Patrick said: ‘That was a child’s voice. It must have been –’

‘No,’ said Miss Emily. ‘I think not. I have an acute ear for phonetics. It was an assumed accent. And it was not a child. It was the voice of Miss Elspeth Cost.’

CHAPTER 4
Fiasco

The persons taking part in the Festival celebrations assembled at four o’clock on Saturday at the foot of the hill in Fisherman’s Bay. There was a company of little girls wearing green cheesecloth dresses and stars in their hair, about a dozen larger girls, similarly attired, and a few small boys in green cotton smocks. In the rear of this collection came Wally Trehern, also smocked, with his hair sleeked down and a bewildered expression on his face. His hands were noticeably clean. The Mayor and City Councillors and other local dignitaries were yet to come.

Miss Cost marshalled and re-marshalled her troupe. She wore a mop cap and a hand-woven cloak of the prevailing green over a full skirt and an emerald velveteen bodice. The afternoon was sultry and her nose and eyebrows glittered. She carried a camera and a sheaf of papers clipped to a board and exhibited signs of emotional stress.

Thunderous clouds were massed in the north-west and everybody eyed them with distrust. Not a breath of air stirred. An ominous, hot, stillness prevailed.

The enclosure was packed. An overflow of spectators had climbed the hill above the Spring and sat or lay in the blinding heat. The route from the foreshore to the Spring – ‘Wally’s Way,’ in the programme – was lined with spectators. Seats in the enclosure were provided for the ailing and for the official party and other persons of importance. These included the Barrimores, Jenny, Dr Maine and the Carstairs. The Rector, preserving his detachment, had declined any official part in the ceremony. ‘Though I must say,’ he confided to his wife, ‘it sounds innocuous enough, in a way, from what I’ve heard. I’m afraid Miss Cost’s verse is really pretty dreadful, poor dear.’

‘Tell me the moment you see Miss Pride.’

‘I can’t help hoping that in the event we shan’t see her at all.’

‘I suppose that chair by Mrs Barrimore is reserved for her.’

‘Let us hope she occupies it and doesn’t return to her original plan. She would look too out of place on the ledge.’

‘It would put Wally off his poetry, I have no doubt,’ Mrs Carstairs agreed.

‘Not only that, but I understand they use it in their pageant or whatever it is.’

‘Then it would be very inconsiderate if she insisted.’

‘Mind you, Dulcie, I maintain that in principle she is right.’

‘Yes, dear, I’m sure you do,’ said Mrs Carstairs. She gave a little sigh and may have been thinking that things had been a good deal easier over the last two years.

Patrick said to Jenny: ‘Did you see her before we left?’