Unseemly Ambition

by K. B. Owen

  I do not offer any excuse for letting him go, except that I was young and frightened. Other life events have intervened in the past eleven years, and I have tired of the facade. I’ve secured enough money to leave the area and live comfortably abroad.

  As you know, I intended to take Eli with me. But you made a persuasive argument for leaving him here, where he can be raised by a loving family. I was appalled when Miss Newcombe told me of what he had been through. His foster mother must have been subjected to desperate circumstances. I never knew.

  There is another reason why I’ve changed my mind about taking the boy. Certain unscrupulous people with whom I’ve had dealings are tracking my movements. I may expose Eli to danger if he accompanies me. I’ve already had one near miss, in an alley near the settlement house. If a good stranger had not come along, I would have been attacked. Thank heaven I wasn’t followed to my lodging.

  But before I leave for good, I am resolved to spend a bit more time with the child. I think he is coming to like me, but when I tell him goodbye, I know he’ll be relieved to stay. I hope it won’t be too much of a risk to remain for one more day, so we can spend it together. They haven’t found me yet.

  If you could do something for me: when you judge the boy old enough, please tell him my story. Perhaps he won’t look upon his mother too unkindly. I have enclosed a photograph of myself that I hope he would like to keep someday.

  Please assure Eli’s new parents that I will not trouble them in the future.

  Regards,

  Florence Tooey

  P.S.— If something should happen to me, ask Eli to show you the gift I gave him. —F.T.

  Concordia sat back in her chair, took off her spectacles, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Obviously “one more day” had been too long, and the men from the alley had caught up with her. But what had happened to Eli? Had he been with her when she was killed? Concordia shuddered.

  What had Florence been involved in, that she had made enemies such as these?

  She glanced again at the postscript. Ask Eli to show you the gift I gave him. However, both Eli and the gift—no doubt the pocket watch Florence had given him at the settlement house—were gone.

  Capshaw needed to see this. It could be the break in the case he needed. Besides, if Concordia were honest with herself, she hoped to learn what progress Capshaw had made.

  But it was nearly dinnertime. She would be expected to accompany the students in her charge to the dining hall and eat at the faculty table. Surely the lady principal would understand if she didn’t attend this time, although Dean Maynard might not.

  She would have to risk it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Week 5, Instructor Calendar

  March 1898

  Sadie led Concordia to the Capshaws’ parlor, where she found Sophia pacing, as she was wont to do when upset. Capshaw stood beside a wing chair, imploring her to sit down. They both stopped when Concordia entered.

  “Aaron’s been taken off the case,” Sophia said.

  “When? Why?” Concordia turned to Capshaw. “They weren’t satisfied with your progress?” She had difficulty believing the lieutenant would fail. “It’s only been a week, after all.”

  Capshaw made a low growling sound in the back of this throat. “I was making progress. That’s what I don’t understand. Chief Stiles called me to his office this morning and notified me that I was being reassigned.”

  “Why?” Concordia repeated.

  Capshaw made a face. “He said I was going too far afield in my investigation, spending too many man hours on wild goose chases, looking into the background of Florence Willoughby.”

  Concordia started. “Willoughby? Not Tooey?”

  He nodded, pulling out his sheaf of wadded notes. “Florence Cassandra Willoughby, thirty years old, never married. Of the Providence Willoughbys. You may have heard of them. “

  Concordia nodded. “I think so. Is that the family who supplies half of the dry goods’ retailers in New England, and holds the summer cotillion every year in their Newport mansion?”

  “The same.”

  “Speaking of her background,” Concordia said, fishing in her reticule, “Florence sent me this. It’s dated the day before she died.” She passed Capshaw the letter.

  Capshaw raised an eyebrow. “She wrote to you?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Your talent for becoming entangled in murder investigations never ceases to amaze me.”

  Concordia suppressed a smile as Capshaw read through the letter, Sophia looking over his shoulder.

