The Love Talker Part 7

"A tune? Can you repeat it?"

"No, I've no musical sense whatever. And it wasn't much of a tune; just four or five notes, repeated endlessly."

"Anyhow," Doug objected, "birds don't sing at night."

"Nightingales do."

"Oh, come off it," Doug said. "Nightingales in Maryland, in the winter?"

"It's unlikely, but it's not impossible. And the other alternatives are." Jeff pondered. "I'm not insisting on a nightingale. I wouldn't know one if I heard it. But suppose an exotic bird had escaped from a zoo or an aviary and had somehow managed to survive. It could be something like that, couldn't it? And if Miss Lizzie had heard it before, it might have stimulated her-uh-peculiar ideas about fairies."

"It's possible," Laurie admitted. She couldn't help contrasting the reactions of the two men. Jeff had believed her statement, without question or doubt. Using it, he had formulated a very sensible theory- almost the only sensible theory. Whereas Doug . . . She scowled at him. He scowled back.

"I still say you were imagining things."

"Well, thanks a lot for-"

"That's really not the point," Jeff interrupted. "Don't you see, it doesn't matter why Miss Lizzie went rambling in the middle of the night; the problem is to keep her from doing it again. There's no 'could be' about it; it is d.a.m.ned dangerous. She could kill herself."

"So what do you propose?" Doug asked sarcastically. "You seem to have all the answers."

Jeff refused to take offense. "I haven't got any answers. I could sit up all night and watch; but I couldn't cover all the exits. And I can't lock the doors from the outside; not only have I no authority to do such a thing, but if there were a fire you'd be roasted in your beds." He looked at Laurie, his dark eyes somber. "I've no authority to do anything. This is up to you two."

"Hmph," Doug said more amiably. "You're right. I think the first step is to quiz Aunt Ida, don't you, Laurie?"

"Definitely. She knows, or at least she has suspicions. That's your job, Doug. She's more apt to confide in you-the big strong stalwart man of the house."

Doug made a rude face at her. "And what's your job?" he inquired.

"To talk Aunt Lizzie into showing me the photos of the fairies," Laurie said.

It took her until the middle of the following afternoon to corner Lizzie.

When she came down that morning she found only Doug, brooding over a cup of coffee.

"They've gone grocery shopping," he explained, as she surveyed the silent, spotless kitchen. "The big expedition of the week."

"Uncle Ned didn't drive, did he?" Laurie poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down.

"No, Jeff took the girls. Ned is out bird watching or badger watching, or whatever."

"So you weren't able to talk to Ida?"

"No. They were bustling around getting ready to leave when I came down."

"Did Aunt Lizzie say anything about last night?"

"She asked me how I hurt my nose."

Laurie studied that feature. It did show signs of wear and tear.

"A reasonable question," she said.

"But don't you see? She's forgotten the whole incident-or is pretending she has. Poor Aunt Ida looked like h.e.l.l warmed over." Doug's sympathetic tone softened the comment, which would certainly have horrified his aunt. "No wonder she's haggard; I bet this has happened before."

"So you noticed."

"The bags under her eyes? Sure I did."

"What are we going to do?"

"We've got to do something." Doug stared moodily into his cup. "If we don't, that Jefferson character will. He's practically running the place now."

"Why don't you like him?"

"Who says I don't? Oh, h.e.l.l, I guess I'm jealous. He sounds like a decent guy, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Laurie said.

"I guess we should be glad there's somebody like that around to watch over them."

"Yes," Laurie said.

"He talks as if he really cares about them. If," Doug added, "you say 'yes' again, I'll slug you."

"You and who else? Okay, I see your point. We'll take action today-if we can pin the old darlings down."

But the shopping trip to town was the big excitement of the week, and the shoppers did not return until almost noon. By the time the groceries had been put away and Aunt Lizzie had delightedly displayed the fas.h.i.+on magazines she had bought, it was time for lunch. And after lunch it was time for naps. And after the naps . . .

"We are dining with the Schotts this evening," Ida said, pausing on her way upstairs. "I'm sure you will be glad to see them again, Laura."

"The Schotts," Laurie repeated.

"Hermann is now with a bank in Hagerstown," Ida said. "Quite a personable young man. You need not dress formally, Laura, but I hope you have a pretty frock."

"Pretty frock," Laurie said stupidly. Doug, standing next to her, placed his foot over hers and bore down. She yelped.

"Ow! I mean, yes, Aunt, I'll wear . . . something."

"I certainly hope so," said Ida, and proceeded on up the stairs.

Laurie turned to her brother, who had covered his face with both hands in an unsuccessful attempt to m.u.f.fle his unseemly laughter.

"Stop that, you ghoul. Don't they ever give up?"

Tears of amus.e.m.e.nt seeped from Doug's eyes.

"They want you to settle down," he gurgled. "Right here in the old neighborhood, safe from the wiles of the wicked world. You ought to be flattered."

"You wouldn't say that if you remembered Hermann as well as I do," Laurie groaned. "Doug, you've got to talk to Ida. Grab her the minute she comes out of her room. She's avoiding us."

"Fair enough, if you do the same thing to Lizzie."

Laurie spent the next hour lying on the floor by the register. She was stiff and disgusted by the time she heard the bedsprings creak, and the long exhalation of Lizzie's yawn.

"Now where did I put that box?"

Laurie went downstairs and tapped on the door.

"Are you awake, Auntie? Can I come in?"

"Oh .. . just a minute, darling. Just a ..."

There was a delay before the door opened. Lizzie's topmost chin showed a suspicious smudge, which might have been chocolate. Laurie did not comment.

