The Love Talker Part 14

"Not in front of him. After dinner."

Conversation at the table would have dragged if it had been up to Doug and Laurie. Jeff kept the ball rolling-teasing Lizzie, discussing spring crops with Ned, listening deferentially to Ida's occasional comments. It was almost as if she and Doug weren't there, Laurie thought. It did not appear that they were much missed, and the credit-or blame-for that had to go to Jeff. He had added years to the old peoples' lives, not only by helping them with the ch.o.r.es but by injecting his young, vital personality into their world. More and more Laurie felt that Jeff had a right to be involved in their problem.

She avoided Doug's glance, but he watched her like a hawk, prepared to swoop down and silence her if she spoke out of turn. After dinner Jeff withdrew to the kitchen. When the others had returned to the parlor Doug took the bull by the horns.

"Now that we're alone," he began, somewhat pompously, "there is a family matter we must discuss."

Aunt Lizzie beamed at him. "Oh, darling boy, are you going to be married?"

"Married?" Doug looked horrified. "What on earth gave you that idea, Aunt?"

"Well, it is certainly high time. You aren't getting any younger, Douglas. Marriage and children give a young man stability. And I would love to have a new baby in-"

"Aunt Lizzie!" Lizzie's lip began to quiver, and Doug moderated his voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. But I want to talk to you about something a lot more important than my love life-such as it is- and you keep getting off the track."

"Well, I'm sorry, dear, but-"

"And don't go quivering your lip at me, either. I'm on to your tricks."

He smiled, but his tone was stern. Lizzie eyed him for a moment, her head tipped to one side. She looked like a little white-headed bird, and Laurie could have sworn her bright, sparkling eyes held a glint of hidden amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I don't know what you mean, Douglas. And I can't imagine what family matter you have in mind. We have no problems."

"You!" Doug said sharply. "You're the problem, Aunt Lizzie. You and your habit of wandering out of the house in the middle of the night."

"Oh, dear." Lizzie sighed. "I'm afraid you are right, Douglas. I really am sorry about that. I won't do it again. Would you like more coffee?"

"No, I would not. And if you think that settles it--"

"Well, I don't really see why not. I admit it was thoughtless of me. In the future I will be more careful. Do you know, Ida, this coffee is really not very hot. I think I'll just run out to the kitchen and-"

Doug pounded at the air with his fists, as if trying to knock down the words that pelted him.

"You aren't doing very well, Doug," Laurie said. "Let me have a crack at it. Auntie, what Doug is trying to say is that we want to know why you've been going out. I want you to show him those snapshots."

"What snapshots, darling?" Aunt Lizzie transferred her bright, empty smile to Laurie.

"You know which ones. The fairies."

"Oh, those."

Doug continued to claw at the air. Laurie was tempted to join him, but plowed doggedly on through the smoke screen.

"Yes, those. You go up right now and get them, Auntie."

"You promised me you wouldn't tell anyone about them."

The effect of the big dark eyes swimming with tears, the quivering voice, the soft, pouting lips, was so overwhelming that Laurie almost failed to see the flaw in the argument.

"I didn't promise any such thing," she said firmly. "Now you stop that, Aunt Lizzie. We're only doing this for your own good."

The tears vanished like dew in the sun. The pouting lips became sullen instead of pathetic.

"I don't want to," Lizzie said.

"You have to."

"Elizabeth." Ida spoke. "Go upstairs immediately and do as Laura says."

Lizzie glanced desperately at her brother. She got no help from that direction either.

"Pack of nonsense," Ned grumbled. "Go along, Liz, and let's get this silly business settled. It's taken up too much time already."

"You're all horrid to me." Lizzie wept. Crystalline tears trickled down her cheeks.

Laurie felt like the lowest crawling form of life. She might have been tempted to weaken if she had not glanced at Doug and seen the same repentant self-hatred in his face.

"Scat," she said. "Right this minute."

