Unseemly Pursuits

by Owen, K.

  “I know. She has victimized a number of good people,” Concordia said gently.

  Concordia stood next to Lydia Adams and put a hand on her shoulder. “But you now have someone else to care for, so you cannot succumb to self-pity. Amelia needs you. Put an end to these commitment proceedings. We know now, without question, that Amelia had nothing to do with your husband’s death. She was a victim herself, struck on the head by his killers. The rest has all been confusion and misunderstandings.”

  Mrs. Adams lifted her tear-streaked face to Concordia. “I don’t know…how…to care for a young child.”

  “You will learn,” Concordia said. “Sophia will help. You two are all she has in this world. Just love her.”

  This family had a lot of healing left to do, thanks to the people who had brought on all this grief: Pierce, Madame Durand, and Jacques Durand. At least Pierce wasn’t going anywhere, but Concordia shuddered at the thought of the other two escaping.

  After her bath, Concordia made herself as presentable as she could in one of Sophia’s gowns, even though she had to hold up the hem to keep from tripping on it. She went in search of Eli, following the delectable scents of cream of leek soup and toasted bread. Wherever there was food, the boy was bound to be. Her own stomach was rumbling, too. When had she eaten last? She remembered a roll at breakfast, when she’d spoken to Miss Phillips.

  Instead of Sophia waiting for her in the dining room, however, it was David Bradley, of all people. Concordia stopped, mouth open, at the sight of him ladling soup into a bowl that he then passed to her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “David! What are you doing here?”

  “Sophia sent word as soon as she knew you were safe. We’ve all been worried about you, Concordia. Especially me.”

  The man, indeed, looked strained, with deep shadows under his eyes, pale-edged lips, and furrowed lines along his forehead.

  Tears prickled the backs of Concordia’s eyes. She’d felt so alone in that railcar. But she really hadn’t been.

  Sophia walked in.

  “Where’s Eli?” Concordia asked her.

  “He’s finished with his supper, and the doctor is seeing to his wounds now. You’re next,” Sophia added, gesturing to Concordia’s wrists, “and heaven knows you need tending to, so eat up.” She paused, as if to say something more.

  “What is it?” Concordia asked.

  Sophia smiled. “I don’t know what you told Lydia, but thank you. She came to me a short while ago, wanting to set things right between the three of us. She’s talking about treatment for Amelia, and our holiday plans together.” She shook her head. “I would not have thought it possible a few weeks ago.”

  “Thank goodness,” David said. “Maybe there’s hope for the woman, after all.”

  Concordia smiled to herself, finished her soup, and had a second bowl. It was very good soup.

  At last, she felt contentedly full, and ready for the doctor. Perhaps he could give her something for the dull throbbing in her temples. Then she was looking forward to bed.

  The doorbell rang.

  At this late hour?

  “The doctor’s in the study. You go on. I’ll get it,” Sophia said.

  David, determined not to leave Concordia’s side, followed her to the study.

  It was profoundly altered from its use in the colonel’s time, Concordia noted. Gone were the artifact collections, sword displays, and military awards cases. In their place were shelves of well-thumbed books. The heavy oak desk had been replaced by a lighter one of teak, with gracefully-turned spindle legs; the windows now sported airy sheers instead of the dark burgundy velvet drapes. Sophia had a hand in the transformation, no doubt.

  She looked over to the fire. Eli was curled up asleep on the settee.

  “Miss Wells?”

  The doctor who had attended Amelia just after the colonel’s death – was it only this past September? – gave a little bow.

  “How is he?” she asked anxiously, looking over at the boy again. He looked so vulnerable, laying there: pale and pinched around the hollows of his cheeks, the sweep of his dark lashes deepening the bruise under one eye. But he slept easily, his breathing even. “Will he be all right?”

  “Right as rain, given a week or so,” the doctor said. “The injuries are superficial. But I feel sorry for what the poor lad went through.” He shook his head. “Sturdy fellow.”

  “The light is better over here,” the man added, pointing to the lamp. “Shall we take a look?”

