by Owen, K.
Pierce. He was here in the jail, wasn’t he?
She folded the note, and put Capshaw’s name upon it, marking it URGENT. As she passed it to the sergeant she said, “Do you have a prisoner here by the name of Pierce?”
“Ah, are you from the college, too, miss? He had another lady visitor here. Quite pretty, she was.” He smiled.
“Really? Do you know who?” How odd. Who from the college would have come to see Pierce?
He checked a clipboard. “A Miss Duncan.”
She didn’t recognize the name. Perhaps Capshaw could look into that. “May I talk with the prisoner, please? It’s a college matter. Just for a few moments.”
The man hesitated. Concordia gave him her sweetest smile, along with her best approximation of a helpless female, which involved some hand-fluttering, grasping of her hanky, and trembling lip.
“Oh, very well, but just for a minute, mind,” he grumbled, getting up to escort her.
“Thank you, sergeant.”
Pierce’s wheelchair couldn’t fit through the doors of the usual holding cell, so he had been put in an unfurnished office down the hall from the cell block. A cot, pillow, blanket, and pan were in one corner; a small table with water jug and basin were in another. An orderly had been assigned to tend to his needs, and that man was the one who unlocked the door and opened it for Concordia.
She stood, just inside the doorway, near the orderly. Her heart was racing.
“Ah, Miss Wells, how charming of you to visit me in my ignominy,” Pierce said mockingly. “Why are you here? To gloat? That’s rather unseemly, my dear.” He brushed the hair out of his eyes. On a rather heathen level, Concordia was gratified to see that his arms were adorned with several sticking plasters from where she’d scratched him.
“Where is Eli?” Concordia asked abruptly. She had no intention of trading false pleasantries with the man.
“How is your neck?” he asked solicitously. “Healing up, I hope. Your voice does sound a bit raspy, though. You want to be careful about that.”
Concordia, furious, stepped farther into the room. “Tell me where Eli is,” she said, through gritted teeth. “Someone you’re in league with has taken him. You know who, and where.”
Pierce made a derisive sound. “In league with…how quaint!”
“I’ll give you the map and my father’s journal,” Concordia said. “Do what you want with them. I do not care. But tell me where the boy is.”
He laughed in her face. “How is the map of any use to me now? I won’t be publishing any papers of my brilliant discovery from prison. And I cannot exactly run away,” he said bitterly.
He was a man with no morals and nothing left to lose. There would be no negotiating with him. Without a word, Concordia turned to leave. The door thudded shut behind her.
“You will never find him!” he taunted through the door. She didn’t look back.
She had to reach Capshaw. Eli’s life depended upon it. Now that Pierce’s accomplice had the second amulet and Pierce was in jail for murder, the life of one small boy would not be a consideration. He was a street urchin, eminently dispensable. Who would miss him, really?
Well, she would, and she was going to find him. But how? She couldn’t even find Capshaw, for goodness sake.
Then she thought. Sophia. She would know where the lieutenant was. Concordia had noticed the policeman had been spending a lot of time with Sophia and little Amelia, although she didn’t know what to make of that.
Sophia’s house was about an eight-block walk from the station. Taking the trolley would have been quicker under normal circumstances, but the afternoon traffic from downtown office workers, combined with the press of early Christmas shoppers, meant the streetcars passed her by, filled to capacity. It would be faster to walk than to wait. Perhaps she could catch a less-crowded trolley at a later stop along Aslyum. She hurried as decorously as she could.
A few blocks later, as she waited for yet another crowded streetcar to pass before crossing the corner, something darted between her legs and she almost tripped.
What?
It was Eli’s Cat.
The unmistakable, bedraggled feline, who looked even more bedraggled than usual, if that were possible: thinner, flea-bitten, quivering. She was so happy to see the beast that she picked it up, fleas and all, and hugged it. “Where did you come from?” He jumped from her arms and trotted away.
Where Eli is, the Cat is sure to follow. Concordia’s heart hammered in her chest. Could Eli be nearby?