  “I wish I’d seen this before I was off the case,” Capshaw said, glaring at Concordia. “I would have been able to investigate the unscrupulous people she mentions here, and that aborted attack in the alley.”

  “I’m sorry,” Concordia said. “I brought it over as soon as I found it.”

  Sophia gave her husband a sharp eye before turning back to Concordia. “Don’t mind Aaron. He’s upset about Eli.”

  Capshaw grimaced in apology.

  “Isn’t an investigation into Florence’s background a reasonable step, Lieutenant?” Concordia asked. “Why would your chief object to that?”

  Capshaw shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Perhaps the family has complained about your inquiries,” Sophia offered.

  “If so, they care more for their privacy than catching their daughter’s killer,” Capshaw retorted.

  Sophia stopped pacing and sat down. “And what about Eli?”

  “I asked the chief about that,” Capshaw said. “He said the boy is clearly an unstable street arab, and has probably moved on. The chief sees no connection to Florence’s murder, even though she was the boy’s mother, and his disappearance coincided with her death. Apparently,” he added bitterly, “sentiment is clouding my judgment in the matter.”

  “But Eli’s cat was found in the room, with the body,” Concordia said.

  “Yes, I reminded him of that. It’s absurd to believe that Eli is not involved,” Capshaw said.

  “Has Chief Stiles ever interfered with an investigation of yours before?” Sophia asked.

  Capshaw shook his head. “This bothers me in many ways. He has replaced me with an officer who is new and relatively inexperienced, and put me in charge of a minor case—over at your school, in fact,” he added, looking at Concordia.

  Concordia started. “My school?”

  “It seems there have been reports of a strange man slipping past the gatekeeper and onto the college grounds at odd hours. He hasn’t been caught yet; no one knows who he is or what his purpose might be.”

  That was fast, Concordia thought. She’d only spoken with Clyde last night. Unless they were talking about…. “Which one?” she asked.

  Capshaw raised an eyebrow. “There are more than one?”

  Concordia nodded. “A youth, and an older man.” She started with the youth, describing the times she had seen him on the school grounds, including last night.

  “But I was too far away for a good look,” she said.

  Capshaw scribbled in his oft-folded wad of notes. “That doesn’t sound like the man I was instructed to investigate, but I’ll check on him. What about the other one?”

  “He was a large, burly man, quite disagreeable. Unfortunately, I had closer contact with him.”

  Capshaw pursed his lips thoughtfully. “The burly one sounds like the stranger the school has complained about. He’s been seen on two occasions.”

  Concordia shifted uneasily. “I didn’t realize he’d returned. I only met him once.”

  “But you spoke to this man?” Capshaw asked. “What did he say?”

  “He was obviously intoxicated. He asked for Ruby, who wasn’t there. He held a newspaper clipping and said he wanted to see the famous Mrs. Hitchcock. I had him escorted off the grounds.”

  Capshaw looked up with interest. “He asked specifically for Ruby?”

  Concordia nodded. “I spoke with her later about it; she doesn’t have a clue who
he might be. We think the newspaper article is to blame. But surely, this is a simple security matter that a less experienced policeman can handle?”

  “That’s exactly my point!” Capshaw exploded. “I cannot help but think the chief is under orders to take me off the case.”

  “Orders from whom... and why?” Sophia asked.

  “Perhaps you’re getting close to learning something that someone else doesn’t want known,” Concordia mused aloud. “The Willoughbys?”

  “It’s possible.” Capshaw picked up Florence’s letter. “They may have been trying to keep their daughter’s secret, which is a moot point now. One would think that catching the killer would take precedence.”

  “Are they so influential that the police chief would accede to their wishes?” Sophia asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can you investigate on your own time, without Stiles finding out?” Concordia asked.

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible.” Capshaw said. “He warned me about attempting that very thing. My activities will be closely monitored.”

