by Owen, K.
“There are always problems with servants, lieutenant, although I’m sure you wouldn’t have any experience with that,” Mrs. Adams answered. “I can’t say we’ve had anything unusual or alarming. Just the occasional lazy, slipshod, or nosy domestic. Of course, the people across the square have a butler who – well, let us just say it’s a wonder they haven’t been robbed blind. That man is as shifty as the day is long, and I suspect–”
“Yes, yes,” Capshaw said hastily, “that should be all I need from you for the moment, Mrs. Adams. Except I’ll want the name of your husband’s attorney for additional questions about the colonel’s will.”
“Sophia knows it; I don’t remember.” Mrs. Adams stood and raised a dramatic hand to her brow. “If you will excuse me, I have a headache and must lie down.”
After the policeman by the door had escorted her out, Sophia went over to the desk and wrote down the attorney’s name and address. “Here, lieutenant. We’ll need him to come open the safe anyway.”
“Indeed? No one else but the colonel and his lawyer knew the combination? Your father was a cautious man,” Capshaw said.
Sophia shrugged as she re-seated herself. “I never understood why, but I haven’t been living at home until recently. It never made any difference to me.”
Capshaw turned his attention to Concordia. “Tell me about Miss Phillips. I understand that she, too, teaches at the college.”
Drat. There wasn’t much that got by the man. “She’s our new history instructor, replacing Miss Banning, who retired last year,” Concordia said. “She’s also the curator for the college’s new antiquities collection.”
Capshaw made a quick note, tapped his nub of a pencil against his wadded notepad, and asked: “What was her business here?”
This was dangerous territory, and Concordia was not about to venture off the path. “I didn’t know that Miss Phillips intended to visit the colonel yesterday. She doesn’t make a habit of consulting with me beforehand,” she said carefully. Which was strictly true, of course. “Why would the colonel’s day-time visitors be pertinent, anyway, lieutenant? Miss Phillips was in her bed at the college when the man was killed.” At least she hoped so.
“It is standard procedure, Miss Wells,” Capshaw said patiently. “In cases like these, we retrace recent events and people in the victim’s life.”
“What about his other visitor, Mr. Rosen?” Concordia asked, trying to re-direct the conversation away from Miss Phillips. Let the newspaperman fend for himself.
Sophia jumped in to the conversation. “He’s the Courant reporter, isn’t he? The man who attended the college’s exhibit opening, and wrote the article about it?”
Capshaw scribbled some notes on his oft-folded wad of paper. “Do you know why Mr. Rosen would visit your father?” he asked.
Sophia looked at the policeman. “I don’t know. He was quite interested in my father’s collection.”
“That’s right. I remember him asking about the colonel’s future donations,” Concordia said. Could that be it? Had Rosen been after the colonel’s collection all along? Perhaps he was even the person who had stolen the amulet from the exhibit?
Capshaw looked up from his note-taking. “Hmm. I’ll have to make further inquiries in that direction. In the meantime, Miss Adams, I want you to recount again the events of this morning. Please tell me exactly what you did, and what you and Amelia might have touched or disturbed.”
Sophia was quiet for a long moment.
“I woke up to Amelia tugging on me. She was in near hysterics. Tears were streaming down her face, and her nose was a runny mess. She was still in her nightgown. She was barefoot. She had obviously just gotten out of bed. She wasn’t speaking, but just kept pulling. I didn’t know what to think, so I threw my dressing gown on over my nightgown, stepped into slippers, and followed her.” Sophia looked down ruefully at her sleeping attire. “I haven’t thought to change yet.” She hesitated.
“Go on,” Capshaw prompted, his voice softer.
“He was on the floor, on his side, with – with blood. Under his back.” She shuddered. “His eyes were open – just - staring.”
“Did you or the child go near the body?” Capshaw asked.
Sophia shrugged. “Of course, I don’t know about Amelia’s actions before she brought me to the study, and…well, I really don’t remember where exactly I was. The sight of him was quite disturbing.”
