Unseemly Ambition (30 page)

Concordia’s mother started. “A few
days? Why not now?” she asked anxiously.

The doctor smiled. “No doubt you share
the widespread perception of hospitals as places for the poor, rife
with infection, and to be avoided at all costs. Let me put your
mind at rest, Mrs. Wells. Hartford Hospital employs a wide array of
modern antiseptic procedures. Unlike many of the older hospitals,
we are an institution already looking toward the twentieth century.
We have the latest medical equipment and the best in professional
staff. You need not fear leaving your daughter in our
care.”

Mrs. Wells gave the man a long look
before giving a resigned nod.

“
Doctor,” Concordia asked,
“could you find out about Miss Hamilton’s condition? She has no
family in the area. I’m very worried about her.”

The doctor frowned. “You are a most
persistent young woman. Very well. I will inquire about the lady
and be back shortly.”

Concordia nodded her thanks and closed
her eyes.

She must have been asleep for a while,
because the rain had stopped and the light from the windows was
ebbing to dusk when she awoke. Her mother smiled.

“
I’m glad you got some
rest, dear. Would you like a sip of water?” She held the glass for
her as she drank. “Sophia stopped by while you were sleeping, but
we didn’t want to wake you.”

“
Did I miss the doctor?”
Concordia asked.
Drat.

“
I have someone better.”
Her mother gestured toward the corridor.

Concordia smiled when she caught sight
of the tall, thin figure of Lieutenant Capshaw, sporting his usual
full head of wavy red hair and mustache to match.
“Lieutenant!”

Capshaw bowed.

The nurse pulled over another chair
for the policeman. “You can’t stay long, mind,” she warned. “Miss
Wells needs her rest.”

Mrs. Wells pulled out her embroidery
basket, making it clear she wasn’t going anywhere. Capshaw looked
over at the lady uncertainly.

Concordia knew there would be no
budging her. “Mother, will you give me your word that you won’t
repeat what we discuss?”

Mrs. Wells pursed her lips in
disapproval. “What are you involved in, Concordia? I understood
your...entanglement... in the matter of the missing boy, but he’s
been found now. What more is there for you to meddle
in?”

“
Unfortunately, that wasn’t
the end of it,” Concordia said. She had explained to her mother the
basics of Eli’s disappearance, but nothing regarding the murders of
Florence and Rosen, or the Black Scroll. “Stay if you must, but I
can’t explain until later. Matters are too urgent now.”

Mrs. Wells shook her head and resumed
her needlework.

Concordia turned to the policeman.
“Have you seen Miss Hamilton yet?”

Capshaw looked grim. “I wasn’t
permitted to, in her current condition. She’s still unconscious,
with a head injury, a fractured wrist, and several broken ribs.
Even if she awakes, the doctors fear pneumonia.”

Concordia felt her stomach
clench.
If she awakes.
What would she do if Miss Hamilton didn’t pull
through?

She must not think of that.

“
Does she have any family?”
Capshaw’s question broke into her thoughts.

“
The only family I know of
is a sister in Chicago. I’ll give you her address,” Concordia
said.

Capshaw nodded. “Good. I’ll send her a
telegram.”

“
Lieutenant...” Concordia
began, with an anxious look over at her mother, placidly working at
her linen, “I’m not sure it was an accident.”

Mrs. Wells lifted her head and stared,
mouth open.

“
I was wondering that
myself,” Capshaw said. He pulled out his well-worn pencil nub and
wad of paper, waiting expectantly.

Concordia went through it all,
starting with the crowded stop. She described the jostling for
position when the streetcar approached, then the chaos of the fist
fight. “Miss Hamilton was pushed into the street as the car was
pulling up. The conductor tried to stop. I pushed past some people,
and sort of...rolled us out of the way,” she said, wincing and
glancing ruefully at her sling. There had been no time for anything
more graceful or lady-like.

