Unseemly Ambition (18 page)

She recounted what she had overheard
beneath the Isley library window.

Miss Hamilton tapped her chin
thoughtfully. “So an ‘Inner Circle’—whatever that may be—exists
within the Black Scroll. Interesting. But we only know the
identities of two men in the group: your bursar and Sir Anthony
Dunwick.”

“
Based upon voices alone,”
Concordia said, “I know there were at least two other men in the
room. I didn’t recognize those. There may have been others who
weren’t contributing to the conversation.”

“
Did any of the Willoughbys
attend the party?” Miss Hamilton asked.

“
No direct family members,
but Mr. Bradley indicated a couple of guests with Willoughby family
connections – a banker and a minister. They left before I had a
chance to strike up a conversation and hear their
voices.”

“
So this meeting happened
before dinner?” Miss Hamilton asked.

“
Yes, shortly after the
Republican candidate, Mr. Sanders, arrived,” Concordia said.
“Perhaps that is not a coincidence.”

Miss Hamilton considered this in
silence.

“
How is this connected to
Florence’s death?” Concordia asked. “You told me she had family
connections to the Black Scroll. But are they Inner Circle
members?”

“
That’s what troubles me,”
Miss Hamilton answered. “The existence of this Inner Circle can
only mean that some men from the Brotherhood have their own agenda:
one so secret—perhaps illegal—that they would not care to share it
with the rest of the members. Instead, they’ve formed their own
enclave. It could be very powerful indeed.”

“
Mr. Isley characterized
the Inner Circle’s existence as necessary to more efficiently carry
out special projects,” Concordia said. “It didn’t sound
particularly nefarious.”

“
Did you hear any
discussion as to what these ‘projects’ might be?” Miss Hamilton
asked.

“
No, but our bursar doesn’t
strike me as a man craving power for himself. Dropping out of the
state senate race to help with the finances of a women’s college
doesn’t seem terribly ambitious.”

“
We know that Isley is
wealthy in his own right, besides being well-connected,” Miss
Hamilton said. “I doubt the man has abandoned his political
aspirations. He could have other reasons for withdrawing his
candidacy, and may simply be biding his time.”

“
Perhaps,” Concordia said.
“That reminds me. Mr. Bradley told me there’s a rumor that the
Isley wealth is ‘tied up’ in mining investments—I’m assuming these
are the Rhodesian copper mines you were telling me about—and the
Isleys haven’t seen much return on it yet. And near the end of the
gathering, someone came to see Barton Isley. His wife asked him if
it was in reference to their ‘Africa investments.’ She seemed quite
anxious.”

Miss Hamilton perked up. “Did she?
I’ll look into that. Perhaps that’s why Isley was in such a black
mood when I encountered him on the path this morning.”

Concordia smiled. “That probably has
more to do with President Langdon’s buggy making his office
unusable this past week.”

Miss Hamilton chuckled. “I heard about
that. But tell me more about Lily Isley. How involved is she in her
husband’s affairs? One would think that a wife would be bored to
tears with politics.”

Concordia shook her head. “Not so with
Lily. She’s an unusually talented woman, quick-witted and charming.
She certainly held her own when political topics crept into general
conversation last night. Yet I find it surprising that she is so
warmly accepted into that sphere.”

“
Glamour and money can go a
long way in bringing a candidate’s name to the front of people’s
minds,” Miss Hamilton said with a smile.

“
So, even though she is a
woman in a man’s realm, Mrs. Isley’s involvement has been accepted
because associating with a celebrated, flamboyant former stage
actress will draw more attention?”

Miss Hamilton nodded. “Exactly.” She
fished among the papers littering the coffee table—when would those
heedless girls learn to clean up after themselves, Concordia
wondered—and pulled out a sheet of newsprint. “I read an account of
the dinner party this morning. It lists everyone in attendance.
Perhaps you can put names to the faces you saw in the corridor
during the dinner bell.”

Concordia glanced at the
title:
Former Celebrated Stage Actress Lily
Isley and Husband Host a Charming Evening for Republican Candidate
Sanders
. She glanced over the list, shaking
her head as she handed it back. “I recognize a few. It was too
crowded for me to see anyone coming directly out of the library as
we were being seated. I only know we can eliminate David, Lily, and
Lady Dunwick, but the women wouldn’t be suspect, anyway. Oh, and my
mother and Mr. Flynn, who didn’t arrive at the party until after
dinner.”

“
What about—” Miss Hamilton
glanced at the clipping “—Dean Maynard? Could he have been among
the group in the library?”

Concordia grimaced. “I’d hate to think
so, but it’s possible. I didn’t notice him until we were all seated
in the dining room. He was on the far side.” Which suited her just
fine, given his sour disposition. “I take it you believe the Inner
Circle is in some way connected to Florence’s death?”

“
That is what my instincts
are telling me,” Miss Hamilton said.

“
Instincts? That doesn’t
sound very reliable,” Concordia said with a smile.

“
Sometimes, instincts are
all one has to go on. Associations, rumors, coincidences. My job
involves following all of these leads, and pulling on each thread
until it either leads me to something more, or stops
cold.”

Following rumors and associations was
a sordid business, as Concordia herself remembered from earlier
experiences with Miss Hamilton’s investigation. But she knew it had
to be done.

Then she thought of something. “There
may be someone who can help us,” Concordia said. “I’ll be right
back.”

Miss Hamilton raised a quizzical brow
as Concordia hurried across the hall to her rooms.

She soon returned, holding Ben Rosen’s
business card. “He’s a newspaper reporter,” Concordia explained,
passing it over. “He helped during the investigation into Colonel
Adams’ murder last year. I saw him again a few weeks ago, when he
was at the college doing a story on Ruby and her award. He gave me
his card and offered any future help I might need.”

