Prudence is a rich, ugly, old maid courted by incapacity.
William Blake
“Ow,” Concordia murmured, rubbing her arm.
Madeline Farraday, her widened gray eyes briefly visible in the dim light of the street lamp outside, swiftly closed the door and locked it again. “Why are you here?” she hissed.
“Fetching you two before you come to harm or are arrested for trespass. Or both. Where’s Maisie?”
“Upstairs, looking for the second safe. How did you know where we were?”
“Wait—what? A second safe? What makes you think he has a second safe?”
“I thought of it later. My former employer, Mr. Gemmer, had a second safe installed for private papers he didn’t want his clerks prying into.”
His clerks prying into. Perhaps that was the safe Lawrence had stumbled onto, rather than the office safe the police had searched. If so, it would make sense that Richardson had found it upsetting—and perhaps a threat to his plans. “Have you found it yet?”
“No, and we’ve been here twenty minutes at least. Maisie’s checking his private office upstairs, which is the most likely place. Just to be thorough, I’ve been searching down here. No luck. I was about to join Maisie upstairs when I heard you outside.”
“We should get Maisie and go.” Concordia peered cautiously through the window beside the back door. There was no sign of anyone except Trixie, thank goodness, but she didn’t care to press their luck.
“But it’s our only opportunity to find the evidence we need,” Madeline protested, as they groped their way up the stairs.
“What if Richardson comes and finds us here? Have you considered that? If he’s guilty of murder, he has nothing to lose by killing us. He’s fleeing as it is.”
“But he can’t get in. We have his keys.”
“He may have a spare set at home,” Concordia pointed out. “Once his maid lets him into the house, he can retrieve them and come right over to reassure himself that everything is in order.”
She heard Madeline’s sharp intake of breath. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Madeline hurried up the stairs. “Maisie!” she called softly. “We have to go.”
“Wait, Maddy—I found something!” came Maisie Lovelace’s excited voice.
They followed the dim glow of a shuttered lantern.
Maisie hurried toward them. She stopped short. “Mrs. Bradley! How did—”
“We need to get out of here,” Madeline said. “Richardson might have a spare key at home and could return here.”
Maisie winced. “Good point. But first, come see!”
They followed her to a section of the lower wall, where the lantern and a tool pouch sat on the floor. A bead-board panel had been pried away and set aside, revealing a dark metal surface.
“It was well concealed,” Maisie said.
“Can you get it open?” Madeline asked excitedly, as Maisie crouched on the floor.
“Maybe. It’s a dial lock.”
“No,” Concordia said briskly, “we are not going to waste precious time in trying. You are no lock-picker, Miss Lovelace. We shall leave it to the police. Miss Crandall is even now having Mr. Langdon fetch them.”
Madeline groaned. “We’re in trouble.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Bradley.” Maisie swept aside a dark lock of hair and put her ear to the safe. “I’ll soon know if I can get it open. We’ll be out of here in no time.”
Concordia went over to the window behind Richardson’s desk and looked down into the alley. Trixie was now standing beside the horse—probably for extra warmth, poor dear. When the woman glanced up, Concordia fluttered her hand. Trixie tiptoed around the corner, came back, and shook her head in her direction. At least no one was coming.
“Well…just a minute or two more,” Concordia said grudgingly, crossing the room to rejoin Maisie. Despite herself, she was curious.
Maisie Lovelace unsuccessfully hid a smile.
“I’ll keep a lookout downstairs,” Madeline offered.
Concordia watched as Maisie fingered the combination dial. “How did you two get here from the school?”
“Hired a hansom. We had to walk quite a ways to find one this time of night. The cabbie dropped us off a couple of blocks down, in front of the hospital.” Maisie chuckled. “Maddy made groaning sounds in the back of the cab from time to time. We told him it was lady trouble. He wanted no part of that.” She put her ear to the door. “I’ll need quiet now, to listen to the tumblers and focus on any resistance I can feel in the knob.”
