Unseemly Ambition

by K. B. Owen

  “Why?” Concordia asked.

  Ruby shrugged. “He didn’ want to fight anymore. He told me he left the country for a long time, working as a logger in Canada, and picking up odd jobs in the off season.”

  “And you haven’t been in communication with him all this time? How did he find you?” Capshaw asked.

  The matron scowled. “He’s living in Hartford for a time, he says, and he found me because of that blasted newspaper article, when I got the staff award. Says when he read it he figured I was doing well for myself. Wanted money. He threatened to tell President Langdon he was my husband.”

  “Did you give him any?” the lieutenant asked.

  Ruby nodded, and turned to Concordia with pleading eyes. “Wot could I do? If the school knew I was married, I’d lose my position for sure. And I’ll certainly never live with that shady, no-account Johnny Hitchcock while I still have breath in me!”

  “So he’s going by Johnny Hitchcock these days?” Capshaw asked, scribbling rapidly.

  “Guess he in’t scared of being caught by the War Office anymore.” Ruby shrugged.

  “Any other names he’s gone by? What’s he doing in Hartford?”

  Don’t know why he’s back in these parts, but he’s up to no good, I’m sure,” Ruby said. “I have no idea wot names he’s used in the past.”

  “What do we do now?” Concordia asked Capshaw.

  The policeman rubbed his mustache as he thought. “Where have you met this man, to give him money?”

  “At first, he came to the kitchen door. I was kinda scared that’s what he was goin’ to do, after you told me he’d come looking for me, miss,” Ruby said, glancing at Concordia. “But I told him he was attracting too much attention being on a girls’ campus, and he could get me in trouble. So he sent me a message with the name of a saloon. I’d go, and have a messenger boy step inside to ask for him while I waited outside. Then he’d come out, I’d give him the money, and leave.”

  “The name of the establishment?”

  “The Brass Spittoon.”

  Concordia’s lips quirked. The name said it all.

  Capshaw stood. “Mrs. Hitchcock, this is what you’re going to do: first, stop communicating with him. Completely. And don’t give him any more money. If he comes to campus, call me.”

  Ruby blanched. “But he’ll tell Mr. Langdon!”

  Concordia interrupted. “Mr. Langdon will already know, because you are going to tell him. Today. I’ll go with you.”

  Capshaw nodded. “That’s right, ma’am. It’s the only way to remove this man’s hold over you. In the meantime, I’ll locate the...gentleman, and make him see the error of his ways. We have plenty of blackmailers in prison, you know. I’ll remind him of that fact. He should leave you alone after that.”

  Ruby put a trembling hand on Concordia’s arm. “But I’m still—married to him,” she whispered.

  “We’ll talk with Mr. Langdon about that, too,” Concordia said. “I’m sure there is something that can be done, when a man has been declared dead all these years. Don’t worry,” she added, “we’ll get this straightened out.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Week 9, Instructor Calendar

  April 1898

  Concordia had just finished grading themes in her office when David Bradley tapped on her door. “Am I interrupting?” He hovered uncertainly in the doorway, which meant that his compact, muscular build took up most of it.

  Concordia smiled. “Not at all. Come in.”

  He pulled a chair from the corner of the room and put it in front of her desk. “You said you wanted to talk, and we never got the chance after Miss Hamilton returned with Eli,” he said. “I’ll be busy with laboratory exams all week. Can we talk now?”

  Although his posture appeared casual and relaxed, she could see the tension in his jaw. His usual dimpled smile was fleeting.

  Concordia hesitated. She had been postponing this long enough. Best to get it over with.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” he prompted.

  Concordia took the plunge. “Our engagement.”

  David leaned forward anxiously. “You’ve changed your mind. I know we’ve been arguing more lately, Concordia, and I’m sorry about Rosen—”

  “No, no, it’s not that,” Concordia interrupted hastily. “But I do want to talk about the engagement. I was hoping you would be willing to...postpone it for a while.” She tried to take courage in her mother’s words. If David is half the man I believe him to be, he’ll wait—and count himself lucky to do so. Concordia hoped she was right.

