by K. B. Owen
Concordia breathed a sigh. Miss Hamilton was going to recover.
If they could keep her away from garrote-wielding murderers.
Eventually Concordia fell asleep, her dreams punctuated by shadowy figures stalking dark corridors, clutching deadly wires.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Farewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content!
Othello, III.iii
Week 11, Instructor Calendar
May 1898
Miss Hamilton seemed enormously improved since last night. True, the lady still sported a large bandage around her head and a splint on her wrist, but her complexion had a tint of pink under the bruises, and her eyes were bright and clear as she gave Concordia an equally frank perusal.
Concordia knew she looked poorly, with dark, sleep-deprived circles under her eyes, a purpling bruise on her forehead, and her arm back in its sling. After last night’s fall, the doctor had ordered her to wear it a few days longer.
Concordia sat down on the chair beside the bed. “It’s good to see you awake. We were all so worried.”
Miss Hamilton nodded, wincing. “The nurse told me what happened at the trolley stop. I remember nothing after I fell. Thank you, my dear. Your courage and quick-thinking saved me.”
Concordia, blushing, waved off the praise. “Were you also told about last night?”
Miss Hamilton’s eyes flicked to the patrolman by the door. “They were reluctant to, but I insisted. After all, it’s not every day that a strange man in uniform stands outside a lady’s door in the wee hours of the morning. I understand I have you to thank for that as well.”
Concordia gave a fleeting smile. “At least now we know who is responsible. The police are searching for Hitchcock.”
“Indeed,” Miss Hamilton acknowledged, “and we can assume the Inner Circle is behind this. But if so, what are they planning next?”
They were interrupted by a polite knock, and Capshaw came in.
“Any word on Hitchcock?” Miss Hamilton asked the policeman.
Capshaw shook his head and glanced over at Concordia. “I just spoke to Ruby. She remembers another place he frequents, so my men are checking there now. I’m sorry to say that I inadvertently distressed her, calling at such an early hour, and incurred the displeasure of your lady principal in the process.”
Concordia smiled. As the past few weeks had shown, Miss Pomeroy possessed an unexpected steely side.
Miss Hamilton frowned. “Then he’s fled the area.”
Capshaw shook his head. “More likely, he’s in hiding. I think the Inner Circle is still in need of his services. But I’ll explain that later. First,” he pulled out his notepad, “if you’re feeling up to it, Miss Hamilton, I want to get your account of what happened at the trolley stop.” At Miss Hamilton’s nod, he pulled out his pencil and gave an absent-minded scribble on his cuff to test its point.
Miss Hamilton succinctly described what she could remember of the incident. It closely matched Concordia’s account, including the same sailor with the anchor tattoo.
Capshaw flipped through his notes. “The tattoo sounded familiar when Concordia first described it. I did some checking and identified the man. Sam Blackstone. He was in the Navy, but got kicked out for thieving. Has had a few run-ins with the law since then. He works at the docks these days. Hasn’t been seen this week, though.”
“Are we assuming this man—and the others in the crowd—were hired by the Inner Circle?” Concordia asked.
“That’s the most promising line of inquiry, especially after last night,” Capshaw said. “Their first attempt at getting rid of you failed, so they sent in Hitchcock.”
Concordia glanced anxiously at Miss Hamilton. “Lieutenant, you said the Inner Circle still needs Johnny Hitchcock. Why?”
“In looking over his army records,” Capshaw said, “he joined the Nutmeg Regiment shortly after he and Ruby married in 1863. According to the story he told Ruby, he faked his death during the second battle of Petersburg the following year and fled to Canada. We haven’t been able to confirm his whereabouts during those decades, but we learned that he’d been employed in a factory in New Jersey for the past five years.” Capshaw looked up from his notes. “An explosives factory.”
Concordia sucked in a breath. As if Hitchcock’s nefarious talent for strangling women was not enough to recommend him in criminal circles.
“So that’s what the Inner Circle wants,” Miss Hamilton said with perfect calm, as if one dealt with garrote-wielding explosives experts every day. “Someone to acquire devices for them.”