  The doctor was still applying ointment and bandages to tender spots when Sophia came in with Lieutenant Capshaw. The policeman looked subdued. Concordia felt a lurch of disappointment in the pit of her stomach.

  “It’s bad news, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Not entirely,” Capshaw answered. He passed a weary hand across his red hair, making it stand on end. “Jacques Durand has been taken into custody....” He paused.

  “But not Madame,” Concordia finished.

  He shook his head.

  “The harbor police can get nothing from Durand. He refuses to even speak,” Capshaw continued. “I’m going up there to question him myself and bring him back.”

  “I’d be happy to accompany you, sir,” David said.

  But it would take too long to retrieve Jacques Durand, Concordia thought. Isabelle Durand could be anywhere by then. Had the couple decided to flee separately to better avoid capture, or did Madame have something else in mind?

  Concordia began to get a glimmer of a very bold plan by Isabelle Durand. The woman who would do anything for her beloved father.

  She pulled away from the doctor’s ministrations and stood. “Lieutenant, do you still have Pierce in custody? I think we’ll want to make sure.”

  Chapter 38

  Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!

  I, iv

  Capshaw left David and Sophia back at the Adams’ house, but took Concordia with him, so she could explain the logic that led to this astonishing line of thought. Who would be daring enough – and foolish enough – to risk capture by freeing a crippled man in police custody? And a woman who was herself wanted by the authorities, at that.

  During the short drive to the police station, Concordia explained what she had come to understand about Madame Durand’s all-consuming devotion to her father, and her sense of invincibility. It didn’t seem like enough of a reason, Concordia acknowledged, but something else – something she had overlooked and couldn’t quite remember now – was telling her it was possible.

  Capshaw gave her skeptical look. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to make sure.”

  As they pulled up to the station, every lamp was blazing, and several uniformed officers had congregated outside.

  Concordia bit her lip nervously. She’d hoped she was wrong about Madame’s intentions. Then she remembered. Another woman had visited Pierce in jail today. The sergeant had made reference to a “lady visitor, quite pretty,” when Concordia had asked about Pierce. Had it been Madame Durand?

  The spirit medium was certainly a beauty, with a piquant face, lustrous black hair, and clear blue eyes, although that loveliness now struck Concordia as cold and monstrous.

  Frailty, thy name is woman.

  Capshaw jumped out before the cab had come to a complete stop. “What happened?” he called out.

  Concordia shamelessly stuck out her head and listened.

  A nearby sergeant snapped to attention. “A woman, sir. Dressed as a hospital aide, showed us her authorization to check on the cell conditions and care of the crippled prisoner. It looked genuine and she was just a petite little thing. Seemed harmless –” the man shook his head. “Well, she walloped the orderly over the head when his back was turned, tied and gagged him and locked him in before she escaped with the prisoner. We only discovered the orderly a few minutes ago. We were just coming to get you. I’m sorry, sir.”

  Capshaw made a low grumbling sound in his throat. “Is the orderly
alive?”

  “Yes, sir, thankfully, though he’ll have a nasty headache.”

  “He’ll have more than a headache when I’m done with him,” Capshaw said, grimly, “and I will deal with you later, sergeant. What woman would be out in the middle of the night on such an errand? Think, man!”

  The man cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes.

  “So she arrived about an hour ago?” Capshaw asked. “In what sort of conveyance?”

  The man referred to his notes. “It was a private vehicle. The driver got pushed out by Pierce about a mile away after they left here. The fellow’s just walked back to report it.” The policeman pulled forward a small man from the cluster of people. The driver certainly looked the worse for wear: clothes muddy, forehead scratched, one eye swollen shut.

  Still, Concordia knew him right away. Oh, no.

  “Isaac!” she cried. Her mother’s driver.

  Capshaw looked at her, then the driver, and groaned. “You know this man? Do you mean to tell me…?”

  “Yes,” Concordia said. “It looks as if my mother has helped them escape.”

