Unseemly Pursuits

by Owen, K.

  Lieutenant Capshaw, stoop-shouldered and gloomy as usual, shook his head as he moved past Concordia. “Miss Wells. Why do I always find you in the midst of these events?” He held up a hand to forestall her retort. “If you two would wait for me downstairs.” Without waiting for an answer, he followed Miss Jenkins.

  The harried-looking housekeeper appeared in the hall. “Miss Wells, the policeman wants you and Miss Pomeroy to wait for him in the solarium. Can you see your own way? There’s an uproar below-stairs I have to see to.” Then she, too, hurried out of sight.

  “What problem did you mean, when you were talking about Miss Grant being like your cousin?” Concordia asked, as they walked down the stairs.

  Miss Pomeroy sighed. “Our cousin Arnold. A ‘human magpie’ we called him. He couldn’t resist things that were pretty, shiny, or had some sort of novelty. He would just slip it into a pocket when no one was looking. Rarely was the item of any monetary value; he just liked to have it. The impulse seemed to plague him most when he was under stress.”

  “I’d never heard of such a thing,” Concordia said.

  “Oh, it’s not as unusual as you might think, Miss Wells. ‘Kleptomania,’ it is called. From the Greek ‘kleptein,’ meaning ‘to steal,’ and –”

  “Yes, I see,” Concordia interrupted, wanting to curtail the etymology lecture, which she knew Gertrude Pomeroy dearly loved. “So you believe that our lady principal has klepto…klepto…”

  “Kleptomania,” Miss Pomeroy said. “Yes, that seems clear.”

  “How could she function in such a visible administrative position? Wouldn’t someone have said something by now, from other schools?”

  “It took our family a long while to realize what was happening with Arnold. Turns out, his mother knew all along and was trying to protect him, by putting back the items he stole before anyone noticed. Maybe that’s what happened here?”

  Concordia didn’t respond. Her mind was hard at work, gauging the possibilities. This changed everything.

  Chapter 24

  Be wary, then; best safety lies in fear.

  I.iii

  Weeks 8 and 9, Instructor Calendar

  November 1896

  “What enemies did Miss Grant have?” Capshaw asked, pulling out his oft-folded wad of notes and nub of a pencil.

  Concordia snorted. “You’ve met the woman. No one liked her. If that were the criterion, lieutenant, we’d all be guilty.”

  Capshaw leaned toward Concordia. “We have to start somewhere, Miss Wells. By the way, I have also heard of the…er…incident in the arbor last week. Count yourself lucky you have witnesses to account for your whereabouts today, or you would be my prime suspect.”

  Concordia decided to ignore the jibe.

  “Could it have anything to do with her kleptomania?” Miss Pomeroy asked.

  “Her what?”

  Miss Pomeroy explained to Capshaw the rash of missing items that the school had experienced since the lady principal’s arrival this semester, some of which they had found in her rooms, and her theory that someone could be helping Miss Grant stay ahead of trouble.

  “I noticed a clutter of objects when I examined the scene, but had no idea they were stolen,” Capshaw said. “And you think, Miss Pomeroy, that someone has been shielding her?”

  “I do, now that I’ve been thinking more on it,” Gertrude Pomeroy said. She turned to Concordia. “Remember the librarian’s teapot that went missing, only to be found later, in the infirmary, of all places? Not the faculty lounge, or the library, where one might reasonably expect it to turn up? And how about Ruby’s lambskin gloves, the ones she thought she’d left in the dining hall, which turned up on a bench outside the arboretum, somewhere that Ruby never goes?”

  “I see,” Capshaw said. “Who do you think could be covering for her?”

  Miss Pomeroy shrugged.

  Concordia had an idea. “I think Miss Jenkins knows, Lieutenant.”

  It took a while to track down Hannah Jenkins since she had been kept so busy with Miss Grant. Once Capshaw talked with that lady, however, he immediately sent for Mr. Harrison and called Miss Pomeroy and Concordia back to the solarium.

  Judging by his white, stricken face, Mr. Harrison had obviously heard the news. “Please, can I go see her?” he asked Capshaw.