"I stopped by for a sneak preview," she said, smiling. "What are you going to wear tonight? Something gorgeous, I'll bet."

Lizzie, who had been eyeing her warily, relaxed a trifle.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," she said.

"You'll dazzle the men, whatever you wear. But I couldn't wait."

"Well . . ."

"Dazzle," Laurie decided, was the right word. Her aunt had a childish fascination for garments that shone and twinkled and glittered. Sequins, gold braid, fake gems trimmed the flowing garments she took from her closet. Only their obvious expensiveness saved them from bad taste, and in some cases even the fancy labels didn't do the trick. Laurie admired and exclaimed and asked Lizzie to try on some of the clothes. And Lizzie, with touching generosity, tried to give a few to Laurie.

".. . if we fastened the sash tightly . . ."

"Oh, Auntie, I couldn't."

But as she studied herself in the full-length mirror Laurie was surprised to find herself weakening. As an adult she had never been able to afford expensive clothing, and this bejeweled, fur-trimmed, golden garment was the last thing she would have selected, even if she had been given carte blanche. It was pretty, though, in a barbaric way. The heavy brocade dropped straight from a gathered yoke, so the differences in their girths didn't really matter. The robe was too short, though. It barely reached her ankles.

"All I need is a horned headdress and I'd look like Isabeau of France," she said aloud. She twirled.

"Wear it tonight," her aunt urged. "It looks adorable on you, sweetheart."

Laurie came back from the fourteenth century. So that was in Lizzie's mind, was it? She was supposed to lure Hermann with her new finery.

"No, I'm not going to get dressed up tonight," she said shortly.

"Well, take it anyway. It looks-"

"Adorable?" Softening, Laurie bent down to give her aunt a kiss. "Honey, I couldn't look adorable unless I chopped off my feet. I'm too tall. Tell you what; if I have a heavy date, I'll borrow this."

Turning to restore the robe to Lizzie's closet she realized that dusk was gathering in. The snow had subsided to a few vagrant flakes. It had been necessary to lull Lizzie into a state of relaxation so that she would be more amenable to questioning, but time was getting on and she had not yet come to the purpose of her visit.

"Did you hear the music last night?" she asked.

As she had hoped, her shock tactics were effective.

"You heard it too?" Lizzie asked.

"Uh-huh." Laurie's voice was casual. "It was so pretty. I've never heard anything like it."

"You're the only one besides me who has heard it," Lizzie said. "Ida says I'm making it up."

"I certainly heard it. You were not making it up. Shall I tell Aunt Ida?"

"No. She's hopeless. She only hears what she wants to hear."

Laurie had to admit there was some truth in that. If Aunt Lizzie was losing her marbles, she still had a few left. The innocent old face, surrounded by a halo of white hair, disarranged by the trying-on, almost made her ashamed of her sneaky tactics; but she reminded herself that it was for Lizzie's own good.

"Maybe you and I are more sensitive to such influences," she suggested.

"Oh, I do think that is so true! You always were sensitive as a child; such a delicate, wistful, dreamy little girl."

Privately Laurie questioned this evaluation. She didn't remember being particularly sensitive-pudgy was more like it, thanks to Aunt Lizzie's cookies- and she had vivid recollections of tomboy pranks for which her aunt had gently scolded her. However, it was not for her to question such a convenient lead.

"I loved fairy tales," she said, with a sigh. "I was looking over the collection last night; such nice memories. I don't think you missed a single one, Aunt Lizzie."

"I tried not to."

"It was such a thrill to see the light the other evening, and hear the music," Laurie gushed. "Now you must show me the photographs, Auntie. I'm dying to see them."

Lizzie gave her a suspicious look. "Ida is so nasty about it," she said querulously.

Laurie threw her oldest aunt to the wolves without a qualm.

"You know how she is. A wonderful woman, but no imagination."

"Well .. ."

"Please, Auntie."

"Well . . ."

Laurie had to hide her eyes and promise not to peak while Lizzie disinterred the photos from a secret cache. Her hands obediently over her eyes (she was later to regret this scrupulousness, but at the time she had no idea it would be important), Laurie wondered what else the old lady kept among her treasures. A box of chocolates, certainly, though why she would bother to hide it when no one tried to curtail her eating, Laurie could not imagine. Perhaps it was like Uncle Ned's flask-forbidden fruit, or an unreasonable facsimile thereof.

After much scrabbling and gasping Lizzie told her she could look. Shyly, like a child offering to share a prize, she held out a few colored snapshots.

When Laurie asked to see the photographs she was not sure how she meant to deal with them. She knew it was futile to point out the falsity of an image to a true believer, but she hoped the pictures would be so bad-blatantly blurred or conspicuously unrecognizable-that carefully expressed skepticism would dim her aunt's enthusiasm. She was in no way prepared for what she saw.

There were four pictures. All seemed to have been taken by an ordinary cheap camera, like the popular Instamatics. The first showed an unidentifiable patch of coa.r.s.e gra.s.s and a rock-an ordinary rock. Sitting on the rock was a fairy.

It was not a hummingbird or a queer configuration of a natural object. It was a small winged creature wearing tights, or else its own scaly hide. It was green-not only its limbs and paler, transparent wings, but its face and . . . hands? Tentacles was more like it. The fingers, surely more than five of them, were inordinately long and flexible. The face was half hidden, as if the creature were looking over its shoulder, but what Laurie could see of its features made her catch her breath. They were human, in a way, but the eyes were too large, almost insectlike, and the nose came to a sharp point. Most disturbing of all was the malicious half-smile that crooked the corners of the creature's mouth.

Laurie knew Aunt Lizzie was waiting for comment, but she was incapable of speech. She turned to the next photo.