  Chapter 39

  The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

  III, ii

  A very anxious Mrs. Wells answered the door when they rang. She opened it herself, but her face fell when she saw Concordia and Capshaw. “Oh. I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you might be – Isaac!” she cried, getting her first glimpse of her battered driver, standing behind them. “What’s happened? Is Madame injured?”

  The driver snorted in derision, but Capshaw held up a hand. “May we come in?”

  “Oh, yes – of course.” She ushered them into the parlor, where a newly-stoked fire was burning brightly.

  She rang for the housekeeper as they sat. “What on earth is going on? Concordia…can you explain this?”

  “Mother, did you lend Madame Durand your carriage?” Concordia asked.

  “Yes…was there an accident?” she asked anxiously.

  “N’aught hardly,” the driver retorted. “Tha’ devil-woman an’ her da in the charr attack’d me. Threw me out o’ the carriage an’ kept goin’.”

  Mrs. Wells put her hand to her mouth in horror. “Isabelle did this? Who is this man he’s talking about?”

  “Her father,” Concordia said bluntly. “Red. And she just broke him out of prison.”

  Her mother’s eyes grew wide with shock.

  The housekeeper walked in at that moment, a robe hastily wrapped around her, hair in a long gray braid over her shoulder.

  “Mrs. Houston,” Concordia said, “can you take Isaac to the kitchen and tend to him? He’s had a difficult evening.”

  The housekeeper looked over at Mrs. Wells, who nodded mutely.

  “Now, Mrs. Wells,” Capshaw said, when the two had left, “I want you to tell me everything Madame Durand said – what she needed the carriage for, where she was going. Everything.”

  “Well, she looked distraught,” Mrs. Wells began. “I’d never seen her that way before. Her demeanor is always so calm and controlled. I was quite concerned. She said that her aunt had become grievously ill and she needed to go to her immediately. However, their own carriage was in need of repair and would not withstand an out-of-town trip.”

  “Did she say where her aunt resided?” Capshaw interrupted.

  “No, but I had the impression it was south of here,” she said vaguely.

  Concordia, who understood her mother’s nuances of expression, raised an eyebrow. Was she still trying to protect Madame Durand?

  “Continue,” Capshaw said, scribbling notes in a quick hand.

  “For a generous sum, my driver was willing to go with her. Madame assured me that he would only be gone for a few days, and she would send him back with the carriage as soon as she reached her aunt.”

  “Why were you waiting up?” Concordia asked. “Did you expect her to change her mind and return?”

  “I don’t know; she was acting strangely, and seemed angry and preoccupied. I didn’t understand why her husband was not with her, and she wouldn’t explain. I wondered if I should contact Monsieur Durand myself. I was worried and couldn’t sleep.”

  Mrs. Wells turned to Concordia, eyes pleading. “Surely there is some mistake. How could she have done this? How could she be Red’s daughter? How did Red, an associate of your father’s from two decades ago, come to be in prison, here?”

  “Red is actually Augustus Pierce, the former dean of our college,” Concordia explained. “Do you remember the man in the wheelchair, the night you attended Madame’s demonstration at the college? That man. He was arrested for attacking Lady Principal Grant, and me, and he probably murdered Colonel Adams, too.”

  Mrs. Wells’ mouth formed a silent ‘o.’

  “You hadn’t read about the arrest of Dean Pierce in the papers?” Capshaw asked.

  “Why, yes, but there was no mention of Colonel Adams or Concordia. I was under the impression it was an isolated incident brought on by an unstable invalid. I had no idea.” Mrs. Wells looked at her daughter. “Are you all right? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m fine. I didn’t wish the incident to be a topic of conversation between you and Madame Durand,” Concordia said acidly. “She seems to know a great deal of our personal affairs.”

  Mrs. Wells flushed, but said nothing.

  “You had never met Red, when Papa was alive?” Concordia asked.

  Mrs. Wells looked down at her hands. “Once. But that was more than twenty years ago. It is a time I wish to forget.”

