by Owen, K.
The wood felt intact, although one section wobbled a bit. Feeling around further, she discovered why: several screws had worked their way loose along the left side of the chair back. Perhaps they’d be rough enough to fray her ropes.
Twisting to the best position she could manage, she began rubbing, back and forth, giving a tug at the fibers whenever they caught. Her shoulders were throbbing in agony, but she kept at it. If she could only get her hands free...
Chapter 35
Foul deeds will arise,
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
I, iii.
Capshaw came out of the prisoner’s room, shaking with anger. Pierce had no regard for human decency and cared nothing about a vulnerable little boy. Capshaw had no leverage to use against him. The man had nothing more to lose.
His thoughts were interrupted by the clerk hurrying toward him. “This just came for you, sir,” he huffed, catching his breath.
It was a message from Sophia. Capshaw took a quick look at the contents. “I’m going to the Adams’ house. Call Merrimack back. Miss Wells is not at the college. Have all the men we can spare go straight over to the house of Jacques and Isabelle Durand. If they are still there, hold them.” He passed over the slip of paper with the address. “I’ll join you shortly.” He ran outside to flag down a cab.
Capshaw leaned forward impatiently in his seat as the vehicle was hampered by the crush of evening traffic, made worse by the surge of Christmas season shoppers along the downtown blocks. At last, they pulled up to the Adams house. Capshaw jumped out and told the driver to wait.
As he took the front steps two at a time, he noticed the most mangy excuse for a feline squatted by the door.
The door opened before he could even ring the bell. Sophia and Eli were waiting for him. The cat slipped in before he could stop it, but he forgot about it when he saw the boy.
Capshaw’s mouth tightened in a thin, angry line as he took in the sight of Eli, bruised and scratched, clothes torn and mussed, cheeks sunken, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. But the boy’s eyes lit up when he saw the cat.
“Where did you come from?” Eli said, looking down. The animal wrapped around his legs and purred vigorously. He picked it up and rubbed his face in its fur. “I’m glad that bad man didn’t hurt you,” he murmured.
“That beast is yours?” Capshaw asked.
Eli nodded.
“I suppose it’s coming along, then,” Capshaw said, grudgingly. “We don’t have time to get you cleaned up, son. I have a cab waiting. You can tell me what happened as we ride.”
Sophia touched Capshaw’s sleeve. “Bring her back safe, Aaron. Please.”
Capshaw covered her hand briefly in reassurance, then hurried back to the cab.
Now that they were away from the downtown section, the vehicle went at a brisk pace. Eli held onto the Cat more tightly during the bumps in the road.
“Tell me everything that happened at the Durands, and what you think they are going to do next,” Capshaw said.
The boy told him the whole story, about how he’d worked for Madame in exchange for a place to sleep, because he wasn’t allowed to stay at the college anymore. He recounted how he’d found the key in Madame’s bedroom, when he was sent to look for her reading glasses, and recognized it as the Adams’ house key. He didn’t understand why it was there, but he slipped it in his pocket. Later, when Madame threatened to harm Cat if he didn’t steal Miss Concordia’s amulet, he left the key behind in Miss Concordia’s bedroom, hoping she would understand what it meant.
“And what do you think it means, young man?” Capshaw asked.
“That Madame killed the colonel,” Eli said promptly.
“Smart boy. She is at least involved. However,” Capshaw said, “I can’t find any previous association between Madame Durand and Colonel Adams, save for the recent connection of the colonel’s wife as Madame’s client. But Pierce could not have done it alone from a wheelchair. Madame, along with her husband, obviously helped him. The why of it still escapes me.”
“Then it must be because she’s his daughter, sir,” came the astonishing response.
Capshaw gave the boy a startled look. Out of the mouths of babes oft times come gems. “Madame Durand is Pierce’s daughter?”
Eli nodded. “After I brought her back the amulet, they kept me in the basement” – he shuddered – “but I could hear them plain, talking about her father.”