“
Indeed?” Miss Hamilton
said, lips quirked in a wry smile. “And why would a newspaper
reporter imagine a lady professor having need of his
services?”

Concordia, not inclined to
repeat Rosen’s
lady sleuth
comment, merely shrugged.

Miss Hamilton turned the card over
thoughtfully. “I’ll contact Mr. Rosen, and ask him to meet us at
his earliest convenience.”

“
What about Eli? Have you
made any progress?” Concordia asked.

“
I’ve made inquiries at the
train station. I’m convinced that’s where Eli was headed after the
newsie saw him chasing a cab.”

“
Really? Why?” Concordia
asked.

“
It’s not far-fetched to
believe the cab was headed toward the depot. Asylum Avenue runs
right through there. Since Eli couldn’t possibly maintain a foot
pursuit with a moving carriage, what did he do next? He
hypothesized that this person was taking the train. Thus, Eli could
hitch a ride aboard, say, an expressman’s wagon heading for the
station. The difficulty lay in finding the killer again along the
right platform. But we can assume that Eli was successful, since he
didn’t return here to notify the Capshaws. He was hot on the
trail.”

“
Did anyone see him
there?”

“
No one noticed an
unattended boy on the platform—but you know how crowded that place
can be. I’ve interviewed all of the porters, and nearly all of the
conductors, save one. A family emergency called him out of town.
The company has promised to contact me when he returns.”

“
What can
I
do?” Concordia asked. “I
feel so helpless, waiting here doing nothing.”

“
We know Bursar Isley is a
member of the Inner Circle,” Miss Hamilton said. “Learn everything
you can about him.”

“
But how can I do that?”
Concordia objected. Then she had an idea. “Perhaps by getting
closer to
Mrs
.
Isley?”

“
Splendid,” Miss Hamilton
said.

Week 8, Instructor Calendar

March/April 1898

The students were restless
in the Shakespeare class, anxious to start their spring
recess.

“
I have a surprise for
you,” Concordia said, handing back graded papers. “Mrs. Isley will
be speaking with us today about the modern dramatization of
Shakespeare. As you may know, she was a stage actress years ago,
before her marriage to our bursar.”

The students leaned forward in
interest.

“
Now, I expect you all to
give her your undivided—”

She was interrupted by a brisk
knock.

Concordia motioned to a girl to open
the door while she cleared off the podium for her guest.

“
Hello, my dears!” Lily
Isley exclaimed, beaming at the class. She was accompanied by a boy
carrying a box. “Just set it down over there, young man.
Excellent.”

“
We are so looking forward
to your talk, Mrs. Isley,” Concordia said. She glanced at the box
as she seated herself among the students. She hoped they weren’t in
for any monkeyshines.

As Concordia watched Lily Isley dig
through her box, she wondered what the woman might know about her
husband’s Inner Circle activities. It was doubtful she knew
anything at all, and more doubtful that Concordia could tactfully
lead a conversation along such lines. Still, she resolved to
try.

At least Miss Hamilton had arranged
for Mr. Rosen to meet with them later today. That was bound to be
more productive.

The students sat in rapt attention as
Lily began her presentation, using props from her box. She employed
simple items—hats, wigs, cloaks—along with mannerisms, voice, and
posture to expertly convey the sense that they were seeing a queen,
an old woman, a spritely nymph. The effect was
mesmerizing.

“
Amazing,” Concordia
murmured at one point in the presentation. The woman had more
ability than she’d thought.

Just as class was drawing to a close,
a scuttling sound came from the back of the room. A mechanical
object moved toward Lily Isley at a rapid pace.

“
Eek!”
Lily shrieked, jumping onto the instructor’s platform. There
were a few smothered laughs, but most of the students merely
stared, open-mouthed. The mechanism wound down as it bumped against
the step.

“
Mrs. Isley, I apologize!”
Concordia said, horrified. “ Are you all right?”

Lily, hand on her chest, gave a shaky
laugh. “I’m fine, dear. My, my! I’ve had many a strange thing
happen on the stage, but never...this.” She gestured toward the
object.

“
Who did this?” Concordia
demanded, glaring at the students. A tentative hand was raised. It
was Miss Lovelace, soon followed by two more girls raising their
hands.

The bell rang.

“
What a—
lively
bunch of young ladies,” Mrs.
Isley murmured. Before Concordia could say anything more, or offer
to take her to the faculty lounge for a restorative cup of tea, the
lady turned on her heel and hurried out of the room, giving the
mechanism on the floor a wide berth.

Concordia hesitated, wondering if she
should follow Mrs. Isley and apologize again. But she had the
miscreants to deal with. “You three, remain behind,” she said in a
stern voice. “Class dismissed. Remember your assignments over the
spring recess.” She gingerly picked up the contraption and held it
with two fingers as the class filed out.

When the room was cleared
of all but Concordia and the three pranksters, Concordia sat down
and motioned to them to do the same. “What exactly
is
this...thing?”

Miss Lovelace spoke up. “It’s our
first attempt at a wind-up toy. The three of us have been working
on it, off and on, for several weeks. Uncle Warren—remember I told
you about him?—let us borrow more of his tools, and gave us spare
gears and other parts.” She gestured to the object. “I know it
looks rather strange, but we’re starting with something four-legged
because it’s more stable.”

Concordia examined it more closely. It
had a clock-work body and sharp-toothed external gears. “The
key-winding mechanism appears to be stuck,” she said, turning it
over. Although crude in appearance, it was astonishing what these
girls had been able to do on their own.

One of the girls nodded. “That’s been
giving us trouble. We’ve taken apart several old clocks, but we
don’t have soldering tools to really make the parts fit together
the way we want. We’re planning to keep working on it at my house
during the recess.” She paused. “If you don’t confiscate it, that
is.”