Unseemly Ambition

by K. B. Owen

  Concordia flushed and shook her head. She had removed the last bandage—the one which had covered her temple—this morning, but there was no hiding the lingering marks. “No, thank you; I’m fine, really.”

  Although Concordia could tell that Lady Dunwick’s curiosity was aroused, the lady was too well-bred to ask personal questions. Concordia didn’t offer an explanation. It would have required a carefully-annotated account, and she frankly found the prospect exhausting. She glanced at Charlotte, who wasn’t volunteering any information, either. Good.

  “We’ll be ready to go into the dining room shortly,” Lady Dunwick said, checking the mantel clock. “We’re waiting for Anthony and Mr. Isley, who have been delayed.”

  Concordia’s stomach lurched. She and Charlotte exchanged a worried glance.

  “I didn’t realize there were more than just the three of us,” Charlotte said.

  Lady Dunwick smoothed the folds of her silk skirt. “Anthony finished a case earlier than planned, so his afternoon is free. I believe he and Mr. Isley have business matters to discuss. It made sense to have him join us for lunch first.” She turned to Concordia. “You don’t mind, I hope?”

  “Of course not,” Concordia said, hiding her dismay. This was going to complicate things. She looked again at Charlotte, who was no doubt thinking the same thing. Now or never.

  “Aunt Susan,” Charlotte began, shifting in her seat a little to face Lady Dunwick, “I’ve been considering your offer of membership in the Daughters of the Black Scroll. It sounds like a most worthy charity.”

  If Lady Dunwick was surprised at such a bald mention of a secret organization in front of an outsider, she was too self-controlled to show it. “My dear, perhaps we should discuss this another time...Miss Wells could not possibly be interested in such a topic.”

  Concordia jumped in. “Black Scroll? My mother mentioned something about that to me. She said the ladies have raised crucial funds for worthwhile causes.” It seemed as good a guess as any.

  Lady Dunwick smiled in relief. “Ah, your mother? Yes, I do believe she has been offered membership—her commendable work with the Irish orphans, you know—although I don’t think she’s informed us yet of her decision.”

  “Lately she’s been...busy,” Concordia said. Visiting a daughter in the hospital can be a substantial drain upon one’s social calendar.

  “Anyway,” Charlotte Crandall went on, “I’d be interested in learning more. Are meetings involved? Social events?”

  Lady Dunwick must have determined that confidentiality wasn’t needed in front of Concordia (bless her mother for that piece of information), because the lady now sat back, perfectly at ease. “We meet once per month. Each member speaks briefly about her current project, and solicits help where needed. As far as less serious pursuits, we do have a masquerade ball coming up. It is considered the highlight of the year, in fact.”

  Lady Dunwick paused, looking around as if to assure herself that no one was nearby to eavesdrop—a purely involuntary reflex, as the door was closed and they were seated quite far from it. Nonetheless, the lady leaned in and dropped her voice. “And the ball is one of the few times that members of the Brotherhood join us. After all, what good is a ball without men? This will be my first one—I joined recently, you see—and I am looking forward to it.”

  Concordia’s heart beat a little faster. The ball sounded like a perfect opportunity to identify members of the Black Scroll, and possibly the Inner Circle. She might even overhear information of value. If she could get in. “It sounds lovely, Lady Dunwick.” Concordia raised an eyebrow at Charlotte.

  That young lady caught the hint. “Would I be permitted to attend, Aunt Susan? I’m most interested in joining your group.”

  Lady Dunwick tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I imagine that would be all right. Technically, it’s supposed to be only for the members. The invitations were sent out weeks ago. But I heard that Sadie Walker brought her daughter last year, and no one batted an eyelash.” She sniffed. “No doubt trying to find an eligible bachelor—at a masquerade ball, of all places! But the woman is desperate.” She shook her head. “The girl is as plain as a bowl of milk, with a personality to match, I’m afraid.”

  Charlotte smiled. “Where is it being held?”

  “At Randolph Maynard’s country house, in Cottage Grove. We can ride together. It’s an hour’s drive, but quite scenic. Beautiful orchards, quaint old dairy farms…many families have built summer homes there.”