  “We can take you over there shortly, Mr. Harrison,” Capshaw said. “But first, I want to know why you have been sneaking into Miss Grant’s office and putting back items that she had stolen. What is your relationship to the lady?”

  “You know –?” He looked defeated. “I suppose it was bound to come out. Yes, I was aware of her thefts. I tried to put back everything I could find. When her back was turned. I’d learned long ago that there was no use arguing with her.”

  “You have a history with the lady, then, Mr. Harrison?” Capshaw asked.

  Harrison looked down at his immaculately-manicured nails. “She is my half-sister.”

  Miss Jenkins’ eyes widened. Miss Pomeroy nodded. Concordia just kept looking from one person to another.

  “You two are related?” she said in disbelief. She had never encountered a more unlikely pair: Miss Grant, hot-tempered, malicious, gluttonous and nosy; Mr. Harrison, cerebral, distant, meticulous, and controlled.

  Harrison stared down at his hands. “She had to move around a great deal. She changed employment nearly every year. We’ve tried doctors, medicines. Nothing worked. Finally, I decided to get myself hired at the same schools to try to keep her out of trouble. No one was to know that I’m her brother. It was easier that way.”

  “Do you have any idea who would have assaulted your sister, Mr. Harrison? Or why?” Capshaw asked.

  He hesitated.

  “Yes?” Capshaw prompted.

  “There has been one item that I am sure she took, which she has hidden from me very cleverly. I haven’t been able to find it,” Harrison said. “I wonder if her attacker was after it.”

  “What item is that?” Capshaw asked.

  Harrison looked right at Concordia. “I’ve heard rumors that you possess one, too. I would be careful, Miss Wells.”

  Concordia suppressed a shudder.

  “What item?” Capshaw repeated.

  “The heart amulet from the exhibit. My sister stole it.”

  Concordia and Miss Pomeroy looked at each other. At least, Miss Phillips would be relieved to hear that.

  “And you said nothing earlier, in order to protect her?” Capshaw asked.

  “Yes, that – and I didn’t see her actually steal it,” Harrison said. “But she was right beside the table it was set upon, when there was a great deal of commotion…Colonel Adams had walked into the wrong lavatory, I believe –” at this, Miss Pomeroy blushed profusely – “and my sister is very good at sleight-of-hand.”

  “How do you think the amulet is connected with her attack? Was it a valuable item?” Capshaw asked, taking notes in a rapid hand.

  Harrison cleared his throat. “Not to my knowledge, but…well, you see, er…Madame Durand said the amulet was cursed.”

  “Indeed?” Capshaw said. “I wasn’t under the impression that college people believed in such –” he appeared to choose his word carefully – “phenomena.”

  Harrison flushed. “I know it sounds absurd. It’s just that I have not been able to shake the sense that someone desperately wants that amulet, and it has brought misfortune to its possessor.” He looked at Concordia. “Possessors,” he corrected.

  Concordia felt a chill run up her spine. She hadn’t considered herself a target before, and now Mr. Harrison was giving her goosebumps. She remembered Madame Durand’s warning at the end of her psychic demonstration, the same night the medium had pronounced that Miss Phillips had lost something of value. Then, when the railing had given way, Concordia saw her chanting doom, doom, over and over, in the midst of the crowd below.

  But really, Madame Durand had been making dire pronouncements ever since she’d set foot on campus. With all the ba
d things happening lately she hadn’t been far wrong.

  “Well, whatever the reason,” Capshaw said briskly, stuffing his notes back in his pocket, “we can at least check to see if the amulet is in her quarters. Thank you, sir. The patrolman is waiting outside to escort you to the hospital.”

  As the others got up to leave they heard a disturbance outside.

  “You cannot go in. Lieutenant’s orders!” they heard through the door.

  Capshaw sighed and opened the door. There was Ben Rosen arguing with the patrolman.

  “You,” Capshaw pointed to the reporter, “out.”

