Unseemly Ambition (6 page)

Florence Tooey was a woman of petite
stature. She was plainly attired in a dark worsted dress, worn gray
coat, and water-stained shoes. Her soft, wavy dark hair framed a
face made gaunt by some unknown strain. She had the same piquant
chin as Eli’s, and the same luminous eyes.

With a drop of her heart, Concordia
knew she was looking at Eli’s mother.

Martha stepped forward to make the
introductions. “Miss Wells, this is Mrs. Tooey.”

“
Call me Florence, please,”
the woman said, her voice quiet, the accent refined. Concordia was
startled; this was no servant who had gotten herself in trouble and
had to turn to the streets to raise a child on her own. And yet she
was dressed in a shabby coat and worn shoes. Who was
she?

During this interchange, Eli eyed the
adults, limbs shaking, mouth quivering. He sidled up to Concordia
and grasped her hand. “Please, miss—doan’ let her take me
away.”

Concordia’s heart lurched at the sight
of Eli’s pale face. He had saved her life last year. Although the
scars on her wrists had long healed, the bond she and Eli shared
remained irrevocable. She must save him now.

Concordia patted Eli’s hand. “Let me
talk with Mrs. Tooey alone. We’ll work things out.” She tried to
make her tone sound as reassuring as she could, although she felt
less than confident.

Martha put a hand on Eli’s shoulder.
“We’ve got some bread and jam for you in the kitchen,
okay?”

Eli gave a dejected nod and followed
Martha out.

Concordia sat and motioned the woman
into the other chair.

“
Can you tell me a little
about yourself, Mrs. Tooey? Where do you come from? How did you
come to be separated—” she was careful to avoid the word
abandon
“—from Eli? You
can see he’s in very good care here, and Martha wants to be sure to
do what’s in the boy’s best interests.”

Mrs. Tooey bristled. “It’s
in his
best interests
to be with his mother, not in some charity ward. Obviously,
not being a mother yourself, you wouldn’t understand. I’m
determined to take him, and I’ll go to your sponsors if I have to.
Where will your precious settlement house be without
funds?”

Concordia ignored the threat. “It
doesn’t take a mother to know that Eli is much better off now than
when he was found—dirty, hungry, and alone—trying to fend for
himself in the world. What mother would put him in such a
position?”

“
That was not in my control
at the time,” the woman shot back.

“
Which brings us back to my
original question. How did Eli come to be alone? He told us that
his mother had disappeared. He certainly doesn’t recognize you as
that woman. Surely you can see why it is necessary for us to
understand this tangle, before we could consider turning him over
to your care?”

Mrs. Tooey pressed her hands together
until the knuckles were white. It was the closest Concordia had
ever seen to someone literally wringing her hands in
distress.

“
When he was just a baby,
he was kidnapped. His nurse had charge of him at the time, and had
wheeled him in his carriage to the park for some fresh air. She sat
on a bench and fell asleep, careless girl! When she awoke, the
perambulator was empty, the baby gone.”

“
But that must have
been...nine or ten years ago,” Concordia countered skeptically. It
sounded like a penny dreadful one would read on a train. “Why did
it take so long for you to find him? And how do you know Eli is
yours? Babies change a great deal as they grow up.”

“
He has a
strawberry-colored mark on his left wrist,” Florence said. “We made
a thorough search when he disappeared, of course, but discovered
nothing. Then, a few weeks ago, a friend of mine living in this
area noticed the boy’s resemblance to me—he was running an errand
for her. She knew about the birthmark, and there it was. I came as
soon as she wrote to me.”

Concordia had noticed the mark on
Eli’s wrist, so that part rang true. Yet the story sounded
far-fetched. If Lieutenant Capshaw were here, he could easily check
it.

“
Where is the boy’s father?
Is Eli a natural child?” Concordia asked.

“
I’m not interested in
giving you my life story—it is not your concern,” the woman
snapped.

