Unseemly Ambition (15 page)

David raised a questioning eyebrow as
he bowed over Mrs. Isley’s gloved hand. “The pleasure is mine, Mrs.
Isley.”

“
Dinner will be served
shortly, but please, help yourselves to
hors d’oeuvres
.” Lily gestured to a
heavily-laden buffet table in front of the tall conservatory
windows, then turned to greet more newcomers.

This could be dinner in
itself, Concordia thought, looking over the lavish offerings
of
foie gras,
fried
oyster sandwiches, marinated
champignons
, and deviled
eggs
.
And she
couldn’t see the rest of the table. As Concordia’s corset was
already too tight for her liking, she declined the food. She wasn’t
sure she would make it through dinner. She did, however, accept the
lemonade David offered. The room was getting warm.

Concordia stepped back to
make room at the buffet for other guests, when she heard an
oomph
behind her and felt
a painful step on her ankle. She swayed and gripped her sloshing
cup.

“
Oh, I beg your pardon!”
She heard a familiar male voice say. It was Barton Isley, who
reached out a hand to steady her. “So nice to see you, Miss Wells,
though we
do
keep
bumping into one another. You are unharmed, I hope?”

Concordia nodded.

Isley’s eyes lit up when he saw David.
“Ah, you must be Mr. Bradley. So good of you to come,
sir.”

They shook hands and exchanged
pleasantries.

“
Barton.” A man Concordia
didn’t recognize came up beside them and touched Mr. Isley on the
arm. “Can I speak with you a moment?”

“
Of course. But first, may
I present Miss Concordia Wells and Mr. David Bradley, two of our
instructors at the college? Miss Wells, Mr. Bradley, this is a very
good friend of mine, Sir Anthony Dunwick.”

The man bowed. Though of advanced
years, he had a trim, dapper figure, and twinkling eyes. “My
pleasure.” Then, in an aside to Isley, he said, “the others are
waiting in the Cowper Room.”

Isley’s forehead creased briefly. He
turned back to Concordia. “If you will excuse me?”

David and Concordia watched them turn
down the hall. “That seemed terribly urgent for a relaxed dinner
party,” Concordia said thoughtfully. She wondered about what might
be going on in the Cowper Room.

David shrugged. “I noticed the arrival
of Mr. Sanders, the guest of honor. Everything is urgent to
politicians.” He smiled at her in a way that brought a flush to her
cheeks.

But she had to keep her mind on the
task at hand, and now was the time. “Can you excuse me? I believe I
spilled some of the lemonade on my dress. I’d like to tend to it
before the dinner bell.”

She turned toward the hall, waiting
until she was out of sight of the conservatory before going in
search of the Cowper Room, where this urgent meeting was being
held. Could Sanders be part of it, too? Perhaps she could linger
nearby, and catch some of what was being said—and who was doing the
talking—without being noticed.

After a murmured inquiry to one of the
staff, she learned that the Cowper Room was in fact the library,
which thankfully was tucked into a quiet side corridor away from
the festivities. Before putting her ear to the keyhole, she made
sure the hall was empty. Anyone who happened along would find it
bizarre to see her in such an undignified position.

Concordia hunched over and put her ear
to the keyhole.

Drat.
The voices were muffled.

She straightened. There had to be
another way.

On such a temperate evening, the
library window was sure to be open. The side porch just beneath
would make an ideal place to listen. But how to get outside? The
front door wasn’t feasible. She would encounter any number of
guests by that route.

Footsteps alerted her to someone
approaching. She shouldn’t be caught here. She slipped farther down
the hallway to another paneled door. Taking a breath for courage,
she turned the knob and slipped inside.

The room was mercifully empty. In the
dim light of a single desk lamp, she recognized it as Barton
Isley’s study. The brown leather chairs, dark wood paneling, and
faint odor of cigars made this unmistakably a gentleman’s
domain.

Concordia’s heart sank when
she realized that the only other means of egress was a small
window.
Mercy.
She’d thought her window-clambering days were over.

There was no help for it. She had to
hear what was going on.

Having successfully climbed through
the study window with only a small tear in her hem—easily accounted
for if it were noticed—she stepped into the gloom of the side
porch. The glow through the partly-drawn drapes of the library
window helped guide her as she quietly groped along. She couldn’t
see inside, but at least now she could hear. She crouched below the
window on the slatted wood floor, taking care not to creak the
boards.

“
...don’t see why you are
hesitant, Sir Anthony. Joining our little group would be a
significant step in your career.” It was Barton Isley’s voice,
quite close to the window. Concordia huddled further into the
shadows.

“
I am flattered, but how
does the Inner Circle differ from the general membership I have in
the brotherhood? And why must it remain secret from our fellows?”
she heard Sir Anthony say.

Concordia’s eyes
widened.
The Inner Circle.
What was that?

“
The brotherhood is an
admirable group, but it has become quite large and cumbersome,”
said another man. Concordia didn’t recognize the voice. “It is
difficult to get things done in an expeditious manner. Far too many
disagreements, debates, counter-proposals, votes, and re-votes. We
few are men of action, and decided to band together for special
projects.”

“
But why the secrecy?” Sir
Anthony persisted.

“
You know how touchy some
of these fellows are,” Isley said. “Many of them are used to
getting their own way, and enjoy a certain amount of status in
their particular sphere. Being excluded from our group would feel
like a snub.”

“
What would you want from
me, should I join?” Sir Anthony asked.

Holding her breath, Concordia waited
for the answer.

Unfortunately, the reply came from the
far side of the room. All she heard was a low murmur.