  Concordia bit back her disappointment. The boy’s continued absence was twisting her stomach with worry. Sophia and Capshaw must feel it even more deeply. Where could he be? She hadn’t realized until now that all of her hope was resting upon Capshaw’s detective abilities.

  He was the only detective she knew, and now….

  She sat up a little straighter. Capshaw was not the only detective she knew. There was someone else.

  The ever-perceptive Capshaw gave her a sharp glance. “You’ve thought of something.”

  “I’m not sure you’re going to like this. I think we need to call in an old friend to help us.”

  Sophia eyed them in confusion. “Who?”

  Capshaw tapped his pencil thoughtfully. “Ah. You mean….”

  “Yes,” Concordia said, “Penelope Hamilton.”

  Sophia narrowed her eyes, puzzled. “Miss Hamilton…wasn’t she the lady principal at the college a few years ago? When you first started teaching there. How could she possibly help us?”

  Concordia gave her a wide grin. “Not many people know this, Sophie, but Miss Hamilton is a Pinkerton. If anyone can help us, she can.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  You have been hotly call’d for.

  Othello, I.ii

  Week 5, Instructor Calendar

  March 1898

  It was well past dark when Concordia reached the gate of Hartford Women’s College. Clyde scowled in disapproval as he passed her a slip of paper.

  “Miss Pomeroy left this for ya,” he said.

  With a murmur of thanks, Concordia opened it.

  Concordia, please come to my office when you get this. We need to have a chat. Yours, Gertrude Pomeroy.

  Concordia’s heart sank. While the tone of the note was cordial enough, she knew she was in trouble.

  Only a few lamps glowed in the windows of Founder’s Hall as Concordia crossed the quadrangle. No one lingered outside on this chill March evening. She thought back to her conversation with Capshaw, about the stranger—two of them—who had been slipping onto campus at odd hours. For what purpose? She shivered, and glanced over her shoulder one last time as she pulled open the door of the Hall.

  The lady principal’s light was on. Concordia rapped lightly on the partly open door.

  “Come in!”

  “I received your note, Miss Pomeroy,” Concordia began hesitantly.

  “Yes, yes,” Gertrude Pomeroy said, pushing her spectacles back up her nose as she turned away from her work. “Do sit down.”

  Once again, that posed a problem, as every surface was littered with papers and books.

  “Here,” Miss Pomeroy said, shifting one pile aside and plunking it on top of another. “I’ve been meaning to straighten things,” she added vaguely.

  “Now, Concordia,” the lady principal said, when they both were seated, “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, my dear. You are an excellent teacher, and your work is exemplary, but there is an issue….” Her voice trailed off, and she hesitated.

  Concordia sighed, knowing that discipline was not Miss Pomeroy’s strong suit. “Miss Pomeroy, I understand what you’re trying to say.”

  Miss Pomeroy leaned forward in surprise. “You do?”

  “You’re unhappy with my frequent absences from campus lately. I’m quite sorry for that. I’ve had some personal...issues come up.”

  She didn’t want to have to explain about Florence’s murder, Eli’s disappearance, or the setback in the investigation. Miss Pomeroy didn’t know these people, except for Eli, whom she probably hadn’t paid much attention to.

  Gertrude Pomeroy nodded. “I see. Unfortunately, your absences have been noted by others—”

  “Indeed they have,” a deep voice interrupted, and Randolph Maynard walked in. Concordia wondered how long the dean had been listening at the door.

  “If your personal troubles are causing you to shirk your duties, Miss Wells,” he continued, glowering at her under those thick black brows, “you are free to give notice and attend to them at your leisure. Here at the college, we expect our staff to give the needs of the students their highest priority.”

  Concordia bit back a retort about how the male staff were permitted to have private lives, without being accused of compromising the care of their students.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she merely said, through gritted teeth. Blast the man.

