by K. B. Owen
“We know Bursar Isley is a member of the Inner Circle,” Miss Hamilton said. “Learn everything you can about him.”
“But how can I do that?” Concordia objected. Then she had an idea. “Perhaps by getting closer to Mrs. Isley?”
“Splendid,” Miss Hamilton said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Week 8, Instructor Calendar
March/April 1898
The students were restless in the Shakespeare class, anxious to start their spring recess.
“I have a surprise for you,” Concordia said, handing back graded papers. “Mrs. Isley will be speaking with us today about the modern dramatization of Shakespeare. As you may know, she was a stage actress years ago, before her marriage to our bursar.”
The students leaned forward in interest.
“Now, I expect you all to give her your undivided—”
She was interrupted by a brisk knock.
Concordia motioned to a girl to open the door while she cleared off the podium for her guest.
“Hello, my dears!” Lily Isley exclaimed, beaming at the class. She was accompanied by a boy carrying a box. “Just set it down over there, young man. Excellent.”
“We are so looking forward to your talk, Mrs. Isley,” Concordia said. She glanced at the box as she seated herself among the students. She hoped they weren’t in for any monkeyshines.
As Concordia watched Lily Isley dig through her box, she wondered what the woman might know about her husband’s Inner Circle activities. It was doubtful she knew anything at all, and more doubtful that Concordia could tactfully lead a conversation along such lines. Still, she resolved to try.
At least Miss Hamilton had arranged for Mr. Rosen to meet with them later today. That was bound to be more productive.
The students sat in rapt attention as Lily began her presentation, using props from her box. She employed simple items—hats, wigs, cloaks—along with mannerisms, voice, and posture to expertly convey the sense that they were seeing a queen, an old woman, a spritely nymph. The effect was mesmerizing.
“Amazing,” Concordia murmured at one point in the presentation. The woman had more ability than she’d thought.
Just as class was drawing to a close, a scuttling sound came from the back of the room. A mechanical object moved toward Lily Isley at a rapid pace.
“Eek!” Lily shrieked, jumping onto the instructor’s platform. There were a few smothered laughs, but most of the students merely stared, open-mouthed. The mechanism wound down as it bumped against the step.
“Mrs. Isley, I apologize!” Concordia said, horrified. “ Are you all right?”
Lily, hand on her chest, gave a shaky laugh. “I’m fine, dear. My, my! I’ve had many a strange thing happen on the stage, but never...this.” She gestured toward the object.
“Who did this?” Concordia demanded, glaring at the students. A tentative hand was raised. It was Miss Lovelace, soon followed by two more girls raising their hands.
The bell rang.
“What a—lively bunch of young ladies,” Mrs. Isley murmured. Before Concordia could say anything more, or offer to take her to the faculty lounge for a restorative cup of tea, the lady turned on her heel and hurried out of the room, giving the mechanism on the floor a wide berth.
Concordia hesitated, wondering if she should follow Mrs. Isley and apologize again. But she had the miscreants to deal with. “You three, remain behind,” she said in a stern voice. “Class dismissed. Remember your assignments over the spring recess.” She gingerly picked up the contraption and held it with two fingers as the class filed out.
When the room was cleared of all but Concordia and the three pranksters, Concordia sat down and motioned to them to do the same. “What exactly is this...thing?”
Miss Lovelace spoke up. “It’s our first attempt at a wind-up toy. The three of us have been working on it, off and on, for several weeks. Uncle Warren—remember I told you about him?—let us borrow more of his tools, and gave us spare gears and other parts.” She gestured to the object. “I know it looks rather strange, but we’re starting with something four-legged because it’s more stable.”
Concordia examined it more closely. It had a clock-work body and sharp-toothed external gears. “The key-winding mechanism appears to be stuck,” she said, turning it over. Although crude in appearance, it was astonishing what these girls had been able to do on their own.