A bell broke through the
background noise. Concordia nearly fell over.
Land sakes,
why did those frightful
things have to be so loud? She’d better not be caught lingering on
the porch, where she had no reason to be. She dearly wanted a look
at who was in that meeting. Sanders, perhaps?

If she stood just along the end of the
hall at the entrance to the dining room, she’d have a good view
when the room cleared. And it would look as if she had been there
all the while. She wanted to at least have a few names to give Miss
Hamilton, regarding this “Inner Circle.”

She slipped back into the house and
lingered in the main hall, trying to blend in with the line of
people heading for the Shakespeare Room, otherwise known as the
dining room. She glanced back at the corridor that led to the
library. The occupants should be coming out at any
moment.

David saw her and made his way over.
“Concordia, at last. I’ve been waiting for you so we can find our
seats.”

Of course, he was too
well-mannered to ask “what took you so long?” but his expression
spoke volumes. And now he was blocking her view.
Drat.
Concordia resisted
the impulse to stand on tiptoe and peek over his shoulder. She had
no conceivable explanation for such conduct. She merely gritted her
teeth and took note of the guests ahead of her. At least she could
eliminate those who had
not
been in the meeting. The problem was, she didn’t
know half of these people. How would she remember them
later?

“
You seem preoccupied,”
David said, helping her into her chair.

“
I’m just hungry,”
Concordia lied, looking around.

As her luck would have it, her seat
faced away from the entrance. She couldn’t take note of anyone who
was seated late without swiveling her head like an owl. With the
jumble of serving staff and guests thronging around, Concordia had
to give it up as hopeless.

As the dishes were served, she thought
back to what she had overheard. Miss Hamilton hadn’t mentioned an
Inner Circle. The group didn’t seem nefarious, but a secret within
another secret was enough to warrant caution. Who else besides
Isley and Sir Anthony were involved? She’d heard two other voices,
but there could have been more.

She glanced across the dining room at
the man she now knew to be Mr. Sanders, seated at the main table.
He spoke with great animation to a man she didn’t recognize. From
this distance, his voice didn’t sound like anyone she’d heard in
the library.

David interrupted her thoughts. “More
asparagus?” She shook her head. He lowered his voice. “You’ve been
unusually quiet tonight. Is something wrong?”

Concordia smiled. “I’m a bit
overwhelmed by talk of politics. I’ve never paid much attention to
the subject, I’m afraid. I know so little of who these men are, how
they are associated, and why they are here.”

David blotted his lips on a napkin.
“I’ve actually been following recent developments with Sanders, his
supporters, and his key opponent. I can explain some of it if you
like.”

As much as Concordia would prefer to
have a splinter removed than listen to political talk, she knew the
best way to fulfill Miss Hamilton’s commission was to be more
conversant about the principals involved.

Concordia inclined her head toward
Sanders. “Who’s he talking to?”

David followed her glance. “That’s
Dayton. A banker. From what I’ve heard, he’s involved in Sanders’
campaign because he wants to make sure the gold standard isn’t
tinkered with. Those Silver Democrats make him nervous.” He nodded
at the pudgy man seated beside Lily Isley. “That’s Merritt, the
city’s head prosecutor and one of the Republican party’s staunchest
supporters. He likes to back a winner. And Republicans are a safe
bet these days. We’ve had Republican governors for the past six
terms—if you don’t count Luzon Morris, who interrupted the
streak—and the general assembly has sent only Republican
delegations to the United States Congress for the last eighteen
years.”

“
Is that Merritt’s only
motivation?” Concordia asked.

“
Oh, he’s interested in
getting generous funds for the city, and currying favor for a big
political appointment later. That’s the case with many of the
people here tonight, unfortunately.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Their
reasons are more self-serving than altruistic. Frankly, I’m glad
that women don’t have the vote. Politics can be a sordid
business.”

Concordia bit back a
retort. While she couldn’t argue with David’s assessment of the
political sphere, she thought the arena would be far less sordid if
women were an equal part of it. But that was a discussion for
another time. For now, her thoughts were preoccupied with wondering
how the Black Scroll was connected here. Had the organization
strayed from what Miss Hamilton described as its philanthropic
beginnings and become a political machine? Was it responsible for
removing Lieutenant Capshaw from the investigation into Florence’s
death? If the Black Scroll was powerful enough to change the course
of a murder inquiry—although the
why
of it was still unanswered—she didn’t like to
conjecture what else the organization was capable of. She
shivered.

“
Are you chilled?” David
asked.

“
No, no, I’m fine. What do
you know about the Isleys?” Concordia asked, dropping her voice as
one of the wait staff removed her barely-touched plate. “Mr. Isley
told me that he and his wife support Sanders because it was
essential to defeat the Democrats. But based on what you say, the
Democrats are not really a threat. So are the Isleys involved in
Sander’s senate bid because of the campaign issues, or from the
desire to cultivate a powerful connection?”

David took a sip from his water goblet
before answering. Concordia waited.

“
I don’t want to be
unfair,” he said at last. “This is only based upon impressions, and
things I’ve heard….” He hesitated.

“
Go on.”

“
Mrs. Isley is very
passionately involved, more than one merely cultivating an
advantageous connection. Surprisingly engaged for a woman, in fact.
I don’t know enough about her, though, to tell you what issue is
close to her heart.”

Concordia nodded. “What about our
bursar? Is he merely humoring his wife?”

“
Even if that’s the case,
such connections work to Mr. Isley’s advantage. Although to truly
broaden his influence, he’ll want to cultivate friends beyond the
state level. He’ll require federal connections. Leverage in the
national legislative sphere would give him considerable
power.”