“Or make them,” Capshaw added.
“What do we do if we can’t find Hitchcock?” Concordia asked. “Will you go after the Inner Circle? Question Barton Isley, or Sir Anthony Dunwick? We’re sure of their involvement, at least. And Miss Hamilton told me Randolph Maynard had ordered the cufflinks. He must be part of it, too.” Mercy, Hartford Women’s College would lose half of its administrators at this rate.
“One cannot simply drag upstanding citizens to police headquarters,” Capshaw said. “We only have your account of a conversation heard through a window, and a man’s personal mercantile dealings.”
“I agree,” Miss Hamilton said. “Besides, such a public inquiry would cause the Inner Circle to shut down its activities, and we would be none the wiser about what those might be.”
“That would at least stop them,” Concordia said.
“Only for a little while,” Miss Hamilton said. “Once the investigation was suspended, the Circle would resume business as usual.”
Capshaw scowled. “The hand of the Black Scroll—or more properly, the Inner Circle—has been well concealed.” He stood resolutely. “Except for one man, whom I know how to find.”
Miss Hamilton nodded knowingly.
“My police chief.” Capshaw squared his shoulders. “I pray I don’t lose my job over this, but I’m going to have a talk with him whether he fires me or not. This morning.” He looked at Miss Hamilton. “I may have to reveal your role in this in order to make my point.”
Miss Hamilton nodded. “I trust your judgment in the matter. Good luck, Lieutenant.”
Once Capshaw was gone, Miss Hamilton turned to Concordia.
“He cannot do this alone. In fact, once he confronts his superior, even if he is not fired outright, his movements will be watched. He could be kept busy chasing false trails deliberately put in his path.”
Concordia gestured ruefully toward Miss Hamilton’s collection of bandages. “What can be done? You’re certainly in no condition to investigate.”
Miss Hamilton met her eyes squarely. “But you are.”
Concordia swallowed. Miss Hamilton was right. She was nearly recovered from her injuries, and would be leaving the hospital tomorrow. She was better able to help Capshaw. A chill ran through her as she remembered the warning note.
“We must identify the rest of the Inner Circle, and ascertain their plans,” Miss Hamilton continued.
“But how?” Concordia asked. “We have no way into—” She stopped.
“Yes?” Miss Hamilton prompted.
Concordia leaned forward eagerly. “Yesterday, my mother mentioned that there exists a Daughters of the Black Scroll, and that Lady Dunwick is a member. She’s Charlotte Crandall’s aunt. And she owes me a favor.”
Miss Hamilton raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“I helped Charlotte find a job at the school,” Concordia explained. “It was nothing, really, but Lady Dunwick was particularly grateful for it.”
Miss Hamilton eyes gleamed in interest. “That sounds promising. Sir Anthony may have confided in his wife, or she might have heard something of the Inner Circle from the Daughters’ organization. Or other wives. Try to see her as soon as possible.”
“It may help if I take Charlotte with me,” Concordia said.
The nurse came in. “Miss Hamilton, your sister is here. Shall I send her in?”
Concordia stood. “I was just leaving.”
<
br /> “Oh, and Concordia,” Miss Hamilton called out. “Be careful. Your usual blunt approach may not be best in this circumstance.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Capshaw decided to walk the ten blocks to the Kinsley Street Station, rather than take a streetcar. The sight of two women injured at the hands of criminals who should have been caught long ago made him want to throttle someone, and he needed the calming effect of physical activity. It would not do to barge in shouting at the Chief of Police and flinging very serious accusations. He would be summarily escorted out and stripped of his position, and have nothing to show for his sacrifice.
Capshaw was sure that a sacrifice was coming. His stomach tightened at the thought of telling Sophia and Eli that he no longer had a job. What could he do for a living? He was sure to be blacklisted from any police force in the area: New Haven, Boston, New York. Word would circulate that Aaron Capshaw was a loose cannon who suborned authority, a troublemaker who saw conspiracies where there were none.
