by K. B. Owen
Capshaw pulled her to the far corner of the hallway. “There is. I want you and Eli to pack your things.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Week 12, Instructor Calendar
May 1898
Concordia was happy to return to Willow Cottage, although when David brought her back from the hospital, Miss Jenkins summarily put her to bed. Concordia was too exhausted from the events of the past three days to put up much of a protest. It had taken all of her energy to insist to Mother that she would be perfectly fine recuperating at her college residence.
Before she retired, however, she couldn’t help but notice the special attention the girls paid to David.
“Oh, Mr. Bradley!” one girl exclaimed. “Don’t leave us so soon. Ruby has made tea, and her scones are divine. Won’t you stay?”
With a sideways grin at Concordia, David had agreed. Concordia, of course, knew the young ladies would pump him for information about the engagement and future wedding plans.
Miraculously, word of her engagement had not spread. She learned after the fact that Ruby had sat the girls down and sternly sworn them to secrecy until such time that Miss Wells decided to give them leave to talk about it. Concordia was touched by the respect for her privacy. So far the girls had been true to their word, not even speaking of it to the rest of their cottage-mates. Which was a marvel in itself.
So she didn’t begrudge them a bit of wedding talk with David. He’d have little to tell, anyway, since they hadn’t yet discussed the matter in any depth. Concordia skipped the tea party and went to bed, falling asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
After a day of bed rest, Concordia was ready to resume her classes.
Miss Jenkins, however, was having none of it. “You are recuperating rapidly, I grant you. But I’d like to see you rest a bit longer. Miss Crandall is doing a splendid job with your classes. Why not let her finish out the week, and then you can return?”
There was some sense to that. Concordia nodded. “Would you mind asking her to stop by today, after the Shakespeare class? I’d like to go over some things.” Including how to approach her aunt, Lady Dunwick.
“Of course. But one more thing,” Miss Jenkins added sternly. “No bicycle riding for another week.”
Concordia sighed as she glanced through the window at the sparkling May morning. “It never entered my mind.”
When Charlotte arrived, Concordia brought her straight into her study and closed the door. Charlotte raised an eyebrow at Concordia’s somber look but said nothing.
“I don’t know what I would have done without you,” Concordia began. “I cannot think of a better substitute teacher for my classes.”
Charlotte turned a pretty pink. “I’ve been happy to, Miss Wells. I’ve missed teaching.”
Concordia was silent for a moment, then decided to dive right in. “I have another favor to ask.”
Charlotte leaned forward. “Yes?”
“Could you arrange for us to pay a call on your aunt in the next few days?”
“Of course,” Charlotte said. “Aunt Susan likes you. I’m sure she would enjoy a visit.” She gave Concordia a sharp look. “But this is not a social call, is it? There’s more going on.”
Concordia hesitated. She had confidence in Charlotte’s discretion, but she was reluctant to involve the girl too deeply. The danger was real.
“You can trust me,” Charlotte prompted. “I’d be better able to help if I know what I’m dealing with.”
“You’re right, of course,” Concordia said. “But there’s some risk to involving you.” She touched the small bandage at her temple. “This was not an accident.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened, but she otherwise sat, quite composed. “You may have noticed that you’ve already involved me,” she pointed out.
Drat. The girl’s logic was impeccable.
“You must promise you won’t share what I’m about to tell you. With anyone,” Concordia warned.
Charlotte nodded.
Concordia described the discovery of a secret society that called itself the Noble Order of the Black Scroll, along with the existence of the dangerous “Inner Circle” within it, succinctly recounting what had happened thus far. Concordia left out the names of Randolph Maynard and Barton Isley, as well as Charlotte’s uncle. She wasn’t sure Charlotte could act normally around these men if she knew.
Charlotte listened with rapt attention. “So you think that visiting my aunt will help you learn more about this Inner Circle, because she’s a member of the Daughters of the Black Scroll?”
Concordia gave a start. “You know about your aunt’s involvement with the group?”
“Of course. I understood it to be a charitable club—a sister group to the men’s organization. I’ve been invited to join as well.”
Perfect. This could be the opening they needed.
“I had no idea the men’s group was engaged in something sordid,” Charlotte went on. “I’m not so sure I wish to join.”
“It’s the secret splinter group within the brotherhood that’s dangerous,” Concordia said. “However, some tenets of the Black Scroll—notably, the oaths of secrecy and helping a fellow brother without question—have been twisted to suit the purposes of the Inner Circle. Miss Hamilton is convinced that the general membership is unaware of its existence.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes, puzzled. “How is Miss Hamilton involved? Why was she targeted at the trolley stop?”
Concordia had forgotten that Charlotte didn’t know about Miss Hamilton’s line of work. There was no way to delicately explain it. “She’s a Pinkerton,” she said simply.
Charlotte raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “She’s a…what? You mean a detective?”
Concordia nodded.
“Amazing,” Charlotte murmured. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as a lady detective.”
“Miss Hamilton is...one of a kind,” Concordia said.
“So she’s been investigating,” Charlotte asked. “Did she learn why they killed Florence Willoughby?”