“
Perhaps not, but what sort
of home will you be giving him? A couple wants to adopt the boy—the
Capshaws. They and Eli share a mutual affection. Would you be so
selfish as to snatch that from him?”

Florence’s lip trembled. “Eli’s father
is dead. The child is all the family I have left.”

Concordia realized with a sinking
heart that for this woman, Eli was a memento, a piece of something
she’d lost, rather than a child with needs. There had to be a way
to stop her, but she needed help to do it.

She stood. “I’ll be back in a
moment.”

Concordia found Martha pacing in the
hall. “Any success?” Martha asked eagerly.

“
I’m afraid not. Mrs. Tooey
seems determined to take him.”

Martha’s face fell. “I’d hoped you
could persuade her.”

Concordia smiled ruefully. “It seems
my powers of persuasion don’t run that deep.”

“
What are we to do? Eli’s
threatening to run away rather than leave with that
woman.”

“
I have an idea,” Concordia
said. “We can stall for time until the Capshaws return. Then the
lieutenant can look into her background and find out more. Her
story sounds...melodramatic.”

Martha’s face brightened. “We could
even offer her room here, to stay while she waits.”

Concordia shook her head. “I don’t
think that’s wise. She may put pressure on Eli and cause him to do
something rash. Do you have any money? I only have a little with
me. But perhaps between us we can give her enough to rent a room at
Mrs. Hofferman’s boarding house for the week. Once Sophia and the
lieutenant are back, they’ll know what to do.”

Martha went to the lock box and
checked. “I think this should be enough; let’s see if she’ll
agree.”

When they returned to the room,
Florence was buttoning her jacket. “I want to see Eli.
Alone.”

Concordia held up a hand to interrupt
whatever Martha was going to say. “Very well, on one condition;
that you do not take him away with you until the Capshaws have
returned next week. We’ll pay for your room and board at
respectable lodgings nearby.”

Florence locked her brown eyes upon
Concordia, staring at her shrewdly. “What sort of
lodgings?”

“
Oh, Mrs. Hofferman’s is
very comfortable,” Martha interjected quickly. “It’s along a quiet
street, out of the way of traffic. I can have one of our girls show
you.”

Florence glanced down at
the bills in Martha’s hand, then relented. “Very well. But I want
to talk with Eli
now
.”

A trembling Eli was brought in. With
some reluctance, Concordia and Martha waited outside the
door.

“
Why do you suppose she
wants to see him alone?” Martha asked.

Concordia shrugged. “Perhaps she
thinks she can persuade him to go with her? If so, she’s sadly
mistaken.”

After about ten minutes, Eli and
Florence came out of the room. Florence hugged Eli’s stiff
shoulders, then fixed a steely gaze on Concordia. “One
week.”

Martha gestured to the girl waiting to
escort Florence Tooey. She passed her the bills. “Give my regards
to Mrs. Hofferman.” The girl nodded, and Florence followed her
out.

“
Are you all right?”
Concordia asked Eli.

He held up a pocket watch. “She gave
me a present. That’s nice, but I still ain’t goin’ with
her.”

“
Don’t worry,” Concordia
said, ruffling his hair. “We’ll figure out something.” She hoped
she was right, especially when the boy turned a trusting, relieved
face in her direction.

To mourn a mischief that
is past and gone

Is the next way to draw
new mischief on.

Othello
, I.iii

Week 4, Instructor Calendar

March 1898

Concordia loathed Glove Night, with a
passion typically reserved for war, famine, and
pestilence.

She reluctantly groped her way up the
stairs in the early morning light, toward the sounds of freshmen
wailing overhead.

The sophomores never seemed to tire of
their pranks on the freshmen, and Glove Night was their favorite.
It was astonishing to contemplate the organization required for
sophomores from all six cottages on the same night to slip into
freshmen rooms, steal their gloves, hide them throughout the
grounds, and return to their own beds without detection. If only
they would apply such cunning and forethought to their
work.