One of the girls nodded. “That’s been giving us trouble. We’ve taken apart several old clocks, but we don’t have soldering tools to really make the parts fit together the way we want. We’re planning to keep working on it at my house during the recess.” She paused. “If you don’t confiscate it, that is.”
“We’ll see. Whatever possessed you to set it off in class? You know I cannot tolerate that sort of disruption. And in front of Mrs. Isley, too.”
“It was an accident, Miss Wells,” Maisie Lovelace said sheepishly. “I pulled it out of my satchel to make room for a book, and the gear had some life left in it. We’ll write a note of apology to Mrs. Isley,” she added.
“That’s not the only apology you have to make,” Concordia said sternly. Noting the partly-open classroom door, she closed it before continuing. “How long are you going to allow Mr. Langdon’s buggy to reside in Bursar Isley’s office? It has been over a week now.”
She waited through the silence. The girls shifted from foot to foot, looking at Miss Lovelace.
“We were going to say something right away, honestly,” Miss Lovelace said. “We thought for sure they would figure out it was us, and we could put in another plea for our program. But Mr. Langdon started looking into whether the Trinity boys could have done it, and then it got into the newspapers....”
“You mustn’t let fear guide your actions,” Concordia said. “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear—not absence of fear.”
Miss Lovelace gave her a quizzical look. “Macbeth?”
“Pudd’nhead Wilson,” Concordia said.
Maisie Lovelace gave a weak smile.
“I will make the decision easy for you,” Concordia said. “Either go to President Langdon today and confess, or by supper-time I will tell him.”
They heard a polite tap on the classroom door.
“Come in!” Concordia called.
David Bradley walked in. He hesitated, taking in the sight of glum-looking students and a tight-lipped Concordia.
“Pardon me, ladies. I hope I’m not interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Concordia said. “Come in, Mr. Bradley. We’re finished here.” She handed back the students’ wind-up device. “Best to take care of your...task, right away.”
The girls glanced at Mr. Bradley as they shuffled past, nudging and whispering to each other, giving Concordia a meaningful look as they walked out.
Land sakes.
“What was that about?” David asked.
Concordia shook her head. “Just something between me and my girls.” She smiled, then checked her watch. “Were we supposed to meet?”
David leaned against the desk and regarded her warmly. “It feels like ages since I saw you, even though it’s only been a few days.” He came closer. “You look lovely.”
As Concordia was wearing only her second-best pleated shirtwaist and a plain navy wool skirt at the moment, she very much doubted she appeared at her best advantage. Still, she blushed at the compliment, self-consciously groping for the pencil that inevitably found its way into her topknot and smoothing straggling wisps of hair back into their pins. “You are too kind.” She turned away and grabbed her satchel case. “Regrettably, I’m late for DeLacey House. Later this evening, perhaps?”
David’s smile dimmed. “I have a lecture. I’d hoped we could have tea in the faculty lounge, since you’re finished with classes for the day. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
Concordia saw the disappointment in his eyes. “I’m sorry, David. I have an appointment.”
David held the door
for her. “I see. The lady principal wants you?”
Concordia hesitated. She couldn’t tell David that she and Miss Hamilton were meeting with the newspaper reporter. Heaven only knew how he’d react to that.
She tried to be as honest as she could. “Miss Hamilton, actually.”
David’s expression brightened as they walked up the path to DeLacey House. “I recall seeing her on campus these past two weeks. Her niece just had a baby, is that right?”
Concordia nodded wordlessly, loathing all of the lies she was telling the man she had just promised to marry. Oh, what a tangled web we weave…When first we practice to deceive!
“Perhaps I can join you two,” David offered. “I’m sure Miss Hamilton wouldn’t mind.”
Now would be the time to tell him about Eli’s disappearance, to explain that they were meeting Ben Rosen in order to find answers that might bring them closer to finding the boy.
And yet, she stayed silent, unsure how to even begin.
