"I was told to tell you to go straight to the study, mademoiselle," he said.
"Pardon?"
"Your father and mother and Mademoiselle Gisselle are waiting for you," he explained.
"Gisselle's home already?" Surprised, but filled with trepidation, I went to the study. Gisselle was sitting on one of the leather sofas and Daphne was in a leather chair. My father was gazing out the window, his back to me. He turned when Daphne said, "Come in and sit down."
Gisselle was glaring at me, hatefully. Did she think I had told on her? Had my father and Daphne somehow heard about what had occurred at the slumber party?
"Did you have a nice time?" Daphne asked. "Behave properly and do everything as I told you to do it in the restaurant?"
"Yes."
My father looked relieved about that, but he still seemed distant, troubled. My eyes went from him; to Gisselle, who looked away quickly, and then back to Daphne, who folded her hands in her lap.
"Apparently, since your arrival, you haven't told us everything about your sordid past," she said. I gazed at Gisselle again. She was sitting back now, her arms folded, her face full of self-satisfaction.
"I don't understand. What haven't I told you?" Daphne smirked.
"You haven't told us about the woman you know in Storyville," she said, and for a moment my heart stopped and then started again, this time driven by a combination of fear and anger and utter frustration. I spun on Gisselle.
"What lies did you tell now?" I demanded. She shrugged.
"I just told how you brought us down to Storyville to meet your friend," she explained, throwing a look of pure innocence at Daddy.
"I? Took you? But--" I sputtered.
"How do you know this. . . this prostitute?" Daphne demanded.
"I don't know her," I cried. "Not like she's telling you."
"She knew your name, didn't she? Didn't she?"
"Yes."
"And she knew you were looking for Pierre and me?" Daphne cross-examined.
"That's true, but--"
"How do you know her?" she demanded firmly. A hot rush of blood heated my face.
"I met her on the bus when I came to New Orleans and I didn't know she was a prostitute," I cried. "She told me her name was Annie Gray, and when we arrived in New Orleans, she helped me find this address."
"She knows this address," Daphne said, nodding at Daddy. He closed his eyes and bit down on his lower lip.
"She told me she was coming here to be a singer," I explained. "She's still trying to find a job. Her aunt promised her and--"
"You want us to believe you thought she was only a nightclub singer?"
"It's the truth!" I turned to Daddy. "It is!"
"All right," he said. "Maybe it is."
"What's the difference?" Daphne remarked. "By now the Andreas family and the Montaignes surely know your. . . our daughter has made the acquaintance of such a person."
"We'll explain it," my father insisted.
"You'll explain it," Daphne retorted. Then she turned back to me. "Did she promise to contact you here and give you an address of where she would be in the future?"