  David frowned. “Postpone it? For how long?”

  “I-I’m not sure.” Concordia bit her lip. “I do love you, David. I’m just not…ready. I think the fact that we’ve been arguing more often points to us needing more time.”

  “When will you be ready?” he asked carefully.

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry,” she added, her voice catching. “I know it’s terribly selfish of me to ask you to wait. But it’s a big step for me. It doesn’t feel right to take it yet.”

  David reached over and clasped her hand. “But you’re not retracting your promise?”

  She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes, her throat burning with words she couldn’t say.

  He gave her a tentative smile. “I was worried,” he said quietly. He got up and turned toward the window. Concordia watched him struggle to maintain his composure.

  After a moment, he turned back to face her. “I can wait.”

  Concordia let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Thank you.”

  David glanced at her desk clock. “I’d better be going.” He gestured at the bowl on her desk, brimming with pansies. “They’re lovely.”

  Concordia smiled. “A breath of spring in a dusty office. Though I don’t know how they got here. There’s no note. Perhaps President Langdon had an abundance in his garden. I was going to ask him later.” All the staff knew that Langdon spent as much time in his garden in the spring than in his office. Many an impromptu staff meeting took place among the hydrangeas and rhododendrons in front of Sycamore House.

  David looked closely at the bowl, turning it. “Ah, here’s a note.” He pulled a slip of paper embedded in the leaves and handed it to her.

  Concordia opened the plain white scrap of folded paper, titled CONCORDIA. Her chest felt tight as she read:

  YOU HAVE BEEN SPARED, THIS TIME. ABANDON YOUR INQUIRIES OR PREPARE TO JOIN ROSEN.

  “Concordia, what is it?” David picked up the paper where she’d dropped it. He sucked in a breath as he read. “We should call the police.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no? Someone slips into your office without your knowledge and leaves this note, threatening to kill you, and you will do nothing?”

  His voice had risen in his agitation, and Concordia made a shushing gesture. She got up and closed the door. “Of course I’ll ‘do something’,” she answered tartly. “But we don’t know who in the police department we can trust. You were there when Miss Hamilton returned with Eli; you know how powerful the Black Scroll is. I’ll inquire if anyone observed a man lingering near my office this morning.”

  Maynard’s and Isley’s offices were just down the corridor. How easy it would be for either of them to place the flowers and note on her desk. She felt a chill at the base of her spine. “I’ll also show this to Capshaw—and Miss Hamilton, when she returns,” she continued. “They may figure out something.”

  David shook his head. “I don’t want you part of this any more. The risk is too great.”

  “I can’t pull out now. There is still a danger to Eli.” If she were honest with herself, she knew a big part of her reluctance to walk away was that she could not abide being bullied. It stung her pride.

  “The Capshaws and Miss Hamilton can protect the boy. They don’t need you for that,” David said.

  But Concordia wasn’t listening. Why was she getting this note now? She had
n’t been an active part of the investigation since she and Miss Hamilton had hired Mr. Rosen to inquire about the Inner Circle. Rosen had been killed a week later, during the spring recess. Wouldn’t they be satisfied now that their secret was safe?

  Ah. Capshaw had come to Willow Cottage yesterday. Although his visit didn’t have anything to do with the Inner Circle, perhaps someone thought otherwise. A person who was a regular on campus. Isley? Maynard?

  David paused. “You’re not attending to me, at all.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry, David. What were you saying?”

  David took her hand in his. “Concordia, if you care anything for me, you will cease to play a part in this investigation. First the dynamite wrapper, and now this. It’s too dangerous. I’m telling you to stop.”

  David’s dark brown eyes, usually so open and warm, were narrowed in anger. She pulled her hand away. “I will not,” she said firmly. “I’m sorry.” She turned away.