“It’s a wonder that Miss Wells found you, although she should have come to me, and not rushed in alone,” Capshaw said, mentally clucking at the heedless young lady. Miss Wells would inevitably take matters into her own hands and leave him scrambling to catch up and do his own job. He didn’t try to teach book-learning to college girls; what made her think she could catch criminals? These people were ruthless. She wasn’t prepared.
The cab slowed in front of the Durand house.
“Miss Concordia rescued me. She’s in danger now because of it. We have to save her,” Eli said softly.
The Durand house had the unmistakable look of abandonment: dark, shuttered, rubbish dropped upon the steps. Still, Capshaw and Eli went inside, and Capshaw did a quick walk-through of the building, paying close attention to the basement, crouching down and shining a powerful lantern along the dirt floor.
There was a small bit of blood, but not enough to signify a grievous wound. The dirt was quite trampled. A wide section of it rubbed in one direction, as if something large had been put down and then dragged up again.
As he stood and dusted his hands off on his trousers, he spotted a woman’s reticule in a dark corner and picked it up. “Is this hers?”
Eli nodded and looked curiously at the area Capshaw had been examining. “What can you tell from dirt?”
Capshaw pointed to the smudges. “See here? Looks like she was rolled up in a rug of some sort. They may simply be trying to keep her from being found before they can make their escape. They knew you were going for help. There’s hardly any blood. Miss Wells may be injured, but I’m fairly certain she was alive when they took her,” he said grimly.
They went back outside.
“They’d need a conveyance,” Capshaw mused aloud. “A fair number of belongings are gone. They had their own carriage, correct, son? Do you know what it looks like? Anything distinctive about it? I’m going to have my men comb the neighborhood for anyone who would have seen it and what direction it might be headed.” He waved to a patrol wagon that had just pulled up, discharging uniformed men.
Eli gave Capshaw as good a description as he could remember.
Capshaw took a few quick notes, nodding. “Good. The scraped paint on the left door might help jog folks’ memories.” He turned and issued final instructions to the group before they broke up.
“Will they k-kill her?” Eli asked anxiously.
“Not if we can help it,” Capshaw said.
Chapter 36
To be or not to be, that is the question.
III, i.
As exhausting as it was to saw at her ropes on a rusty old screw, at least it helped to keep her warm. Concordia could feel the fibers beginning to fray, which gave her an additional burst of energy. With each pass she made, the skin of her wrists was rubbed raw against the bonds, but she ignored it.
At last. One final tug, and her wrists were free. The relief to her screaming shoulders was immeasurable. She quickly pulled the kerchief from her mouth, coughing and spitting out the horrid sensation.
Still pinned to the floor she rested, wincing as the blood trickled back into her hands. When her fingers recovered more of their sensation, she felt around the ropes at her midsection for the knots. They were underneath her right side. She couldn’t reach them.
Leaning away as much as she could, she slid her right arm under her and tried pushing away from the floor. After a few attempts, she finally got the chair upright. She gingerly rubbed both wrists.
Ropes remained around her ankles and he
r middle, tying her to the chair back. She couldn’t lean forward far enough to reach her ankles, so she first worked on the knots around her midsection.
After what seemed an interminable, fumbling interval, she was able to pull the ropes away and lean over to work on her ankle bonds. Her hair fell in her eyes again. This time, it was glorious to be able to sweep it away from her face and pin it back.
The ropes around her ankles were a bit easier, or perhaps she had developed more skill. She felt a giddy excitement when the last of the bonds fell away. She was free!
She stood for the first time in hours, holding onto the chair for support. Her legs buckled and she winced as the circulation gradually returned to her feet. She took steps around the chair, still holding the back of it, until she felt confident that she could walk without falling on her face.
She looked around the railcar, her dark-adjusted eyes seeing lighter bits of gloom that peeked through the rusted-out walls.