But this was a conspiracy. And conspiracies only worked effectively in secret. The solution was exposure. If he had to go to the newspapers, he would.
Even so, Chief Stiles deserved a chance to explain himself first. Before this incident, Capshaw respected Stiles’ integrity and sharp mind. He was a good leader and let his men follow their judgment, only stepping in when needed. Until recently, that is.
As his anger cooled and his steps slowed, he developed a plan to get the chief to see the danger of the Black Scroll’s influence. The chief may have only reluctantly adhered to the Black Scroll pledge to help another brother without question, without any knowledge of the Inner Circle. If Capshaw could make the chief understand that the Circle was actually the force behind the request....
Such assumptions were not without risk, of course. If the chief was in fact part of the Inner Circle, Capshaw would be showing his hand, revealing everything he knew. They would all be in danger: he, his family, Concordia, and Penelope Hamilton.
Inside the station, the sergeant at the front desk looked up in surprise. “Why, Lieutenant! We don’t see much o’ ye here at K Street, sir. How can I help ye?”
“I’d like to see the chief, if he’s free.”
The man waggled a thumb toward the chief’s office. “You’re in luck, sir. He’s jus’ finished wi’ the night watch reports, but hasn’t gone over to the jail yet.”
“Thank you.” He walked down the corridor to the paneled door, the chief’s name emblazoned across the inset of frosted glass. Giving one last tug of his tunic, he took a deep breath and knocked.
“Enter!”
“Ah, Capshaw, come in,” Chief Stiles said. He gestured toward a chair.
“I’ve read your report about the identity of the stranger lurking on the grounds of the ladies’ college,” Stiles continued, when Capshaw was seated. “Good work. Any leads on locating the man?”
“Actually, he was seen again last night,” Capshaw said. “At Hartford Hospital.”
Stiles frowned. “The log mentioned some sort of a disturbance there. You were called in, correct?”
“Yes, sir. I haven’t yet written out a report of last night’s incident, but I wanted to inform you of the connection to the college’s intruder. It’s the same man.”
“Indeed. You’re sure the man was—” the chief hesitated, glancing down at his papers.
“Hitchcock,” Capshaw supplied. “We have an eye-witness, someone from the women’s college. The lady has been a hospital patient for the past few days.”
Stiles sat back, steepling his fingers against his mustache, lost in thought. Finally he asked, “Your earlier report said the man was married to the cottage matron. Is she the eyewitness you’re speaking of?”
Capshaw shook his head. “This young lady is a teacher at the college. Miss Concordia Wells.”
“Wells…Wells,” the chief muttered. “The name sounds familiar.” He paused and gave Capshaw a sharp look. “Is this the same woman who was involved in the Durand affair last year?”
The chief had an excellent memory. Capshaw nodded. “Yes.”
The chief rolled his eyes. “Lord save me from meddlesome ladies.” He leaned forward. “Is Hitchcock targeting Miss Wells?”
“No,” Capshaw said. “Her friend, Miss Hamilton, was the target. Miss Wells happened to be in the lady’s hospital room when Hitchcock slipped in.”
“Any injuries?” the chief asked.
“No sir. Miss Wells screamed, and Hitchcock fled.”
“But this took place in the middle of the night,” Stiles said. “How did Miss Wells come to be in Miss Hamilton’s room at such an hour?”
Capshaw explained Concordia’s concern for Miss Hamilton’s welfare, her sleeplessness that night, her decision to visit her room. He left out the trolley incident, not being certain of the connection until he investigated further.
The chief muttered something yet again about “meddlesome females.” Capshaw suppressed a smile.
“How do we know Hitchcock intended harm to Miss Hamilton?” the chief went on. “There was nothing in your earlier report about the college sightings that mentioned him being a physical threat to the women there.”
Capshaw took the plunge, knowing there was no going back now. “Because the man was holding a garroting wire.” He watched the chief carefully, waiting for him to make the connection.
“A wire?” The chief paled. “You mean...just like….” He stopped.