  Concordia’s heart thumped faster. So Maynard was opening his home to the biggest Black Scroll social function of the year. Maynard had ordered the Inner Circle cuff links. Maynard had been at the shed, nearly as soon as Concordia had found poor Mr. Rosen. Was he the murderer?

  “…however,” Lady Dunwick was saying, “the affair is this Saturday. Have you any gowns with you, Charlotte?”

  Concordia stifled a snort. She doubted Charlotte would have packed a ball gown to come teach at a women’s college.

  Charlotte gave a small smile as she shook her head. “But I can send for one. I have that lovely midnight taffeta you gave me, remember? Can you get me a suitable mask? Excellent.”

  Concordia cleared her throat. “I assume, since my mother hasn’t yet accepted membership, she wasn’t invited to the affair? She hadn’t mentioned it.”

  Mother rarely shared her social doings with Concordia, but Lady Dunwick didn’t know that.

  “Oh!” Lady Dunwick shifted uncomfortably, appalled at what could be construed as a breach of manners. “I’m so sorry. How careless of me to mention it at all.”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” Concordia soothed, hoping this was leading where she thought it would. “Perhaps Charlotte can tell my mother about it, later. I’m sure Mother would find such a social and charitable group quite appealing, once she knows it better.”

  Lady Dunwick looked at Concordia thoughtfully. Concordia waited in mock innocence, hands placidly folded in her lap, hoping her gambit of offering her mother as the prize would work.

  “Would you be interested in attending the ball, Miss Wells? You are such a good friend to Charlotte, and we are grateful for your help in securing her a position at your college. I’m sure it would be all right. I can tell them that you are a prospective member. You two girls would have a great deal of fun.”

  Concordia pretended to consider it.

  “I know it’s appallingly short notice,” Lady Dunwick added apologetically. Charlotte made a decent show of sending Concordia a beseeching look, as if to convince her.

  “I would love to, Lady Dunwick,” Concordia said, smiling. “Thank you very much.”

  They heard men’s voices in the hallway.

  “Let’s discuss the details later, shall we?” Charlotte proposed, casting an anxious eye at the parlor door. “I’m sure Uncle Anthony and Bursar Isley have little interest in the mundane details of a masquerade ball.”

  “Agreed,” Lady Dunwick said.

  Concordia breathed a sigh. Perhaps they could make this work, after all.

  The parlor door opened, and Sir Anthony crossed the room in long-legged strides. “Susan, dear,” he said, “there’s been a slight change in plans.”

  Behind him, Concordia saw Barton Isley.

  And Isley’s wife, Lily.

  Lady Dunwick gave her husband a startled glance.

  Mr. Isley cleared his throat. “We are sorry to impose upon your luncheon,” he said stiffly, looking over at his wife.

  Lily Isley fluttered a handkerchief. “Oh, Lady Dunwick! It was entirely my fault. I was with Barton when he met Sir Anthony, and I realized it had been ages since we had seen each other last. I simply had to come! I hope you don’t mind?”

  Lady Dunwick, with perfect composure, crossed the room and clasped Lily’s hand. “Nonsense, Mrs. Isley, it’s so kind of you to join us. What a festive group we will have now! Please, be comfortable,” she added, gesturing to the plump-cushioned settee where Concordia sat. Concordia obligingly moved ov
er.

  They seemed to be collecting guests as avidly as the Pied Piper collected rats, Concordia thought. Their quiet lunch of three had now doubled to six. Concordia wondered how the Dunwick kitchen staff would react. Mother’s cook would have been in no end of a dither.

  At least she had accomplished the object of her visit. The ball seemed a promising opportunity to learn more about the Black Scroll.

  And here was an opportunity as well. Concordia was in the same room with the only two men whom she knew for sure were part of the Inner Circle. Perhaps she could learn something. If Lily Isley didn’t dominate the conversation, of course.

  Lady Dunwick pulled the bell. “Marie,” she said, when the maid answered the summons, “there are six of us for luncheon now. Please set a place for Mrs. Isley.” The girl nodded and left.

  “We should be ready momentarily,” Lady Dunwick said, taking a seat.

  Meanwhile, Concordia shifted uneasily under Lily Isley’s frank scrutiny.

