by K. B. Owen
The man stepped off the crate and brushed his hands on his faded overalls. “Not at all, ladies. Though if ye’re looking to ride, I daresay ye’ve not enough time afore the supper bell.” He squinted. “An’ not dressed for it, neither.”
“Who are you?” Charlotte asked.
“Ah! Where are my manners?” the man exclaimed. He swept off his cap and gave a little bow. “George Lovelace, at yer service.”
“Maisie Lovelace’s uncle? And Mr. Sanbourne’s new assistant?” Concordia asked.
“Yes to both questions, little lady.” He smoothed his shaggy iron-gray mustache with tobacco-stained fingers, stuck his cap in his back pocket, and returned to his examination of the lintel. “An’ who might you be?” he said over his shoulder.
“We are both instructors here,” Concordia said. “This is Miss Crandall, and I am Miss Wells. Your niece lives with us at Willow Cottage. She is also in my Rhetoric class.”
The man turned. “Miss Wells, ye say? My niece speaks often of ye. Ride a bicycle machine, I hear. My Maisie helped ye fix the chain when it broke.”
Concordia nodded. “Your niece is quite skilled.” She watched as he tugged at something with a grunt. “What is it you are doing?”
“Looking for proof that Maisie didn’ do what they say. The girl’s a spirited one, but she don’ have a mean bone in her body.”
Charlotte Crandall watched him with a skeptical eye as he jumped off the crate. “Her tools were found here. Not many students on campus have the ability to contrive the counter-weight mechanism. I saw it all before they took it down.”
Lovelace held out a screw between a grubby thumb and forefinger. “True enough. I figured I’d take a look, anyhow. Good thing I did, too. The anchors were left in. There’s still things ye can tell.” He gestured to the screw. “See how the wire’s wrapped? That’s not how my Maisie wraps her wire when she’s securing it to a nail or a screw. The girl is left-handed. If she’d twined it around the screw head, it’d be wrapped counter-clockwise. The twist to secure the end would be counter-clockwise, too. And she leaves her ends nowt like this. A lot of wire wasted here. Her work is a sight more neat, I can tell ye.”
Concordia felt her chest lighten. Miss Lovelace could be proved innocent! She was sure Mr. Langdon would reverse the restriction. The Halloween ball was tomorrow. Perfect.
She glanced over at Charlotte. “Are you convinced now?”
Charlotte nodded, a flush creeping up her cheeks. “I feel terrible at how cold-hearted I have been to the poor girl.”
Concordia turned back to Mr. Lovelace. “Could you retrieve the other anchors, and bring them to President Langdon’s office after supper?”
Lovelace’s face creased in a wide smile. “It’ll be a pleasure.”
Chapter 16
Week 6, Instructor Calendar October 1898
Women of the world are not always worldly women…brilliancy in society may be accompanied by the best heart and the sternest principle. ~Mrs. John Sherwood
Concordia could hardly contain her excitement. “Do not say anything to Miss Lovelace,” she cautioned Charlotte, as they hurried in to change into their dinner dresses. “I don’t want to raise her hopes.”
In spite of herself, her own hopes were riding high. Certainly they were no nearer to finding the person responsible, but at least an innocent girl would no longer be suffering for it. And perhaps the rift within Willow Cottage would be mended.
She wondered how Miss Smedley would react, once she learned that Miss Lovelace had been vindicated. That young lady would bear watching. Concordia still did not know how Miss Smedley could have pulled off such a stunt—Miss Gage was correct in her assessment that the young lady was not mechanically minded. At least no additional pranks had occurred in the past week.
When the meal was over, Concordia and Charlotte went over to the Hall.
They found Mr. Lovelace waiting patiently outside President Langdon’s darkened office.
“That’s odd,” Concordia said. “He usually works for an hour or two in the evening. Come to think of it, he wasn’t at supper.” She pointed to Miss Pomeroy’s open door, light spilling out at the far end of the hall. “The lady principal may know where we can find him.”