  Rosen, bowler tipped back on his head, ignored Capshaw. He was writing furiously as he got a good look at the room’s occupants. “Hmm, interviewed Miss Wells, Miss Pomeroy…is that one ‘m’ or two?...and…What’s your name, sir?” he asked Mr. Harrison, who blanched and took a step back.

  Capshaw exchanged a meaningful look with the patrolman, who promptly took Rosen by the elbow. “You heard the Lieutenant – move!” Still protesting and scribbling, Rosen was forcibly ushered out the side door.

  “I hope he doesn’t spell my name wrong,” Miss Pomeroy murmured.

  “How did he find out so quickly about Miss Grant?” Concordia said.

  Capshaw shrugged. “A hospital attendant, a maid here at the college, an errand boy? Most of these newspapermen offer money for a tip like this.” He looked over at Harrison. “I’m sorry, sir. It would all come out, sooner or later, in the papers. Looks like it will be sooner.”

  Harrison, who had recovered some of his color, nodded stiffly.

  Soon, everyone else had left but Concordia and Capshaw.

  “Was there something else you wanted, miss?” Capshaw asked, seeing her linger.

  “How are Sophia and Amelia?” Concordia asked.

  Capshaw gave a great sigh. “It’s still a bit of a mess. As you know, Miss Adams has been able to delay the mental evaluation of the little girl until the expert returns from Europe. Between Mr. Bradley’s visits and her sister’s presence, Miss Amelia is more calm – unless we try to bring up the subject of the colonel.” His face softened. “She is a brave little girl. As is her sister.”

  Concordia realized with a start that Capshaw seemed emotionally involved with the sisters. She had never seen the softer side to the policeman before.

  “Well, I have something promising,” Concordia said, “look at this.” She pulled out the translation of her father’s journal that Miss Phillips had accomplished so far.

  Capshaw’s expression brightened as he reached for them. Concordia watched him read with increased absorption until he got to the abrupt end of the passage.

  “I will telegraph the museum in Boulaq,” Capshaw said. “It might take some time. It’s unfortunate that your father never gives the man’s proper name.”

  “I know, but we can’t be sure, even if he’s in the area, that he would be using his given name,” Concordia pointed out. “He might have used an alias to avoid tipping his hand and putting Colonel Adams on his guard.”

  “You’ll let me know when Miss Phillips has deciphered the rest of it?”

  Concordia nodded, and turned to leave.

  “Miss Wells? You may want to secure that amulet of yours. I’m going back to check the lady principal’s quarters and office now, but if Mr. Harrison is correct about what his sister’s attacker was after…you are a target as well.”

  It was well past curfew when Concordia crossed the grounds. Although the half-moon was out behind the clouds, it did little to illuminate the barely-lit path, instead casting threatening shadows that made her pick up her pace and glance over her shoulder more than once as she headed to Willow Cottage. Her breath came out as ghostly wraiths in the chill November air. She shivered. Why hadn’t she waited for Lieutenant Capshaw to escort her back? Pride? Fatigue? She just wanted to crawl into her bed and forget the sight of Miss Grant’s strangled form.

  She stopped short as she approached the science building, where the door had opened, and a light was snuffed out. She uttered a little squeak of alarm as a man’s shadow approached. Her heart hammered in her throat.

  “Concordia – it’s just me,” a voice whispered.

  She let out the breath she was holding. “David! You scared me to death! Whatever are you doing out this late?”

  David Bradley looked down at her. In the moonlight, she could see his brow creased in worry. “I heard about Miss Grant. Is it true you found her?”

  Concordia nodded, shuddering.

  He removed his jacket and put it over her shoulders. “Let’s get you home.”

  She pulled the soft wool collar more firmly around her, breathing in the faint scent of his shaving soap. The silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Concordia sensed there was a great deal David wanted to say. As did she.

  “Thank you for speaking to President Langdon last week,” she said at last.

  He looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry about my behavior that night. You had enough to be distressed about.”

  Concordia sighed. “I know you were concerned for my welfare. Heaven knows I can be stubborn.” She must drive him crazy with her pig-headedness. But what exactly was he sorry for: kissing her, or putting her in a compromising position with the lady principal?

