March 1898
Week 7, Instructor Calendar
Between the coffee and the proposal, Concordia barely slept at all. She smothered yawns throughout her morning classes.
She returned to Willow Cottage to find Miss Hamilton waiting in the parlor. She stopped short. “Weren’t we supposed to meet this evening?”
“I was anxious to learn how last night went,” Miss Hamilton said. “Do you have a few minutes now?”
Concordia glanced at the mantel clock and nodded.
After glancing down the empty hallway, Miss Hamilton closed the parlor door. “Did you learn anything?”
“Did I ever.” It had been quite an evening of discovery, in fact, but Concordia pushed David firmly out of her mind. She wasn’t ready to talk to Penelope Hamilton, or anyone, about her engagement yet. Engagement. Mercy.
She recounted what she had overheard beneath the Isley library window.
Miss Hamilton tapped her chin thoughtfully. “So an ‘Inner Circle’—whatever that may be—exists within the Black Scroll. Interesting. But we only know the identities of two men in the group: your bursar and Sir Anthony Dunwick.”
“Based upon voices alone,” Concordia said, “I know there were at least two other men in the room. I didn’t recognize those. There may have been others who weren’t contributing to the conversation.”
“Did any of the Willoughbys attend the party?” Miss Hamilton asked.
“No direct family members, but Mr. Bradley indicated a couple of guests with Willoughby family connections – a banker and a minister. They left before I had a chance to strike up a conversation and hear their voices.”
“So this meeting happened before dinner?” Miss Hamilton asked.
“Yes, shortly after the Republican candidate, Mr. Sanders, arrived,” Concordia said. “Perhaps that is not a coincidence.”
Miss Hamilton considered this in silence.
“How is this connected to Florence’s death?” Concordia asked. “You told me she had family connections to the Black Scroll. But are they Inner Circle members?”
“That’s what troubles me,” Miss Hamilton answered. “The existence of this Inner Circle can only mean that some men from the Brotherhood have their own agenda: one so secret—perhaps illegal—that they would not care to share it with the rest of the members. Instead, they’ve formed their own enclave. It could be very powerful indeed.”
“Mr. Isley characterized the Inner Circle’s existence as necessary to more efficiently carry out special projects,” Concordia said. “It didn’t sound particularly nefarious.”
“Did you hear any discussion as to what these ‘projects’ might be?” Miss Hamilton asked.
“No, but our bursar doesn’t strike me as a man craving power for himself. Dropping out of the state senate race to help with the finances of a women’s college doesn’t seem terribly ambitious.”
“We know that Isley is wealthy in his own right, besides being well-connected,” Miss Hamilton said. “I doubt the man has abandoned his political aspirations. He could have other reasons for withdrawing his candidacy, and may simply be biding his time.”
“Perhaps,” Concordia said. “That reminds me. Mr. Bradley told me there’s a rumor that the Isley wealth is ‘tied up’ in mining investments—I’m assuming these are the Rhodesian copper mines you were telling me about—and the Isleys haven’t seen much return on it yet. And near the end of the gathering, someone came to see Barton Isley. His wife asked him if it was in reference to their ‘Africa investments.’ She seemed quite anxious.”
Miss Hamilton perked up. “Did she? I’ll look into that. Perhaps that’s why Isley was in such a black mood when I encountered him on the path this morning.”
Concordia smiled. “That probably has more to do with President Langdon’s buggy making his office unusable this past week.”
Miss Hamilton chuckled. “I heard about that. But tell me more about Lily Isley. How involved is she in her husband’s affairs? One would think that a wife would be bored to tears with politics.”
Concordia shook her head. “Not so with Lily. She’s an unusually talented woman, quick-witted and charming. She certainly held her own when political topics crept into general conversation last night. Yet I find it surprising that she is so warmly accepted into that sphere.”
“Glamour and money can go a long way in bringing a candidate’s name to the front of people’s minds,” Miss Hamilton said with a smile.