Charlotte motioned toward the dean’s lighted office next door. “We would have better luck asking Mr. Maynard. Miss Pomeroy pays little attention to the comings and goings of her confrères.”
Concordia had hoped to avoid that contingency, but Charlotte and Mr. Lovelace were already heading toward his door. She had no choice but to follow.
Maynard scowled at the disruption, but his expression visibly softened at the sight of Miss Crandall. “Yes?”
“Do you know where we would find Mr. Langdon?” Charlotte asked.
“He had an unexpected emergency that called him out of town.”
Concordia’s heart sank. The president could be gone for days.
Maynard set down his pen when he caught sight of Concordia and Mr. Lovelace hovering in the doorway. “He put me in charge until he returns. What is it?”
Concordia was ready to give up the entire business until Langdon’s return when Charlotte sprang forward eagerly. “Oh, if you would. It concerns Miss Lovelace.”
There it was. The return of the scowl. Concordia had never before noticed what agile eyebrows the man had. They seemed to go up and down along his forehead of their own accord.
Charlotte paid little heed to the eyebrows, however, and promptly seated herself, patting a space on the bench beside her for Concordia.
With a sigh of resignation, Maynard waved Lovelace into the other chair. He gave the man a penetrating look. “Who might you be?”
If the man was intimidated by the dean’s brusque manner, he did not show it. “George Lovelace. Mr. Sanbourne’s temporary assistant.”
“And Miss Lovelace’s uncle,” Charlotte put in.
Concordia doubted that bit of information was necessary, and certainly not helpful. She remembered how upset Maynard had been at Miss Kimble hiring Lovelace without his permission. One strike against the man already.
“Mr. Lovelace was at the stables examining the scene,” Charlotte continued. “He has discovered something important which clears Miss Lovelace of wrongdoing.”
Maynard sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, dark brows hard at work again. “Indeed?”
Charlotte nodded to Lovelace, who pulled the three anchor screws from his jacket pocket and explained the manner in which the wires had been wrapped, and what he knew of his niece’s methods.
To give him credit, Maynard listened attentively, though he did not bother to examine the screws closely. When Lovelace had finished, the dean pulled out a crisp envelope from his desk drawer and held it out. “Put those bits in here. I will show them to Mr. Langdon when he returns.”
After Maynard had stowed away the envelope for safekeeping, he stood to usher them out.
“What about Miss Lovelace? Are you going to lift the restriction?” Charlotte asked.
Maynard’s lip curled. “Absolutely not.”
Concordia rolled her eyes. She knew it.
“Ye have the evidence of yer own eyes,” growled Lovelace. “What more do ye want? My girl is innocent.”
“That is precisely the problem,” Maynard snapped. “She is your blood relation. You might say anything to clear her. Oh yes, I have observed that she is left-handed, but anyone setting up such a contraption in the chill air, with dim light and an awkward overhead angle, might do things a bit more sloppily and not at all typical of her usual work. This proves nothing.”
“The Halloween ball is tomorrow,” Charlotte said. “Can you not give her the benefit of the doubt?”
Maynard stiffened. “I cannot. If you will excuse me, I must get back to work.”
He closed the door in their faces.
“Well, that’s that,” Charlotte said dispiritedly, as they headed for the stairwell. “I suppose we shall have to wait for President Lang
don to return. We are grateful for your discovery, Mr. Lovelace. I still believe it will make a difference.”
“Thank ye for trying,” Lovelace said, with a shake of his head. “I don’t understand why that man is so fixed on Maisie being to blame.”
Concordia hesitated. “You go on ahead,” she said to Charlotte. “I will catch up.”
Charlotte nodded. Concordia hurried back to Dean Maynard’s office.
“The discussion is closed, Miss Wells,” Maynard snarled, after she had knocked and let herself in.
“Oh, I am not here to persuade you to reconsider, Mr. Maynard.”
His brows went up again.
“I am here to repeat my warning of last week. Consider carefully who may wish you harm. You see, now I know for certain that Miss Lovelace is innocent. I admit that even I had my doubts about her until today. You may deny the significance of what Mr. Lovelace has brought you, but not because the proof is as flimsy as you say. I think it is because you do not want to consider the alternative. Someone tried to kill you. And that person could try again.”
