by K. B. Owen
Better not, she decided. But if things weren’t sorted out soon, she would have a word with Miss Lovelace.
Lily Isley interrupted the awkward silence. “Concordia, you and David make a lovely couple.”
Having taken this inopportune moment to sip from her cup, Concordia choked and started coughing. Her mother dispassionately patted her on the back, smiling broadly. David shifted in his seat.
“Er, umm,” Concordia sputtered, “we are good friends, Mrs. Isley.” She turned to David for help.
David took her hand in his. That was certainly not helping, Concordia thought frantically. “Thank you, Mrs. Isley,” he said solemnly.
Barton Isley chimed in. “Ah, yes, it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? We’ll be sorry to lose you, Miss Wells.”
Concordia slipped her hand out of David’s. “I beg your pardon? I have no intention of leaving the school, Mr. Isley.”
Dean Maynard gave a snort. “Should you and Mr. Bradley marry, it would be ludicrous to believe you can maintain a career apart from the home. Hartford Women’s College cannot possibly hire a married woman. But perhaps marriage would have a—settling effect on you, Miss Wells.”
Isley nodded his agreement. “Besides, my dear, it is the duty of every young woman to marry and have children. That is your true vocation.”
“I have a true vocation already,” Concordia said through clenched teeth. Really, what were these men thinking? And they were administrators at a women’s college?
Maynard had tired of the conversation and was sipping his coffee in silence, a small smile tugging at his mouth. But Barton Isley was not about to let the subject drop. “It’s all very well for a young lady to teach and make her little independent way in the world, for a time. In fact, it’s quite good for one’s character to do so. But when the time comes....” His voice trailed off as the maid approached.
“Excuse me, sir? There is someone at the door, and he insists upon speaking with you.” She handed him a card.
One quick glance at it, with Lily looking over his shoulder, and Isley rose. “Put him in the Sophocles Room. Tell him I’ll be with him shortly.” He turned to the company. “I beg your pardon. Some business has come up that I must attend to.”
“What is it, Barton?” Lily asked with alarm. “Is it news of our Africa holdings?”
Barton pressed his lips together. “Later, Lily. Later.”
Concordia watched the interchange with fascination. Barton Isley had gone pale at the sight of the name on the card, and was willing to abandon his guests to see to the problem. Could it have something to do with the Inner Circle? But his wife seemed familiar with the name, too, and the Inner Circle would not include women. Then she remembered that both Miss Hamilton and David had mentioned mining investments in ...was it Rhodesia?
Very interesting. Perhaps this was something Miss Hamilton could use, although the connection to Florence’s murder and Eli’s disappearance seemed difficult to conceive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I do perceive here a divided duty.
Othello, I.iii
Week 7, Instructor Calendar
March 1898
A short while after Barton left the group, the party broke up. David and Concordia were among the first to leave, while her mother and Robert Flynn remained behind. “Lily and I have some matters to discuss, dear,” Mrs. Wells said, with an airy kiss to Concordia’s cheek. “But I’ll be seeing you soon...your spring recess is next week, is it not?”
Concordia nodded. “We’ll make plans for an excursion. Maybe some shopping, or the Antheneum? Splendid. ’Bye, Mother.”
The late-March evening air penetrated Concordia’s shawl and dress with chill fingers. She shivered as they waited for their cab to pull up.
“Here,” David said, taking off his jacket and putting it around her. She nodded her thanks, breathing in the warmth and the scent of sandalwood that clung to it. He helped her up the step.
They rode along in silence for a while. David cleared his throat. “Nice party.”
“Yes.” Concordia said. “It was a shame that business matters interrupted Mr. Isley’s evening.”
David was looking out the window, lost in thought. They rode in silence for a while.
In the passing light of street lamps, Concordia stole surreptitious glances at him, noting the heavily-lashed brown eyes, luminous in the light; the broad jawline, with a hint of days-end stubble; the dark hair that curled along his ears and the nape of his neck. Familiar details of someone she felt she knew comfortably well, and yet at the same time she had the sensation of seeing someone new. How well did she know this man? Over the years, they’d chatted about their day-to-day lives—the frustrations, the absurdities. But had she ever asked David about his hopes, his dreams, or even his fears? Suddenly, she wanted to know. Everything. She realized with a shock that she loved him.
As if aware of her glance, David turned toward her. He opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated.
In a flash of understanding she realized that what he wanted to say had been an unspoken barrier between them for a long time.
“What is it, David?” she asked gently.
He took her gloved hand in his, and Concordia let it rest there.
“I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while,” he said. “I love you, Concordia. I want you to marry me.”
Concordia’s hand trembled in his, and he held it tightly.
“I would make you a good husband,” he continued. “I want you to have a place that you can call your own, where you can be mistress of your own house, where we could be partners, sharing our life together.”
Concordia looked up at him, searching his eyes for something—what, she didn’t know. “What about my teaching?” she asked in a shaky voice.
He kissed a spot on her inner wrist, just below her glove, which made her breath catch in her throat. “You’re a wonderful teacher, my dear. I know it will be difficult to give that up. But your talents won’t go to waste, I can assure you. When children come along...what a wonderful mother they will have.”