Where was she? Concordia looked around to orient herself. The corner of Main and Charter Oak.
Now where had the Cat gotten to? Concordia caught the flick of its tail half a block away, as it went down an alley. She followed it.
She’d just caught up to it when the animal squeezed itself through a cellar transom window. Then it was gone.
Whose house was this?
Cautiously, she looked in a street-level window of the house. Through the tiny gap in the curtains she could only see a pedestal table with a brass plate of unusual cone-shaped objects.
Hmm…those seemed familiar. Where had she seen them?
The incense at the Adams’ séance. She remembered now. So this was either another residence that was having a séance, or, more likely, the Durands’ house. She knew the Durands didn’t live far from Sophia. She walked down the alley, back around to the front door. The brass plate over the mail slot confirmed it: Durand.
Concordia hesitated. What did it mean? Was Eli there? Or was the beast just scrounging for a meal? She went back around to the transom and crouched down. “Eli? Are you in there?” she called softly. She heard nothing. The window was too dirty and the room too dark to see in.
As people passed by, glancing at her in curiosity, Concordia realized that she was drawing attention to herself by bending down and whispering into windows. She made a pretense of looking in her reticule as another man went by, then melted into the afternoon shadows along the side of the house.
She had a choice: go back to the police station for help in rescuing Eli, or get the boy out herself. But going back to the station, especially since Capshaw wasn’t there, would be time-consuming. She wasn’t even sure she could convince them that Eli was here. For that matter, she wasn’t so sure herself. And what would she have the police do? Pound on the door and demand the boy back? Accuse the Durands of kidnapping, a very serious charge, based upon a stray cat? Precious time would be lost in argument.
Her decision was made. She was going in.
As she skirted the house looking for a wider opening than the transom the cat had slipped through, she couldn’t help but chuckle to herself.
No matter what the reason, you shouldn’t be letting yourself into people’s private residences, she’d told Eli, just last night. Well, she’d been wrong, and she hoped she’d have the chance to tell the boy that.
Then she thought of the key, and pulled it from her pocket. Could it be…?
Going to the side door, she tried it in the lock. It fit, but wouldn’t turn. What was this key for, then? Why had Eli left it for her? He was trying to tell her something.
So if this wasn’t the key to the Durand house, whose was it?
Keys. She’d had a conversation about a key recently. Concordia clenched it in her gloved hand as she thought. A key, and Eli….
Of course. This must be the Adams’ house key. That’s why it fit in the lock of the Durand house but would not turn. Most of the houses in this neighborhood, Sophia’s included, were built at the same time and used the same brand of lock. Eli must have found the key, after all. But why would he have left it on a table in her quarters last night instead of giving it to her directly?
Understanding flooded her all at once and she began to see things from the perspective of Pierce’s accomplice. The man helping Pierce had to be a frequent visitor to the Adams’ house and familiar with the household routine. He knows about the spare backdoor key hidden in the flowerpot. He retrie
ves it and slips in quietly, letting in Pierce. No doubt he assists him in robbing and killing Colonel Adams.
What would happen to the key after that? The accomplice forgets about it as it languishes in a pocket. Much later, Eli finds that key, recognizing it as the one he used while staying at the Adams’ home. But he doesn’t understand how it came to be where he found it. He pockets it to ask Concordia about later.
Then, at last, the accomplice gets one of the amulets, after Pierce takes it by force from the lady principal and leaves her for dead. It’s an easy matter for Pierce to pass it along. But the confederate is still desperate for the mate to it, and knows Concordia has it. But how to get it?
Through Eli. The boy is trusted by Concordia, and he can be made to cooperate. The cat is snatched shortly after Thanksgiving. (No doubt a number of scratches were incurred in that process). Eli is frantic to find the Cat, the one thing he cares most about in the world. The animal is shown to the boy, and the threat is made. Eli, under duress to steal Concordia’s amulet, but cannot tell her why. He steals the amulet and leaves the key as a clue, hoping she will figure it out.
