Unseemly Ambition (38 page)

Not bothering to suppress a scowl in
Concordia’s direction, Isley gave a curt bow and left
them.

“
Well, then!” Lily said
brightly, “let’s leave this awful manly space—Randolph Maynard
likes to surround himself with a great many riding trophies,
doesn’t he? Quite the horseman. There’s a cozy little sitting room
upstairs that’s much more pleasant.”

Lily led the way, down a
walnut-paneled hall on which half a dozen portraits hung. No doubt
Maynard’s ancestors, Concordia guessed. Several appeared as
heavy-browed and curmudgeonly as Maynard himself.

“
Why wasn’t the dean in
attendance tonight?” Concordia asked as they walked.

“
Oh, he was here early on,
but was called away, most likely before you arrived.” Lily
shrugged. “Some urgent school business. We assured him that we
would take over his host duties.”

Concordia wondered what might be going
on at the college that would require Maynard to drop everything and
leave a major social function. Everything had seemed fine when
she’d left.

Lily stopped one of the maids along
the corridor. “Bring us some tea in the sitting room, will
you?”

The room was quite luxurious, in fact,
with floor-to-ceiling drapes of burgundy velvet, deep leather club
chairs, and the most cushiony carpet that Concordia had ever sunk
her heels into. Mr. Maynard certainly enjoyed his creature
comforts.

Concordia smothered a yawn as she
tried to sit upright in her corseted gown. The sooner she could be
out of this contraption, the better. “What student were you
referring to?” she asked. “Miss Stephens, perhaps?”

“
Oh,” Lily said vaguely,
gesturing to the maid to set the tea tray on the table beside the
window, “Give me a moment to get this tea steeping. It’s a special
herbal blend I like to keep around. More like a medicinal tisane,
really. The steeping time is the key: too long and it’s rather
bitter, and too little, and it’s less effective. But it’s good for
soothing the nerves. The extra effort is worthwhile, I
think.”

She went over to the table as the maid
left. Concordia saw her fussing with a tin and strainers, but with
Lily’s back to her, she couldn’t see much else.

“
What makes you think my
nerves are strained?” Concordia asked bluntly.

Lily hesitated. “That’s part of the
reason I wanted to speak with you in private, dear. I wanted to
apologize for my husband’s behavior.” Her brow puckered. “Barton’s
been under a great deal of pressure lately.”

“
There’s no need to
apologize,” Concordia said politely.

Lily brought over the cups, passing
one to Concordia, and went back to retrieve a plate of appetizers
the maid had brought from the dining room. She set it down between
them. “I realize you never had supper; you must be
famished.”

Concordia took a sip of her tea first,
suppressing a shudder. Despite Lily’s care, it was rather bitter.
She plucked two cubes from the sugar bowl.

“
What sort of strain has
Mr. Isley been subjected to? I’m not aware of any problems going on
at the school,” Concordia said.

Of course, President Langdon’s hansom
had monopolized Isley’s office for a fortnight, but she couldn’t
imagine the bursar still sulking over that.

Lily fluttered a hand dismissively.
“He can be a bit…highly strung, especially when it comes to
finances. There have been several investments which have been
preoccupying him lately.” She observed Concordia closely. “How do
you like the tea?”

Obligingly, Concordia took another
sip. It was marginally better with sugar. “It’s...unusual,” she
said, politely drinking the rest of the dreadful stuff.

Lily nodded. “I’ve found it to be an
acquired taste.”

“
So,” Concordia said,
trying to return to the topic at hand, “what did you want to
discuss regarding....” She hesitated.

What were they talking
about? Why couldn’t she remember?
She
glanced over at Lily in confusion. “Um, regarding....”

Lily was looking at her in concern.
“Are you all right, Concordia?”

Concordia tried to answer, but no
words came. She was also having trouble moving her fingers, and
could do nothing but watch as the teacup slid from her grasp. She
felt a dizzy, plummeting sensation, as her mind tried to form her
next thought.

“
Let me help you, dear,”
she heard Lily say anxiously.

dear...dear...dear
echoed in her head as she slid to the floor,
sinking into the blackness.

Dean Maynard had reached the end of
his patience with student pranks. At his former school, the lady
principal had kept her young ladies under strict control. Here, the
girls ran amuck. Miss Pomeroy was sadly lacking as a
disciplinarian. And many of the faculty were no better.

Especially Miss Wells. It was no
surprise that she was a literature teacher. Through sad experience,
Maynard had concluded that scholars in those arts weren’t possessed
of the orderly mind one found among those dedicated to the sciences
and mathematics. Add to that the lady professor’s unbridled
curiosity and tendency to meddle where she had no business, and it
made for a vexing combination. He remembered the unease he felt
when he saw the newspaper reporter hand a piece of paper to Miss
Wells at the luncheon, and that lady later leaving the room. He’d
felt an obligation to see what she was up to. And what did he find?
The lady crouched over a nearly-dead Rosen in the gardener’s
shed.

Maynard shook his head. Nothing but
trouble, that one.

At least Miss Wells wasn’t the problem
this time. Maynard scowled as he re-read the slip of
paper.

There is an emergency at
the college. You are needed at once. ~Gertrude Pomeroy

He had just begun greeting his guests
at the Masquerade Ball that evening when it was delivered. He’d
made his apologies and hurriedly left, reaching campus at breakneck
speed.

Only to find that there was no
emergency. It was well past the students’ ten o’clock bedtime and
everyone had settled down for the night. All was quiet.

Just to be sure, Maynard went to his
office. Nothing was amiss there, either; no note, no one waiting
for him.

The only other soul in the building
was President Langdon, working late in his office. Maynard tapped
on his door.

“
Something wrong,
Randolph?” Langdon asked.

