The blackness faded. Concordia lifted her head from the bed. She cautiously propped herself on her elbows and waited for a dizzying wave of nausea to pass. She was alone in what appeared to be a man’s bedroom, with framed paintings of horses on the walls.
Where was she? It was an enormous effort to concentrate. Then she remembered. The masquerade ball. Randolph Maynard’s country house. She must be in Maynard’s bedroom. She didn’t like the thought of that.
What happened?
Concordia tentatively shifted her legs over the side, and fingered the silk of her ball gown, trying to remember.
The bedroom door opened, and Lily Isley walked in with a tray.
“Oh, my dear! Thank goodness you’re awake. I’ve been so worried.” Lily set down the tray and felt Concordia’s forehead. “An illness, perhaps?”
Concordia shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. This sudden collapse had felt nothing like a gradual illness.
“Perhaps your corset was too tight,” Lily went on. “I loosened it a bit for you, while you were sleeping. I hope you don’t mind.”
Concordia minded very much, actually. She was starting to remember. The bitter-tasting tea. Her glance fell upon the tray Lily had brought. “What’s this?”
“Oh, just a cup of beef broth and some toast,” Lily said soothingly.
“Thank you, but I should go,” Concordia said, clutching the bedpost in an attempt to stand. The room teetered and she closed her eyes.
“Nonsense, you can’t travel in this condition,” Lily said firmly. “Why don’t you lay down for a bit longer? Then we can take you home. Here, have some broth.” She held out the cup.
Concordia took it, although she had no intention of consuming another thing in this household. She glanced suddenly at the window, which was open a crack for air. “Did you see that?”
“What?” Lily went to the window, and Concordia, with an unspoken apology to the dean for ruining his carpet, dumped half the broth over the far side of the bed. When Lily turned around, Concordia had the rim of the cup to her lips.
“I don’t see anything.”
Concordia gave her a sheepish look. “I thought I saw a lantern in the orchard. A trick of the light, I suppose.” She passed the cup back to Lily and lay back against the pillows with a sigh. “That was very good. Thank you.”
Lily glanced into the cup before setting it aside. “Of course, dear. Now, you just rest here for a bit. I’ll leave you the toast.” She closed the door quietly behind her on her way out.
Was it Concordia’s imagination, or was there the faint click of a key being turned in the lock?
She sat up again, taking deep breaths to fight through the dizziness. After a little while, the floor no longer loomed up at her. She groped her way to the door, and quietly tested it. It was locked, as she had suspected.
She knew better than to bang on the door and demand to be let out. Lily had no intention of letting her go.
Concordia crossed over to the window, opening it as far as it would go. The cool night air soothed her throbbing head.
She was about twelve feet from the ground, without so much as a vine or tree branch to aid any climb down. She wasn’t sure she could have managed a climb, anyway; she wasn’t quite steady yet.
Then she noticed a figure in the darkness, moving stealthily toward the side of the house.
What on earth?
Concordia breathed a sigh of relief when she recognized Charlotte Crandall. How did the girl manage to return undetected? Bless the resourceful young lady for realizing there was trouble.
“Psst! Charlotte!” Concordia called in a hushed voice.
The figure looked up. “Miss Wells,” she whispered. “Thank heavens. I’ll be right back; I saw a ladder in the shed.” Charlotte slipped into the shadows around the corner, re-emerging in moments with a long ladder. After a few attempts, she managed to softly prop it against the wall. “I’ll hold it while you climb down.”
Concordia shook her head, but she couldn’t explain. The more she talked while leaning out the window, the more likely someone would hear them.
Charlotte’s expression was unreadable in the darkness, but after a pause the girl got on the ladder and climbed up.
Concordia helped in the bedraggled girl. “Am I glad to see you.”
“What happened? Why didn’t you climb down?” Charlotte Crandall asked.
“Lily put something in my tea to knock me out. I feel a little wobbly. Oh, and the door’s locked from the outside.” Concordia sank back into a chair.
Charlotte sucked in a breath. “So she’s part of this, too. These are desperate people.”
Concordia nodded, gingerly. “What made you come back?”
“When you hadn’t returned to Willow Cottage by one o’clock this morning,” Charlotte said, collapsing into a chair and re-pinning her straggling bun, “I grew worried. That last conversation we had with Bursar Isley...something wasn’t right. I didn’t know what to think. I wanted to see if you were here.”
“But how did you get here?”
“I borrowed a horse,” Charlotte said matter-of-factly.
Concordia shuddered. She didn’t especially like horses, and they didn’t seem over-fond of her, either.
“When I was out on the grounds, I overheard Mr. Isley through a downstairs window, talking with another man,” Charlotte continued. She gave Concordia an anxious look. “Are you feeling any better? We have to get out of here.”
