I pray you, in your
letters,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
Speak of me as I am.
Othello, V.ii
Week 17, Instructor Calendar
June 1898
“Here, let me get that,” Concordia said, reaching around Miss Hamilton to prop open the door to Willow Cottage as they went in. “I’ll make us some tea. And there may be some of Ruby’s scones left,” she added, leading the way to the kitchen.
Penelope Hamilton, wrist in a splint but looking otherwise whole, smiled. “That sounds lovely.”
“I’m glad you could visit once more before you leave,” Concordia said, putting the kettle under the tap. “Are you sure you’re fit to travel?’
“I’ll be fine,” Miss Hamilton assured her.
“I imagine your family misses you,” Concordia said. She set a plate of scones and a teacup within reach of Penelope Hamilton’s good hand.
“My sister is the only family I have left,” Miss Hamilton said. “Although she came to see me during my recovery, a hospital environment is hardly congenial for socializing.”
“I don’t know what we would have done without you,” Concordia said, thinking over the events of the past few weeks. Lily Isley and Robert Flynn were dead, Hitchcock and Isley were in prison, each awaiting trial, and the police chief was facing disciplinary action for his part in obstructing the Florence Willoughby investigation. The Inner Circle, without its leader, was broken up, powerless. Charlotte Crandall had told Concordia that her uncle, Sir Anthony Dunwick, had withdrawn his membership in the Black Scroll, along with Maynard and a number of other brothers. Accusations and blame were directed toward the powerful Willoughby family.
But it was over.
Miss Hamilton smiled. “I was happy to assist. A fascinating case. You did most of the hard work, however.”
Concordia winced. The bruise on her jaw had faded, but the memories were painfully fresh.
“I haven’t seen Mr. Bradley around lately,” Miss Hamilton continued. “Miss Pomeroy told me what happened between you two at the square. I hope the rift has been mended?”
Miss Hamilton’s directness was always a bit disconcerting. Concordia looked away, busying herself with steeping the tea to cover her silence. Forgiving David had been the easy part, but she’d found herself at a loss for words to answer any of his letters of apology. After a week of leaving his messages unanswered, she had received a terse note from him, saying that he was leaving for his parents’ summer cottage and would be gone until the fall term. She wasn’t sure whether she was angry, hurt, or relieved. She’d tried to push it out of her mind with work. Certainly the end of term had held plenty to occupy her: examinations, graduation preparations, letters of reference, dismantling the cottage household. Many good-byes were exchanged as the students scattered for the summer recess.
The good-byes were always the hardest part. Concordia would miss her girls, as impetuous, mischievous, and noisy as they were wont to be. Even Miss Smedley, who at last had settled down to be a fair student and planned to return in the fall.
But when Concordia wasn’t busy—usually in the quiet of the night as she lay staring at the moonlight-bathed ceiling—she thought of David, and hoped she wasn’t saying goodbye to him, too. She’d started four different letters to send, and had torn up each one.
Miss Hamilton was watching her carefully. Concordia finally met her gaze. “He’s gone for the summer. And no—it has not been mended.”
“Ah, I see.” There was an awkward silence, then Miss Hamilton changed the subject. “I’ll be starting my next assignment soon.”
“Oh? What assignment is that?”
“It looks to be quite intriguing. It involves a cross-country railway trip. In fact, I was wondering…I’d need a companion for the journey. What do you think?”
Concordia’s eyes widened. “Me? I already have a job. Shouldn’t you find someone more—” she groped for a word “—professional?”
Miss Hamilton shook her head. “You underestimate yourself. Besides, you wouldn’t do actual investigative work. I would merely need you to listen and observe. It would be helpful to have someone to talk to. Sometimes detection is lonely work.”
Concordia nodded. She had felt that loneliness.
“You’ve just finished with the spring term,” Miss Hamilton went on, as Concordia poured the tea. “The trip would involve only a few weeks of your summer recess. Besides, it might be opportune to get away from Hartford for a while. You could use a change of scene.” She hesitated.
“There’s something more to this,” Concordia said.
“I’m also concerned about the Inner Circle,” Miss Hamilton said.
“Why?” Concordia asked. “That has been broken up.”
“We don’t know the full extent of the Circle’s influence, or if the remaining members might engage in some sort of retribution,” Miss Hamilton countered. “Remember, we don’t know the identities of the final three in the group.”
Concordia sat lost in thought, gripping her teacup. When she had visited Sophia and Eli a few days before, she’d learned that Isley was still refusing to identify the other members. Did he fear them so? She’d tried not to think about those unknown men, possibly nursing a grudge against her.
Miss Hamilton waited in silence. The mantel clock ticked in the quiet.
The sound of the doorbell made them both jump.
They heard Ruby’s footsteps in the hall, and then Capshaw’s voice as he talked with Ruby. A couple of minutes later, the familiar stoop-shouldered man paused in the kitchen doorway. Concordia noticed he was growing his mustache again. It seemed to be coming in just as red as ever.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have news.”
“Of course, Lieutenant, sit down.” Miss Hamilton gestured to another chair. “Would you like some tea?”
He shook his head. “I can only stay a moment. I came to tell you that Hitchcock and Isley are dead.”
“What! Both of them?” Concordia cried. Her fingers felt suddenly chilled, and she gripped her teacup for its warmth. “How can that be?”
“Killed as they slept, and in different cells,” Capshaw said dejectedly. “With a fatal dose of chloroform.”
Concordia and Miss Hamilton exchanged glances.
“It looks like Ruby is a widow, once again,” Concordia said.
Capshaw nodded. “I just told her.”
Miss Hamilton grimaced. “The Inner Circle is alive and well.”