Free Unseemly Ambition by K.B. Owen Page A

people? Mercy.
    “ Wonderful!” Lily beamed.
“I’ll have the invitations sent ’round to you.”
    After Mrs. Isley left, Concordia made
short work of the remaining senior assignments, tidied the
auditorium, and locked the door behind her. The early March skyline
had long since faded to black, the cold making itself felt through
her wool coat. She shivered as the wind picked up around the
quadrangle. No one was out on the grounds at this hour. She’d
better hurry; there wasn’t much time before lights out. She pulled
her coat closer and started at a brisk pace for Willow Cottage, her
boot heels ringing upon the cold stones.
    She was just about to step onto the
shrubbery-lined path to the cottages when she saw something move in
the distance. She turned. The bracketed lights of the Memorial
Chapel doors illuminated the outline of a slim man. Her breath
caught in her throat. It was the same youth she had seen last month
on Rook’s Hill.
    Could one of the girls be involved
with the young man, setting up trysts after hours?
    Concordia’s lips thinned in a stern
line. Not if she had anything to say about it. She hastened toward
the chapel, but by the time she reached it the man was
gone.
    Concordia gritted her teeth in
frustration and turned toward the gatekeeper’s cottage. At least
she could inform Clyde of their unauthorized visitor.
     
     

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
     
    Week 5, Instructor Calendar
    March 1898
     
    The next afternoon, Concordia stared
in dismay at the pile of mail taking over her desk. How long had it
been there—a week? She’d neglected it terribly.
    Her thoughts returned to Eli as she
worked to clear her desk. Would they be able to find him and learn
the truth about Florence’s murder? She trusted Capshaw’s ability,
but each passing day without progress increased her
worry.
    Concordia sifted through
the pile of envelopes, throwing away the advertising circulars
(“ Our 57-cent Princess Hair Tonic
Restorer!” ) , opening the department store bill (she was nearly
finished paying for those winter boots), and finally reaching the
bottom of the stack.
    She picked up a plain white
envelope. The hand was unfamiliar, with no return direction upon
it. Concordia slit it open and glanced at the signature. Florence Tooey . Her heart
beat faster. Also within the envelope was a tiny, locket-sized
picture of what Concordia assumed to be the woman in her younger
days. As small as it was, she could make out Eli’s features in the
large, luminous eyes of the mother.
    Settling herself in the chair,
Concordia started back at the beginning.
     
    Dear Miss
Wells,
    I hope you’ll pardon the
presumption of my engaging in a personal correspondence. I know
that you care about Eli, so I’m using this as an excuse for
imposing upon you. I hope I have been able to persuade you by this
point that I really am his mother, although I could see you didn’t
believe the tissue of lies I thought I was so clever in creating. I
will share some of the real story with you now, in hopes that you
will do something for me.
    The child’s birth was
under less than ideal circumstances. I was very young, and
unmarried. I come from a respected family. My parents acted in the
best way they knew to protect me from ruin, sending me away to have
the baby and arranging to have him cared for by a former servant.
For a goodly sum, the woman and her mother were willing to raise
him and keep his parentage a secret.
    I do not offer any excuse
for letting him go, except that I was young and frightened. Other
life events have intervened in the past eleven years, and I have
tired of the facade. I’ve secured enough money to leave the area
and live comfortably abroad.
    As you know, I intended to
take Eli with me. But you made a persuasive argument for leaving
him here, where he can be raised by a loving family. I was appalled
when Miss Newcombe told me of what he had been through. His foster
mother must have been subjected to desperate circumstances. I