Now what?
***
Eli and the Cat huddled under the lap robe inside the dark cab, as Capshaw and the other policemen knocked on doors along the row, making inquiries.
The animal slept soundly in Eli’s lap. He stroked the Cat absently, taking comfort in its softness. Until he felt some hard, sticky bumps. “What’s that you got stuck in your tail, there?” He looked closely in the dim light. Several black tarry clumps also adhered to the cat’s haunches. Eli plucked one off. It stirred a memory.
The cab door opened and Capshaw stuck his head in. “We have a few leads. Neighbors saw the Durands’ carriage turn up the block toward Woodland. They could be heading out of the city entirely. Did either of them ever mention relations in Boston, or parts north?”
Eli shook his head, holding out the piece of tarry gravel. “The cat’s been near train tracks tonight. I got a mess o’ this stuff in my hair once when I was sleeping in a rail yard. And the cat follows Miss Concordia around a lot.”
Capshaw leaned in for a better look at the cat. “Possible. There’s an abandoned branch of the old Reading Line not far from Woodland, near Keney Park. It’s doubtful, though, that your cat could have gone all that way, and back, tonight.”
“What if he’d jumped in the back of their carriage, without them noticing? He could’ve walked back from wherever they took Miss Concordia. He does look awful tuckered out.”
“You’ve got a good head on those shoulders, young man,” Capshaw said. He stepped back out of the cab. Eli heard him barking orders to his men. Then he quickly jumped in.
“Let’s go!” he shouted to the driver.
***
After determining that the padlock was indeed securing the door from the outside, making it impossible for her to open it, Concordia started to grope her way carefully around the inner boundary of the box car. If the rats could come in and out, there had be to a few holes somewhere. Besides, there was that flash of eyes she’d seen, just after the Durands had left. Something from outside had peered through a crevice. Larger than a rat – a raccoon, perhaps?
The box car had deteriorated into unusable condition long ago, left to rust into obscurity. The weakest areas seemed to be near the floor. After a great deal of groping around, Concordia found one especially corroded section, where more light came through.
With only a passing care for her skirts – she was already filthy – Concordia positioned herself in front of the weak section of the wall and kicked, hard. She did it over and over again, resting at times to catch her breath.
With her stout boots she was making some progress, but the hole wasn’t big enough yet to crawl through. She kept kicking.
Finally, she slipped off her petticoat. It was her second best one, too. She mercilessly tore it into strips, then wrapped them around her hands and fingers.
Lying flat on her stomach, she could just peer outside. The old-track gravel beds and rusted structures were bathed in bright moonlight. It was a cheering sight. She felt a resurgence of energy and worked on the gap, twisting, bending, and pushing at the broken pieces with her cloth-wrapped hands.
After what felt like an eternity, she judged that she had made a large enough opening. Concordia thrust her head and upper torso through, and paused to breathe in deep lungfuls of the open air. She was dangling three feet above the ground, going head first. Taking great care so she wouldn’t land on her head, she started to push herself through the rest of the way.
And got stuck.
Drat!
It was at this inopportune moment that Concordia heard the sound of wheels popping on the gravel, getting closer. A wave of panic rushed over her. The Durands were coming back, after all. To kill her. She wriggled and squirmed harder, but to no avail. She was wedged tightly at the hips. She couldn’t go forward, or backward.
It was enough to make a lady regret that second scone with an extra spoonful of clotted cream. If she were a bit thinner, she would have made it.
The sounds were getting closer still, and sounded louder than she would have expected. Concordia held her breath.
There were not one, but two vehicles – a cab and a larger wagon. They pulled to a stop, and uniformed men began rushing out of them, fanning out for a search. She recognized the tall, slightly stooped form of Lieutenant Capshaw, and Eli, with the Cat trotting at his heels.
Concordia, hardly able to catch her breath in her exhaustion and sheer relief, called to her rescuers as best as she could. “Over here! I’m here!”