Concordia stood and crossed to the window. The dizziness had ebbed. “I can do it now.” She hesitated and turned back to Charlotte. “Isley was talking with another man? What did they say?” She was willing to bet it was Inner Circle business.
“Apparently there’s to be a meeting at three this morning. They’re waiting for whoever’s in charge to come, to finalize plans for something.”
Concordia started. “You mean Isley’s not the one in charge of the Inner Circle?”
“Not the way I heard it, no.” Charlotte glanced uneasily at the bedside clock. “It’s past that time now. Shouldn’t we leave? All of the other guests are long gone. We’d have no one to turn to for help if someone comes in.”
Concordia shook her head. She was very curious about this man in charge, who wasn’t Isley. Could it be Maynard? Where had he been all evening, if not in his own house? “Did Isley say anything else?”
“Not really,” Charlotte said. “They stopped talking when the maid came down the hallway. Isley told her to get the fire stoked in the billiard room, and lay out port and cigars.”
“Where’s the billiard room?” Concordia asked.
“My guess is the top story,” Charlotte said. “I saw the maids turning up the lights and opening the windows in the room just above this one.” She regarded Concordia anxiously. “You’re not considering what I think you are....”
“We have to learn their plans,” Concordia said. “This may be our only opportunity.”
“Setting aside for the moment how dangerous that is,” Charlotte said, “how are you going to get up there?”
Concordia went to the window where the ladder was propped and looked up. Even though it extended past her window, it didn’t quite reach the balcony above.
However, just to the right of the balcony was the deep ledge of a gabled window.
She pointed it out. “I can reach that window sill. On a mild night like this, they are bound to leave the windows and balcony doors open. I’ll be able to hear everything.”
“Unless one of them steps out on the balcony and sees you first,” Charlotte protested.
Concordia regarded Charlotte, nervously glancing out the window. “Charlotte, there’s no sense in both of us risking capture. Why don’t you go back down the ladder, and wait for me…where did you tether the horse?”
“In the orchard, but out of sight of the house,” Charlotte said.
“Then wait for me there, and if I don’t join you in thirty minutes, leave and get help.”
Charlotte shook her head stubbornly. “You’ll need someone to keep the ladder steady. At that height, it would be sure to tip. I can stay here and support it from the window. No one would see me with the lights in the room turned out.”
Concordia hesitated, then smiled. “Thank you.”
Charlotte looked over Concordia’s ball gown with a skeptical eye. “But how are you going to climb a ladder and stand on a window ledge wearing that?”
Concordia regarded her gown in dismay. “You’re right.” She went over to the armoire and pulled it open, scanning the contents for something suitable. All men’s clothing, of course; even if he were not a bachelor, Randolph Maynard certainly wouldn’t keep women’s attire in his own wardrobe.
Charlotte stifled a laugh. “You’re not going to wear the dean’s clothes, are you?”
Concordia held a pair of trousers against her waist, trying to get a sense of their size. Fortunately, Randolph Maynard was a lean man, and the waist didn’t seem too large. Of course, he was much taller than she.
“Why not?” Concordia asked with false bravado, trying not to think about how ridiculous she was going to look. “I can roll up the cuffs so they don’t catch...and these suspenders will hold up the trousers. Help me, will you?”
Charlotte helped her out of the gown and corset. Concordia left her chemise on, tucking it awkwardly into the trousers. Lumpy but effective, she decided. She added a cotton shirt, rolled at the sleeves to free her hands, with a dark jacket over top, so the white wouldn’t catch the light. As her dress pumps were impractical for climbing and none of Maynard’s shoes fit, she went in her stockinged feet.
“I am a sight, I must say.” Concordia turned away from the mirror. “Okay, ready.”
With Charlotte holding onto the ladder from inside the room, Concordia grasped a rung and tentatively pulled herself up. She paused briefly, looking at Charlotte. “If you hear someone at the bedroom door, climb down and get help.”
“But that will leave you stranded,” Charlotte protested.
“I can reach the balcony from that gable window, if I have to,” Concordia said. “By that point, I’d be discovered, anyway. No sense in us both being caught. And if you get away, you can bring back help.”
Charlotte nodded miserably, and Concordia started to climb.
There was a refreshing freedom in wearing men’s clothing, and Concordia climbed up quickly.
When she was nearly at the top, the ladder began to wobble. Concordia froze and looked down. She could see Charlotte’s hands, firmly curled around the sides. Thank heaven the girl had insisted upon staying. The sill was to her left, and she could see the balcony beyond that, bright light spilling onto it from the open French doors of the billiard room.
She reached for the top frame of the gable with her left hand, then shifted her right hand to the top ladder rung. Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the window ledge—left foot, then right foot, not daring to look down. The balcony was less than an arm’s length away, with a wide balustrade blocking some of the view. She flattened herself against the building as best she could and tipped her head to listen.