Maynard’s face paled.
Concordia gentled her voice. “Who is it, Mr. Maynard? Who is trying to kill you?”
Maynard stood so abruptly, his chair crashed to the floor behind him. “Get...out,” he hissed between clenched teeth.
Concordia made a hasty exit. As she did so, she heard footsteps, light and quick, upon the nearby stairs. Someone had been eavesdropping. She ran to the stairwell, but whoever it was had gone.
Chapter 17
Week 6, Instructor Calendar Halloween 1898
“Don’t you worry, now,” Ruby said, as she anchored the black-and-orange feather comb more firmly in Concordia’s hair. “Miss Lovelace and I will be cozy as church mice here.”
Concordia glanced at the matron in the mirror. Despite Ruby’s bright voice, a frown puckered her brow as she finished the last of the buttons at the back of the gown. “Miss Gage has decided to stay behind, too.”
Ruby’s frown softened. “A kind-hearted girl, that one. Well, we’ll be glad to have her. I’ve made plenty of treats, an’ we’ll tell ghost stories and whatnot. So! Let’s have a look at you.”
Concordia stood, adjusting her glasses for a better view of her reflection. She had decided against a costume this year, instead selecting a black velvet evening gown with a touch of cream gauze at the bosom, so as not to wash out her freckled complexion. The bodice nipped in more tightly than she was accustomed to, but the effect made the discomfort worthwhile.
Ruby grinned. “You’re right pretty, miss. Mr. Bradley won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”
Concordia flushed. “Never you mind about Mr. Bradley,” she chided, although if she were honest with herself, that was just what she was hoping for.
Ruby chuckled.
“I had better be going.” Concordia gathered her shawl. “Oh, I nearly forgot: Miss Gage wants to burn nuts in the parlor fireplace. Be sure to keep an eye on that.” The last thing they needed was their new rug to go up in flames.
Ruby clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Such foolishness. If the circumstances were any different, I wouldn’t allow it. But it may cheer them up a bit.” She grunted. “How I wish that sour-puss Maynard had lifted her restriction! A stubborn one, he is.”
Concordia abruptly turned to face Ruby. “How do you know about that?”
Ruby packed the combs back in their case. “Charlotte told me. Came through the door last night, mad as a hatter and breathing fire.”
“That was supposed to be confidential. No harm done, I suppose, as long as it didn’t reach Miss Lovelace’s ears. The girl is miserable enough as it is.”
Ruby tugged nervously on her lower lip. “Um, well, about that....”
Concordia put her hands on her hips and blew out a sigh. “She knows?”
“It’s mighty hard to keep a secret around here,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes. “Miss Smedley overheard us talking and wasted no time taunting Miss Lovelace about it.”
Concordia groaned.
“But you know something,” Ruby said, dropping her voice and leaning forward conspiratorially, “I think the talk of proof being found has made Miss Smedley a little nervous. She hasn’t been walking around with her usual bravado today.”
Hmm. Concordia wondered if she could make use of that. An idea was beginning to form, but it would have to wait until later. “You are sure you’ll be all right here? I would stay if I could—”
“—but you have to help chaperone them hoydens,” Ruby finished. “I know. We’ll be fine. Go on, now.”
Chapter 18
Week 6, Instructor Calendar Halloween 1898
A ballroom should be very well lighted, exceedingly well ventilated, and very gayly dressed. ~Mrs. John Sherwood
Sycamore House was awash in the glow of luminarias and hurricane lamps lining the stone steps. The young ladies had certainly outdone themselves this year, Concordia thought, noting the massive bows atop the columns wrapped in bittersweet vines. Free of ants’ nests, one hoped. Clusters of chrysanthemums, pumpkins and autumnal gourds flanked the sides of the double doors, opened to let in a cooling breeze.