“We’re fairly certain that Florence had been blackmailing the group, and was a threat to their plans.”
“Do you know what those plans are?” Charlotte asked.
Concordia explained about the scrap from the dynamite wrapper.
Charlotte’s mouth formed a silent o. “I can see the urgency,” she said, after a pause. “How about Monday? Aunt Susan and I have already arranged to lunch together. I’m sure she won’t mind a third to our party. I can send a note ‘round to her.”
“Excellent,” Concordia said. “In the meanwhile, let’s figure out what we tell her.”
The two settled in and made their plans.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Where is that viper? bring the villain forth.
Othello, V.ii
Week 12, Instructor Calendar
May 1898
It was with a heavy heart that Capshaw put his wife and Eli on the train south to Washington, where Sophia had a friend they could stay with for a while. He had work to do, and now his mind was clearer, knowing they were safe.
He felt the eyes upon him as he made his way back from the station to his house. He recognized the slim youth, casually leaning against the street lamp at the far end of the block as he smoked a tiny stub of a cigarette. No change of cap and jacket could hide the fact that he’d been at the same post the previous evening.
But Capshaw had been at the game too long not to have a few tricks of his own.
Once inside his home, he drew the blinds and made sure all of the windows and doors were locked. Sadie and the cleaning woman had been given the next two weeks off. He was alone in the house. He turned out all the lights, except for the lantern he carried into his windowless dressing closet.
In the dim light he shaved off his mustache and clumsily trimmed his flaming-red hair as short as he could, until it was easily concealed under a tweed cap. His startled reflection in the shaving mirror above the
washstand assured him that the spies would have a hard time recognizing him now.
Capshaw pulled out a rucksack. He wouldn’t need to bring much. Money, a change of personal linen, a pocketknife, his notes on the case, a pencil. He dressed in older clothes, frayed at the cuffs and knees, and pulled on broken-in boots with worn heels. It was the nondescript attire of a man a bit down on his luck but otherwise hard-working.
He snuffed the lantern and groped his way down to the kitchen. He stopped to wrap a couple of bread slices and a slab of ham in a kerchief, stuffing it in his bag for later. In the dark, he carefully opened the back door a crack.
The Inner Circle was thorough. Beyond the rows of neighboring clotheslines, Capshaw could see the faint glow of a cigarette ash as a second man stood watch. Fortunately, the observer had no choice but take a position farther away. The Capshaws’ rear yard adjoined their neighbors at both the back and sides, save for a short alleyway blocked for the night by the local vegetable seller’s wagon.
Capshaw hunched over and slipped outside, crouching behind a rubbish bin. He waited, then cautiously peeked around the bin. He could see the pinprick of light from the watcher’s cigarette, unchanged in position.
Capshaw scooted close to the fence line, crossed into the alley, and squeezed past the wagon. He settled the rucksack more comfortably for the long walk to Widow Murtry’s, a boarding house well out of his precinct. It was a place where Capshaw could be reasonably sure no one would recognize him. He’d learned that Mrs. Murtry cooked a decent meal, took cash, and asked no questions.
But first, he would pay a visit to Miss Hamilton. He needed her help if his plan was to succeed.
It was an easy matter to slip in through a hospital side door and climb the employee stairs without being discovered. Just before entering the corridor that led to Miss Hamilton’s room, Capshaw hesitated in the shadows. He’d forgotten about the patrolman guarding the lady’s door. Now he wished he hadn’t disguised himself before coming here.
He could see the back of the man, hands clasped behind him, nodding politely as an orderly passed him by. Capshaw couldn’t see enough for recognition. No doubt whoever it was had been told about his dismissal. Should Capshaw risk taking the man into his confidence? Would he be believed?
The man turned his head toward the stairwell. Capshaw felt weak with relief. Sergeant Maloney.
Capshaw and Maloney had joined the force at roughly the same time, and worked together on many cases over the years. They shared a mutual trust and respect. Chance had just turned in Capshaw’s favor.
The next time Maloney turned his head, Capshaw moved, ever so slightly. The perceptive sergeant, hand to his club, strode over to him.
“What is your business here?” he said sharply, then sucked in a breath. “Lieutenant?” he said in disbelief. He dropped his voice. “What are you doing here, sir? And why are you—” his gaze swept over Capshaw’s altered appearance “—looking like that?”
Capshaw drew Maloney into the corner of the stairwell. “I can’t explain. But it’s important I speak to Miss Hamilton.”
Maloney frowned.
“I need you to trust me,” Capshaw urged.
Maloney looked at him for a long moment, chewing his lip. “I knew there was something wrong wi’ the chief firing you,” he said.
Capshaw nodded. “I’m not at liberty to tell you about it right now. I promise I shall when this is all done. Agreed?”
Maloney smiled. “Now that’s a story worth waitin’ for, I’m sure. Okay, I’ll check with the lady first and then let you in, but you daren’t risk more than a few minutes. Wait here.”
Capshaw watched Maloney return to Miss Hamilton’s door, tap quietly upon it, and stick his head in her room. After a moment, he motioned to Capshaw.
Capshaw crossed the corridor quickly and gave Maloney a grateful look as he closed the door behind him.