“
There certainly is,”
Maynard retorted. He tossed the note on Langdon’s desk. “Take a
look.”

Langdon frowned as he read.

“
Where is Miss Pomeroy
now?” Maynard asked.

“
She mentioned retiring
early,” Langdon said. He stood. “I hate to disturb the lady, but we
should get to the bottom of this.” He glanced at Maynard’s formal
attire. “How unfortunate that you were called away from a special
event.” His brow arched in polite inquiry, but Maynard, who took
his Brotherhood oath seriously, said nothing.

DeLacey House had a single porch light
burning, and it was with great reluctance that Langdon rang the
bell. Langdon and Maynard waited for several minutes before the
housekeeper, a dressing gown hastily tied around her waist and hair
in a fraying braid over her shoulder, opened the door.

“
Mr. Langdon! Mr. Maynard!
Why, what’s wrong?”

Maynard stepped forward. “We must see
Miss Pomeroy,” he said brusquely.

President Langdon glared at Maynard
before turning back to the housekeeper. “I apologize for the late
hour, but it’s urgent we speak with her. Can we wait in the parlor
while you get her?”

“
O’ course, sir,” the woman
said. “Right away.” She closed the door behind them and hustled up
the stairs.

Miss Pomeroy, graying-brown hair
twisted sloppily atop her head and glasses askew, walked into the
parlor a few minutes later.

“
Whatever’s
wrong?”

Maynard passed her the
note.

Miss Pomeroy’s eyes widened as she
glanced at it. “I never sent such a thing. There’s no emergency
here. Why, I wouldn’t have known where to reach you even if I’d
wanted to.”

Maynard sat back in surprise. The lady
principal raised a point he hadn’t considered. Who would have known
where he was?

President Langdon stood
apologetically. “Of course. We’ll let you get back to bed. My
apologies again for disturbing you.”

Miss Pomeroy waved a hand
dismissively. “No matter. Rest assured, I’ll do my best to get to
the bottom of this in the morning.”

“
Thank you Miss Pomeroy,”
Maynard said, also standing. “Good night.”

Randolph Maynard had two choices:
return to the ball—but that was an hour’s drive—or simply walk back
to his on-campus quarters and go to bed. As it was nearly midnight,
the latter option was looking better. The surge of worry had long
since ebbed. He felt drained.

And yet, the riddle troubled him as he
carefully hung up his jacket and trousers. Someone from the
Brotherhood had sent him the false message. Only the Black Scroll
members knew he would be hosting the event at his country house.
He’d been very careful about that. But the bigger question
was—why?

Sleep, when it came, felt snatched in
bits and pieces. His dreams were fitful, disturbing. Men, elegantly
attired and wearing masks, came up to talk to him. He didn’t know
them. He felt himself itching to snatch the mask off each face, to
learn who they were. In his dream, he finally succumbed to the
impulse. There was another mask beneath the first. He pulled off
the next mask, and then the next, and felt himself swallowed up in
an endless line of masks....

The blackness faded. Concordia lifted
her head from the bed. She cautiously propped herself on her elbows
and waited for a dizzying wave of nausea to pass. She was alone in
what appeared to be a man’s bedroom, with framed paintings of
horses on the walls.

Where was she? It was an enormous
effort to concentrate. Then she remembered. The masquerade ball.
Randolph Maynard’s country house. She must be in Maynard’s bedroom.
She didn’t like the thought of that.

What happened?

Concordia tentatively shifted her legs
over the side, and fingered the silk of her ball gown, trying to
remember.

The bedroom door opened, and Lily
Isley walked in with a tray.

“
Oh, my dear! Thank
goodness you’re awake. I’ve been so worried.” Lily set down the
tray and felt Concordia’s forehead. “An illness,
perhaps?”

Concordia shook her head, trying to
clear the cobwebs. This sudden collapse had felt nothing like a
gradual illness.

“
Perhaps your corset was
too tight,” Lily went on. “I loosened it a bit for you, while you
were sleeping. I hope you don’t mind.”

Concordia minded very much, actually.
She was starting to remember. The bitter-tasting tea. Her glance
fell upon the tray Lily had brought. “What’s this?”

“
Oh, just a cup of beef
broth and some toast,” Lily said soothingly.

“
Thank you, but I should
go,” Concordia said, clutching the bedpost in an attempt to stand.
The room teetered and she closed her eyes.

“
Nonsense, you can’t travel
in this condition,” Lily said firmly. “Why don’t you lay down for a
bit longer? Then we can take you home. Here, have some broth.” She
held out the cup.

Concordia took it, although she had no
intention of consuming another thing in this household. She glanced
suddenly at the window, which was open a crack for air. “Did you
see that?”

“
What?” Lily went to the
window, and Concordia, with an unspoken apology to the dean for
ruining his carpet, dumped half the broth over the far side of the
bed. When Lily turned around, Concordia had the rim of the cup to
her lips.

“
I don’t see
anything.”

Concordia gave her a sheepish look. “I
thought I saw a lantern in the orchard. A trick of the light, I
suppose.” She passed the cup back to Lily and lay back against the
pillows with a sigh. “That was very good. Thank you.”

Lily glanced into the cup before
setting it aside. “Of course, dear. Now, you just rest here for a
bit. I’ll leave you the toast.” She closed the door quietly behind
her on her way out.

Was it Concordia’s
imagination, or was there the faint
click
of a key being turned in the
lock?

She sat up again, taking deep breaths
to fight through the dizziness. After a little while, the floor no
longer loomed up at her. She groped her way to the door, and
quietly tested it. It was locked, as she had suspected.

She knew better than to bang on the
door and demand to be let out. Lily had no intention of letting her
go.

Concordia crossed over to the window,
opening it as far as it would go. The cool night air soothed her
throbbing head.