Unseemly Ambition (31 page)

The nurse soon came in to shoo them
all out. Concordia touched Miss Jenkins’ elbow. “Do you think you
could visit Miss Hamilton while you’re here? I can’t find anyone to
tell me how she is today.”

Hannah Jenkins grinned. “I already
have. I stopped by on our way in; I know the attendant on duty.
Miss Hamilton’s condition is quite serious, so she’s in a private
room. She’s not conscious yet. She seems to be breathing with ease,
and no fever, thank goodness. I understand that is an improvement.
They are hopeful that the danger of pneumonia has
passed.”

Concordia expelled a
breath. “Do you think you can convince the nurse to allow
me
to visit
her?”

Miss Jenkins patted her arm. “I’ll see
what I can do.”

Just as the nurse was growing
apoplectic in her effort to clear out Concordia’s visitors, David
Bradley walked in. Everyone crowded around Concordia’s bed as the
nurse’s voice became more strident.

“
Out, everyone! This is not
a concert hall, if you please!” The nurse pointed to Concordia’s
mother. “
You
may
stay, but everyone else needs to go.” She turned to David Bradley.
“You, too, young man.”

“
But I just got here,”
David pointed out.

“
Besides,” Mrs. Wells cut
through the hubbub, addressing the nurse, “he’s Miss Wells’
fiancé.”

All conversations stopped.

The students gaped at Concordia, who
resisted the urge to pull the covers over her head.

Miss Jenkins stepped in. “All right,
young ladies, you heard the nurse. It’s time to go.” She hustled
them out the door before anyone had a chance to say another word.
Miss Jenkins did, however, throw a puzzled look in Concordia’s
direction as she left.

Concordia groaned and buried her face
in the pillow. Even though David had privately agreed to a delay,
there was no point to it now. Word would spread like wildfire
throughout campus by the end of the day. Everyone would consider
her as good as gone.

Mrs. Wells, hand to her mouth as if
she could hold back the words, sank into a chair. “Oh, dear, I am
so sorry.”

David waved a dismissive
hand, and smiled briefly. “It was bound to come out sooner or
later.” He pulled up another chair and took Concordia’s hand, his
expression more somber. “I was alarmed to learn about your
accident…or
was
it
an accident? Is it connected to the note we found?”

“
I don’t know,” Concordia
said wearily.

“
What note?” Mrs. Wells
asked.

David cleared his throat and shifted
uneasily as Concordia glared at him.

“
Well?” Letitia Wells
demanded.

When Concordia said nothing, David
explained. “A note of warning was anonymously left in Concordia’s
office. It told her to stop her inquiries...or end up like
Rosen.”

Mrs. Wells gripped the arm of the
chair, her knuckles white.

“
David, get her a glass of
water,” Concordia said. “Quickly. It’s all right, Mother. No one
tried to hurt
me
.”

In a few moments, Mrs. Wells had
regained her composure. “Perhaps no one actively tried to harm you,
but an attempt was certainly made on Miss Hamilton’s
life.”

David’s brow creased. “But how did you
get hurt?”

Concordia related the bare bones of
the incident in an attempt to make it sound less dangerous than it
was. She didn’t want to upset David any further.

But it was too late for that. “You
threw yourself directly into the path of the streetcar?” David
asked incredulously. “You’re lucky you weren’t both killed. I know
you greatly esteem Miss Hamilton, dear, but was that quite the
prudent thing to do?”

Concordia’s eyes narrowed. “Would you
have me wringing my hands at the curb, helplessly watching Penelope
die?”

David scowled. Mrs. Wells interrupted
in an attempt to smooth the waters. “I’m sure he meant nothing of
the sort. David is merely concerned for your welfare.”

“
I’m very tired.” Concordia
closed her eyes. She didn’t open them again until after they
left.

Although she truly was exhausted, the
second night in her hospital bed was no better than the first. She
knew what the problem was: she hadn’t yet been able to see Miss
Hamilton.

Giving up on sleep, she decided to at
least try for a quick peek into Miss Hamilton’s room to see the
lady’s condition for herself. Penelope Hamilton’s sister would no
doubt arrive tomorrow, but no one was with her now.

Slowly and quietly, Concordia swung
her legs over the bed and felt around for her slippers. She
hesitated, then slipped her arm out of the sling, experimentally
flexing her arm and shoulder. Just a little stiff, but otherwise
fine.

Staying close to the shadowy side of
the corridor, Concordia quietly shuffled past the nurse rummaging
in the supply closet, and at last found Miss Hamilton’s room along
the far wing. She stepped inside.

Miss Hamilton looked so very still and
fragile, head wrapped in an enormous bandage, the side of her face
bruised, arm in a splint. Concordia’s heart constricted in her
chest. In the dim light of the room, she could see Miss Hamilton’s
gray-blond hair, tousled and loose around her shoulders. But she
was breathing easily, her face relaxed. Concordia limped to the
head of the bed. “Miss Hamilton,” she whispered.

The lady’s eyes fluttered but didn’t
open. And yet, that seemed to be a good sign. Had Miss Hamilton
recognized her voice?

Concordia heard footsteps
approaching.

She knew she shouldn’t be here, so she
retreated to the corner shadows. If the nurse didn’t come in, she
could slip out after the woman passed by. If she did come in, well,
Concordia would apologize and go back to bed with as much dignity
as she could muster.

Drat.
The figure was coming in.

Her heart leapt in her
chest.
It wasn’t the
nurse
.

The silhouette was much too wide, more
like a barrel-chested man. Surely, the doctors didn’t attend to
patients so late?

Concordia froze in place, hardly
daring to breathe. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her
stomach. Something was amiss.

She waited.

As the figure came into the dim light
of the bedside lamp, she recognized the scarred, balding head, the
unkempt beard, and the missing ear lobe.