Concordia dearly wanted to ask how on earth Maisie became knowledgeable about dial locks, but that would have to wait. The sooner they were gone, the better. She checked her watch. She’d been here nearly five minutes already. Perhaps she should have Trixie move the cart farther away—
“Ha! Got it.” Maisie triumphantly swung open the steel door. “I’m surprised he had such a cheap lock put in.”
“See if there’s a ledger book.” Concordia held up the lantern. Piled within were stacks of neatly bound bills. “Mercy, so much money!”
Maisie craned her head to look. “How much do you think is there?”
Concordia shook her head. “We’ve no time to count it.”
Maisie pulled out a cloth pouch perched atop one of the stacks and peeked inside. “Looks like a bunch of small rocks. It’s hard to tell in the dim light. They look greenish, don’t you think?” She passed it over.
“Odd.” Concordia felt the bottom of the bag. There was something else, flat and rigid. Too small for a ledger. She pulled it out and held it up to the light. “It’s a bank book.”
“Now what?” Maisie asked.
Concordia restored the bank book and bag. “We put everything back the way we found it and close up the safe. We can’t afford to stay any longer. We’ll tell Capshaw where to find the safe when he returns.” Though how she was going to explain their midnight foray, she had no idea.
Just then they heard a light pattering sound of gravel hitting the window. Uh-oh. Trixie’s signal.
Concordia ran to the stairs. Madeline was racing up towards her. “He’s outside the front door!” she hissed.
Concordia waved her off. “Don’t come up here. Go out the back. Trixie’s waiting in the alley with the cart. You two get help.”
“But what about you and Maisie?”
They heard the door open. Concordia gestured to the girl to go.
With a last, frantic look over her shoulder, Madeline flew down the stairs and headed for the back door. Concordia quietly crept back upstairs to rejoin Maisie. She locked the inner door, for all the good it would do. At most it would slow him down. They were trapped.
Maisie’s dark eyes were wide with fear. “What do we do?”
Concordia flung the window wide open and stuck her head out. Trixie looked up, startled.
“Where’s Madeline?” she called.
“She hasn’t come out, ma’am,” Trixie said.
Oh no. What happened to Madeline? She hadn’t heard a scuffle or a cry downstairs.
There was a heavy tread on the stairs, then Richardson’s voice at the door. “Whoever you are—unlock the door, right now!” They heard the fumbling of a keyring.
“You’ll have to run for a patrolman,” Concordia said to Trixie. “Leave the horse since he’s lame. Oh, wait.” She turned to Maisie, who’d come to the window. She pointed to the hay-filled cart. “Could you manage the drop? There should be enough hay to cushion your fall.”
They heard the key in the lock.
Maisie blew out a breath and nodded. Concordia steadied her on the sill as the girl quickly gathered her skirts to free her feet.
Behind them, the unmistakable sounds of the door being flung open and swift steps crossing the room set Concordia’s heart pounding.
Maisie let go.
Concordia watched her land atop the tarp that covered the hay. Trixie ran over to help her climb down.
The girl’s thumbs-up signal was the last thing Concordia saw before Richardson was upon her. After a brief flash behind her eyes, everything went black.
A scowling Randolph Maynard opened the door of Sycamore House at David’s persistent knock.
“I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour,” David began. “Have you seen my—”
“Wife?” Maynard’s lip curled. “No.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “But Edward’s in the study, telephoning the police on her behalf.”
David hurried down the hall. President Langdon had his ear to the receiver and waved him in as Charlotte Crandall paced the floor.
She stopped. “Mr. Bradley! Are you feeling better, sir?”
“Well enough. Where’s Concordia?”
“She and Trixie headed to Richardson’s office in town. They’re trying to intercept Miss Lovelace and Miss Farraday.”
“Why on earth would they go there?” David asked.
Charlotte explained Concordia’s and Madeline’s recent discoveries regarding Ernest Richardson.
David looked over at Langdon. “Are the police on their way?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been trying to reach the station for the past half an hour. The main trunk line is out, and the operator’s having trouble re-routing the call to another station.” He sighed. “So much for modern conveniences.”