  “Oh, my dear Concordia!” Lily exclaimed, “I heard about the incident at the Canton Street stop last week. The students cannot stop talking about it. How horrible for you! How do you feel?”

  Concordia, mouth open in surprise at the woman’s directness, clenched her hands together. Perhaps Lily had done her a favor. If Isley or Sir Anthony, as part of the Inner Circle, played a role in arranging Miss Hamilton’s “accident,” this could be a chance to watch their reactions.

  She cleared her throat. “Your concern is most kind. I feel much better, but sadly, Miss Hamilton is still in the hospital.”

  Was it her imagination, or did Isley give a start at the mention of Miss Hamilton? He covered it with shifting in his seat and crossing his legs, but she felt sure he knew something. Sir Anthony, on the other hand, merely listened attentively, polite concern tugging at his brow. Lady Dunwick, curiosity satisfied at last, was nodding and leaning forward sympathetically.

  Time to test the theory further. Concordia remembered that Miss Hamilton had warned against taking the “direct approach,” but no one had anticipated the current circumstances.

  “In fact, the entire matter is most distressing,” Concordia continued, keeping her gaze upon Lily but watching Barton Isley out of the corner of her eye. It would not do for him to realize he was under scrutiny. “The police now think that the ruffian who pushed Miss Hamilton into the path of the streetcar did so deliberately.”

  Concordia sat back with a sigh of mock distress, so she could get a good look at Isley and Sir Anthony.

  Lily patted Concordia’s hand. “Surely not!” she said. “Whyever would they think that?”

  Concordia explained about the abortive attack upon Miss Hamilton in her hospital room later, leaving out her own presence in the hospital room.

  Lady Dunwick’s eyes widened. “How dreadful! Do they know who it was?”

  Concordia shook her head. “Sadly, no,” she lied.

  “I’m not familiar with the lady, but why would anyone want to harm her?” Sir Anthony asked. He seemed perfectly at his ease, which made Concordia doubt her conviction that he’d been party to the scheme to get Miss Hamilton out of the way. Or was he merely skilled at masking his feelings?

  Isley, on the other hand, had paled. Concordia saw Lily cast a concerned glance in his direction.

  “Yes, who is this Miss Hamilton? Is she a friend of yours?” Lady Dunwick asked.

  Concordia nodded. “She used to be lady principal at the school two years ago. She’s visiting a niece in town, who just had a baby.” She turned to Sir Anthony. “We cannot imagine who would want to harm Miss Hamilton. It’s all a perplexing mystery.”

  “And obviously distressing,” Sir Anthony said, with a warning tone to his voice. He looked meaningfully at his wife.

  Lady Dunwick took the hint. “Indeed, yes,” she said briskly, “do let’s talk of other things.”

  Talk passed to more innocuous topics. The maid stepped in a few minutes later to announce lunch.

  “Ah, at last,” Sir Anthony said, standing and offering an arm to his wife. “I’m famished.”

  The meal was as good as Concordia would have expected in such a household, with oyster soup, duck a l’orange, and baby carrots in a ginger cream sauce, followed by a lemon ice. Concordia could have easily eaten more, but it wouldn’t do for a lady to display a voracious appetite. Unless that lady was a college student. Those girls ate anything that wasn’t nailed down.

  “So, Sir Anthony, I understand you recently resolved a legal matter,” Concordia said, wanting to learn more about the man. “What sort of case was it?”

  Sir Anthony blotted his lips on his napkin before speaking. “I work in the field of patent law. It was a difficult case, though most interesting. I won’t reveal any names, but an inventor, holding a patent for what promises to be a very lucrative device, was accused by another fellow of having stolen the invention. The preliminary evidence this challenger offered appeared damning, and I despaired of being able to establish that my client had sole right to the invention. They had been colleagues early on, you see.”

  Concordia nodded. Isley shifted forward in his chair, eyes on Sir Anthony.

  “However, it turned out the plaintiff was all bluff and bluster,” Sir Anthony went on. “We went to court this morning, with as much documentation as my client could provide. I feared a lengthy, drawn-out process. Instead, my client’s accuser arrives in court, hair mussed, collar disarranged, claiming he was attacked on the way to court, and that his blueprints and other documents were stolen. Can you imagine? He put on quite a show. He could not produce a single witness to corroborate his account. The judge dismissed the case, and we were finished in thirty minutes.”

