“Hannah? Are you all right, dear?”
There was no response. Deeply uneasy, Concordia turned the knob and opened the door.
Hannah was gone. A folded sheet of paper lay on top of the neatly made bed.
Dear Miss Glade:
Please do not worry about me. I will be home in time for tea. I know that you and Mr. Wells will not approve, but I have gone to the Winslow Charity School for Girls.
The students are allowed outside to take their exercise on the grounds for twenty minutes three times a week. Today is one of those days. There is a small opening in the wall that is concealed by a hedge. I hope to use it to catch the attention of my friend Joan. I must let her know that all is well with me. She will be very concerned.
Yrs. Vry. Truly,
Hannah
Concordia lowered the note and looked at Mrs. Oates, Phoebe, Edwina and Theodora, who had all come upstairs on Concordia’s heels, and now stood crowding the doorway worriedly. “This is dreadful. She did not have any money. She must have walked. It will be a wonder if she has not gotten lost.”
Phoebe bit her lip and exchanged a look with Edwina and Theodora before she turned back to Concordia.
“I think she may have had enough money for a cab, Miss Glade,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Concordia asked.
“Last night Mr. Stoner showed us how to open some of the secret drawers in the old chest in the library,” Edwina explained. “We found some bank notes and coins in one of them. Mr. Stoner said that we could keep them. We divided them up among us.”
“That was the money that we used to place our wagers when Mr. Stoner demonstrated the theory of probability to us,” Theodora said. “Hannah had just won a rather nice sum when you and Mr. Wells walked through the door.”
Edwina looked stricken. “If Miss Pratt discovers Hannah trying to speak with Joan, she will put her into the cellar.”
“I suppose the only thing we can do is wait and hope that Hannah returns quickly,” Phoebe said, looking miserable.
Concordia rose. “I cannot leave this to chance. I am going to the school. When Mr. Wells and Mr. Stoner return, tell them what has happened.”
T
he shock of hearing of Mr. Trimley’s death has, of course, completely shattered my nerves.” Rowena Hoxton put a hand to her ample bosom and gave Stoner a wan smile. “And now there is talk that he may have consorted with a man who is rumored to have had criminal connections. I simply cannot believe that I was so utterly deceived.”
“I understand.” Stoner accepted a cup and saucer from the maid. “That is why I came at once this morning after I heard the gossip. I did not want you to think that you had been abandoned by your acquaintances in Society merely because of your extremely unfortunate association with Edward Trimley.”
Hoxton’s eyes widened in horror. “But I knew nothing about his connections to the criminal class.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Stoner made a
tut-tutting
sound with his tongue and teeth. “You know how it is in Polite Circles, however. Perception is all.”
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Hoxton looked stricken. “Surely no one will believe that I was aware of Mr. Trimley’s activities in the underworld?”
“I’m quite certain that the damage from this affair can be contained,” Stoner assured her.
Ambrose stood quietly, his back to the window, and cloaked himself in the unobtrusive aura of the role he was playing, that of Stoner’s assistant.
He could not help but admire Stoner’s deft handling of Mrs. Hoxton. After all these years, he thought, he could still learn a thing or two from his mentor.
Mrs. Hoxton fixed her attention on Stoner. “What do you mean?”
Stoner winked knowingly. “As it happens, I am in a position to, shall we say, correct some false impressions that may or may not have been formed by certain members of Society.”
Mrs. Hoxton went pale. “Oh, dear,” she said again.
“Now then, if you will supply me with a few details concerning your association with Trimley, I will see to it that the proper version of events is put about in certain quarters.”
“I am very grateful to you, sir. What do you wish me to tell you?”
Mrs. Hoxton’s relief was pathetic to behold, Ambrose thought. The woman was absolutely terrified of the possibility of being embroiled in a scandal.
Stoner leaned back in his chair, hitched up his trousers and crossed his legs in an elegant fashion. “Did Trimley ever discuss two young ladies named Edwina and Theodora Cooper with you?”
“The Cooper twins?” Mrs. Hoxton frowned, baffled. “What do they have to do with this matter? I heard they both perished quite tragically several months ago.”
