by K. B. Owen
With the memories of the place still fresh, she tentatively stepped inside. “Mr. Maynard.”
He dropped the brush and whipped around. With a suppressed sigh but no other greeting, he retrieved the brush and went back to work.
The sharp odors of horse and hay made her nose twitch as she stepped closer. “Miss Smedley wishes to confess her role in the gun prank, and ask forgiveness. Have you told Mr. Langdon yet?”
Maynard shook his head, not looking at her. “I have not had the opportunity to first speak with Rachel.”
“That is utter falsehood.” She did not suppress the sharp edge to her tone. “I talked to her a few minutes ago. She told me you spoke.”
She saw Maynard’s back stiffen before he turned around.
She stepped closer. “It would seem that your conversation had little effect. We must tell Mr. Langdon, and the police.”
Maynard set down the brush and wiped his hands, not immediately meeting her eye. “That would mean ruin. For me, and likely for the school.”
“You do not know that.” She pulled over a nearby stool and sat. “Tell me, when did you divorce her?”
Maynard upended an empty bucket and sat as well. “After the doctors pronounced her cured and discharged her from the facility.” He glanced down at his hands. “I could never love her, not after what she had done. But I did not want to be cruel. She had obviously suffered a temporary madness.”
Rachel Sanbourne’s agonized whisper came back to her. I did not kill my baby. Concordia shivered and wrapped her shawl more closely.
“I gave her money for a new start,” Maynard continued. “She went back to using her natal name, and moved to where no one knew her. Contact between us lapsed after that.” He gave a bitter laugh. “It was quite a shock to see her here, and married to Sanbourne.”
Concordia took a breath. “Are you sure she…killed the baby?” Her heart twisted in pity for the child. Infanticide. The law rarely prosecuted a woman for such a crime. The mother was assumed to be insane. But sometimes, inexplicably, babies died for no obvious reason. It was a sad fact of nature, even in today’s modern world.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I did not witness it, if that’s what you mean. She must have smothered him...in his sleep. I did not hear him cry. He had not been ill. When I found him, he was…blue.” He rubbed his face.
“She admitted to this?”
“No. She denied it. Vehemently. But she was already suffering from melancholia, just after the child was born. Lethargy, uncontrollable fits of weeping. Then…this. The doctors confirmed what I suspected.”
After watching her own sister die two years ago, Concordia was not as sanguine about medical infallibility. It was one thing to be melancholy and entirely another to commit murder. Had Rachel Sanbourne truly been guilty of killing her child? Or had she been innocent, then driven mad by the grief of loss and the bitterness of being unjustly consigned to an asylum for two years? After leaving behind such a painful past, what had it been like to see Maynard, without warning, after so long? Had her long-held fury been unleashed?
“You say the doctors willingly released her?”
“They were satisfied with her improvement after the treatment. As far as I know, she has not been a danger to anyone since. Until now, that is,” he added bitterly. “First my horse, and now Charlotte.”
“Do not lose hope for Charlotte.”
Maynard stood. “I will try again to convince Rachel to leave.”
Concordia shook her head. “I gave you more than enough time to try. It is time to tell Langdon, and call the police.” She got up to go.
“No!” Maynard exclaimed, jumping up and grabbing her elbow. “You cannot.”
Concordia brought down her booted heel, hard, upon Maynard’s foot.
“Ow!” He jumped back.
“You will refrain from touching my person in the future,” she said coldly.
Maynard cleared his throat. “I-I beg your pardon.”
At the sight of Maynard’s anguished expression, Concordia relented. “Since we already have the Christmas entertainments scheduled for this evening and I do not wish the spoil the event for the students, I am willing to wait until morning. You may try once more to convince her to leave, but I doubt you will succeed. No matter what happens, tomorrow morning I will bring Miss Smedley to speak with you and Mr. Langdon. It is not a forgone conclusion that Mr. Langdon will call the police once he learns the truth. My guess is he will.”