  “Well, you have no choice,” Concordia said, more harshly than she’d intended.

  She stood up and walked over to her mother, leaning close. She pulled away the collar of her gown, revealing the faded bruises from Pierce’s attempt to strangle her. “Red did this when he tried to get Papa’s map of the tomb from me.” Then she pushed up her sleeves to show her bandages and cuts. “This is what your beloved Madame Durand did to me when she tied me up and left me to die in an abandoned railway car tonight. That was after I had freed a little boy she’d kept prisoner and terrorized, all to get the amulet from that long-lost tomb. Do you see? We cannot forget, because Papa’s past is here with us, now.”

  Mrs. Wells’ lips had gone white, and she looked ready to faint.

  “Enough, Concordia,” Capshaw said, with a warning gesture. “Get your mother a glass of water.”

  Concordia took several deep breaths to regain her composure. The depth of her anger threatened to overwhelm her. Her knees buckled, and she grasped the chair for support.

  Capshaw eased her into the chair, then grabbed the pitcher and poured water for them both.

  “Now,” he said, when both women were calmer, “no one here is to blame for these incidents.” He gave Concordia a hard look.

  Concordia, chastened, moved to sit beside her mother. She patted her hand consolingly. “I’m sorry, Mother. It truly is not your fault. But you cannot protect Madame Durand any longer.”

  Mrs. Wells, still trembling, nodded silently.

  “We are dealing with desperate people, Mrs. Wells,” Capshaw said. “They must not be permitted to escape. Do you know where Madame was heading?”

  “She didn’t tell me,” Mrs. Wells protested.

  “We know that,” Concordia said, “but surely, after all of the time you’ve spent with her, she has told you some things about herself? I remember at the Thanksgiving dinner that the two of you seemed very close. You’d become more than a client to her, and more like a friend. What can you surmise, based upon what you know?”

  Mrs. Wells stared at the fire. Concordia and Capshaw waited.

  “I remember her speaking of a mentor, in New York,” Mrs. Wells said finally, sitting up straighter. “Yes, an elderly lady…Mrs. Washbourne.”

  “Any idea where in New York?” Capshaw said, leaning forward eagerly.

  Mrs. Wells frowned in concentration. “Well, she said they had formed a Greenwich Clairvoyant Society a
mong their group. Could that be the locale, Lieutenant?”

  “Mrs. Washbourne, in Greenwich,” Capshaw repeated. “That should be enough.” He stood, as did the ladies. “Thank you.”

  “Concordia, stay here with me tonight,” her mother said softly, clasping Concordia’s hands. “We have a great deal to say to one another.”

  Concordia felt the prickling of tears behind her eyes. “Yes, we do.” She looked pleadingly at Capshaw. “Get them, Lieutenant – please.”

  Capshaw left, closing the parlor door discreetly behind him as mother and daughter hugged and cried together.

  Chapter 40

  There’s a divinity that shapes our ends.

  V, ii

  Week 14, Instructor Calendar

  December 1896

  The campus was a festive place, as the girls put on their Christmas revels and choruses, visited each other with gifts and tokens, and attended the rounds of class teas and chapel services. In the generous spirit of the season, the girls had made and signed a get-well card for the former lady principal before Miss Grant and Mr. Harrison had left Hartford for good.

  In a few days, when the students went home for winter recess, the college would be cleared of the bustle and noise. But Concordia knew she would miss the chaos.

  The exhibit was recovering nicely. Miss Phillips reveled in the school’s additional acquisitions from Colonel Adams’ collection, recently donated by his widow.

  Eli and the Cat were installed at the newly-renovated Settlement House, while the mice population tentatively ventured back to Willow Cottage.

  “Ugh,” Ruby said, after disposing of yet another rodent that had braved the kitchen, “I miss that boy’s kitty. Maybe we should get one of our own?”

  Concordia didn’t answer.

  The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Concordia said. She opened the door to Lieutenant Capshaw.

  “Come in!”

  He stamped the snow off his boots and removed his cap before Concordia led him into the parlor.