Unseemly Ambition (26 page)

Miss Hamilton nodded grimly. “It
cannot be a coincidence that the boy was run down in the street,
just when he was released from jail.”

Eli paled. “He’s tryin’ to kill me,
too?”

Concordia winced at Miss Hamilton’s
habit of plain speaking.

Capshaw placed a reassuring hand on
the boy’s shoulder. “You’re safe now. We won’t let anyone hurt you.
But tells us the rest of it. What else do you remember, after you
were released from jail?”

Eli grimaced. “I got away from that
school mistress, and was tryin’ to figure out what to do next. Then
I heard a loud clattering, and saw the cab, coming real fast. I
tripped when I tried to get out of the way. The last thing I
remember was the horse bein’ on top of me.” He shuddered. “When I
woke up, my leg and head hurt a lot.” He pointed at Miss Hamilton.
“She found me at Mrs. Jardin’s house.”

“
The midwife,” Miss
Hamilton clarified.

The boy nodded. “She took real good
care of me, even though I don’t remember a lot of it.” He smothered
a yawn.

“
The poor child’s tuckered
out,” Sophia said, stroking his hair. “What time is it?”

That reminded Concordia of
Florence Willoughby’s letter.
If something
should happen to me, ask Eli to show you the gift I gave
him.
“Eli, do you still have the pocket
watch from Florence?” After all he’d been through, chances were
slim.

To Concordia’s surprise, the boy
reached for his cap, set aside on the table. “I hid it in here.” He
pulled it out of the lining and passed it over to
Concordia.

“
Is this the only thing she
gave you?” she asked, turning it over in her hands.

Eli nodded.

It didn’t look remarkable, just a
plain watch of brushed gold with a hinged cover. Judging by the
nicks and scratches it was obviously old, perhaps passed down from
a previous generation. She passed it along to David.

“
How is this significant?”
he asked, turning it over in his hands.

“
Florence’s letter talked
about the present she had given Eli.” Concordia tapped the watch.
“She hinted that something was hidden in it.”

David pulled out his pocketknife.
“I’ll take a look under the casing,” he said, walking over to the
desk lamp.

Capshaw picked up his pencil once
again. “Okay, one more thing, and then you can sleep,” he said to
Eli. “Describe the men in as much detail as you can.”

When he was done, Eli curled up on the
divan and promptly slept. Sophia covered him with a throw, and they
all shifted to the other side of the room to talk.

“
I wish he’d gotten a
closer look at them, but this is a start.” Consulting his notebook,
he read: “Two men. First—short, stout, gray hair, reddened neck,
thick grayish whiskers, scruffy bowler hat, dressed in workmen’s
clothes. Second—tall, slim, black morning coat, light striped
trousers, top hat, dark hair heavily streaked with gray, and a
graying, neatly-trimmed beard.”

Concordia shook her head. Those
descriptions could apply to any number of men. How were they to
find a killer only seen from the back, and at a distance, by a
young boy?

But wait, the conductor saw the man,
too—if they were going on the assumption that it was the same
person. “Did the train conductor give you a description of the man
who alerted him to Eli?” Concordia asked.

Miss Hamilton nodded. “It matches
Eli’s. A middle-aged gentleman, with dark graying hair and
close-trimmed beard. The man was seated, so the conductor isn’t
sure how tall he was.”

“
Any distinguishing facial
features? What about the voice?” Capshaw asked.

She shook her head. “The conductor
noticed nothing striking in his appearance. And the man merely
slipped him a note and pointed to the washroom, where the boy was
hidden. The conductor was under the impression the man had some
throat ailment. And the conductor has long since tossed away the
note. I asked.”

David Bradley rejoined the group, eyes
alight with excitement.

“
You’ve found something,
Mr. Bradley?” Miss Hamilton asked.

David grinned. “I’ll say. Look at
this.” He held out a small piece of what looked to be a brown paper
wrapper, dirty and worn. “It was wedged beneath the back
plate.”

Concordia watched over David’s
shoulder as he smoothed it out. The print was barely visible: an
image of what looked to be a muscular figure in a helmet, and the
letters HERC on one line and DANGE below that.

David passed it to Miss Hamilton. “Do
you know what it is?”

Miss Hamilton’s lips thinned in a
somber line. “I recognize it.” She passed it to Capshaw. “It’s a
fragment of an explosives wrapper. Dynamite.”

He that
filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not
enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.

Othello
,
III.iii

Week 9, Instructor Calendar

April 1898

Concordia was happy to return to the
college after what had been a most disturbing week. The soothing
chatter of high-spirited girls, catching up with one another about
their adventures, was a welcome relief from recent events. She was
looking forward to the familiar routine of classes, chapel, teas,
and bicycle rides. Even play rehearsals didn’t seem so
disagreeable.

Another bright spot came in the form
of the newly-hired Charlotte Crandall, who would be living with
them at Willow Cottage for the rest of the spring
semester.

“
I hope you don’t mind
staying in student quarters,” Concordia said, as she helped
Charlotte carry her suitcase up the steps. “We’re short on space
everywhere.”

Charlotte surveyed the room. “It
certainly brings back memories of when I was a freshie. I don’t
mind. My instructor quarters at the boarding school weren’t much
bigger, anyway.” She gave Concordia a hug. “It’s good to be
back.”

Concordia smiled. She’d always admired
the young lady, who had made many friends during her time at
Hartford Women’s College with her charm, quick wit, and
warm-hearted ways. Although she came from the wealthy Crandall
family, Charlotte had been determined to make her own way.
Concordia hoped the young lady would be offered a permanent
position at the school. For the time being, it was wonderful to
have the extra help at the cottage. Perhaps even Miss Smedley would
come around under Miss Crandall’s influence.