Maynard expelled a resigned breath and headed out of the stable, limping slightly.
“Oh, and Mr. Maynard, one more thing,” Concordia called.
He turned and waited.
“Do not let her serve you tea.”
Chapter 32
Week 11, Instructor Calendar December 1898
Concordia went through supper in a distracted haze as students chattered excitedly around her. They returned to the farmhouse afterward to change for the Christmas Revels and reception. The girls had been practicing their lines and rehearsing their dance steps every night for the past week.
In addition to the Revels, the young ladies were in a frenzy of preparing their homemade Christmas gifts. The fire had destroyed all of the projects they had started, so there was no time to be lost. The common room was a veritable explosion of colored tissue paper, ribbons, scissors, and bright yarns.
The girls dressed carefully in their most festive holiday gowns brought back from home, chatting and pinning up each other’s hair.
Concordia took Alison Smedley aside before they left. “Be prepared to give your account of the gun prank to Mr. Maynard and Mr. Langdon tomorrow.” At the girl’s sigh, she added, “Try not to worry.”
David came to the farmhouse to escort them. His admiring glance made her glad she had retrieved her old emerald satin from her mother’s house. It was a number of years out of style, with slim sleeves and more of a bustle than was currently fashionable, but it served its purpose.
Concordia, Ruby, and David made sure to extinguish every candle and lantern before they left. It would be a long while before anyone took an open flame for granted.
The auditorium was crowded by the time they got there. The Revels were open to the public and nearly every Hartford dignitary and society matron was in attendance, in addition to the faculty and trustees. Concordia recognized many faces from Gown and Town Day, though this time all were dressed in their finest. Miss Pomeroy and Miss Jenkins talked animatedly with President Langdon in the front row. There was no sign of Miss Banning or Miss Cowles, though given the hour that was hardly surprising. Both elderly ladies tended to retire early. Maynard was absent, as were the Sanbournes. Had Maynard convinced Mrs. Sanbourne to leave? Was she packing even now?
Ruby leaned in and murmured, “Since Miss Crandall in’t here to help backstage, I told the girls I’d help.” She headed toward the stage curtains.
Concordia’s chest tightened. Charlotte had been looking forward to the event, her first Revels as a teacher.
“Concordia!” a familiar voice called. Sophia waved from the fifth row. Eli and Mrs. Wells sat beside her.
“How fortunate that you saved us seats,” Concordia said. She surveyed the room. The decorating committee had done a splendid job. The electric light fixtures were garlanded in evergreen and topped with bows of red velvet. Additional ribbon adorned the ends of aisles. Strands of merry electric lights were affixed to the apron of the stage, a cheery effect and welcome at this light-starved time of year. Concordia felt her mood lift a little. Perhaps she could put her worries aside for one evening.
Eli plucked at her sleeve. “I made you a Christmas present.”
She pulled apart the wad of tissue paper and ribbon. Inside was a delicately carved figure of a wren. “Eli! It is beautiful.” She held it up. “Look, David. Isn’t it lovely?”
He nodded and gave Eli a wide smile. “You have impressive skill, my lad.” He turned to Sophia. “Where is the lieutenant?”
Sophia grimaced. “Working, unfortunately. Miss Crandall sent for him.”
Concordia started. “Charlotte? Her memory has returned?”
“I assume so, but I don’t know anything else,” Sophia said.
Mrs. Wells put a finger to her lips. “The performance is about to start.”
Concordia sat back, her heart considerably lightened.
The Revels were a success, judging by the wide smiles of the red-faced, breathless young ladies.
“I am so glad things went smoothly,” Concordia said, as David helped her out of her chair. “The young ladies deserve a bit of revelry.”
Mrs. Wells gathered up her jacket. “It was delightful.” She smiled at Eli, now nearly of a height with her. “What did you think, young man?”
Eli nodded enthusiastically. “I liked the round dance, though it was kinda funny for them to be all ladies. Couldn’t some o’ them dress up as fellas?”