“The little girl’s nightgown is free of any bloodstains, suggesting that she kept her distance.” Capshaw said, giving her a long look. Sophia fidgeted, but said nothing.
The lieutenant tried a different tack. “Has anything unusual happened lately? Any new business associates or friends of your father? Or enemies that you know of?”
“My father had retired from military service two years ago, after my mother died. The only friend I’ve ever known him to have was Concordia’s father, who has been dead nearly a decade now. I know nothing of any current acquaintances, business or otherwise. I doubt if he has any. He was a difficult man to get along with.”
Capshaw gave her a sharp look. “Am I correct in assuming you and your father were not close, Miss Adams?”
Sophia gave the barest of nods.
Concordia decided it was time to intervene. “Lieutenant, how is that relevant? Surely you are not implying that Sophia had anything to do with her father’s untimely end?”
“I am merely exploring all possibilities, Miss Wells. Now, if you will excuse me.” He stood to leave, gesturing to the policeman by the door. “The sergeant will remain to question the staff. After I have spoken to your father’s lawyer, I’ll have additional questions for the family.” He looked at Sophia intently. “Especially you, Miss Adams. Considering the smear of blood on the hem of your nightdress” – he pointed – “I’d say you got a lot closer to the body than your sister.”
Chapter 8
He seemed to find his way without his eyes.
II. i
By the next day, the house was quiet. The policemen were gone for the time being. Servants were dispatched to clean the study and put out the customary mourning adornments for the front door, pulled out of storage from Sophia’s mother’s death.
What a strange household, Concordia thought; not a single person red-eyed from crying, or grieved at the loss of the Colonel? Yes, there was agitation here, apprehension about a murderer at large who had struck as they slept. But nothing more. What sort of man had Colonel Adams been, to have left this world, without a single soul to mourn him?
Concordia had not been in the company of the colonel since her own father was alive, when the two men spent time together more than two decades ago. Sophia spoke little of her father over the years. Concordia had the impression of a hard man, with a quick temper. But surely there was more to his character than that? He remarriage last year spoke of a softer side to his nature. But why was his widow not affected?
Then there was the problem of Sophia. Capshaw had pointed out the blood on her hem. Surely that could be explained?
Even so, Concordia knew her friend well enough to see that she was holding back something. Given Sophia’s stubbornness, Concordia decided to bide her time before asking her any pointed questions.
At Sophia’s request, Concordia had made arrangements to stay several nights. She’d found someone to cover her classes. So far, the lady principal hadn’t raised an objection.
Concordia hoped she could learn what Sophia was concealing. But Capshaw’s warning troubled her: you will not like the outcome. What did he suspect?
She glanced over at Sophia, pushing her food around with her fork. They’d had breakfast trays sent up to the sitting room, even though neither felt much like eating. “When will you be going back to your settlement work?” Concordia asked.
“As soon as Amelia is better,” Sophia answered. “I can’t leave her like this. You may have noticed Lydia is not the most attentive, nurturing soul. She has little experience with children.”
“She’s not much older than we are,” Concordia observed, “so I suppose that isn’t surprising.”
“Perhaps,” Sophia sighed. “Can I ask a favor?”
“Anything,” Concordia said.
“Do you remember Eli, the boy I sent to get you? He’d been staying at the settlement house, but then they had no room for him with the renovations taking place. I’ve been letting him stay here, in the servants’ quarters, but in light of what’s going on, it would be better if he stays elsewhere temporarily.”
“But, Sophia, I can’t take care of him,” Concordia objected. Heaven only knew what the lady principal would say to that. Women professors couldn’t even be married, much less have a child living with them.
“No, no, I meant can you find a job for him at the college, perhaps as a messenger boy or something of the sort? He’s very reliable, and quite intelligent. Of course, he has an aversion to bathing on a regular basis…”
“I’ll ask around and see what I can find for him,” Concordia said, “but the more difficult problem would be finding a place for him to stay.” It was a women’s college, after all.