Charlotte regarded Concordia closely.
“Was your break not as restful as you’d hoped? You look a
bit...tired, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Concordia shook her head. The less
said about her spring recess, the better. “I suppose even a
vacation can be exhausting.” She checked her watch. “Do you have
everything you need? I have to be somewhere.”

“
I’m fine,” Charlotte
assured her.

Concordia hurried across
the quadrangle toward her office, her thoughts returning to the
alarming find inside Eli’s pocket watch. Florence had obviously
hidden it there to keep it out of the hands of her pursuers. No
doubt the explosives wrapper was the “scrap of paper” the killer
had been sent back to recover when Eli was hiding under the bed.
The
why
of
Florence’s murder was becoming clearer, even if the
who
of it was not.
Florence had associated with unscrupulous men and had possessed
dangerous knowledge. A disastrous combination.

The idea of the Black Scroll in
possession of explosives made Concordia shudder. If the group was
indeed responsible for the deaths of Florence Willoughby and Ben
Rosen, along with the attempt on Eli’s life, then nothing good
could come of them having weapons with broader destructive
power.

Lieutenant Capshaw and Miss Hamilton
had acted quickly upon that possibility, with Miss Hamilton leaving
town the very next day for what Capshaw termed a “short trip.”
Concordia hoped it would bring them answers soon.

“
Is there a problem?” a
peremptory voice called.

Concordia glanced up to see Randolph
Maynard standing on the path, wearing an amused smile. “One more
step and you would find yourself in the fountain, Miss
Wells.”

She was, indeed, standing beside the
fountain, having no idea how she got there.

Maynard glanced at his watch. “Are you
attending the farce being perpetrated in Bursar Isley’s office?
It’s almost two o’clock now.”

Concordia nodded.

“
This should be amusing,”
Maynard said derisively. “I have my doubts about the ability of
these young ladies to dismantle the president’s buggy and restore
it whole. They must have had help in pulling the prank. They won’t
be getting any help today.”

Concordia straightened and met
Maynard’s eye. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” She hoped to see
Maynard eat crow for dinner later.

Maisie Lovelace and her
cohorts, clad in leather aprons to protect their shirtwaists and
skirts from grease, were already crouched beside the vehicle, a
litter of tools at their feet. At Mr.Isley’s office door,Concordia
and Maynard joined the growing crowd of teachers who had come to
watch, including Barton Isley, President Langdon, and Lady
Principal Pomeroy. A newspaper reporter invited from the
Courant
peppered the girls
with questions as they worked
.

Concordia’s chest felt heavy at the
sight of a different newspaperman. She would never again see Ben
Rosen here, tipping back his bowler when introducing himself,
scribbling notes with the tiny pencil that seemed swallowed up in
his grip, or giving an impertinent wink when he had privileged
information to share.

The girls conducted themselves with
lady-like self-assurance, describing the intricacies of taking
apart the vehicle as they worked. With such cramped quarters, the
other students on campus had been restricted from coming in to
watch, but Concordia could hear a chorus of shouts each time one of
the girls brought a piece of machinery outside and laid it on the
lawn.

Concordia stayed long enough to watch
the smirks on the faces of Isley and Maynard fade, replaced first
by incredulity, and then with a grudging respect. But it was time
to get back to Willow Cottage. She had promised Lieutenant Capshaw
a favor.

She touched President Langdon on the
arm before leaving. “Thank you again,” she murmured.

He grinned. “It’s supposed
to be beautiful weather this week. I’m looking forward to a nice,
long drive.” He patted the vest pocket over his pear-shaped belly.
“And the custodian has given me a list of items throughout the
campus in need of mending.
That
should keep these young ladies busy through
June.”

Back at Willow Cottage, Concordia
tidied the parlor for Lieutenant Capshaw’s arrival, then went
looking for Ruby. She had a plan to keep the housekeeper from
slipping away from Capshaw this time. She grabbed the sewing basket
on her way to the kitchen.

“
Ruby?” Concordia called
out.

““
You need somethin’,
miss?” Ruby asked, drying her hands on her apron.

Concordia smiled apologetically and
gestured to the basket. “We have some mending that the girls don’t
have quite the needle-skills to manage. Would you mind?”

The matron squinted over a
puffed-sleeved shirtwaist Concordia extracted from the basket. With
a sigh, Ruby retrieved her magnifying spectacles and perched them
on her nose as she examined the tear. “Wot do they teach these
girls at home? Ah well, I should have enough time b’fore dinner to
take care o’ it.” She sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out
a spool of thread.

“
Thank you,” Concordia
said. Sewing was the one task she could count on to keep Ruby
occupied and sitting still.

On her way down the hall to
wait for Capshaw, she heard the faint
snuffle
of a girl crying. She followed
the sound, climbing the stairs and stopping at Charlotte Crandall’s
room. She hesitantly tapped on the door.

There was a brief silence. “Come in,”
Charlotte called.

Concordia stopped in her
tracks at the sight of a red-eyed Alison Smedley, kerchief to her
nose, sitting across from Charlotte.
That
was fast,
Concordia thought.

“
Am I intruding?” Concordia
asked from the doorway.

“
Not at all,” Charlotte
said. “I found Miss Smedley alone in her room, and we decided to
have a cozy chat here. I was just about to make us some tea.” She
passed the girl another handkerchief. “Things have not been going
well for Alison lately.”

“
Indeed?” Concordia sat on
a stool. “What seems to be the problem?”

The girl gave her a
skeptical look and sniffed. “I know
you
don’t care,” she said. “You like
those other girls better. That scapegrace Maisie Lovelace and her
crowd. The clever ones. But not me.”