Dangling half out of a railcar is not the most dignified position for a lady to find herself when a squad of policemen discover her.
Capshaw, hurrying over, looked sufficiently startled at the sight. “Eli, let her lean on you so she doesn’t sag,” he instructed. One man found a crowbar and, working carefully near Concordia’s waist, soon had the corrugated tin side pulled away. Two other policemen gently pulled her through and guided her to the ground.
Tears streaming down her face, Concordia sat on the ground, hugging Eli and the Cat, which had promptly jumped into her lap and was contentedly kneading her grimy skirts.
Capshaw crouched down next to Concordia and Eli. He ruffled the boy’s hair. Eli smiled. “This young man would make a formidable detective one day, Miss Wells. Ten minutes’ conversation with him caused the scales to fall from my eyes. We found you much quicker than we would have otherwise, I can assure you.”
Concordia smiled her thanks to the boy, and held him close for a moment.
“Are you ready to tell me what happened here?” Capshaw asked.
She nodded.
When she’d finished, Capshaw shook his head. “We’ve had this conversation before, miss. You should never have gone in there alone.”
“I tried to reach you, lieutenant, really I did. But I couldn’t delay any longer. I was worried about what they might do to Eli.”
Capshaw muttered to himself, “I’ll never understand these modern women. Can’t wait for anything. Have to plunge in…”
“What happens now?” Concordia asked, interrupting the familiar rant.
“We take you home,” Capshaw said.
“What about catching the Durands?”
“We have a watch set out for them.”
“They mentioned sailing for England. Will you be watching the ports as well?”
“’Sailing’?” Capshaw repeated. “Why is this the first I heard of it, Miss Wells?”
“Well, I thought I – didn’t I tell you? Oh,” Concordia said. “When they were talking, Madame Durand said that they would be sailing tomorrow for England. She has a ‘healer’ there, who will use the amulets in some way. I’m sorry. I thought I said so.” She was very tired.
“There’s a regular steamer packet that sails from Boston to Liverpool,” Capshaw mused aloud.
He stood and gestured to one of the patrolmen. “Run over to the station; have them telegraph Hadley at Boston Harbor. Tell him what’s going on and give him the Durands’ description so he can put out an alert.” He turned to Concor
dia and Eli. “It looks like we won’t be able to make the long detour to the college, Miss Wells. We’re going to have our hands full tonight. I’ll take you two back to the Adams’ house, instead – it’s on the way. I know Miss Adams won’t mind if you spend the night.”
“Actually, there is someone at the Adams’ house I want to talk to, lieutenant,” Concordia said.
Chapter 37
A little more than kin, a little less than kind.
I, ii.
The bath felt wonderful. The warmth eased her aching shoulders and back. Concordia soaked in it until the water started to cool. She hoped Eli was getting equally clean. The Adams’ housekeeper had taken charge of the boy; she didn’t look the type to tolerate any dirt.
As she dressed, she thought back to her conversation with Lydia Adams when she first got to the house. Concordia had insisted upon speaking with the widow before cleaning up or getting her wounds tended to.
“Mrs. Adams,” Concordia began, as they sat in the parlor, “take a good look at me. Do you see my condition? I know Sophia has told you some of it, but let me tell you the rest. Your younger stepdaughter’s well-being depends upon you accepting what has really happened.”
Lydia Adams clasped her hands tightly together and sat rigidly in her chair, staring in disbelief. Concordia could see that the widow was taking in her disheveled appearance: her filthy and torn skirts, the rope burns on her wrists, her tangled hair, her bruised temple, her cut lip.
As concisely as possible, Concordia described Madame Durand’s kidnapping of Eli, and then her own capture. She recounted Madame’s gloating confession of her role in helping Pierce kill Colonel Adams.
Mrs. Adams put her face in her hands. “I believed in Madame,” came the muffled response.