“The students portraying ‘ladies’ wore bows, and the ones portraying ‘gentlemen’ wore vests,” Concordia explained, as they made their way down the aisle. It was a fearful crush to get to the punch bowl and cookies set up in the foyer. “The college does not allow proper young ladies to wear trousers, even for play-acting purposes.”
David Bradley gave her a quick glance, a smile twitching at his lips. Concordia wrinkled her nose at him. If he dared to mention the time she was caught out in public in the dean’s trousers, she would smack him with her fan.
Wisely, he stayed silent.
“Can’t they be improper ladies, just for one night?” Eli asked.
Mrs. Wells smothered a laugh that turned into a cough.
“Mama thinks,” Eli went on, “that ladies are proper by how they act, not what they wear. Isn’t that right?” He looked over at Sophia.
Concordia smiled. How wonderful for the boy to be referring to his adoptive mother as Mama, since his own mother had died only ten months before. She knew it meant the world to Sophia.
“What do you think?” Sophia said to Eli.
The boy shrugged. “They should be allowed to wear what they please. Where’s the harm?”
Sophia smiled and ruffled his hair affectionately. “That’s my boy.”
They reached the refreshments table at last, where the students were ladling the punch and passing out napkins.
“Miss Smedley, how nice to see you fully recovered,” David said.
Alison Smedley blushed and handed him a cup. “I am glad to be back, Mr. Bradley.” She leaned toward Concordia and dropped her voice. “I have been considering what I should say to Mr. Maynard about the gun prank.”
David frowned and glanced at Concordia, who grimaced. In an abundance of discretion for Maynard—perhaps more than he deserved—she had not told David what she knew about Mrs. Sanbourne’s guilt. He had a right to be angry, of course. She had been guilty of keeping discoveries to herself upon other occasions.
David drew her away to a quiet corner. “What did she mean?”
“I cannot talk about it here,” Concordia said, dropping her voice. “Come back with us to the house.”
Eventually goodnights were exchanged and Concordia, Ruby, David, and the farmhouse students climbed wearily up Rook’s Hill. The young ladies went straight to bed.
As Ruby worked on her mending in a comfortable rocking chair nearby—it would not do for Concordia and David to be alone in the common room—Concordia told him the whole story. To do him credit, he listened without interruption, which was more than she could say for Ruby. Judging by the exclamations coming from the far corner, she heard nearly everything. Well, she would have learned of it soon enough.
“Mr. Maynard said he would try, one last time, to convince Mrs. Sanbourne to leave the school quietly, before the police become involved,” Concordia finished. “If she agrees, the arson would never be solved in the public eye, but the dean believes it would die down in time. Assuming, of course, President Langdon agrees to that. I honestly do not know what he will do. But making Mrs. Sanbourne’s guilt known could cause considerable damage to the school’s reputation.”
David leaned forward, watching her face intently. “Why did you not tell me sooner?”
She took a breath. “It was not my secret to reveal. I should not be telling you now, but if Maynard’s plan fails, it will all come out tomorrow.” She reached out and touched David’s arm. Ruby bent closer to her needle. “The dean saved my life last May. I owed him this chance, don’t you see?”
David was silent for several minutes. Concordia withdrew her hand and waited.
“Do you think Mrs. Sanbourne will agree to leave?” he asked.
Concordia quietly blew out a sigh. They were in this together. “I do not. We must brace ourselves for the worst.”
Chapter 33
Week 11, Instructor Calendar December 1898
Let us make sure of the aesthetic and intellectual, the sympathetic and the genial, and sift out the pretentious and the impure. ~Mrs. John Sherwood
Concordia smothered a succession of yawns during chapel and breakfast the next morning. Judging by the shadows under Miss Smedley’s eyes, she had not slept well, either. After breakfast, Concordia motioned to the girl. “Shall we speak with the dean now?” She hoped Maynard was at his office. He had not been at chapel or breakfast.