Mercy! Children…. Concordia felt as if she’d been pulled into a whirlwind. She had never particularly cared for children, whom she found loud, runny-nosed, and generally annoying. Except for Eli. Her expression softened. The boy had slipped into her heart and found a place there. Surely, that would happen with her own children.
“You can see how impractical it would be for you to continue at the college after we’re married,” David went on. “That is the sphere for single ladies. But when they marry, they start a new life. A wonderful new life.”
Concordia’s chest constricted. “I do love you,” she said.
“Oh, my dear,” he gathered her into his arms and she put her head on his shoulder.
Eventually, he pulled away to look into her eyes. “So, will you make me the happiest man alive? Will you marry me?”
Concordia hesitated.
“Trust me,” he said, holding both of her hands firmly. “Your happiness will be my goal, for the rest of our lives together.”
He waited patiently through the silence.
“Yes,” she said, after a long moment. “Yes, David, I will marry you.”
He pulled her close and kissed her, for a long time. Concordia felt her worries dissolve away, replaced by something else, a longing she’d only half-suspected she possessed.
He chuckled deep in his throat when he finally let her go. “I have been wanting to do that for a very long time.”
“When did you know?” she asked.
“It may have been as early as the first time we met—when you ran me down with your bicycle.”
She laughed. “Almost ran you down,” she corrected.
The cab lurched to a halt outside the college gate. Concordia could see the gatekeeper waiting.
“We have so much to take care of—” David began.
Concordia held up a hand. “Will you do one thing for me?”
&nbs
p; “Of course.”
“I want to keep this just between us for the time being, until the end of the semester.”
David frowned. “Why?”
“I don’t want the work I’m doing now to be—changed—by everyone anticipating my departure. You heard how Mr. Isley talked tonight, even though you hadn’t even made a declaration. During this spring term—my last—I don’t want to feel that people are treating me as if I’m already gone. Can you understand that?”
David hesitated, then nodded. “I think I do. I suppose we can wait to tell everyone, although that won’t be easy for me. I want to stand on top of this cab and tell the world. But what about the school? They’ll need to replace you.”
“The college will have plenty of time during the summer to find someone. We can announce it near the end of term.”
David grinned and, when the gatekeeper wasn’t looking, snuck another kiss on her wrist that made her shiver. He helped her out of the carriage.
“I’ll be fine walking back from here,” Concordia said. “Good night, David.”
“Good night, Concordia. Pleasant dreams.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
March 1898
Week 7, Instructor Calendar
Between the coffee and the proposal, Concordia barely slept at all. She smothered yawns throughout her morning classes.
She returned to Willow Cottage to find Miss Hamilton waiting in the parlor. She stopped short. “Weren’t we supposed to meet this evening?”
“I was anxious to learn how last night went,” Miss Hamilton said. “Do you have a few minutes now?”
Concordia glanced at the mantel clock and nodded.
After glancing down the empty hallway, Miss Hamilton closed the parlor door. “Did you learn anything?”
“Did I ever.” It had been quite an evening of discovery, in fact, but Concordia pushed David firmly out of her mind. She wasn’t ready to talk to Penelope Hamilton, or anyone, about her engagement yet. Engagement. Mercy.
She recounted what she had overheard beneath the Isley library window.
Miss Hamilton tapped her chin thoughtfully. “So an ‘Inner Circle’—whatever that may be—exists within the Black Scroll. Interesting. But we only know the identities of two men in the group: your bursar and Sir Anthony Dunwick.”
“Based upon voices alone,” Concordia said, “I know there were at least two other men in the room. I didn’t recognize those. There may have been others who weren’t contributing to the conversation.”
“Did any of the Willoughbys attend the party?” Miss Hamilton asked.
“No direct family members, but Mr. Bradley indicated a couple of guests with Willoughby family connections – a banker and a minister. They left before I had a chance to strike up a conversation and hear their voices.”
“So this meeting happened before dinner?” Miss Hamilton asked.
“Yes, shortly after the Republican candidate, Mr. Sanders, arrived,” Concordia said. “Perhaps that is not a coincidence.”
Miss Hamilton considered this in silence.
“How is this connected to Florence’s death?” Concordia asked. “You told me she had family connections to the Black Scroll. But are they Inner Circle members?”
“That’s what troubles me,” Miss Hamilton answered. “The existence of this Inner Circle can only mean that some men from the Brotherhood have their own agenda: one so secret—perhaps illegal—that they would not care to share it with the rest of the members. Instead, they’ve formed their own enclave. It could be very powerful indeed.”
“Mr. Isley characterized the Inner Circle’s existence as necessary to more efficiently carry out special projects,” Concordia said. “It didn’t sound particularly nefarious.”
“Did you hear any discussion as to what these ‘projects’ might be?” Miss Hamilton asked.
“No, but our bursar doesn’t strike me as a man craving power for himself. Dropping out of the state senate race to help with the finances of a women’s college doesn’t seem terribly ambitious.”