  They had reached the porch of Willow Cottage. She handed back his jacket. There was one thing she needed to make clear. “David. Can you accept that, right or wrong, I must make my own decisions? I need a friend, not a protector.”

  “Is that all you need, Concordia?” David held her gaze for a moment before her eyes dropped.

  “Such things are seldom simple,” was all she could trust herself to say.

  One thing she did know: he was not in love with Sophia and that thought made her feel like a giddy schoolgirl. Land sakes.

  “Good night,” he said.

  After he left, she quietly undid the latch and slipped into the cottage. A curious sight greeted her in the front hallway: that of the house matron, sleeping upright in a chair and snoring like a lumberjack. She was clad in a threadbare old nightdress, wrapped in a shawl and shod in homely felt slippers. A Winchester rifle lay across her knees.

  Obviously, Ruby knew about the attack on Miss Grant and had taken matters into her own hands to protect her lambs. Where on earth did she get such a weapon? The woman was enormously self-sufficient.

  And yet, it was an oddly comforting sight.

  Careful not to wake her, Concordia secured the latch and tiptoed into her room.

  Sleep, when it did come, was uneasy, riddled with visions of Miss Grant’s swollen, purple face.

  Chapter 25

  This above all, to thine own self be true.

  I.iii

  Week 10, Instructor Calendar

  November 1896

  Lieutenant Capshaw and his men visited every day the week following the attack upon Miss Grant, questioning staff and students. Capshaw had not found the amulet in the lady principal’s quarters, nor in her office. He sent several telegrams to officials in Egypt looking for more information about Red, and combed through lists of men with known associations to Colonel Adams, to see if anyone matched Red’s description.

  With the active police presence on campus and Rosen’s front page story in The Courant about the attack, worried parents began scooping up their girls and taking them home. Since normality could not be restored under such circumstances, President Langdon bowed to the inevitable and suspended all classes until after the Thanksgiving recess.

  Miss Phillips was feeling much better but had a backload of work from her illness. She promised Concordia that she would finish her father’s journal during the holiday break. Concordia tried not to chafe at the delay.

  Miss Grant remained in the hospital, still unconscious. Her recovery was uncertain. Mr. Harrison spent most of his time with her.

  So it was with great surprise that Concordia found him ringing the bell of Willow Cottage one afternoon just before Thanksgiving
.

  “Mr. Harrison, hello!” Concordia exclaimed. “Please, come in.” She led him into the parlor. He perched on the edge of the seat in his usual meticulous manner, careful of trouser creases, hands together in his lap. Except, Concordia noticed, his hands were pressed together to keep them from trembling. The man was under a terrible strain.

  “How is Miss Grant?” she asked politely.

  “No better, but thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I have come to ap-apologize for my sister’s treatment of you.”

  Concordia shook her head. “None is necessary, I assure you, Mr. Harrison. You are not responsible for her behavior.” She looked at him searchingly. “But can you explain something that I’ve never understood. Why does she hate me so?”

  Mr. Harrison sighed and looked down at his well-polished shoes. “Please know it is not your fault. Olivia has suffered grievously, Miss Wells. People have no idea how destructive an impulse it is – to want, to steal, to acquire. How anxiety- and guilt-ridden a thing it is. When she came to campus, determined once again to conquer her impulses and make a fresh start, she saw you and felt an overwhelming envy. Her circumstances have made her a bitter woman. You were everything she could never be: confident, young, pretty, well-liked, successful.”

  Concordia hadn’t considered herself any of these things, but she supposed through Miss Grant’s eyes it could have seemed so. “I’m sorry for you both.”

  Harrison acknowledged this with a bow of the head, and said: “I know that others will be taking over my duties once classes resume, but what about the play? Will it still go on?”

  Concordia nodded. “Miss Pomeroy – she’s the acting lady principal now, being the most senior of the faculty – has pushed back the performance date to the end of term, in late January. And Miss Banning has agreed to help me.” Given last year’s experience, however, help from that quarter wouldn’t be quite as constructive as she would like, but she would manage.