The upstairs corridor was crowded with
freshmen girls in various states of distress and dishabille. A
nightrobe-clad, felt-slippered Ruby was trying to usher them back
to their rooms. “There now, no need to tear the rooms apart. You
know the gloves won’t be here. You can search the grounds after
chapel and breakfast.”

Ruby’s unfortunate mention
of
chapel
provoked
a round of fresh wailing. Though the sound set her teeth on edge,
Concordia could sympathize. For a lady, going about bare-handed was
akin to walking bare
foot
. It was simply not done. Attending chapel without one’s
gloves was particularly frowned upon. The administration, of
course, would exercise leniency while the freshmen hunted for their
gloves.

And
hunting
was often required, as the
sophomores looked on and snickered at the hapless “freshies.” It
seemed no place was out of bounds for the gloves: the fountain
(drained in winter, mercifully), the library, the arboretum, and
once even dangling from the beams of the chapel. This year, Lady
Principal Pomeroy had extracted a promise from the sophomores that
they not hide any gloves in the stables. For some reason, it
spooked the horses.

“
But Miss Wells, I was ever
so careful. I don’t know
how
they found my hiding place,” one freshman girl
complained, as Concordia coaxed her back to her room.

“
Don’t worry, dear,”
Concordia soothed, “we’ll find them.” And quickly, she
hoped.

By the third day, nearly all of the
freshmen had recovered their gloves. Peace was once again restored
in the cottages, without the horses being traumatized this
year.

The single gloveless exception was
Willow Cottage’s Miss Carey. Concordia strongly suspected Miss
Smedley had something to do with that. She had noticed glances
exchanged between Alison Smedley and her sophomore cohorts each
morning before chapel, as if enjoying a private triumph.

Concordia could have lent Miss Carey a
pair of her own gloves, but that wouldn’t solve the bigger problem.
She had an idea. That afternoon, when Miss Smedley was out of the
cottage, she called Miss Lovelace to her quarters.

“
Yes, Miss Wells?” Maisie
Lovelace sat primly in the hard back chair, her hands neatly folded
in her lap.

“
Does Alison Smedley have
Miss Carey’s gloves?” Concordia asked bluntly.

Miss Lovelace scowled. “I don’t know
that for a fact, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Concordia raised a skeptical brow. “I
find it hard to believe, as a sophomore yourself, that you didn’t
participate in the prank.”

“
Well, it’s true,” the girl
said defensively. “I intended to, but Alison put herself in charge
of the whole thing. I stayed out of it.”

“
I see.” Concordia
hesitated. “I need to ask you a favor, but it violates the roommate
code of ethics. You are free to decline.”

Miss Lovelace’s eyes widened, but she
waited.

“
I need you to search Miss
Smedley’s belongings—discreetly, so that she is unaware it has been
done,” Concordia went on, firmly squashing a twinge of guilt.
“Would you recognize Miss Carey’s gloves if you saw them? Yes?
Good. Give them to me and tell me where they were hidden. But say
nothing to anyone else.”

Miss Lovelace shifted uneasily. “Are
you going to give them back to Miss Carey? Alison will know I took
them. Things are tense enough between us.”

“
Actually,
she
will give them back.
Leave that to me. Will you help?” Concordia asked.

Miss Lovelace grinned. “Give me a few
minutes.”

The next morning, the fourth day after
the prank, the young ladies of Willow Cottage were dressed and
waiting by the door when Concordia joined them. “Everyone ready?”
She turned to Miss Carey, whose hands were thrust in her jacket
pockets. “No gloves yet?”

“
No, miss,” Miss Carey
whispered, close to tears.

“
Don’t worry, dear, I’m
sure they will turn up.” Concordia turned to Alison Smedley. “Miss
Smedley, lend your gloves to Miss Carey in the meantime, if you
please.”