  “And you, Miss Pomeroy,” Maynard said, turning to the lady principal, “the female teachers and students are your responsibility. Are you going to permit your teaching staff to simply leave whenever they wish, without a care for their duties? What sort of example does this set for the students? You are flirting with anarchy here.”

  Concordia rolled her eyes. Quite a leap in logic from a single teacher with a personal emergency to a student revolt.

  Miss Pomeroy flushed a mottled red, but otherwise remained composed. “Mr. Maynard, the students of Miss Wells’ cottage were well cared-for and properly chaperoned by the cottage matron in the meanwhile. I’m confident Miss Wells ensured that before she left.”

  Concordia stayed silent, realizing that she had not in fact done so. Thank heaven for the ever-patient and understanding Ruby.

  “Be that as it may,” Maynard said, “Miss Wells’ reputation precedes her. When I first got here, I learned enough about this young woman to know I’d have to keep my eye on her. The lady sleuth. Climbing out of windows. Finding dead bodies. Trapping an embezzler. Confronting a murderer, alone, in the dark. Getting herself nearly strangled while confronting yet another murderer.” He waggled a finger in Concordia’s direction. “You, young lady, invite trouble.”

  Concordia listened to the diatribe in stunned silence. She had assumed the gossip about her had died out long ago. Of course, he’d overheard the newspaperman’s comment at the reception, so it was naïve of her to assume he would let it go. The way Maynard characterized it, her conduct seemed most unsavory. Certainly not decorous behavior from one’s teaching staff.

  But Maynard couldn’t know the urgency that guided her actions at the time, the necessity of protecting her students, her family, and herself. She knew she would do it all over again.

  “And now,” Maynard continued, when no one said anything, “you are no doubt involved in another unseemly undertaking, and playing detective again.”

  Although this was uncomfortably close to the truth, Concordia folded her hands and looked Maynard square in the eye. “Indeed?” was all she trusted herself to say.

  Inwardly, she felt less than composed. Having the dean closely monitor her activities would pose a problem, should she and Capshaw persuade Miss Hamilton to come and resume the search for Eli. Concordia planned to ask Miss Pomeroy’s permission for Miss Hamilton to stay at DeLacey House, where the women administrators and senior teachers lived. Perhaps that would be too close for comfort. It would not do for Maynard to discover that Miss Hamilt
on was a Pinkerton detective.

  Maynard pounded his fist on the desk, making both women jump in their chairs. “You aren’t paying me any attention, Miss Wells.”

  Miss Pomeroy stood, her expression grim. Concordia stared, open-mouthed, as the lady principal stalked over to Maynard and leaned close. Maynard shrank back, despite the fact that he was a foot taller and at least eighty pounds heavier than the diminutive old lady.

  “I will deal with my staff as I see fit, Mr. Maynard,” the lady principal said sharply, “and I shall not allow you to harass anyone in my charge. Are we clear?” Her clear blue eyes held him in a glare.

  Maynard flushed an angry red and backed toward the door. “I—I only m—meant….” His voice trailed off.

  “Are we clear?” Miss Pomeroy repeated.

  Maynard cleared his throat. “Yes, Miss Pomeroy. If you’ll excuse me,” he said, and made as dignified an exit as he could muster.

  Concordia saw a fleeting smile cross Miss Pomeroy’s lips before she turned aside and sat back down.

  Both were quiet for a few moments. Miss Pomeroy tucked a stray frizzy brown lock of hair back into her bun and adjusted her spectacles.

  “Miss Wells,” she said at last, “I have given you a certain amount of latitude in the past. I would ask that you not take advantage of it, but take particular care to fulfill all of your duties, including those of a domestic nature, most meticulously in the future.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Concordia said meekly.

  “And further,” Miss Pomeroy said, “I want you to obtain my permission first before you leave campus in the future. Agreed?”

  Concordia nodded.

  “If you could hand me those papers,” Gertrude Pomeroy said with a sigh, “I believe I’ll do a little translating to clear my mind.”