Concordia left her wrap in the foyer and went in search of David. She found him chatting with the clipboard-wielding Miss Jenkins. That lady was formidably dressed tonight as Artemis the huntress, wearing a simple white tunic, sandals, and gold belt. A quiver of arrows was strapped to her back.
Miss Jenkins’ eyes brightened. “Ah, now our chaperone list is complete.”
“Sorry I’m late. Do you still want me at the apple ducking?” Concordia asked, flushing, but whether it was from her brisk walk to make up time or David’s lingering gaze of approval, she could not decide. His evening attire, with its high-necked white shirt, well-tailored black tails and smooth pleated trousers, was a decided improvement over his usual wrinkled suit.
“Yes. Mr. Bradley will assist.” Miss Jenkins paused, giving them each an inscrutable squint over the rim of her spectacles. “The cook tells me she left washtubs and aprons on the back porch for your use. I hope you do not mind getting a wetting,” she added.
Concordia shrugged. “I’ll manage. What other events are we having tonight?”
“There is the nut-burning in the library. I have put Mr. Maynard in charge of that, so we are assured of no monkeyshines. Miss Banning and Miss Crandall are reading tea leaves in the kitchen, Miss Kimble is telling ghost stories in the butler’s pantry, and—” she checked her clipboard “—ah, yes. Mrs. Sanbourne is sketching caricatures in the side parlor.” She rolled her eyes. “It was a fight to get that space, I can tell you. Apparently the room has become Mr. Maynard’s private study, and he was none too happy to give it up—”
The sound of high-pitched chatter interrupted them. The students were arriving. Concordia glanced at David. “We should get ready.”
David gave a little bow. “After you.”
As they made their way through the growing throng in the ballroom to reach the kitchen and back porch beyond, Concordia asked, “Did you request that we be assigned together? Miss Jenkins gave me the strangest look.” Heaven only knew what the woman assumed David had in mind. Her cheeks flamed at the thought.
David grinned. “Guilty.”
“I wish you would be more discreet. You know better. Although we are engaged to be married—especially because of that—we have to ensure our comportment is above reproach.”
David did not quite achieve the crestfallen air she was hoping to see. “We have both been so busy. I wanted the chance to talk during any quiet times tonight. Is that so wrong?”
“Well, not really,” she admitted. “But you know how gossipy people can be. I don’t think this is the best time and place for wedding talk, anyway.”
“Actually, I wanted to ask you again about the Armstrong place.”
She fussed with her sleeve before answering. “You want to know if I have changed my mind?”
“The manager
of the property approached me with a lower offer. And he has had the entire place cleaned out. Scoured top to bottom. No debris. No sign that anything…happened there. We would have very little to do to get it ready.”
They had reached the porch. She shivered in the chill air.
He stepped closer and clasped her hands, warming them. “We could afford a cook, at that price.”
She pulled her hands away. “A man was murdered there. And we may never know who is responsible, or why.” She pulled an apron from the hook and tied it around her waist.
“Did you speak to Capshaw?”
Drat, this business with the gun in the stables had completely occupied her this past week. She had forgotten to check if Capshaw had returned from his trip. “Not yet.”
“You never told me what sort of information you had for him.”
“The debt collectors who had been threatening Guryev may have managed to keep an eye on him here on campus.” She told him of the time she had seen Guryev peering anxiously out his window in the middle of the night, and the nervous behavior that Miss Lovelace and Miss Gage had observed just before he disappeared.
David’s eyes widened. “That’s an interesting possibility, but I haven’t noticed anyone suspicious hanging around campus.”
“Keep in mind that we have a number of male students from Trinity who visit regularly. Not even the girls recognize all of them. Who is to say that someone, in the guise of a college youth, was not covertly watching Guryev?”
“Why haven’t you told Capshaw yet?”
“He was out of town when I first thought of it. I’ve had my hands full since then.” She grimaced. “I’m not even sure he would listen to me. After that business last spring, I know he doesn’t want me involved in any more cases.” She had to admit, despite her efforts to the contrary, trouble seemed to find her. Even last summer, when she had traveled across the country to evade the Inner Circle.