  “Then you will do it alone. I will no longer be a party to it.” David stalked to the door, flinging it open.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Week 10, Instructor Calendar

  April 1898

  “No, I will speak as liberal as the north:

  Let heaven and men and devils, let them all,

  All, all, cry shame against me, yet I’ll speak.”

  Miss Roth, otherwise known as Emilia, wife of the villain Iago, delivered her lines with all the energy of a long-deceived woman who has finally seen the truth. Concordia nodded in approval from her seat in the audience. Mrs. Isley had done a splendid job with them. For all the woman’s frivolous ways, she certainly knew her stagecraft.

  All in all, the dress rehearsal was going well, especially with Charlotte Crandall out behind the stage, helping students into their costumes and out upon the set on cue. There had been a few snags, of course. Several minor players forgot where they were supposed to stand, upstaging other characters. Iago tripped over her too-long cloak. And although Lily Isley executed her lines beautifully as the much-maligned Desdemona, she seemed to have trouble lying still once she was supposed to be dead.

  But all of that would be worked out by next week. She hoped.

  Concordia was roused by the smattering of applause as the dress rehearsal came to a close.

  Now she was free to run her errand.

  In case her movements on campus were being noted, Concordia had decided the best way to talk to Capshaw about the note was to visit him and Sophia at their residence. She had obtained permission from Miss Pomeroy to miss dinner after the dress rehearsal. She wouldn’t want to incur Maynard’s wrath again.

  Sophia answered the door herself, her apron on. “Concordia! What a pleasant surprise. Eli will be thrilled to see you. Would you like to join us for supper? It’s almost ready.”

  Concordia nodded. “Can I talk to your husband first?” She didn’t want to bring up the note in dinner conversation, especially in front of Eli.

  Sophia gestured to the parlor as a kitchen timer dinged. “He’s reading the paper. If you’ll excuse me, I have to rescue the shepherd’s pie.”

  Capshaw stood as Concordia walked into the room. He regarded her closely and cleared a litter of newspapers from a wing chair. “Sit. What has happened?”

  Concordia held out the slip of paper.

  Capshaw scowled over the note. “Where was this?”

  Concordia explained David finding the note among the flowers. “I thought at first the flowers had come from President Langdon. Sometimes, when he’s trimming back his garden, he’ll donate blooms to the staff or the dining hall. But he certainly didn’t write this.”

  “I assume you talked to Mr. Langdon?” Capshaw asked.

  Concordia nodded. “I asked everyone with offices in that corridor; no one claimed to have put flowers on my desk or to have seen anyone near my office. Of course, I didn’t mention the note.”

  Capshaw gave her one of his melancholy looks. “It looks as if the Inner Circle has become more active on campus. Very disturbing. Do you mind if I keep this?” At Concordia’s nod, he tucked it into his pocket. “I would take the warning seriously, miss. It’s time to leave this to the professionals. Miss Hamilton is making progress, and I am helping her behind the scenes. We should have the case resolved soon.”

  Concordia leaned forward in interest. “What has she learned? When will she return?”

  Capshaw rolled his eyes. “You college ladies suffer from incorrigible curiosity. She sent a short telegram to say she’s solved the mystery of the cuff links, and has a lead on the wrapper. Of course, she couldn’t go into particulars, but she’s due back in a few days. No doubt she will fill you in on the details soon after that, but I insist on having the first conversation with her.”

  Sophia poked her head in the doorway. “Supper is ready.”

  Capshaw put a hand to Concordia’s arm as she got up. “Remember, stay out of it.”

  All through the dinner conversation—which centered around Eli’s progress in his studies, his healing leg, and his new interest in whittling—Concordia kept thinking about what David—and now Capshaw—had said. Stay out of it. The risk is too great. I’m telling you to stop.

