Miss Archer pursed her lips. “Before I answer, let me say first that no one appreciates creativity more than I. The curriculum at Morningside School is designed, in part, to nurture the creativity inherent in every child. There comes a time, however, when the creative imagination must be reined in.”
“I see,” said Bill, cleverly refusing to agree or disagree with Miss Archer until he’d heard specific details. My husband was a good lawyer.
“I am also cognizant of the fact that certain children have difficulty adjusting to school,” Miss Archer went on. “The new setting, the new playmates, and the new routine can create a sense of disorientation that can lead particular children to act out in troublesome ways.”
I wrung my hands nervously, wishing Miss Archer would come to the point. I didn’t want to hear a speech about child psychology.
14 Nancy Atherton
I wanted to know exactly what my sons had done to join the ranks of Morningside’s maladjusted troublemakers. Bill evidently felt the same way.
“I don’t mean to rush you, Miss Archer,” he said, crossing his legs nonchalantly, “but I’d appreciate it if you’d answer my wife’s question. In what way are Rob and Will responsible for Matilda Lawrence’s nightmares?”
“Matilda Lawrence is not their only victim,” Miss Archer informed us, tapping the file folder with a rigid index finger. “I spoke with your sons’ teacher yesterday. Miss Brightman confirmed that Will and Rob have frightened several of their fellow pupils.”
“How?” I reiterated.
“Your sons have concocted a number of stories that can only be described as lurid,” Miss Archer answered at last, her lip curling in distaste. “They have shared these stories with their fellow pupils, some of whom are quite impressionable. When challenged by Miss Brightman, your sons have insisted that the stories are true.” Miss Archer tilted her head to one side. “While I do, to a certain extent, admire your sons’ inventiveness, I am as dismayed by their inability to tell fact from fiction as I am by their willingness to repeatedly terrorize their classmates.”
My nervousness fell away as my hackles rose. I would have held my tongue if Miss Archer had accused Will and Rob of disorderly conduct, but no one—not even a well-respected headmistress who scared the bejesus out of me—could accuse my sons of lying and get away with it. My boys were always truthful.
I squared my shoulders and gave her a look that should have made her duck for cover. “Are you suggesting that my sons are liars?”
“I’m not merely suggesting it,” she responded. “I’m stating it plainly.”
Bill must have realized that Miss Archer was treading on thin ice, because he put a restraining hand on my arm.
Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
15
“An interesting statement, Miss Archer,” he said quickly. “Do you have evidence to support it? Perhaps you can give us an example of the sort of story Will and Rob have been telling their classmates.”
“I fully intend to,” said Miss Archer. “Thanks to Miss Brightman, I can recount the stories quite accurately.” She put on her glasses and opened the file folder. After referring to her notes, she regarded us skeptically. “In one tale a so-called bad man drags your sons from a castle on a faraway island and attempts to throw them into the sea during a tumultuous thunderstorm.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Now, really—”
“Ha,” I interrupted, with icy disdain. “Will and Rob didn’t invent that story. It’s absolutely true. It happened less than a year ago, up in Scotland, and there was nothing ‘so-called’ about the bad man. The lunatic shot me in the shoulder at point-blank range.” I leaned toward her. “Would you like to see the scar?”
Miss Archer peered at me over her half-glasses. “I . . . I beg your pardon?”
“We had a run-in with a stalker last April,” Bill explained, adding helpfully, “It was written up in the Times.”
“Yet you didn’t see fit to mention it to me when we discussed your sons’ home life?” Miss Archer said, gazing at us in disbelief.
“It wasn’t part of their home life,” I said defensively. “It’s not the sort of thing that happens every day.”
“I should hope not.” Miss Archer blinked owlishly at us, then looked down at her notes and soldiered on. “Your sons also claim that an invisible man taught them how to curse.”
“Also true,” I confirmed. “The man wasn’t really invisible, of course, but Will and Rob couldn’t see him because he was tunneling underneath their floorboards. They could hear his voice, though, and he was a foul-mouthed old coot.”
“A . . . a foul-mouthed old coot was tunneling beneath your sons’ fl oorboards?” Miss Archer said, her eyes widening.
16 Nancy Atherton
“Actually, he was using a tunnel that was already there,” I told her brightly. “It happened in an old mining district in Colorado, where we spent the summer, so he had a lot of mine shafts to choose from.”