“We know that Isley is wealthy in his own right, besides being well-connected,” Miss Hamilton said. “I doubt the man has abandoned his political aspirations. He could have other reasons for withdrawing his candidacy, and may simply be biding his time.”
“Perhaps,” Concordia said. “That reminds me. Mr. Bradley told me there’s a rumor that the Isley wealth is ‘tied up’ in mining investments—I’m assuming these are the Rhodesian copper mines you were telling me about—and the Isleys haven’t seen much return on it yet. And near the end of the gathering, someone came to see Barton Isley. His wife asked him if it was in reference to their ‘Africa investments.’ She seemed quite anxious.”
Miss Hamilton perked up. “Did she? I’ll look into that. Perhaps that’s why Isley was in such a black mood when I encountered him on the path this morning.”
Concordia smiled. “That probably has more to do with President Langdon’s buggy making his office unusable this past week.”
Miss Hamilton chuckled. “I heard about that. But tell me more about Lily Isley. How involved is she in her husband’s affairs? One would think that a wife would be bored to tears with politics.”
Concordia shook her head. “Not so with Lily. She’s an unusually talented woman, quick-witted and charming. She certainly held her own when political topics crept into general conversation last night. Yet I find it surprising that she is so warmly accepted into that sphere.”
“Glamour and money can go a long way in bringing a candidate’s name to the front of people’s minds,” Miss Hamilton said with a smile.
“So, even though she is a woman in a man’s realm, Mrs. Isley’s involvement has been accepted because associating with a celebrated, flamboyant former stage actress will draw more attention?”
Miss Hamilton nodded. “Exactly.” She fished among the papers littering the coffee table—when would those heedless girls learn to clean up after themselves, Concordia wondered—and pulled out a sheet of newsprint. “I read an account of the dinner party this morning. It lists everyone in attendance. Perhaps you can put names to the faces you saw in the corridor during the dinner bell.”
Concordia glanced at the title: Former Celebrated Stage Actress Lily Isley and Husband Host a Charming Evening for Republican Candidate Sanders. She glanced over the list, shaking her head as she handed it back. “I recognize a few. It was too crowded for me to see anyone coming directly out of the library as we were being seated. I only know we can eliminate David, Lily, and Lady Dunwick, but the women wouldn’t be suspect, anyway. Oh, and my mother and Mr. Flynn, who didn’t arrive at the party until after dinner.”
“What about—” Miss Hamilton glanced at the clipping “—Dean Maynard? Could he have been among the group in the library?”
Concordia grimaced. “I’d hate to think so, but it’s possible. I didn’t notice him until we were all seated in the dining room. He was on the far side.” Which suited her just fine, given his sour disposition. “I take it you believe the Inner Circle is in some way connected to Florence’s death?”
“That is what my instincts are telling me,” Miss Hamilton said.
“Instincts? That doesn’t sound very reliable,” Concordia said with a smile.
“Sometimes, instincts are all one has to go on. Associations, rumors, coincidences. My job involves following all of these leads, and pulling on each thread until it either leads me to something more, or stops cold.”
Following rumors and associations was a sordid business, as Concordia herself remembered from earlier experiences with Miss Hamilton’s investigation. But she knew it had to be done.
Then she thought of something. “There may be someone who can help us,” Concordia said. “I’ll be right back.”
Miss Hamilton raised a quizzical brow as Concordia hurried across the hall to her rooms.
She soon returned, holding Ben Rosen’s business card. “He’s a newspaper reporter,” Concordia explained, passing
it over. “He helped during the investigation into Colonel Adams’ murder last year. I saw him again a few weeks ago, when he was at the college doing a story on Ruby and her award. He gave me his card and offered any future help I might need.”
“Indeed?” Miss Hamilton said, lips quirked in a wry smile. “And why would a newspaper reporter imagine a lady professor having need of his services?”
Concordia, not inclined to repeat Rosen’s lady sleuth comment, merely shrugged.
Miss Hamilton turned the card over thoughtfully. “I’ll contact Mr. Rosen, and ask him to meet us at his earliest convenience.”
“What about Eli? Have you made any progress?” Concordia asked.
“I’ve made inquiries at the train station. I’m convinced that’s where Eli was headed after the newsie saw him chasing a cab.”
“Really? Why?” Concordia asked.
“It’s not far-fetched to believe the cab was headed toward the depot. Asylum Avenue runs right through there. Since Eli couldn’t possibly maintain a foot pursuit with a moving carriage, what did he do next? He hypothesized that this person was taking the train. Thus, Eli could hitch a ride aboard, say, an expressman’s wagon heading for the station. The difficulty lay in finding the killer again along the right platform. But we can assume that Eli was successful, since he didn’t return here to notify the Capshaws. He was hot on the trail.”
“Did anyone see him there?”
“No one noticed an unattended boy on the platform—but you know how crowded that place can be. I’ve interviewed all of the porters, and nearly all of the conductors, save one. A family emergency called him out of town. The company has promised to contact me when he returns.”
“What can I do?” Concordia asked. “I feel so helpless, waiting here doing nothing.”