transportation for the reigning monarch of the board room. There was no sign of the professor or his nephew, and no sign of Johnny.
But Lisa wasn’t alone. The little girl with the pony tail hadn’t forgotten. Little girls with pony tails never forgot.
“May we talk now, Miss
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