“It would only be until the Settlement House’s renovations are finished,” Sophia said, “then there will be plenty of room for him.”
“He has no family? Where does he come from?”
“We haven’t been able to find any. He claims he doesn’t even know his own last name. We’re not sure of his age, but he’s probably about ten. Based on what he remembers, we’ve concluded that he must be the child of a prostitute. She either abandoned him or died. All he knows is that she disappeared. He stayed with friends of hers whom they’d been living with – probably a brothel – but something happened there that caused him to run away. He won’t tell us what happened. He hid aboard a rail car and got off here. He cannot read or write, and claims not to know the name of the town he came from.”
Concordia felt a twinge of pity for the boy. “How did he come to be here?”
“One of our workers rescued him after he was caught stealing a loaf of bread from the baker’s shop. If she hadn’t paid the man for it, Eli would have been locked up. We’ve had him for a few weeks, but he comes when he wants food and then leaves again. We can’t seem to keep him clean and presentable-looking for very long. But he really is a bright child, obliging and quick to learn.” Sophia looked at her expectantly.
Concordia thought for a minute. “The college’s gatekeeper, Mr. Clyde, lives in a small cottage on the grounds. Maybe I can persuade him to share the quarters and keep an eye on the boy for a while. I’ll ask when I return.” Which had better be soon, she thought. Although a fellow teacher was covering her classes, Ruby had been handling the girls back at the cottage by herself. Lady Principal Grant wouldn’t tolerate an extended absence.
Sophia let out a breath and squeezed Concordia’s hand. “Thank you.”
Concordia was reading to a listless Amelia in the girl’s bedroom when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” she called.
Concordia was well acquainted with the gentleman who walked in. He looked much the same as when they had said good-bye a few months ago. The same twinkling brown eyes, dimpled cheek, and black wavy hair that curled against the nape of his neck in just the way Concordia remembered. As always, he moved with the energy of a youthful man, though he was in his thirties.
“David!” Concordia cried. “What are you doing here?”
He sat down on the edge of the bed next to Amelia.
“I came to see my little goddaughter,” he said, as Amelia’s eyes brightened. She silently threw her arms around his neck, clinging tightly. He looked at Concordia over the child’s head.
“That’s right, I’d forgotten Amelia is your goddaughter,” Concordia said. She moved to seat herself in a proper chair. It would not do to sit on the bed with a man, no matter how many children were between them. Especially Mr. Bradley.
When Concordia had first met David Bradley last year, he had divided his time between teaching chemistry classes at Trinity College and at the women’s college. Her time with David had been a welcome solace from a difficult spring semester, when the mysterious death of Concordia’s sister and the murder of two college officials had thrown her life into chaos. She had wondered if their friendship had begun to border on something more.
However, neither had seemed willing to venture across that boundary, and David, dealing with a family crisis of his own, had decided upon a change of scene. Concordia was both hurt and relieved when he’d left. All this time, she had convinced herself that she was fine with his absence. Now he was back, and her cold fingers, warm cheeks, and the strange lightness in her chest proclaimed that a lie.
“Are you here for long?” she asked in an even voice.
“I am still living in Boston,” he explained, “but when Sophia sent for me, I came right away. I have a colleague taking over my classes this week.” He looked down fondly at the child in his arms. Amelia had fallen asleep.
Concordia suppressed a pang of jealousy over how easily David would drop whatever he was doing and take the train down from Boston for Sophia.
Stop being petty, she told herself. The Adams’ house was dealing with a murder, after all, and a traumatized child.
“How are you, Concordia?” David asked softly. “I was hoping that you –”
He broke off as they heard angry voices in the hall. Amelia woke up abruptly, eyes widening. She dove under her bedcovers.
