Chapter 9

His smile cooled. "Take care. Public enthusiasm is a delicate thing. If confidence fails, sentiment will not pay bills.""Nor will schemes."Mr. Grindel looked alarmed. Voss leaned closer. "Buildings, like people, must know when their time is past."Phoebe held his gaze. "Some buildings are brought down by time. Others by men impatient to profit from rubble."For a moment, the pleasant mask slipped.Then Mr. Meer appeared beside her. "Miss Hartwell," he said, "Lady Enderby is asking whether the second half may begin."It was not true—Lady Enderby was speaking animatedly to a naval captain—but Phoebe accepted the rescue. "Thank you, Mr. Meer."As they moved away, she said softly, "You were listening.""I was nearby.""That is not an answer.""It is the one a gentleman may safely give."She glanced at him, and their shared smile was brief but unmistakable.The concert resumed. A young soprano sang an Italian air, trembling at first, then gathering courage. The final note rose pure and bright beneath the ceiling. For the first time since the crack had appeared, Phoebe felt the town breathe as one.Afterward, while servants cleared glasses and extinguished candles, she found Mr. Meer in the entrance hall studying the donation ledger."We raised sixty-eight pounds," she said, "and promises of more.""That is excellent.""It is not enough.""No."She had expected polite contradiction; his honesty steadied her."How much time do we have," she asked, "before the committee loses courage?""Less than before the building does."Phoebe sighed. "You understand them very well.""I have worked for committees.""Then you have suffered.""Professionally."She smiled, then grew serious. "Do you truly think we can save it?"He looked toward the closed ballroom doors. "Yes, if we can keep Voss from convincing the town that demolition is inevitable."

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