Unseemly Ambition (14 page)

And Concordia knew exactly who they
were.

“
You needn’t look so
amused, Miss Wells,” Isley snapped.

Concordia tried to keep a straight
face. She turned as President Langdon hurried down the hall,
accompanied by Dean Maynard. Both stopped dead in their tracks.
“When Mr. Drew told me, I couldn’t believe it,” Langdon said
slowly. The president passed a large hand over his graying beard,
as he was wont to do when lost in thought.

Behind them, a crowd had gathered
outside the bursar’s door. Students in various states of awe and
amusement were taking in the sight of the president’s buggy
occupying all of Bursar Isley’s office.

Miss Pomeroy came along
next, shooing students from the door. She stopped and stared. “Oh.
Oh,
my
.”

“
Who would do this?” Isley
repeated, voice high-pitched with indignation.

Langdon scratched at his beard again.
“How do we get it out of here?”

Concordia wondered how long it would
take someone to ask that question.

Dean Maynard, standing
beside Concordia, gave her an angry glance. “Did
you
have anything to do
with this?” he demanded.

Before Concordia could offer a retort,
Miss Pomeroy spoke up. “What nonsense, dean! You don’t see Mr.
Isley and President Langdon, who have every reason to be upset,
making such outlandish accusations. Miss Wells is a respected
faculty member, who would never stoop to such
shenanigans.”

Concordia, remembering a time last
year when “shenanigans” were called for—unavoidable, even—remained
silent.

Langdon was inspecting the buggy. “It
looks perfectly unharmed. A stunt like this requires a great deal
of mechanical skill,” he mused aloud. “Could some of the Trinity
boys have broken in and pulled this?”

Concordia shook her head. Langdon was
missing the point. The female students who had petitioned for a
mechanical engineering certificate program at the college—a
petition which had been rejected—had obviously pulled the prank to
prove that they were as capable of such work as men, and wanted the
chance to develop that talent. The fact that Langdon wasn’t able to
conceive of the girls being the culprits demonstrated why the
petition had failed. She remembered the words of Miss
Lovelace.

We will find a
way.

But she said nothing. The men would
catch on, eventually. Perhaps after a few days of trying to
maneuver around a full-size buggy. That should do the
trick.

She didn’t bother to suppress a grin
this time.

Week 7, Instructor Calendar

March 1898

Concordia was nearly ready for the
Isley dinner.

She watched as Penelope
tugged with the buttonhook, giving a little grunt of exertion. The
new shoes were a bit stiff, but perfectly matched Concordia’s green
silk dinner dress,
so she wasn’t about to
change them for her old broken-in black pumps. If only her corset
weren’t so tight, she would be able to lean over and button them
herself.

Concordia noted the glints of silver
in Penelope’s braided coronet as the woman bent over the shoe.
Since Miss Hamilton moved with the grace and ease of a much younger
woman, these little reminders of the lady’s actual age were a
continual surprise.

“
There!” Miss Hamilton said
in satisfaction, handing back the hook.

“
Have you made any progress
in your search for Eli?” Concordia asked, her voice tinged with
hope.

“
Some,” Miss Hamilton said.
“One of the newsies who works the corner of Pearl and Asylum, in
front of the druggist’s, thought it was Eli he saw that afternoon.
He was running as if he were chasing something, the boy
said.”

Concordia leaned forward in
excitement. “If true, then Eli left the boarding house under his
own power, rather than being kidnapped, or—” She couldn’t complete
the sentence, not wanting to think about the
or
.

Miss Hamilton nodded. “It
negates my original idea that Eli ran away in fright. As wild as it
may seem, he could have been
chasing
the killer. But if that’s the case, why not simply
call the police?”

“
Eli tries to avoid
policemen as much as possible,” Concordia said. “Before he lived at
the settlement house, he had a number of sad experiences with them,
when he was caught stealing food and sleeping in abandoned houses.
Capshaw is the only policeman he’s ever trusted. But I wonder why
Eli didn’t go to Capshaw with anything he might have
known.”

Miss Hamilton shook her head. “Having
never had children of my own, I cannot pretend to understand them.
But I’m pursuing the lead further. I’ve also learned more about the
Willoughbys. That’s why I wanted to intercept you on your way to
the Isleys’ dinner. There’s something I want you to do for
me.”

Concordia gestured to a chair. “We
don’t have much time. David will be picking me up soon. How can I
help?”

“
Let me tell you first what
I found out. Did you know that the Willoughbys are closely
associated with Mr. and Mrs. Isley?”

Concordia shook her head. “I know very
little about any of them. Is it important?”

“
I’ll let you decide for
yourself. First of all, they share the same solicitor, a man named
Flynn—”

“
Robert
Flynn? The Irishman?” Concordia interrupted.

“
You know him?”

“
He and my mother have been
spending a lot of time together lately.”

“
Indeed?” Miss Hamilton
raised an eyebrow. “That may be useful later.”

“
Perhaps.” Concordia
certainly didn’t want her mother involved in the case.

Miss Hamilton dug out her notepad and
glanced at it briefly. “They have a financial connection as well.
Barton Isley acted as consultant to the Willoughbys before his
retirement from investment banking. He may yet serve them in that
capacity, at least informally. Both families are invested in copper
mines in Rhodesia.”

“
What does this have to do
with tonight’s dinner?” Concordia asked.

“
I’m getting to that.
There’s also a political connection between the families. The
Isleys are quite involved in Republican politics at the state
level—”

Concordia nodded, remembering her
conversation with Mr. Isley.