Concordia flung open the door to find Sophia and Lydia Adams in heated debate. She motioned toward the cowering girl. “You’re frightening her,” she hissed.
Sophia lowered her voice. “She” – pointing to her stepmother – “wants to have a séance here tonight. It’s outrageous.”
Concordia frowned. A séance?
“Madame Durand is a dear friend of mine,” Lydia Adams reprovingly. “She has offered her services to help identify your father’s killer, Sophia. I would think that you, of all people, would want the person brought to justice.”
Concordia gave a start of surprise. Madame Durand? It seemed she could never get away from the woman. But she remembered the side conversation Lydia Adams had engaged in during the exhibit opening. She had consulted Madame Durand before.
“I doubt if the supernatural world can be of help to us in this situation,” Sophia said dryly, “the killer is of this world.”
“Nevertheless, we will be having a séance tonight. I am now in charge of the goings-on in this household. I require you to be there. You must come, too, Miss Wells. I understand that Madame Durand has been involved with your school lately so I am sure she will not mind.” She looked into the room, at Amelia. “We should have her attend as well.”
Sophia stiffened. “That child has been through too much already, Lydia. Do you have a heart of stone? How could you ask that of her? Concordia and I will attend so long as you leave Amelia out of it.”
“I’m afraid I must agree, Mrs. Adams,” David said, joining them in the hallway. He had just settled Amelia in her bed again. “The girl is frightened of her own shadow. She would be more of a disruption than a help. But I would be happy to come to your…séance.” He smiled charmingly.
Mrs. Adams hesitated. “I suppose you are right,” she said, grudgingly. “Be ready at nine o’clock.”
When she walked away, Sophia turned to David and Concordia. “I hope you don’t mind. I would do anything to keep Amelia from experiencing additional distress.”
“Of course,” Concordia said, wondering what tomfoolery she’d just been volunteered for.
“Could be fun,” David answered.
Chapter 9
It harrows me with fear and wonder.
I.i
They had just finished their meal when the doorbell sounded. Concordia checked her lapel watch: eight-thirty. Madame Durand was a bit early; she must be eager to get the séance underway.
Well, she wasn’t eager to do this, but at least it
would be over with sooner.
To her surprise, the maid ushered in Lieutenant Capshaw and a small, ferrety-looking man she didn’t recognize.
“Excuse us for disturbing you, ma’am, but Mr. Kaufmann and I are here to open the colonel’s safe.”
“This is a most inconvenient time, Lieutenant,” Mrs. Adams chided. “We are expecting company.”
Both the policeman and the family attorney raised an eyebrow over that. One did not typically entertain company with a member of the family lying dead in a police morgue.
“No, no, you don’t understand,” Mrs. Adams said hastily, no doubt aware of how that must sound, “we are trying to get to the bottom of this murder ourselves, since you appear out of your depth. Madame Durand isn’t paying a social call. It is more an errand of mercy.”
“Who is Madame Durand?” Capshaw asked.
Mrs. Adams looked appalled. “You have never heard of Madame Durand, the famous spirit medium? I would think someone of even your…social circle would know of her. She was the toast of New York, and has recently moved to Hartford. She is rapidly becoming a sensation here, too. Most talented. Why, I remember during one séance where the table shook –”
Capshaw cut across what promised to be a lengthy recounting of the delights of the spirit medium. “You mean that you are having a séance here, tonight?”
“Of course.”
He stole a quick glance at Concordia and Sophia. “Are these ladies participating as well?”
“Yes, yes, naturally,” Mrs. Adams said impatiently.
“Indeed?” Capshaw looked over at Concordia, his lips quivering in his attempt to suppress a grin.
Concordia could almost hear the unspoken thought running through the policeman’s mind. I didn’t know college people believed in such things.
“And you are Mr. Bradley, are you not?” Capshaw said. “I remember you from last year. What are you doing here, sir?”
“I’m a family friend, lieutenant,” David answered.