Miss Lovelace got up from the table. “Alison told me what is happening this morning. I want to come too.”
Concordia took a breath to object, then noted Miss Smedley’s grateful expression. “All right, then. Come along.”
Dean Maynard sat at his desk, staring out the window at the steel-gray sky that promised the season’s first snow.
Concordia rapped on the lintel. “May we come in?”
He gestured to the chairs set out for them. “I have already asked Mr. Langdon to join us, to save you from repeating yourself.” He glanced in confusion at Miss Lovelace. “I did not expect you. We are a chair short.”
He started to get up, but Concordia waved him back. “No need. Miss Lovelace can sit next to Miss Smedley. I will sit here.” She perched on the deep windowsill, leaving a chair free for Mr. Langdon. Perhaps it was not entirely ladylike, but she was too nervous to sit properly.
Maynard’s pale cheeks and dull eyes bespoke a restless night.
“Did you speak with her?” Concordia asked him in a low voice.
He sighed. “She was nowhere to be found. Have you called Capshaw?”
“No. Mr. Langdon should make the call, once he is apprised of the situation.”
Finally, President Langdon came in, brushing crumbs from his vest. His shirt was rumpled already, as if it were the end of the day instead of morning. “My, my, we have quite a group here! My apologies for keeping you waiting.” His booming voice seemed out of character for the occasion, but of course he had no idea what he was about to hear.
“Miss Smedley has something to tell you both,” Concordia said. She nodded to the young lady.
Sitting up straighter, Alison told them about rigging the gun to go off in the stables, planned for when Mr. Maynard and Miss Crandall were to ride the next morning, and hiding the pouch of Miss Lovelace’s tools nearby. She then described the assistance she had received from Mrs. Sanbourne.
Langdon sat back in astonishment. “Mrs. Sanbourne? Why would she do such a thing?”
“Mr. Maynard will explain that in a moment,” Concordia said. She was about to prompt Miss Smedley to continue, but Miss Lovelace interrupted.
“Mr. Langdon, do you remember when we were discussing the prank, and you asked me if I had confused a live bullet for a blank?”
He nodded.
“Well, Alison did put a blank in the gun. Someone went back before morning and substituted a live bullet.”
“And you think that person is—?” Langdon prompted.
“Mrs. Sanbourne,” Miss Smedley said miserably.
“You know this?”
Miss Smedley wrung her hands, her chest heaving as she forced ou
t the words between sobs. “I…I asked her. She laughed…she didn’t deny it. She was the only…the only one who knew…who knew the gun was there.”
“But again, why?” Langdon protested.
Maynard leaned forward. “Could you take the young ladies to your office, Miss Wells? I wish to tell my story in private.”
“Of course.” Concordia led the girls out and closed the door behind her.
President Langdon came to her office half an hour later, grim-lipped. He gestured at the students. “Do you have classes soon? I may need you again.”
Miss Lovelace shook her head, but Miss Smedley stood, shaking. “Am I...expelled?”
“No, no, not at all,” Langdon said with a distracted air.
Miss Smedley sank back down in her chair. “What is my punishment to be?”
One glance at Langdon’s expression and Concordia knew that disciplining the girl was the last thing on his mind. “Sir, shall I send the students back to the farmhouse to wait until needed?”
Langdon came out of his reverie. “Yes, yes, of course. If you will excuse me, I have to make a telephone call.”
Concordia took a deep breath to slow her fluttering pulse. Lieutenant Capshaw would be no end of furious with her when he discovered what she had kept from him.
After Langdon left, Miss Smedley shifted uneasily in her chair. “He’s angry, isn’t he?”
“I believe it is directed toward someone else entirely,” Concordia said. Maynard, most likely.
“That’s a relief,” Miss Lovelace said. She gestured excited to Miss Smedley. “Let’s go back and work on our Christmas gifts, while the others are out.”