“So, even though she is a woman in a man’s realm, Mrs. Isley’s involvement has been accepted because associating with a celebrated, flamboyant former stage actress will draw more attention?”
Miss Hamilton nodded. “Exactly.” She fished among the papers littering the coffee table—when would those heedless girls learn to clean up after themselves, Concordia wondered—and pulled out a sheet of newsprint. “I read an account of the dinner party this morning. It lists everyone in attendance. Perhaps you can put names to the faces you saw in the corridor during the dinner bell.”
Concordia glanced at the title: Former Celebrated Stage Actress Lily Isley and Husband Host a Charming Evening for Republican Candidate Sanders. She glanced over the list, shaking her head as she handed it back. “I recognize a few. It was too crowded for me to see anyone coming directly out of the library as we were being seated. I only know we can eliminate David, Lily, and Lady Dunwick, but the women wouldn’t be suspect, anyway. Oh, and my mother and Mr. Flynn, who didn’t arrive at the party until after dinner.”
“What about—” Miss Hamilton glanced at the clipping “—Dean Maynard? Could he have been among the group in the library?”
Concordia grimaced. “I’d hate to think so, but it’s possible. I didn’t notice him until we were all seated in the dining room. He was on the far side.” Which suited her just fine, given his sour disposition. “I take it you believe the Inner Circle is in some way connected to Florence’s death?”
“That is what my instincts are telling me,” Miss Hamilton said.
“Instincts? That doesn’t sound very reliable,” Concordia said with a smile.
“Sometimes, instincts are all one has to go on. Associations, rumors, coincidences. My job involves following all of these leads, and pulling on each thread until it either leads me to something more, or stops cold.”
Following rumors and associations was a sordid business, as Concordia herself remembered from earlier experiences with Miss Hamilton’s investigation. But she knew it had to be done.
Then she thought of something. “There may be someone who can help us,” Concordia said. “I’ll be right back.”
Miss Hamilton raised a quizzical brow as Concordia hurried across the hall to her rooms.
She soon returned, holding Ben Rosen’s business card. “He’s a newspaper reporter,” Concordia explained, passing it over. “He helped during the investigation into Colonel Adams’ murder last year. I saw him again a few weeks ago, when he was at the college doing a story on Ruby and her award. He gave me his card and offered any future help I might need.”
“Indeed?” Miss Hamilton said, lips quirked in a wry smile. “And why would a newspaper reporter imagine a lady professor having need of his services?”
Concordia, not inclined to repeat Rosen’s lady sleuth comment, merely shrugged.
Miss Hamilton turned the card over thoughtfully. “I’ll contact Mr. Rosen, and ask him to meet us at his earliest convenience.”
“What about Eli? Have you made any progress?” Concordia asked.
“I’ve made inquiries at the train station. I’m convinced that’s where Eli was headed after the newsie saw him chasing a cab.”
“Really? Why?” Concordia asked.
“It’s not far-fetched to believe the cab was headed toward the depot. Asylum Avenue runs right through there. Since Eli couldn’t possibly maintain a foot pursuit with a moving carriage, what did he do next? He hypothesized that this person was taking the train. Thus, Eli could hitch a ride aboard, say, an expressman’s wagon heading for the station. The difficulty lay in finding the killer again along the right platform. But we can assume that Eli was successful, since he didn’t return here to notify the Capshaws. He was hot on the trail.”
“Did anyone see him there?”
“No one noticed an unattended boy on the platform—but you know how crowded that place can be. I’ve interviewed all of the porters, and nearly all of the conductors, save one. A family emergency called him out of town. The company has promised to contact me when he returns.”
“What can I do?” Concordia asked. “I feel so helpless, waiting here doing nothing.”
“We know Bursar Isley is a member of the Inner Circle,” Miss Hamilton said. “Learn everything you can about him.”
“But how can I do that?” Concordia objected. Then she had an idea. “Perhaps by getting closer to Mrs. Isley?”
“Splendid,” Miss Hamilton said.