Mrs. Wells made an
involuntary
tsk
ing
sound, and Capshaw gave a mighty sigh that Concordia understood all
too well.
You college ladies are
so...impetuous.
She could almost hear him
saying it.

“
Did you see who actually
pushed her?” Capshaw asked.

Concordia shook her head.

“
Can you describe the
brawlers? Any distinguishing marks?” Capshaw asked.

“
There were about a dozen
men, but a range of ages. A few youths, but most were in their
twenties, I’d say. There was even an older man. I thought he might
have been a sailor once—oh!” she stopped. “I remember now—he had a
tattoo. An anchor with a snake curled around it.”

Capshaw was scribbling furious notes.
“Anything else?”

Concordia sank back against the
pillow. “No. I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Wells patted her arm. “Perhaps,
when you are less fatigued, more details will come back to
you.”

“
What makes you think it
was intentional?” Capshaw asked.

“
Well,” Concordia said,
thinking back, “no one else was knocked down, and Miss Hamilton was
shoved hard enough to land in the street, rather than crumple to
the ground where she stood.”

Capshaw stroked his mustache
absent-mindedly. “Hmm. If deliberate, there are two possibilities:
either someone had been following you both and, on impulse, took
advantage of the chaos, or—” Capshaw hesitated.

“
Or what?” Concordia
prompted, leaning forward. By this point, Mrs. Wells had dropped
her embroidery in her lap and leaned forward, too.

“—
this was all planned
ahead of time, and the brawl itself could have been staged to
provide the opportunity to injure Miss Hamilton,” Capshaw
continued.

Concordia shuddered. If so, the power
of the Inner Circle was formidable. And this was a group that
didn’t leave anything to chance. She met Capshaw’s eye. “Miss
Hamilton had an appointment to see your Chief of Police today,” she
said quietly.

Capshaw nodded. “Someone didn’t want
that interview to take place.”

Mrs. Wells shifted restlessly in her
seat. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this. Who’s behind it all?”
She fixed her eye upon Capshaw. “And how is your chief
involved?”

Concordia and Capshaw exchanged
glances. Concordia sighed. “You may as well tell her.”

Capshaw eyed the row of beds. The two
immediately adjacent to Concordia’s were empty. Satisfied that no
one was close enough to overhear, he gave Mrs. Wells a quick,
low-voiced account of what they suspected to be the Inner Circle’s
involvement in Florence Willoughby’s death.

Concordia could tell that her mother,
despite herself, was listening with increased fascination. Perhaps
Concordia wasn’t the only member of the family who was drawn to
unraveling a mystery.

“
What did you say the
organization was called?” Mrs. Wells asked.

“
The Noble Order of the
Black Scroll,” Capshaw said.

Mrs. Wells tapped a finger
thoughtfully against her chin. “I’ve heard of the Black
Scroll...let me see...oh, yes, Agatha Griffiths mentioned
it.”

Concordia’s mouth hung
open. “Mrs.
Griffiths
knows about the Black Scroll?”

Mrs. Wells nodded. “Except
she was referring to the
Daughters
of the Black Scroll. It’s a ladies’ charitable
club. Agatha’s a member, and she seemed pleased as punch to have
recently convinced Lady Dunwick to join. She’s asked me to join,
too, but I haven’t yet decided.”

Concordia was silent, thinking of the
possibilities. The Daughters of the Black Scroll sounded like a
sister organization. How closely connected were the two? Had
Charlotte Crandall’s aunt joined it because her husband, Sir
Anthony, was a Black Scroll member? Perhaps she and Charlotte could
pay Lady Dunwick a visit.

Once she was out of the hospital, drat
it.

Capshaw stood to leave. “I’ll get
started on these leads right away.”

“
So, you are embroiled in
yet another police case,” her mother said, when they were alone.
She shook her head. “It makes your teaching profession appear—dare
I say it—remarkably lady-like by comparison. Can’t you just stick
to teaching, dear? Why get involved in such
unseemliness?”