“Indeed. Did you ever have a conversation about them with Trimley?”
“Well, yes, as it happens, I believe I did mention them to him.” Mrs. Hoxton waved an impatient hand. “But only in the most casual manner.”
“Can you recall why the subject arose?”
“I don’t see what this has to do with nipping a scandal in the bud.”
“Bear with me, Mrs. Hoxton,” Stoner said. “I assure you that I know what I am doing.”
“Yes, of course. Forgive me. It is just that I am so rattled this morning.” She took a fortifying swallow of tea and put down her cup. “The subject of the Cooper twins came up in the course of a silly little game that Trimley wanted to play.”
“What sort of game?”
“He challenged my detailed knowledge of persons who move in Society by asking me to name several young ladies of good families who rarely came to London. All of the girls had to fit a certain list of requirements that he set down.”
Ambrose did not move. He knew that Stoner had gone equally still.
“What were the requirements?” Stoner asked.
“They had to reside in the country, have very little in the way of close family and they all had to be heiresses.” Mrs. Hoxton snorted softly. “I must say, it was not much of a challenge for me. I came up with the Cooper twins and two other names almost immediately.”
T
he Winslow Charity School for Girls appeared every bit as bleak and forbidding upon second viewing as it had the last time she had come here, Concordia thought, going up the front steps. The warmth of the afternoon did not appear to have made any impression upon the dark windows of the old mansion.
She had chosen the most severely tailored of the gowns that Ambrose had commissioned for her, a dark blue dress with a discreet bustle, high neck and long, tight sleeves. A pair of high-button boots, kid gloves and a straw hat trimmed with a single velvet bow completed the effect. There would be no weeping veil to conceal her face today.
She had given the question of how to approach the matter of recovering Hannah a great deal of close consideration during the cab ride to the school. It did not seem likely that she could simply knock on the door and inquire as to whether or not Hannah was on the
premises. Edith Pratt had, after all, been involved in an illegal scheme involving the girl. She was unlikely to admit that she now had her in the mansion.
If, indeed, Hannah was here and not already halfway back to John Stoner’s mansion.
That was the most difficult aspect of this thing, Concordia concluded. She had no way of knowing if Hannah had been discovered or if she was safely on her way home.
She banged the knocker with great force three times.
The door was opened by the same faded-looking Miss Burke, who had ushered Concordia into Miss Pratt’s office on the previous occasion.
No trace of recognition appeared in the woman’s face. “May I help you?”
Concordia brandished the notebook she held in one hand. “Kindly inform Miss Pratt that Miss Shelton is here to see her. You may tell her that Mrs. Hoxton sent me.”
The name of the school’s benefactress had a very motivating effect upon Miss Burke.
“Please follow me, Miss Shelton. I will show you to Miss Pratt’s office. She is discussing the week’s menus with Cook at the moment. She feels there is far too much food going to waste and that the quantities of vegetables and meats that are ordered must be further reduced. But I will let her know that you are here. I’m sure she will be with you shortly.”
Miss Burke led her quickly down the hall and opened a door.
“Thank you.”
Concordia swept into the office. Miss Burke closed the door quite smartly and hurried away in search of her employer.
Concordia surveyed the room. Little had changed since her last visit. Edith Pratt’s expensive-looking gray cloak hung from a hook near the door. The plaque with the list of Golden Rules for Grateful Girls was still positioned squarely behind the desk. Mrs. Hoxton and the Queen still gazed regally down from their framed photographs.
Concordia studied the desk and considered the wisdom of searching it again. Perhaps she would discover some reference to Hannah.
A muffled voice echoed in the distance from the far end of the hall.
“I’ve never heard of a Miss Shelton.” Edith sounded thoroughly irritated. “Can’t imagine why Mrs. Hoxton would send her here.”
That settled the matter, Concordia thought. There would be no time to go through the desk drawers.
She composed herself for the part she intended to play and turned to face the door.
The cloak hanging next to the door caught her eye. It did not look quite right. There were large, dark patches around the hem.