“Yes. Just like Florence Willoughby,” Capshaw said. “The case you took away from me,” he added pointedly.
The chief propped his face in his hands and sat, silent. Capshaw waited. If the chief was part of the Inner Circle, no more questions would be asked. Stiles would dismiss the hospital incident as unrelated, and the garroting wire as a mistake on the part of the witness. He would order the report filed and do no more with it.
Capshaw prayed the chief was the man of integrity he thought him to be.
The chief leaned forward. “You’ve taken steps to track down Hitchcock since last night, I presume?”
Capshaw stifled a relieved sigh and nodded. “A full description of the man has been sent to all the precinct watches.”
“Good.” The chief peered at him closely. “What’s Miss Hamilton’s connection to the case? Why was Hitchcock trying to kill her? There’s more to this than you’ve told me so far. I want the whole story.”
“You’re not going to like it,” Capshaw warned, thinking of the investigation they had undertaken behind the chief’s back. He could still lose his job.
The chief, grim-faced, pressed his lips together. “I know.”
“I told you to get out! You are finished here, Capshaw!”
The sergeant at the front desk stood up, startled, as Lieutenant Capshaw forcefully threw open the door. The glass in the frame rattled so violently the sergeant feared it might shatter.
Without a word or backward glance, the red-faced lieutenant whipped past him and out the front door.
The sergeant tentatively poked his head in the chief’s office. “Anything I can do for ye, sir? The lieutenant left in quite a hurry.”
The chief, also flushed, looked up. “He is no longer a lieutenant,” he said, through gritted teeth. “I’ve fired him for incompetence and suborning authority.”
“I see,” the sergeant answered, confused. Lordy, what was going on? Capshaw, incompetent? Insubordinate? The man was one of the best they had.
The chief waved him out. “Close the door. I have reports to write. I don’t want to be interrupted for the rest of the morning.”
After the brief surge of adrenalin wore off, Capshaw’s footsteps were heavy and slow as he turned toward the settlement house. He wanted to see Sophia and break the news to her before she heard it from someone else.
His chest tightened at the thought of telling her that he had been fired from the only job he loved, a livelihood that they depended upon.
But what tugged at him the most w
as the lie. Sophia was so forthright, and trusted him to be the same. And he had been. If the matter was confidential and he couldn’t share it with her, he would say so, and she respected that.
Now, he had to convey the devastating news that he had lost his job, when he hadn’t been fired at all. What would it do to her? How could he maintain the pretense?
And yet, their lives—including the chief’s, now—depended upon keeping secret the plan the chief had proposed.
“It’s crucial that everyone be convinced I’ve fired you,” Chief Stiles had said, after Capshaw told him all he knew about the Inner Circle and how the group was connected to the deaths of Florence Willoughby and Ben Rosen, to the attack on Eli, to the trolley incident that had sent Concordia and Miss Hamilton to the hospital, and to the aborted assassination at the hospital. “Except for Isley and Dunwick, we have no idea who belongs to the Inner Circle, correct? We need to learn more, without anyone catching on. Otherwise, we could all be in danger. Both your investigation and mine must be very quietly done. I’ll use my contacts in the Black Scroll to find out what I can about the Inner Circle. You must find Hitchcock.”
Capshaw had agreed. What choice did he have? Yet, he felt a prickle of doubt. What if this was, in fact, a very cunning strategy on the part of the chief, inventing this scheme to make Capshaw believe that something was being done? What if the chief was a member of the Inner Circle after all?
There was one precaution he could take. He ran up the steps of the settlement house and sent a girl to fetch Sophia. He waited impatiently in the hall, going over what he would say to her.
“Aaron!” Sophia exclaimed, coming toward him. Her cheeks were flushed and strands of hair had slipped from their pins. Capshaw’s heart twisted.
She laughed and reached back to tidy her hair. “What a lovely surprise. I’m a bit mussed after playing hoops with the children.” When he said nothing, she gave him a penetrating look. “Something’s wrong.”