Jacques Durand. He was Pierce’s accomplice. It made sense. He was a frequent visitor to the Adams’ house, assisting Madame in her seances; Eli was living with them, and he knew the boy’s affection for his cat; he was at the Thanksgiving dinner when the animal had made an appearance, and undoubtedly noticed the bond between Eli and Concordia. She didn’t doubt that Madame Durand was involved too: at the very least turning a blind eye to her husband’s enterprise, if not actively helping.
How Pierce and Durand came to be partners in this scheme, and why Durand wanted the amulets so badly, Concordia didn’t know. But she was certain Eli was here, and that was all she cared about at the moment.
She had to go in. Now. Since she couldn’t break in, it would have to be the direct approach. Taking out her pad and pencil, she scribbled a quick note, tucked it back in her purse, and stepped forward to ring the front doorbell. She straightened her jacket and took a few deep breaths for courage.
A diminutive maid opened the door. “Yes?”
Concordia’s acting skills left a lot to be desired, but she knew she could pass as worried and anxious, most certainly. “Would it be possible to see Madame?”
The maid started to close the door. “I’m sorry, miss, but she only does consultations by appointment.”
“Wait – I am sure she’ll see me,” Concordia said quickly. “I am one of her associates from the college. It’s quite urgent.” She held out her card, counting upon Madame’s curiosity to overrule her common sense. “Please?”
“We-ell, I can’t say as she’s available…but I’ll ask.” The girl opened the door wider and ushered Concordia to a small parlor.
She was in, but that was the easy part. She still had to find Eli.
A few moments later Madame Durand came in. She wore a lounging robe of deep wine velvet with flowing sleeves. Concordia noticed the sleeves didn’t quite hide several angry red scratches on her forearms. Madame’s face was arranged in an expression of concern.
“Miss Wells? What is the matter?”
Concordia sighed and shook her head. “Thank you for seeing me like this, Madame. I have had a most unfortunate thing happen, and I was hoping for your help.”
“Of course, ma cherie.”
“I found an amulet left to me by my father; but now, it has been stolen.”
“Oh, dear,” Madame Durand said.
Concordia put her handkerchief to her nose and sniffed. “It was the last thing of my father’s, and is of indescribable sentimental value. Perhaps, you can call upon your…spirit guide to help me find it? You were able to bring my father’s spirit back to communicate with me before. I believe he has been trying to communicate with me. Could we try that?”
Madame Durand smiled. “Ah, it is not as easy as it seems. But we can try, eh? Fortunately, I am free for a little while, before I must go out for the evening.”
“That is most kind of you,” Concordia murmured.
“But I must prepare,” Madame said, standing. “My husband will come in shortly to handle the final arrangements.” And with that, she left the room.
Concordia was unsure what “final arrangements” Madame was referring to. Until Monsieur Durand walked in several minutes later. He bowed.
“Miss Wells, Madame is happy to be of service to all who seek her help,” he said, “but we ask that her clients make a small donation…”
Ah.
“Naturally,” Concordia said, opening her reticule. She pulled out a bill. “Will this suffice?”
“Indeed, yes,” he said, holding out a small box for her to put it in. “If you will follow me, Madame is ready.”
In what once looked to be the dining room, Madame sat, now with a full, blue satin cloak clasped at her neck. Heavy draperies on the windows plunged the room in darkness, only alleviated by flickering candles scattered about. The air was sharp and heavy with exotic incense. In the middle of the room was a large round table with another candle in the center. Madame was seated at the table, near the window.
Monsieur Durand seated Concordia and left, closing the door softly behind him.
“Let us begin,” Madame intoned, in a somber voice. “Clear your mind of all distractions. Focus only on the candle, and nothing else.”
Concordia complied, as Madame began to hum and sway.
“Since the dawn of time, man has sought answers from the dead,” she chanted. “We ask of thee, spirits, to guide us poor mortal beings. Give us wisdom; give us sight.” She paused, as if listening to something Concordia could not hear. “Meti, are you here?”
