Unseemly Ambition (39 page)

She was about twelve feet from the
ground, without so much as a vine or tree branch to aid any climb
down. She wasn’t sure she could have managed a climb, anyway; she
wasn’t quite steady yet.

Then she noticed a figure in the
darkness, moving stealthily toward the side of the
house.

What on earth?

Concordia breathed a sigh of relief
when she recognized Charlotte Crandall. How did the girl manage to
return undetected? Bless the resourceful young lady for realizing
there was trouble.

“
Psst!
Charlotte!” Concordia called in a hushed voice.

The figure looked up. “Miss Wells,”
she whispered. “Thank heavens. I’ll be right back; I saw a ladder
in the shed.” Charlotte slipped into the shadows around the corner,
re-emerging in moments with a long ladder. After a few attempts,
she managed to softly prop it against the wall. “I’ll hold it while
you climb down.”

Concordia shook her head, but she
couldn’t explain. The more she talked while leaning out the window,
the more likely someone would hear them.

Charlotte’s expression was unreadable
in the darkness, but after a pause the girl got on the ladder and
climbed up.

Concordia helped in the bedraggled
girl. “Am I glad to see you.”

“
What happened? Why didn’t
you climb down?” Charlotte Crandall asked.

“
Lily put something in my
tea to knock me out. I feel a little wobbly. Oh, and the door’s
locked from the outside.” Concordia sank back into a
chair.

Charlotte sucked in a breath. “So
she’s part of this, too. These are desperate people.”

Concordia nodded, gingerly. “What made
you come back?”

“
When you hadn’t returned
to Willow Cottage by one o’clock this morning,” Charlotte said,
collapsing into a chair and re-pinning her straggling bun, “I grew
worried. That last conversation we had with Bursar
Isley...something wasn’t right. I didn’t know what to think. I
wanted to see if you were here.”

“
But
how
did you get here?”

“
I borrowed a horse,”
Charlotte said matter-of-factly.

Concordia shuddered. She didn’t
especially like horses, and they didn’t seem over-fond of her,
either.

“
When I was out on the
grounds, I overheard Mr. Isley through a downstairs window, talking
with another man,” Charlotte continued. She gave Concordia an
anxious look. “Are you feeling any better? We have to get out of
here.”

Concordia stood and crossed to the
window. The dizziness had ebbed. “I can do it now.” She hesitated
and turned back to Charlotte. “Isley was talking with another man?
What did they say?” She was willing to bet it was Inner Circle
business.

“
Apparently there’s to be a
meeting at three this morning. They’re waiting for whoever’s in
charge to come, to finalize plans for something.”

Concordia started. “You mean Isley’s
not the one in charge of the Inner Circle?”

“
Not the way I heard it,
no.” Charlotte glanced uneasily at the bedside clock. “It’s past
that time now. Shouldn’t we leave? All of the other guests are long
gone. We’d have no one to turn to for help if someone comes
in.”

Concordia shook her head. She was very
curious about this man in charge, who wasn’t Isley. Could it be
Maynard? Where had he been all evening, if not in his own house?
“Did Isley say anything else?”

“
Not really,” Charlotte
said. “They stopped talking when the maid came down the hallway.
Isley told her to get the fire stoked in the billiard room, and lay
out port and cigars.”

“
Where’s the billiard
room?” Concordia asked.

“
My guess
is the top story,” Charlotte said. “I saw the maids turning up the
lights and opening the windows in the room
j
ust above this one.” She regarded
Concordia anxiously. “You’re not considering what I think you
are....”

“
We have to learn their
plans,” Concordia said. “This may be our only
opportunity.”

“
Setting aside for the
moment how
dangerous
that is,” Charlotte said, “how are you going to get up
there?”

Concordia went to the window where the
ladder was propped and looked up. Even though it extended past her
window, it didn’t quite reach the balcony above.

However, just to the right of the
balcony was the deep ledge of a gabled window.

She pointed it out. “I can reach that
window sill. On a mild night like this, they are bound to leave the
windows and balcony doors open. I’ll be able to hear
everything.”

“
Unless one of them steps
out on the balcony and sees you first,” Charlotte
protested.

Concordia regarded Charlotte,
nervously glancing out the window. “Charlotte, there’s no sense in
both of us risking capture. Why don’t you go back down the ladder,
and wait for me…where did you tether the horse?”

“
In the orchard, but out of
sight of the house,” Charlotte said.

“
Then wait for me there,
and if I don’t join you in thirty minutes, leave and get
help.”

Charlotte shook her head stubbornly.
“You’ll need someone to keep the ladder steady. At that height, it
would be sure to tip. I can stay here and support it from the
window. No one would see me with the lights in the room turned
out.”

Concordia hesitated, then smiled.
“Thank you.”

Charlotte looked over
Concordia’s ball gown with a skeptical eye. “But how are you going
to climb a ladder and stand on a window ledge wearing
that
?”

Concordia regarded her gown in dismay.
“You’re right.” She went over to the armoire and pulled it open,
scanning the contents for something suitable. All men’s clothing,
of course; even if he were not a bachelor, Randolph Maynard
certainly wouldn’t keep women’s attire in his own
wardrobe.

Charlotte stifled a laugh. “You’re not
going to wear the dean’s clothes, are you?”

Concordia held a pair of trousers
against her waist, trying to get a sense of their size.
Fortunately, Randolph Maynard was a lean man, and the waist didn’t
seem too large. Of course, he was much taller than she.

“
Why not?” Concordia asked
with false bravado, trying not to think about how ridiculous she
was going to look. “I can roll up the cuffs so they don’t
catch...and these suspenders will hold up the trousers. Help me,
will you?”