Concordia moved closer and quickly shook out the heavy folds. There were more damp patches on the front. It appeared the headmistress had been caught in a spring shower.
But it had not rained recently.
Concordia’s pulse, already beating uncomfortably fast, lurched into a pounding staccato. A shuddering thrill of comprehension seared her nerves.
A cloak might well have gotten soaked in such a manner if the person
wearing it had been standing too close to a large pool of water when a body happened to topple into the depths. The resulting splash would have carried for some distance.
Calm yourself. Think carefully. Don’t leap to conclusions.
There were many ways in which the cloak might have been accidentally dampened, she thought. She was tempted to speculate along the lines of a body falling into a deep pool merely because of recent experience.
Nevertheless, Edith Pratt had been connected to this affair from the beginning. The assumption was that she had been a minor actor in the deadly play, that her only role had been to conceal the girls on the grounds of the charity school.
But what if everyone had misjudged Pratt’s part in the drama?
Concordia touched one of the darkened sections of the garment. The folds were most certainly damp, but not soaking wet. Once thoroughly saturated, a heavy woolen cloak such as this one would take a long time to dry completely indoors, she reflected.
“I shall have to make it clear to Mrs. Hoxton that I cannot be interrupted on a whim.” Edith’s voice was much closer now.
Miss Burke’s mumbled response was too low for Concordia to make out the words.
She could scarcely breathe. She had to get Hannah out of this place. The dark cellar was the least of the possible terrors here. If Pratt was as deeply enmeshed in the affair as the wet cloak indicated, she might well murder the girl to conceal her secrets.
Dear God, what if the worst had already happened?
The door opened with some force. Edith strode into the room, her handsome face pinched with a mix of impatience and irritation.
“Miss Shelton? I am Miss Pratt. What is all this about having been sent by Mrs. Hoxton? I was not told to expect anyone.”
“Of course you were not informed,” Concordia said, instinctively sliding into her most authoritative tones. “I am the founder and director of the Society for the Protection of Female Orphans. It is our mission to make certain that young girls in orphanages and charity schools are properly cared for. Perhaps you have heard of my group?”
Edith stiffened. “No.”
Concordia smiled thinly. “That is unfortunate. As it happens, Mrs. Hoxton has commissioned me to conduct a surprise inspection of this school.”
Edith’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about? Mrs. Hoxton has never before seen fit to inspect the school.”
“Your kindly benefactress recently read a piece in the papers regarding the deplorable conditions at a certain orphanage. It seems that young girls were being sold to brothel keepers. You may have noticed the report?”
“Yes, yes, I saw that scandalous tale in the sensation press. But I assure you, Winslow is a respectable institution that only accepts orphans from respectable backgrounds. Our girls become governesses and teachers, not prostitutes.”
“I do not doubt you, Miss Pratt. Nevertheless, for the sake of her own peace of mind, Mrs. Hoxton has requested the inspection. She is quite anxious.”
“Anxious about what?” Edith demanded, reddening with anger.
“She wishes to assure herself that no scandal could possibly develop here at the school. I’m certain you understand her position. Mrs. Hoxton moves in Society. A lurid sensation involving her charity would be extremely embarrassing.”
Edith drew herself up and squared her shoulders. “I assure you that there is nothing going on here that need concern Mrs. Hoxton.”
“Nevertheless, I have been given my instructions and I intend to carry them out. Mrs. Hoxton insisted that I inspect the school from top to bottom.”
“But—”
“Top to bottom, Miss Pratt.” Concordia took out a pencil and flipped open her notebook. “I was told that if you refuse to cooperate, a new headmistress will be found immediately.”
Shock flashed across Edith’s features. “That is outrageous. I have managed Winslow for well over a year. There has never been a hint of scandal.”
“If you wish to continue in your post, I suggest you follow the orders of the school’s benefactress.” Concordia whisked past her into the hall. “Come along, Miss Pratt, the sooner we begin, the sooner we will be finished. I shall start with the cellar and the kitchens.”
“Hold on here.” Edith hurried after her. “If you will give me a few minutes to notify the staff and make arrangements, I’m certain this can all be handled in a convenient manner.”