Concordia gave a little shriek as the table rocked so violently it knocked over the candle and snuffed it out. She picked it up, but Madame paid no heed. “Ah, my Meti, you are here. We need your help. Miss Wells has lost something from the tomb of your own lands. The tomb is lost to us, covered perhaps for all time. But it is the amulet she seeks, from her father.”
Things were becoming clear to Concordia at the moment, too. Now she realized who Pierce’s accomplice really was.
In a moment, a ghostly glow appeared between them, and Concordia felt a light tap upon her shoulder. That would be sufficient, on top of everything else. Time to stop this nonsense.
“Oh!” Concordia exclaimed, sliding to the floor in a faint.
When Concordia opened her eyes, she was laying upon the settee, Madame chafing her wrists. “What happened?” she asked weakly.
“You fainted,” Madame said. “I am sorry; sometimes the spirits, they get a little out of control. I should have warned you.”
“I feel so silly,” Concordia said, a hand to her head.
“You should rest here a while,” Madame said. “If you will excuse me? I have to dress for a dinner engagement. Monsieur Durand will check on you shortly, and see you out.”
“Have you any smelling salts? I still feel a little woozy,” Concordia said.
“Of course.” Madame left the room.
As soon as the door closed, Concordia sprang into action. She pulled out her pre-written note.
Madame. Thank you for your hospitality. I feel better now, and decided to go home to rest. Yours, C.W.
Concordia hoped that Madame’s smelling salts were where Concordia typically kept hers: in her bedroom. And that Monsieur Durand was nowhere nearby.
First, she scooted down the hall and pulled at the front door, leaving it open just a bit, as if she’d neglected to latch it securely behind her. Then, she peered down the back hallway. Which door led to the basement?
There it was. She hurried over, opened it quietly, and slipped inside, pulling it softly shut behind her.
It was as dark as pitch. She groped her way carefully down the steep stairs, holding onto the wall as she went. When she reached the bottom, she stifled an exclamation when something rubbed past her legs. She sighed in relief when she heard purring.
“I could have
tripped over you, you wretched beast,” she whispered to the Cat, continuing her groping search of the basement’s dirt floor. Her eyes were adjusting now; she could make out lighter shades of gray amidst the black. She headed toward the weak light coming from the transom. If Eli was here, she knew he must be gagged and restrained; the Durands would have never allowed her inside otherwise.
“Eli, if you can hear me, tap the floor or something,” Concordia said. She waited, her heart pounding in her throat.
Tap, tap, came faintly from the left corner. She felt her way toward the sound, nearly stumbling over the boy where he lay.
“Oh, Eli,” she whispered. She pulled off the filthy rag they’d tied around his mouth, gave him a quick hug, then set to work on his bonds. There were a lot of knots.
The boy was a mess, his hair matted and encrusted with dirt, a bruise blooming on his cheek, tear-streaks mingling with the dirt on his face. He worked his lips and tongue around, trying to talk.
“I wish I had water, but we’ll get you out of here soon,” Concordia said. She bit off an angry exclamation as he winced at the rope burns on his wrists. The Durands had a lot to answer for.
Finally, she got his hands free. He shook them to get the circulation going, grimacing. “I’m awfully glad t-t-to see you, miss,” he croaked. He hung his head. “I’m-I’m s-s-sorry for taking--”
“Sh-h-h, it’s all right, Eli,” Concordia soothed. “They captured your cat, hadn’t they? Did they threaten to hurt him if you didn’t follow their instructions?”
He nodded. She gave him another brief hug, then went to work on his ankle bonds. “Well, both of you are fine now. Let’s get out of here.” The final piece of rope came away. “Try to stand. It might hurt, at first.”
Eli suppressed a gasp as Concordia helped him to his feet. “Ow,” he muttered. But he kept taking halting steps, Concordia supporting him.
After a short time, he was walking more steadily. “I can do it, now,” he said.