Johnny Hitchcock.

She sucked in a soft breath and groped
toward the door. She must get help.

The man hesitated, turning toward the
sound. Light glinted along the metal wire in his hand.

Concordia screamed.

The man growled and shoved her, hard,
as he ran out.

After a flurry of attendants rushed in
to find a shaken Concordia struggling to get off the floor, she was
taken to a private room and ordered to stay in bed until the police
arrived.

Capshaw came quickly, hair mussed,
shirt mis-buttoned, hat askew on his head. Concordia waited
impatiently as she heard him go into Miss Hamilton’s room
first.

Capshaw came to see her next, shaking
his head in disbelief.

“
How you manage to find
trouble—even while recovering in a hospital—is beyond me, miss.” He
regarded her pale face. “Are you well enough to give me an account?
The sooner the better, if we have any hope of catching
him.”

Concordia nodded. “It was Ruby’s
husband, Lieutenant. Johnny Hitchcock.” She shuddered. “I’m sure of
it.”

Capshaw muttered something under his
breath, ran to the door, and spoke to the sergeant standing
outside. After a moment, Concordia saw the man give a quick nod and
leave.

“
We’ll telegraph
Hitchcock’s description to all the precinct night watches,” Capshaw
said, coming back to stand beside her bed. “I’ll need to speak with
Mrs. Hitchcock again. She may know other places he frequents. When
I went looking for him last week, he hadn’t been seen at the Brass
Spittoon in a while. But first, recount to me exactly what
happened.”

Concordia told Capshaw about her worry
for Miss Hamilton, and slipping into the lady’s room; then, the
shadow in the hall, and Hitchcock at the bed holding the
wire.

Capshaw nodded. “So Hitchcock murdered
Florence Willoughby, and was attempting to use the same method on
Miss Hamilton. Come to think of it, the man’s burly figure,
grizzled beard, and rough manner of speech match the description
Eli gave of the man returning to Florence’s room after the
murder.”

“
Hired by the Inner
Circle,” Concordia said.

“
That seems a safe
assumption. And I’ve learned a few interesting things about
Hitchcock in the meantime—” he broke off as Concordia shivered
again. Capshaw gently tucked the blanket around her. “You’ve had
quite a shock. Why don’t you rest now? We’ll talk again in the
morning.”

Concordia swallowed. “What if he comes
back...to try again?”

“
Then we’ll have him, for
sure,” Capshaw said grimly. “I have a patrolman posted at Miss
Hamilton’s door. Oh, and you’ll be happy to learn the lady has
opened her eyes.”

Concordia sat bolt upright in
excitement. “She’s awake?”

“
Indeed. The commotion
roused her. While the doctor said he wouldn’t recommend screaming
as a means of waking an unconscious person, it seems
extraordinarily effective in this case.”

Concordia smiled weakly.

“
I’ve been told we can
speak with her tomorrow, if she continues to improve,” Capshaw
said.

Concordia breathed a sigh. Miss
Hamilton was going to recover.

If they could keep her
away from garrote-wielding murderers.

Eventually Concordia fell asleep, her
dreams punctuated by shadowy figures stalking dark corridors,
clutching deadly wires.

Farewell the tranquil mind!
Farewell content!

Othello
,
III.iii

Week 11, Instructor
Calendar

May 1898

Miss Hamilton seemed enormously
improved since last night. True, the lady still sported a large
bandage around her head and a splint on her wrist, but her
complexion had a tint of pink under the bruises, and her eyes were
bright and clear as she gave Concordia an equally frank
perusal.

Concordia knew she looked poorly, with
dark, sleep-deprived circles under her eyes, a purpling bruise on
her forehead, and her arm back in its sling. After last night’s
fall, the doctor had ordered her to wear it a few days
longer.

Concordia sat down on the chair beside
the bed. “It’s good to see you awake. We were all so
worried.”

Miss Hamilton nodded, wincing. “The
nurse told me what happened at the trolley stop. I remember nothing
after I fell. Thank you, my dear. Your courage and quick-thinking
saved me.”

Concordia, blushing, waved off the
praise. “Were you also told about last night?”

Miss Hamilton’s eyes flicked to the
patrolman by the door. “They were reluctant to, but I insisted.
After all, it’s not every day that a strange man in uniform stands
outside a lady’s door in the wee hours of the morning. I understand
I have you to thank for that as well.”

Concordia gave a fleeting smile. “At
least now we know who is responsible. The police are searching for
Hitchcock.”

“
Indeed,” Miss Hamilton
acknowledged, “and we can assume the Inner Circle is behind this.
But if so, what are they planning next?”

They were interrupted by a polite
knock, and Capshaw came in.

“
Any word on Hitchcock?”
Miss Hamilton asked the policeman.

Capshaw shook his head and glanced
over at Concordia. “I just spoke to Ruby. She remembers another
place he frequents, so my men are checking there now. I’m sorry to
say that I inadvertently distressed her, calling at such an early
hour, and incurred the displeasure of your lady principal in the
process.”

Concordia smiled. As the past few
weeks had shown, Miss Pomeroy possessed an unexpected steely
side.

Miss Hamilton frowned. “Then he’s fled
the area.”

Capshaw shook his head. “More likely,
he’s in hiding. I think the Inner Circle is still in need of his
services. But I’ll explain that later. First,” he pulled out his
notepad, “if you’re feeling up to it, Miss Hamilton, I want to get
your account of what happened at the trolley stop.” At Miss
Hamilton’s nod, he pulled out his pencil and gave an absent-minded
scribble on his cuff to test its point.

Miss Hamilton succinctly described
what she could remember of the incident. It closely matched
Concordia’s account, including the same sailor with the anchor
tattoo.