  Perhaps they were right, although she didn’t like it. Not at all. The thought of someone malevolent, either the killer himself or someone who knew and condoned such behavior, walking into her office, touching her things, leaving the note—bizarrely accompanied by flowers—made her shudder. Who was this man? The sooner they had answers, the better.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Week 11, Instructor Calendar

  May 1898

  At last, Capshaw sent word that Miss Hamilton had returned to Hartford. Soon afterward she heard from the lady herself, arranging to meet at Mrs. Gilly’s Tea Shop.

  Concordia saw her before she was even halfway down Canton Street. The tall woman of flawless posture, her graying-blonde hair smoothly tucked under a stylish hat of melon green, the elegant tilt of her head…Miss Hamilton was unmistakable in a crowd. Just the sight of her felt reassuring. Heaven only knew where they would be without her aid in this affair.

  They sat at one of the outdoor tables under the striped awning, taking in the sight of passersby as they sipped their tea and shared a lemon tart.

  Concordia felt some of the tension drain away as she sat. As eager as she was for Miss Hamilton’s news, she took a moment to let the world pass in front of her. Worries about her students, her classes, and her fiancé faded as she fixed upon the dappled sunshine on the sidewalk, the babies pushed in their carriages, and the profusion of ladies carrying brightly-frilled parasols.

  Penelope Hamilton, however, was ill-disposed to sit idle. She cleared her throat. “Capshaw showed me the note from your office.”

  Concordia nodded, pulling herself back into the game of detection once again. “I haven’t been able to determine who left it.”

  “I agree with Capshaw that the Inner Circle is a strong presence on campus now,” Miss Hamilton said. “When I returned to my guest quarters at DeLacey House, I found that my belongings had been thoroughly searched.”

  Concordia started. “You think it was Isley or Maynard?” she whispered.

  Miss Hamilton shrugged. “Probably. That’s why I wanted to meet you here. I’ve already moved my things to a hotel. One cannot be too careful.”

  Concordia suppressed her disappointment. Miss Hamilton had been the only other person on campus who knew what was going on. She would miss her being right nearby. But of course, the precaution was a necessary one.

  “What did you learn about the Black Scroll during your trip?” Concordia asked.

  The lady leaned in and dropped her voice. “I’ve investigated secret societies before, but the Noble Order of the Black Scroll is a particularly close-mouthed group. On the surface, it seems to be a charitable organization, justifying its secret nature as the necessity of anonymous philanthropy. Indeed, recipients such as Hartford Settlement House have benefited lately from
a number of anonymous donors. I’ve learned that the Black Scroll was behind that.”

  “While secrecy for the ‘greater good’ is not so terrible, the explosives wrapper we found certainly points to something...” Concordia searched for the word “...evil.”

  Miss Hamilton plucked absent-mindedly at the gaily-checkered napkin in her lap. “Secrecy is a double-edged sword, hiding villainous deeds as well as benevolent ones. And then there’s the issue of who determines the ‘greater good’—one man’s good could be another man’s bane.”

  “Yes, of course,” Concordia agreed. “Even when men are convinced that their motives are pure, many barbarous things have been done in the name of justice, or Providence. The Crusades and the Inquisition are examples of that.”

  “Exactly,” Miss Hamilton said.

  “What else did you learn?” Concordia asked.

  “I’ve discovered the three binding principles of the Brotherhood that every member must unconditionally agree to upon joining: to do charitable works; to never reveal that he is a member—or that anyone he knows is a member; and to help a brother in need, no matter what the circumstances.”

  “The last two tenets do seem worrisome,” Concordia said.

  Miss Hamilton nodded. “And really, it isn’t the general membership of the Brotherhood that troubles me. It’s this rogue organization within the heart of the Black Scroll. My source couldn’t find any indication that the general membership is aware of its existence.”

  “Lieutenant Capshaw’s police chief must be a Brother,” Concordia said. “Was the Brotherhood’s obedience rule used to compel him to remove Capshaw from the case?”

  Miss Hamilton swatted at a stray fly. “I expect so. No doubt the Circle felt that Capshaw was getting too close to learning about them.”