  “How unusual,” Charlotte said politely.

  “It sounds as if the man could have benefitted from acting lessons, wouldn’t you say, dear?” Barton Isley asked his wife.

  Lily smiled, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics. Lily kept them all laughing with anecdotes of her days on the stage, and the superstitious rituals the cast employed before performances.

  “So what are your plans for this afternoon?” Lady Dunwick asked Lily. “Shopping?”

  “Oh my, no, nothing as frivolous as that,” Lily said. She smiled at her husband. “Barton and I are meeting with Mr. Sanders in an hour to discuss the upcoming debate. He wants us to help him with practice questions.” Her eyes were alight with excitement.

  Concordia saw Lady Dunwick grimace behind her lunch napkin. No doubt the lady found the idea of a woman actively engaged in politics somewhat distasteful.

  “Has the venue for the debate been settled upon?” Sir Anthony asked.

  Barton Isley pushed his plate away and sat back. “We’ve decided upon the Long Brothers’ Palace Restaurant and Hotel.”

  Sir Anthony gave an approving nod. “At City Hall Square. Excellent location.”

  “Indeed,” Lily said. “The restaurant holds up to five hundred people, so the Ladies Civic Committee will have ample room for the candidates’ breakfast that precedes the debate.”

  “We are hoping for good weather,” Isley added, “so that the debate itself can be held outside on the square.”

  Charlotte checked her watch. “Oh! I should be getting back, if I’m to make my three o’clock lesson.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” Concordia said. She turned to their hostess. “Lady Dunwick, this has been delightful. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Lady Dunwick smiled. “Come back anytime, dear. It was a pleasure to have you.”

  Barton Isley leaned over to his wife and murmured, “Sir Anthony and I have a matter to discuss. It shouldn’t take us long.”

  Lily nodded as the men headed for the study. Charlotte and Concordia collected their things from the maid and left.

  They stood outside the house, pulling on their gloves and straightening their hats.

  “Which way?” Charlotte asked. She pointed to the left, toward Sigourney Street. “We could take th
e trolley right at that corner, but the route winds through the downtown district…”

  “…or we could walk a few blocks to Garden Street, and take the line that circumvents the traffic, and has fewer stops,” Concordia finished. “Yes, I think the latter prospect is the better choice.”

  Turning in that direction, they passed the Dunwick’s open study window. Concordia slowed her steps, and put her hand on Charlotte’s arm as she heard the clear ringing voice of Barton Isley.

  “...you could have more successes like this one, with our help. Think of the future cases! You would be unstoppable.”

  Charlotte Crandall’s eyes widened, as she, too, recognized the bursar’s voice.

  “What are you saying?” Sir Anthony answered angrily. His voice was getting closer to the window. Concordia stooped as if she’d dropped something. Charlotte walked hastily down the sidewalk to avoid being seen. Sir Anthony closed the leaded window with a thud, effectively making the rest of the conversation inaudible.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Charlotte murmured, as they continued on. “What has Uncle Anthony gotten involved in?”

  “It sounds as if the Inner Circle is going to great lengths to persuade your uncle to join.” Concordia was relieved. It was apparent that Sir Anthony had not yet committed himself. But the Circle had not given up. Their “aid” in his latest case, with a plaintiff attacked and evidence stolen, was meant to persuade. And perhaps serve as a threat,too? Now Concordia was sure that Sir Anthony had nothing to do with the attacks on Miss Hamilton and Eli, or the murders of Florence Willoughby and Ben Rosen.

  Charlotte turned accusing eyes to Concordia. “You knew Bursar Isley to be an Inner Circle member, but didn’t tell me?”

  Concordia flushed. “I’m sorry. I was worried that you might not be able to act normally around him on campus.”

  Charlotte tossed her head defiantly. “I am more capable than you think. But you have to trust me.”

  “You’re right.” Concordia said. “I apologize.” She must start thinking of Charlotte Crandall as a younger colleague, not a former student to be shielded. She would also have to tell her about Maynard, but out here on a public sidewalk was not the time.