As they approached the door of DeLacey House, Concordia’s heart sank as she saw Mr. Rosen ringing the bell. He tipped his bowler politely in their direction. “G’afternoon, miss. Glad I’m not late.” He gave David Bradley a puzzled look before his brow cleared. “Ah yes, I remember you. Mr. Bradley, isn’t it? The Masquerade Ball last year.” Rosen extended a hand. “Ben Rosen, from the Courant.”
David perfunctorily shook his hand and turned to Concordia. “What is going on? You’re here to meet this man?” His voice was stiff with anger.
The front door opened and the maid looked at them curiously when no one responded. “Miss Wells? Miss Hamilton is expecting you and the gentleman in the parlor.”
Concordia put a conciliatory hand on David’s arm as Rosen raised an eyebrow. “I can explain later.”
David shook off her hand and walked away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
You shall more command with years
Than with your weapons.
Othello, I.ii
Week 8, Instructor Calendar
March/April 1898
The parlor fire at DeLacey House burned brightly in the grate, but it could do nothing for the chill Concordia felt after watching David stalk off without a word. She should have told him everything when she’d had the chance.
But she didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on that now. Mr. Rosen stood waiting for Concordia to take her seat.
“Tea, Mr. Rosen?” Miss Hamilton offered, gesturing to the tray.
“Got any coffee, miss?”
“I’m afraid not,” Miss Hamilton said.
“Then no, thanks. I cannot abide tea. Only fit for the sickroom.” Rosen sat and put his hat on a nearby chair. “Ladies, what can I do for you?”
Concordia glanced at Miss Hamilton. How much should they reveal?
Miss Hamilton carefully plucked a sugar cube with delicate tongs, stirred, and sipped before answering. “We require information about an organization called the Fraternal Order of the Black Scroll: its members, its mission, and what its current activities might be.”
Rosen rubbed a hand through his grizzled beard. He chuckled. “That’s all? Anything else? How ’bout a private audience wi’ the queen?”
“I know it’s asking a great deal,” Miss Hamilton said, unruffled, “but were the information easily acquired, we would have done it ourselves.”
Rosen grunted. “I’ll bet you would have.” He pointed a thumb toward Penelope Hamilton and asked Concordia, “Is she a lady sleuth too?”
Concordia stiffened. “Certainly not.”
Mercy, she’d told a number of lies today. What would her minister say?
“Then why d’you want to know about the Black Scroll?” Rosen asked.
“Let us just say we’re concerned about a...relative...who is a member. We want to know more about what he may be involved in,” Miss Hamilton said.
“Ah, you think something illegal’s going on?” Rosen’s eyes brightened. “Say, that sounds promising.”
“We don’t know for sure, you understand,” Concordia broke in quickly. “That’s why we need you to look into it. Will you help us?” She gestured to the purse beside Miss Hamilton. “We can pay you.”
“Well, I don’t think you’re bein’ quite honest with me,” Rosen said warily, “but I never turned away a greenback in my life. I’ve heard of the Black Scroll, the name at least. I should be able to find out something. All right, miss, you have a deal. But I want the exclusive on this, if it turns out to be a story worth printing.”
“When the time is right,” Miss Hamilton answered. “For now, it must be a discreet inquiry.”
“Of course.”
Miss Hamilton passed him half the bills, which he stuffed in his jacket pocket. He picked up his hat and stood. “I’ll contact you by the end of the week. Is there anything else I should know?”
Concordia and Penelope Hamilton exchanged a long look. Should we tell him about the Inner Circle? was the unspoken question between them. Concordia wondered if they were sending Mr. Rosen on a dangerous errand, and groping blind. Shouldn’t he know about Florence’s murder and Eli’s disappearance? Rosen would then be in a better position to help. But could they trust him?
Rosen eyed them quizzically as the silence lengthened.
“We should tell him,” Concordia finally said aloud.