Lizzie got up and trudged toward the door. She dragged her feet instead of scampering happily as she usually did; the droop of her shoulders and her forlorn shuffle were exquisite expressions of a breaking heart. A little too exquisite, perhaps. Laurie wondered how much of Aunt Lizzie was for real. Had the sweet innocent old lady been putting them on for years?

It seemed to take Lizzie forever to reach the doorway, while the others sat in uncomfortable silence. Then-as Lizzie had probably calculated-a last forlorn hope appeared, in the person of Jeff. One look at Lizzie and his smile vanished.

"What's the matter?"

"You keep out of this," Doug said rudely.

"Oh, Jefferson!" Lizzie clutched at him, her wet face turned up trustingly. "They are being so mean to me. Make them stop!"

For once Lizzie's histrionic talents played her false. She was unaware of the depth of the jealousy Doug felt for the other man, and her appeal set off all Doug's worst instincts.

"It's none of his business," he snapped.

"No." Ida had been sitting like a carved image, her only comment so far the direct order to her sister. Now she shifted position and spoke with her usual authority. "I am afraid that it is Jefferson's business, Douglas. I had intended suggesting that he be invited to join us. However, he has no authority to prevent us from insisting that Elizabeth produce those photographs. Nor, when he has learned the truth, will he have any desire to do so."

Jeff looked bewildered, as well he might, but it didn't take him long to see where the path of duty led.

"Miss Lizzie, you know I'd do anything in the world for you, but if the rest of the family agrees, I'm certainly not in any position to argue with them.

You know they love you and want whatever is best for you. So do I."

"Oh-bah!" Lizzie stamped her foot.

"Bah?" Jeff repeated, trying to keep his face straight.

"Bah and pooh on all of you! All right, I'll do it, but I will hate all of you forever!"

She stormed out of the room, her draperies flying.

"She won't, really," Laurie said. "Don't look so worried, Jeff."

"I sure don't like to hurt her feelings," Jeff said. "Miss Ida, would you care to tell me what the-what is going on? If you don't want to let me in on this I understand, but if I can help-"

"Oh, you can," Laurie said. "I've been wanting to talk to you about it, Jeff, but. . ."

"I see." Jeffs glance at Doug was so quick only Laurie observed it. "I wondered if something wasn't going on," he said. "You know I've been worried about her sleepwalking. Are these photos the same ones you mentioned the other night?"

Laurie had to search her memory. "I guess I did mention them," she said. "But I didn't see them until the other day. They are really something."

"Preposterous frauds," Ida said.

"You saw them, Aunt?" Doug asked.

"No. I have no patience with such nonsense."

"How about you, Uncle Ned?"

"Me?" Ned roused himself from a reverie. "Now what the hades would I be doing with pictures of fairies?"

Laurie had to admit that the idea was ridiculous.

"There aren't any such things," Ned explained seriously. "So if Lizzie thinks she has pictures of'em, why, she's wrong, that's all."

"She's taking an awfully long time about finding them," Laurie said uneasily.

Doug started to his feet. "d.a.m.n! Excuse me, Aunt Ida . . . We shouldn't have let her go up there alone. What if-"

His speculation was interrupted by a long, wavering cry. Before any of them could move, they heard Lizzie's feet pounding down the stairs. She appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide, her hair disheveled.

"They aren't there! They are gone!"

CHAPTER 8.

They were gone.

Lizzie's distress appeared to be genuine. She even allowed them to examine her hiding place, which was behind one of the panels on the right of the fireplace. A false knothole in the wood proved to be a spring which, when pushed, released a catch within.

The only objects in the hiding place were baby pictures of Doug and Laurie. Since the latter could think of no sensible reason why Lizzie should hide these, she was forced to the conclusion that Lizzie had removed her real treasure before sounding the alarm. A forgotten, crumpled candy wrapper indicated the nature of one of these treasures. About the others Laurie could only speculate. But it was certainly possible that Lizzie herself had hidden the photos. Laurie was beginning to suspect that her aunt was a consummate actress. By comparison, Anna was a mere amateur.

They returned to the parlor and Jeff went to get fresh coffee. The discussion continued; but Laurie was painfully aware of the fact that she now had no real case. The photographs were the only solid evidence she had had, and she and Lizzie were the only ones who had seen them.