“May I borrow your buggy?” David asked. “I cannot abide simply sitting here.”
“We should let the police handle it.”
“My wife, my responsibility,” David retorted.
Langdon blew out a breath. “All right. Have Randolph help you hitch up Chestnut.”
“Thanks. What’s the address?”
“338 Main Street.”
“That was mighty daring, miss,” Trixie whispered, helping Maisie clamber out of the cart.
Maisie winced as she hopped down. “It wasn’t as graceful as I’d hoped. I’ve wrenched my ankle.”
Trixie tucked Maisie’s arm over her shoulder as they limped into the shadows.
“Mrs. Bradley and Miss Farraday are still in there.”
“I know.” Maisie blew out a breath. “Maybe we should go back in. After all, there are two of us and only one of him.”
“I dunno,” Trixie said nervously. “Mrs. Bradley said we should fetch a patrolman. It’s not like we have a weapon or anything.”
“We can improvise. And he wouldn’t expect us to be back so soon. You check the front door, see if it’s unlocked. I’ll check the back.”
Alas, the office was locked up tight. “I guess we go for help, then,” Maisie said. “Let’s hope we find a patrolman soon.”
“Amen to that, miss. Can you make it with your ankle?”
Maisie nodded, the image of Mrs. Bradley crumpling at the hands of Richardson fresh in her mind. “I’ll manage.”
The back of Concordia’s head radiated a pain that sent waves of nausea coursing through her when she moved. She very much wanted to move, as she was currently sprawled on her stomach, one cheek pressed against a wood floor that smelled of dust and old wax. Her skirts had bunched under her knees, allowing the chill of the room to pluck at her calves.
Where was she? Then she remembered. Richardson’s office.
In the dark, she heard a grunt. She lifted her head gingerly. Richardson had shed his jacket and was perspiring in his shirtsleeves and vest as he positioned the inert form of Madeline Farraday upon a Turkish rug.
Concordia’s heart froze with fear. “Madeline?” she called out.
The girl groaned but didn’t wake.
At least she was alive.
Richardson muttered an oath and hurried over to Concordia. “You will stay silent and not attempt to escape, Mrs. Bradley,” he growled. “I’ll get to you in a minute. Any such action in the meantime, and I shall kill your friend.”
She didn’t doubt it. Not that she could get to her feet at the moment, much less outrun the man. “You are abominable,” she croaked. “What did you do to her?”
“I had to keep her from getting out the door. I knocked her out with the butt of the gun I’d taken the precaution of bringing along. I had a feeling something was wrong when my keys went missing.” He turned back to the young lady. “I don’t wish to kill anyone. I simply want to leave without hindrance.”
Concordia carefully sat up, wincing as a fresh jolt rippled through her skull. “The more precise phrase would be—you don’t wish to kill anyone else. If that can be believed. After all, what’s another murder to you? You’re already responsible for Lawrence Bradley’s death.”
Richardson had finished clumsily rolling Madeline into the rug. Concordia dearly hoped the girl could breathe in there.
“Oh, you figured that out, did you?” He narrowed his eyes. “What gave me away?”
“His flask smelled like your hair tonic. I didn’t realize it until recently.”
He looked sufficiently startled by the notion of a lady knowing what his hair tonic smelled like but didn’t ask the obvious question. Instead, he shrugged. “I liked the young man, but I had no choice. He caught on to what I’d done.”
“When he discovered your second safe and saw the money?”
He scowled. “I passed off an explanation that seemed to satisfy him on that score.”
“So why kill him?” She was silent for a long moment before it came to her. “Ah. Did he suspect you’d murdered his great-uncle?” Her instincts had been right—neither Dorothy Phillips nor George Lovelace was to blame.
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Well now, aren’t you the perceptive one.”
“What made Lawrence suspicious of you?”
He pointed to the form in the rolled-up rug. “This one. She came to the office to see Lawrence. I overheard her, insisting she’d seen him come out of Founder’s Hall that night.”