Concordia didn’t bother to answer, nor
did her mother seem to expect her to. But it reminded her of
something else. “Does the school know what happened?”

Mrs. Wells smiled. “The hospital has
one of those telephone contraptions, so I called your school and
spoke with your lady principal…Miss Pomeroy? Yes, that’s the one.
Lady Dunwick was right about telephone communication. All those
crackles, pops, and assorted noises on the line are very
disorienting. Certainly not an elegant way of conducting a
conversation, but a great time-saver. It was all I could do to
convince the woman to hold back your students, though. They were
all set to cancel their play and tramp over here to visit
you.”

“
I’m glad they are going
ahead with the play, but I’ll be sorry to miss it,” Concordia
said.

“
Miss Pomeroy said to tell
you that Mrs. Isley and Miss Crandall have everything well in hand,
and that the production will go splendidly.”

At that moment, they heard the rattle
of dinner trays. The nurse came over with Concordia’s tray. “I’m
sorry, but visiting hours are over.”

Mrs. Wells reluctantly disentangled
herself and her belongings from the chair.

Concordia gave her mother a grateful
look. “Thank you. For everything.”

Concordia passed a restless night. If
the sounds of strangers moaning, staff moving about, and the
occasional electric light switched on in the hallway weren’t enough
to keep her awake, the discomfort of her injuries and her worry
about Miss Hamilton were sufficient. She was relieved when she saw
dawn tinting the windows.

That morning, another nurse changed
her bandages, remade her wrinkled bed, and helped her wash her face
and comb her hair. Concordia’s arm and shoulder were feeling much
better, and she hoped to soon dispense with the sling entirely. Her
head didn’t throb nearly as much, and her hip soreness had subsided
enough that she could hobble across the room with only minor
support. At her first opportunity—no matter what the hospital staff
had to say about it—she would find Miss Hamilton and see for
herself how the lady was doing.

Soon people streamed into the ward for
visiting hours. Concordia’s mother was the first to arrive. She was
soon followed by college infirmarian Hannah Jenkins, along with
Charlotte Crandall, Ruby, and several students from Willow
Cottage.

“
Ooh, Miss Wells, you’re a
hero!” one of the girls exclaimed, as Miss Jenkins checked
Concordia’s bandages with a critical eye.

The infirmarian gave a satisfied
grunt. “Everything should heal nicely.” She pointed to the sling.
“I’d imagine you’ll only need that for another day.”

“
I hope so,” Concordia
said, “it’s quite a bother.”

“
How are you feeling?”
Charlotte Crandall asked. She placed a satchel at the foot of the
bed. “Ruby and I packed some of your personal items, along with a
couple of books from your bedside table.”

Concordia smiled her thanks at them
both. “Did Miss Pomeroy assign you my classes?” she asked
Charlotte.

The young lady nodded.

“
Excellent,” Concordia
said. “I cannot think of a better substitute.” Charlotte
flushed.

“
We missed you at the play,
Miss Wells,” a senior said.

“
How did it go?” Concordia
asked.

“
Splendidly, although Miss
Stephens tripped over her cloak again.”

“
You should have seen how
crowded the theater was,” another girl added. “There were people
standing at the back and sides!”

Concordia could imagine. A former
stage-actress, playing the lead in a college production? Perhaps
missing that spectacle was a blessing in disguise.

“
When are you coming back?”
Ruby asked.

“
Soon,” Concordia said.
“Believe me, I don’t want to be away any longer than
necessary.”

“
Even when you return, you
must recuperate,” Miss Jenkins warned. “You won’t be able to jump
right into your normal routine, you know.”

“
Don’t you worry, I’ll make
sure she rests,” Ruby said firmly, giving Concordia a wink.
Concordia was relieved to see the matron looking more like herself
these days. She hoped they had seen the last of Johnny Hitchcock.
Thankfully, President Langdon had insisted that Ruby remain in her
position as cottage matron, and let the police deal with her
long-lost husband.