Miss Hamilton sighed. “You’re right.” She gestured to Rosen. “You’d better sit back down. My apologies for not being as forthcoming as we should.” She gave Concordia a quick glance. “Let us hope you’re inclined to take on this job after you learn the whole story.”
After Rosen left—still willing to help, thankfully—Concordia asked, “What do we do next?”
“I have an appointment tomorrow with the Hartford station train conductor who has been away,” Miss Hamilton said. “He may have some of the answers we need.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Week 8, Instructor Calendar
March/April 1898
Concordia returned to Willow Cottage, where a flurry of packing was underway.
“Don’t take too much,” Concordia warned, as she caught sight of one girl lugging two suitcases from the storeroom, “it’s only a week, after all.”
“Ooh, but Miss Wells,” she said excitedly, “I’ve been invited to Miss Smedley’s country house! I’ll need my best dresses, and Mabel has promised to lend me her riding outfit, and—”
“Have a wonderful time,” Concordia said, cutting across what promised to be a lengthy description of the young lady’s wardrobe necessities. “Have you seen Ruby?”
“In her room, packing.”
“Packing?” Ruby never left for the spring recess.
Concordia went down the hall to the bedroom behind the kitchen and knocked.
“Ruby?”
“Come on in, miss,” Ruby called. “I’m jes’ finishing up.”
Concordia pushed open the door. “Where are you going?”
“To my sister’s, in New Haven,” Ruby said, struggling with a suitcase buckle. “Well, you needn’t look so surprised,” she added tartly, noting Concordia’s raised eyebrow. “I got family, and like to take a vacation as much as the rest o’ you.”
“Of course,” Concordia said hastily, “I’m only surprised. You didn’t say anything about it before.”
“I didn’t know I needed your ’pproval,” Ruby muttered under her breath.
Concordia took a step back, confused. She’d known Ruby for several years now, and thought she’d seen all of her moods. But this sulky defensiveness had never been one of them. What was going on?
Judging from the set of the woman’s jaw, pressing her now wasn’t going to get an answer.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Have a good visit,” Concordia said hesitantly, and closed the door behind her.
Concordia clambered around several luggage-laden students in the hallway—why did the girls feel compelled to pack all of their worldly belongings for an eight-day visit
home? Her own rooms were probably the safest place away from the hubbub. She dearly needed a cup of tea, and time alone to think.
She stopped short when she saw Maisie Lovelace walk through the front door. One glance at the girl’s tear-streaked face told Concordia that the interview with President Langdon had not gone well. She went over to her, putting her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Let’s go to my rooms where we can talk.”
Miss Lovelace sagged into a chair and put her face in her hands as Concordia closed the door. “We’ve been ex-expelled,” she moaned.
Concordia had feared as much. President Langdon, though not generally a strict disciplinarian, was understandably distressed about his brand-new buggy being stuck in Bursar Isley’s office for the last ten days. Then there was the newspaper publicity, too.
“I take it he was quite angry,” Concordia said.
Miss Lovelace nodded. “The dean and bursar came in when they heard Mr. Langdon shouting, and that just made things worse. It was Dean Maynard and Bursar Isley who insisted that we be expelled. We are to remove the buggy during spring recess, and then leave. For...for good.”
It was unfortunate, Concordia thought, that the other two administrators had intervened. Langdon might not have taken such strict action if he’d had the solitude to consider his own penalty. Even a suspension for the rest of the semester would have been preferable.
She passed the girl her handkerchief. “Take a moment to compose yourself, then we’ll talk about what we can do.”
Concordia took a deep breath and knocked on Langdon’s door.
“Enter!”
She poked her head in. “May I speak with you?”
“Of course.” Langdon stood and gestured to the chair beside his desk.
Concordia took a deep breath for courage. She’d known President Langdon since she had started teaching at Hartford Women’s College, back when he was dean. She’d always found him to be fair-minded. Although the man harbored many of the old ideas about women and what their role in society should be, he was dedicated to the college’s mission to provide the young ladies with the best education possible.