Charlotte helped her out of the gown
and corset. Concordia left her chemise on, tucking it awkwardly
into the trousers. Lumpy but effective, she decided. She added a
cotton shirt, rolled at the sleeves to free her hands, with a dark
jacket over top, so the white wouldn’t catch the light. As her
dress pumps were impractical for climbing and none of Maynard’s
shoes fit, she went in her stockinged feet.

“
I am a sight, I must say.”
Concordia turned away from the mirror. “Okay, ready.”

With Charlotte holding onto the ladder
from inside the room, Concordia grasped a rung and tentatively
pulled herself up. She paused briefly, looking at Charlotte. “If
you hear someone at the bedroom door, climb down and get
help.”

“
But that will leave you
stranded,” Charlotte protested.

“
I can reach the balcony
from that gable window, if I have to,” Concordia said. “By that
point, I’d be discovered, anyway. No sense in us both being caught.
And if you get away, you can bring back help.”

Charlotte nodded miserably, and
Concordia started to climb.

There was a refreshing freedom in
wearing men’s clothing, and Concordia climbed up
quickly.

When she was nearly at the top, the
ladder began to wobble. Concordia froze and looked down. She could
see Charlotte’s hands, firmly curled around the sides. Thank heaven
the girl had insisted upon staying. The sill was to her left, and
she could see the balcony beyond that, bright light spilling onto
it from the open French doors of the billiard room.

She reached for the top frame of the
gable with her left hand, then shifted her right hand to the top
ladder rung. Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the window
ledge—left foot, then right foot, not daring to look down. The
balcony was less than an arm’s length away, with a wide balustrade
blocking some of the view. She flattened herself against the
building as best she could and tipped her head to
listen.

Maynard woke with a pounding heart. He
glanced over at the clock: three in the morning.

What did the dream mean? He must be
more troubled about the note than he’d thought. He trusted the men
in the brotherhood—men who believed in philanthropy without the
egregious self-congratulatory posturing that accompanied most
charitable works. But he couldn’t shake the idea that someone from
the Black Scroll didn’t want him at the ball tonight. Didn’t want
him in his own summer house.

Early as it was, he gave up on sleep
and dressed. Perhaps a visit to the college’s stable would settle
his disquiet. He’d always found the company of horses soothing.
Ever since he was a boy, the summers spent on his uncle’s farm were
more pleasurable than anywhere else. He could read a horse’s mood,
and understood its temperament.

As Maynard made his way to the stable,
he thought more about the Black Scroll. Some things had been odd
about the Brotherhood lately: Isley’s request that he place an
order with his brother-in-law, a jeweler, for cufflinks and a pin
emblazoned with the symbol of the organization. Too few to be given
to each member, certainly, and Maynard hadn’t seen them distributed
to anyone. Then there was the request that he open his summer house
early, to host the Masquerade Ball.

But it wasn’t the Brotherhood as a
whole that was odd, he realized. During membership meetings, the
same few men—Isley among them—broke away afterward to talk among
themselves. Were they responsible for the bogus message? But why
lure him away from his own home? What in blazes was going
on?

There was only one solution: Maynard
had to see for himself. Surely, President Langdon wouldn’t mind if
he borrowed his new buggy, even at this hour.

At the stable, Maynard was greeted
with a sleepy whinny from Ransom, a sturdy black Frisian. Maynard
rubbed the velvety nose that was thrust his way and glanced into
Chestnut’s stall.

Chestnut was gone.

Gentlemen, let’s look to
our business.

Othello
, II.iii

Concordia held onto the window frame
and strained to listen.

“—
Lily has assured me that
she’ll sleep until dawn, at least.” The voice was Barton
Isley’s.

“
That lady professor’s a
nosy one. Makes me uncomfortable, with our plans so close to
fruition. I’ll be glad when it’s over tomorrow,” another man
answered.

“
That’s why I took it upon
myself to act, when I spotted her,” Isley continued, his voice
touched with pride and self-importance. “I wanted to make sure we
could keep her contained. She knows nothing of our arrangements,”
he added hastily, “but she was scrutinizing the guests quite
carefully.”

Concordia let out a small sigh. So
much for her attempt at subtlety during the ball. Miss Hamilton
would have carried it off easily.

“‘
Twas a wise precaution,
to be sure,” said another voice. Concordia gripped the ledge, her
knuckles white. The voice had a familiar Irish lilt to
it.

Robert Flynn.

Her breath grew shallow as she
strained to hear every word.

“
We’ll let her go after she
wakes, won’t we?” Isley asked.

“
Do you think me a bounder?
Of course we’ll let her go,” Flynn said. “I see no harm in it. Lily
led her to believe she was suffering from an indisposition, isn’t
that so? Miss Wells knows only that those in attendance at the ball
tonight are members of the Black Scroll. She knows nothing of our
Circle.”

Concordia knew Flynn was lying. He
hadn’t spared Florence or Ben Rosen. He’d tried to kill Eli and
Miss Hamilton. Why would he let Concordia go? He didn’t
dare.

Other pieces were falling into place
now. Eli’s man in “fancy dress” fit Flynn: the tall, slim frame,
salt-and-pepper hair, and the neatly trimmed beard. Flynn had been
the first to notice Florence, after the Capshaws’ wedding. That
sharp glance across the street had been one of startled
recognition, she realized now. Flynn was the man who had turned in
Eli as a stowaway on the train, feinting laryngitis so that his
distinctive Irish accent would not be noted. He later ran down Eli
in the street and left him to die.

It must have been quite a shock when
Flynn had caught a glimpse of Eli, alive, through the partly-open
study door while at the Capshaw house. He had concealed his
reaction well, turning his initial shock into exaggerated
anger.