Week 7, Instructor Calendar
March 1898
Concordia was nearly ready for the Isley dinner.
She watched as Penelope tugged with the buttonhook, giving a little grunt of exertion. The new shoes were a bit stiff, but perfectly matched Concordia’s green silk dinner dress, so she wasn’t about to change them for her old broken-in black pumps. If only her corset weren’t so tight, she would be able to lean over and button them herself.
Concordia noted the glints of silver in Penelope’s braided coronet as the woman bent over the shoe. Since Miss Hamilton moved with the grace and ease of a much younger woman, these little reminders of the lady’s actual age were a continual surprise.
“There!” Miss Hamilton said in satisfaction, handing back the hook.
“Have you made any progress in your search for Eli?” Concordia asked, her voice tinged with hope.
“Some,” Miss Hamilton said. “One of the newsies who works the corner of Pearl and Asylum, in front of the druggist’s, thought it was Eli he saw that afternoon. He was running as if he were chasing something, the boy said.”
Concordia leaned forward in excitement. “If true, then Eli left the boarding house under his own power, rather than being kidnapped, or—” She couldn’t complete the sentence, not wanting to think about the or.
Miss Hamilton nodded. “It negates my original idea that Eli ran away in fright. As wild as it may seem, he could have been chasing the killer. But if that’s the case, why not simply call the police?”
“Eli tries to avoid policemen as much as possible,” Concordia said. “Before he lived at the settlement house, he had a number of sad experiences with them, when he was caught stealing food and sleeping in abandoned houses. Capshaw is the only policeman he’s ever trusted. But I wonder why Eli didn’t go to Capshaw with anything he might have known.”
Miss Hamilton shook her head. “Having never had children of my own, I cannot pretend to understand them. But I’m pursuing the lead further. I’ve also learned more about the Willoughbys. That’s why I wanted to intercept you on your way to the Isleys’ dinner. There’s something I want you to do for me.”
Concordia gestured to a chair. “We don’t have much time. David will be picking me up soon. How can I help?”
“Let me tell you first what I found out. Did you know that the Willoughbys are closely associated with Mr. and Mrs. Isley?”
Concordia shook her head. “I know very little about any of them. Is it important?”
“I’ll let you decide for yourself. First of all, they share the same solicitor, a man named Flynn—”
“Robert Flynn? The Irishman?” Concordia interrupted.
“You know him?”
“He and my mother have been spending a lot of time together lately.”
“Indeed?” Miss Hamilton raised an eyebrow. “That may be useful later.”
“Perhaps.” Concordia certainly didn’t want her mother involved in the case.
Miss Hamilton dug out her notepad and glanced at it briefly. “They have a financial connection as well. Barton Isley acted as consultant to the Willoughbys before his retirement from investment banking. He may yet serve them in that capacity, at least informally. Both families are invested in copper mines in Rhodesia.”
“What does this have to do with tonight’s dinner?” Concordia asked.
“I’m getting to that. There’s also a political connection between the families. The Isleys are quite involved in Republican politics at the state level—”
Concordia nodded, remembering her conversation with Mr. Isley.
“—and the Willoughbys and Isleys support the same local senate candidate—”
“Mr. Sanders,” Concordia supplied.
“Correct. He’s the guest of honor at tonight’s dinner party,” Miss Hamilton continued. “I read in the society section that several Willoughbys are expected to be in attendance tonight.”
Concordia smiled briefly at the thought of Penelope Hamilton scouring the society pages.
“There’s one more thing, and it’s the most interesting item of all,” Miss Hamilton went on. “I’ve learned from a trusted source that several of the Willoughby men belong to a secret society.”
Concordia’s mouth dropped open. “You mean, Freemasons or something of the sort? That seems somewhat...medieval, doesn’t it?”
“Rather cloak-and-dagger, yes,” Miss Hamilton said. “I haven’t been able to learn as much as I’d like. I do know that it’s called the Fraternal Order of the Black Scroll.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Concordia said.
“Nor would you be likely to. It was formed ten years ago as an organization of secret philanthropy; its membership is that of men in the legal, financial, and law enforcement professions. But I don’t know anything about the membership size, who besides the Willoughbys belong to it, what its mission and code of conduct currently are, or the breadth of its influence. Given your bursar’s close affiliation with the Willoughbys, however, it’s likely that Isley is a member.”
“But how would Florence be involved?” Concordia objected. “As a woman, she couldn’t possibly belong to such an organization. Isn’t it rather far-fetched to assume the group has anything to do with her death? You said it was philanthropic.”
Miss Hamilton shook her head. “I said it started as philanthropic. I need to learn more about its current agenda. And although Florence did not belong to the organization, she lived in a household with family members who did. She also could have had acquaintances, friends, even a paramour associated with the Black Scroll. With that degree of familiarity, people don’t always keep secrets they are expected to.”
Concordia eyes widened as something occurred to her. “If the Black Scroll membership includes men in law enforcement, could it be behind the removal of Capshaw from Florence’s murder investigation?”
Miss Hamilton grimaced. “A disturbing thought, is it not? We must learn more. Some of the most socially and politically influential people will be together at the Isleys tonight. It is a unique opportunity for you to listen in on conversations.”
“You want me to spy on the dinner guests?” Concordia asked incredulously. “That seems to be more along your line.”
“I was not invited to the party, you were.” Miss Hamilton hesitated. “But for heaven’s sake, be careful.”