“Sit down, Lieutenant,” came a quiet voice. In the dim light Capshaw could see Miss Hamilton sitting up in bed, looking alert and much better than a few days before. She gestured toward the chair beside her.
“I might not have recognized you if the sergeant hadn’t told me in advance,” Miss Hamilton went on. Her gaze swept approvingly over his clean-shaven face, threadbare clothes and worn shoes. “An excellent disguise.”
Capshaw quickly filled her in on the conversation with Chief Stiles, and his decision to go undercover.
“You’re taking a big chance in trusting the man,” Miss Hamilton warned.
Capshaw nodded. “It’s a necessary risk. He plans to use his connections in the Black Scroll to learn more about who might be in the Inner Circle…”
“…while you find Hitchcock,” Miss Hamilton finished. “Yes, I see. So how do you proceed now? What do you need from me?”
“Information,” Capshaw said. “Who in the area could supply Hitchcock with the necessary materials he would need to make a bomb?”
Miss Hamilton raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“Our best chance of catching Hitchcock is to learn where he’s getting his materials and tools. That man could lead us to him,” Capshaw explained. “And, if Hitchcock has already completed any of the devices, we’re going to need someone who knows how to deactivate them.”
Miss Hamilton’s expression turned thoughtful. “Hmm. Yes, that might work.”
“I know you were looking into the subject after we found the scrap of dynamite wrapper,” Capshaw said.
Miss Hamilton sat up straighter, her face tense with excitement. “Indeed. Pull out your pad, Lieutenant. I have two names for you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Week 13, Instructor Calendar
May 1898
Charlotte tapped on the door. “Ready?”
“Just a moment!” Concordia called. She glanced once more at the note she’d received by messenger.
My dear Concordia,
By the time you get this, Eli and I will be gone—to visit with a friend down south for an indefinite period. Aaron is worried for our safety. He has already lost his position, and says more trouble is to come.
If it had just been me, I would have stayed to fight. But I have to think of Eli now.
I wish I could have said good-bye to you in person.
I know you are recovering from your injuries, but please help him if you can, Concordia. You have made a difference in past cases of his. He doesn’t like to admit it, of course.
But be careful. Our mail may be monitored, so don’t send anything sensitive by that route. I’m taking the precaution of having this hand delivered to you.
I hope this will be resolved soon.
~Sophia
Concordia continued to stare at the slip of paper, as if it would speak up and account for itself further. So Capshaw had been fired, just as he had anticipated. Didn’t he have recourse to someone higher up in authority?
But then again, who knew what other men on the force belonged to the Inner Circle?
Obviously, his movements were being watched, and as Sophia said, perhaps his communications as well.
Concordia shivered. She would have to figure out how to send him word of what she might learn from Lady Dunwick today. If she learned anything.
The Dunwick home was situated in the Asylum Hill neighborhood, only blocks from where Sophia Adams—Sophia Capshaw, Concordia amended silently—grew up. In addition to some of the wealthiest families in town, this section of the city was an enclave for artists, writers, and the social philosophers of a generation.
The house was situated on a quieter side street a block away from the bustle of Farmington Avenue. Like many houses in the neighborhood, it was constructed in the Queen Anne style, typified by its spindle work, overhanging eaves, and Dutch gables.
The maid answered the door promptly and bobbed a curtsy. “Miss Charlotte, so nice to see you again.” She glanced at Concordia and said: “Lady Dunwick will be down shortly. She asked if you would kindly wait in the parlor?”
Co
ncordia and Charlotte followed her down the hall. The Dunwick parlor was a pleasant room, quite unlike the current fashion of parlors as a showcase for as much expensive furniture and curios as could be crammed in. The French doors had been opened to catch the light spring breeze that fluttered the curtains. Hydrangeas spilled over in vases atop tables of deep cherry, polished to a shine. Charlotte and Concordia settled themselves in opposite settees and waited.
“Nice house,” Concordia commented.
Charlotte nodded. “It was my grandmother’s. She left it to Aunt Susan. Each daughter was given a house, actually.” She ticked off the list on her fingers. “Aunt Lydia got the brownstone in New York City, Aunt Charlotte—that’s who I’m named after—got the villa in Provence, and Mother got the cottage on Cape Cod.”
“Oh,” was all Concordia could trust herself to say. She was aware of the Crandall family wealth, but apparently the mother’s side were no paupers, either. With such a background, it must have been quite difficult for Charlotte to convince her family that she wanted to work for her living.
Lady Dunwick walked in at that moment. “Ah, Charlotte.” She leaned down to bestow a kiss upon her niece’s cheeks, Charlotte steadying the frail woman.
Lady Dunwick turned to Concordia, who had stood during the interchange, waving her back to her seat. “Oh, do sit down, dear. We aren’t quite so stuffy around here. Be comfortable. I am so glad Charlotte decided to bring you along.”
Lady Dunwick gave Concordia a closer glance, noting the scrapes and bruises on her face. She leaned in, her brow creased in concern. “It appears that you’ve had a difficult time lately. Can I bring you a stool, to put up your feet? An extra cushion?”