Lizzie was maddeningly indirect in her responses to the questions they hurled at her.

Had she taken the photographs?

Lizzie went on at some length about her inability to manipulate "machines," and was finally stopped by Doug.

"Who did take them, Auntie?"

"One of the girls," Lizzie said sullenly.

"The Wilson girls?"

"Well, of course. The other children don't come to visit the way they used to. Years ago," Lizzie said pensively, "they walked to school. I made cookies. Chocolate-chip. You remember, Laura, that recipe I got from-"

The scene took on the atmosphere of a police interrogation. Uncle Ned left, muttering disgustedly. Ida sat on one side of Lizzie, Laurie on the other; their captive cowered, her elbows pressed to her sides. Doug paced the room, turning from time to time to hurl a question at his aunt. Jeff leaned against the mantel, watching. He said nothing.

Lizzie finally admitted that she didn't know which of the Wilson girls had taken the pictures. Betsy had given them to her. She had read fairy tales to Betsy, last summer. She had lent books to the other girls.

"The second girl, Mary Ella, is quite intelligent," she added helpfully. "But her father will not purchase story books for her. He considers them works of the devil. The man is surely an anachronism in this day and age. He should have lived in old Salem. I felt it was my duty to encourage-"

Laurie began to feel like a stormtrooper, with a monocle and a whip. Lizzie fought her every step of the way, rambling off into one idiotic discursus after another. No, she had not seen the fairies herself. That was ridiculous! Only a child . . .

They interrupted her in the middle of this lecture and pressed on. Well, yes; once she had caught a glimpse of iridescent wings, moving so fast they were a rainbow blur, and Baby Betsy had said . . . Yes, of course she had heard the music. What else could it be but a fairy piper? No one in the house played a musical instrument, except for those piano lessons she herself had been forced to endure, years before. Really, she did not believe in forcing a child to study music against its will. Didn't they agree? The only possible result- It was at this point that Doug said in a very loud, very firm voice, "I am going to scream."

"Me, too," Laurie said wearily. "Auntie, don't you realize we're only trying to protect you? You could be seriously hurt if you keep going out at night."

Lizzie opened her big brown eyes even wider. They were perfectly dry. She had given up crying some time back, when it proved to move none of her inquisitors.

"Oh, but darling, that's absurd. What possible reason could anyone have for wanting to hurt me?"

Laurie was about to protest when she realized that the statement was not a non sequitur. It was simply the conclusion she herself had reluctantly faced that afternoon. Aunt Lizzie had leaped blithely over the intervening steps in the reasoning process, but she knew what they were. She might be crazy, but she wasn't stupid.

Laurie was groping for an answer when she happened to see something that robbed her of speech. Ida was a lean, thin woman, and her recent worries had made the term "haggard" not entirely inappropriate; now she looked worse than haggard. She looked ghastly. The color had drained from her cheeks and the purple rings around her eyes stood out like fresh paint.

In the ensuing silence Laurie heard footsteps approaching. Ned peered into the room.

"Telephone," he said. "For you, Laura."

"If it's Hermann," Laurie began. Her uncle smiled at her.

"He called once before," he said calmly. "Told him you weren't here. This is a woman. Sounds upset."

"Thanks," Laurie said. "You can go back to-er- work in the library, Uncle Ned."

"All right," Ned said amiably. "Fat men never make good husbands," he added, and ambled off.

There were telephone extensions all over the house; Laurie herself had insisted on this, some years before, when she realized that the old people were becoming less and less capable of taking care of themselves. Ida had grudgingly accended to the necessity, but had refused to allow one of the instruments in the parlor. That chamber, at least, should preserve its dignity, without shrill bells ringing and people wanting to sell you cemetery lots.

Laurie went to the phone in the hall, hidden in a cubicle under the stairs. She wondered who it could be. Mrs. Schott, indignant because she refused to date Hermann? Bless Uncle Ned, he was on her side anyway.

She picked up the telephone.