Concordia frowned. What had misled Madeline? It was true the two men possessed a similar height and build, but—the beaver collar. “You were wearing Lawrence’s overcoat? Why?”
“I discovered my own had a stain. I was on my way to the exhibit opening, and there was no time. We swapped coats.”
“So Lawrence realized Miss Farraday had mistaken you for him, and he put it all together. Did he confront you with his suspicions?”
“No, but I could tell…the way he acted after that. He knew.”
“Why kill Symond at our college?” She put an exploratory hand to the back of her head. Her hair was sticky, and a lump was forming. “For that matter, why kill him at all?”
“Getting rid of Isaiah was the plan ever since he returned from Brazil.” Richardson kept a wary eye on her as he carried a battered-leather valise over to the safe and started to transfer its contents. “You no doubt concluded, when you saw the cash and the gems, that I’d been helping myself a bit here and there from Isaiah’s accounts over the years.”
Gems? “You mean the rocks in that bag are gems?” She asked.
He chuckled as he shook the pouch. “Uncut emeralds, actually. Symond not only oversaw the operation of the ranch during his years in Brazil, he also had a tidy little gem-smuggling scheme going on. He’d organized a network of men who worked in the local mines to bring him not only emeralds, but amethysts, topazes, and aquamarines.”
“He told you of his smuggling?”
“Hardly. But he wasn’t terribly subtle about it. Each year, when he’d return to Hartford to check on his home affairs, he’d also make a side trip to visit someone—a friend, he claimed—in New York City. But why bring along the same locked case on trips to see a friend? Highly suggestive. It wasn’t hard to find out that the friend in New York was a gem-cutter who cut and sold the stones for him.”
“So you started blackmailing Symond.”
He smiled. “For a modest percentage of cash and gems.”
“Then why kill him and end a lucrative arrangement?”
Richardson crouched low to reach into the deepest recess of the safe. “Isaiah’s smuggling days were obviously over once he left Brazil for good. It also meant he now had more time to concentrate upon his affairs here at home. Since he’d returned earlier than I’d counted on, I had no time to tidy the books. He became suspicious of discrepancies in the accounts. I’d grown a bit sloppy in his absence, I must admit.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “One gets complacent, I suppose.”
The dizziness and nausea were subsiding, but the pain had taken on a steady, throbbing quality. What she wouldn’t give for a cool compress on the back of her head right now.
Without that luxury, she gritted her teeth and focused on the puzzle at hand. “You haven’t answered my original question—why kill him at Hartford Women’s College? Why not poison him quietly, as you did with Lawrence?”
Richardson sat back on his heels and regarded her thoughtfully. “My, my, you’re a cool one. Must be what comes of giving women a college education.”
“It must be,” she sneered.
“It would have gone something like that, but I decided to accelerate my plans after Isaiah’s altercation with the handyman.”
“You came upon them arguing?” Neither George nor Dorothy had said anything about Richardson being nearby.
“No, Isaiah himself told me. I’d wondered where he’d gotten to and decided to check the gallery first before heading home myself. I saw a man runing out, but I wasn’t close enough to see who it was. I’m sure he didn’t see me—he was in too much of a hurry. I went in and found Isaiah in the gallery applying a handkerchief to his bloody nose. He told me what Lovelace had done. That was quite a punch. Needless to say, Isaiah was fit to be tied. Apparently he’d ordered the man out, threatening him with ruin, and Miss Phillips as well.”
Concordia nodded to herself. That explained a great deal.
“But he wasn’t done yet,” Richardson went on. “Next he turned on me. Said he was tired of my thieving ways, and he’d order an audit of all his accounts in the morning. I had to act. There would never be a better opportunity to get rid of a big problem.”
“And place the blame on someone else,” she retorted. Despicable man.
“I saw the handyman’s tool bag tucked away in the corner. The plan practically arranged itself.”
She shuddered. “You cannot expect to get away with this.”
He snapped the valise shut and regarded her thoughtfully. “My success depends upon what I do with you, my dear.”