“—
and the Willoughbys and
Isleys support the same local senate candidate—”

“
Mr. Sanders,” Concordia
supplied.

“
Correct. He’s the guest of
honor at tonight’s dinner party,” Miss Hamilton continued. “I read
in the society section that several Willoughbys are expected to be
in attendance tonight.”

Concordia smiled briefly at the
thought of Penelope Hamilton scouring the society pages.

“
There’s one more thing,
and it’s the most interesting item of all,” Miss Hamilton went on.
“I’ve learned from a trusted source that several of the Willoughby
men belong to a secret society.”

Concordia’s mouth dropped open. “You
mean, Freemasons or something of the sort? That seems
somewhat...medieval, doesn’t it?”

“
Rather cloak-and-dagger,
yes,” Miss Hamilton said. “I haven’t been able to learn as much as
I’d like. I do know that it’s called the Fraternal Order of the
Black Scroll.”

“
I’ve never heard of it,”
Concordia said.

“
Nor would you be likely
to. It was formed ten years ago as an organization of secret
philanthropy; its membership is that of men in the legal,
financial, and law enforcement professions. But I don’t know
anything about the membership size, who besides the Willoughbys
belong to it, what its mission and code of conduct currently are,
or the breadth of its influence. Given your bursar’s close
affiliation with the Willoughbys, however, it’s likely that Isley
is a member.”

“
But how would Florence be
involved?” Concordia objected. “As a woman, she couldn’t possibly
belong to such an organization. Isn’t it rather far-fetched to
assume the group has anything to do with her death? You said it was
philanthropic.”

Miss Hamilton shook her
head. “I said it
started
as philanthropic. I need to learn more about its
current agenda. And although Florence did not belong to the
organization, she lived in a household with family members who did.
She also could have had acquaintances, friends, even a paramour
associated with the Black Scroll. With that degree of familiarity,
people don’t always keep secrets they are expected to.”

Concordia eyes widened as something
occurred to her. “If the Black Scroll membership includes men in
law enforcement, could it be behind the removal of Capshaw from
Florence’s murder investigation?”

Miss Hamilton grimaced. “A disturbing
thought, is it not? We must learn more. Some of the most socially
and politically influential people will be together at the Isleys
tonight. It is a unique opportunity for you to listen in on
conversations.”

“
You want me to
spy
on the dinner guests?”
Concordia asked incredulously. “That seems to be more along your
line.”

“
I was not invited to the
party, you were.” Miss Hamilton hesitated. “But for heaven’s sake,
be careful.”

Let’s teach ourselves that honourable
stop,
Not to
outsport discretion.

Othello
,
II.iii

Week 7, Instructor Calendar

March 1898

Concordia alighted from the carriage,
David at her elbow to steady her. The Isleys’ residence was an
elegant structure, with deep-set gables and grand white columns set
at intervals along the porch. Concordia admired the
freshly-painted, crisp-white gingerbread molding that adorned the
wraparound porch and railings and tall urns of clipped topiary
flanking the granite steps. The décor had been enhanced with
festive Chinese lanterns strung between the balusters and
be-ribboned vasesof red tulips. Music from a string quartet drifted
through the windows.

This was only a dinner? Concordia
wondered how Lily managed to get her parsimonious husband to go
along with such an expense.

She and David exchanged glances.
“Impressive,” he said, his dimples widening in a boyish grin.
“Perhaps the college’s young ladies had a hand in decorating the
bursar’s house.”

Concordia smiled. The students did
indeed have a flair for ostentation when it came to social
occasions. From what she had seen of Lily Isley, they had that in
common.

She took a deep breath as they
approached the front door. How could she best gather information
for Miss Hamilton? She had little skill in subterfuge. Her knees
felt a little wobbly and she tightened her hand on David’s
arm.

David glanced at her in concern. “Are
you all right? You look pale.”

“
Yes, yes, I’m fine.”
Concordia said, with a weak laugh. “I suppose I’m a bit intimidated
by the grandeur.”

“
Don’t worry,” David
murmured, “I’ve seen you at this sort of thing before. You can hold
your own with any of them.”

Concordia doubted if he
would be as encouraging if he knew what she was
really
here for. But it wouldn’t do to
tell him. Not at all. He had grown quite protective, and she knew
her past involvements had worried him greatly. It was
touching...and inconvenient.

A maid greeted them and took
Concordia’s wrap and David’s hat. “The missus is receiving in the
Molière Room.” In response to their blank stares, she smiled. “That
’ud be the conservatory. At the end of the hall, on your left. Mrs.
Isley likes ta name the rooms after famous playwrights, you
see.”

“
Charming,” Concordia
murmured, as they made their way through the throng. They passed
the drawing room—she wondered briefly what Lily had named it—where
the musicians played. Some guests had gathered there to listen. One
of the taller gentlemen seemed familiar from the back. As he turned
in profile, Concordia recognized Randolph Maynard. What was
he
doing here? Isley and
Maynard didn’t strike her as particularly chummy. She hurried on
before he saw her, although she knew it would be impossible to
avoid him all evening. No doubt she would be on the receiving end
of a scowl and perhaps a barbed remark about neglecting her school
duties while frittering her time at a party.

“
Ah, there you are, my dear
Concordia!” Mrs. Isley cried, as they entered the Molière Room. She
was dressed in a satin gown of pale blue, the bodice low-cut,
tightly corseted, and liberally trimmed in spangled jet beads that
glinted in the light. The effect was striking, but Concordia
wondered how the woman was able to breathe.

“
And you must be Mr.
Bradley. I’ve heard a great deal about
you
,” Lily continued, winking at
Concordia.