Beloved and Unseemly

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Hartford Women's College September 1898

Some might find it possible to sleep through twelve alarm clocks going off in succession in the middle of the night, but Professor Concordia Wells was not one of those fortunate few. She had no sooner pulled the covers over her head after the clamor of the first three clocks had stopped when two more went off.

Glancing at her own clock, perched on the washstand—two in the morning!—she groped for her robe and spectacles. There were bound to be more going off. Willow Cottage was uncomfortably close to Sycamore House, home to the male administrators. The sneering and cantankerous dean, Randolph Maynard, would not take kindly to his sleep being disturbed. Willow Cottage was already infamous for the number of disciplinary restrictions it had incurred last year.

Amidst the tinny bells came the sounds of shuffling feet and distraught freshmen voices directly over her faculty quarters. The hunt was on.

Mercy, what pranks would the sophomores dream up next?

Better not ask.

In the dimly lit hall she all but collided with the resident matron, Ruby Hitchcock, also hurrying toward the source of the commotion.

“Oh! Beg pardon, miss.” As if girding for battle, Ruby tied her threadbare sacque more securely around her short, squat waist and dug her feet into her homely felt slippers. “Barely back to school, and them girls start their carryings-on. We’re in for a wild semester at this rate—” A fresh chorus of bells drowned out her next words.

Concordia took the stairs two at a time, no small feat for a lady of her short stature. She found Charlotte Crandall, bless her, already knocking on bedroom doors and rousting the sophomores. Miss Crandall was all too familiar with school hijinks, having graduated from Hartford Women’s College only two years before. How her sophomore class managed to suspend two-dozen freshmen gloves from the rafters of Memorial Chapel was still a mystery to most.

Though radiating the composure bred from the rigid dictates of Miss Crandall’s blueblood upbringing, the stubborn set of her jaw and narrowed brown eyes made clear her annoyance. As Concordia well knew, being a teacher charged with keeping pranksters in line is not nearly as fun as pulling the stunt.

The extra help was certainly welcome. Every female professor—except for a few senior faculty members—was obliged to live with the students in her charge, acting as surrogate mother and chaperone. The male teachers had no such responsibility.

“Why do we have to get up?” one sophomore complained, as she and her roommate shrugged on their wraps. “The freshies are the ones making all the noise.” They exchanged a smirk.

Concordia folded her arms and glared as yet another bell went off. “I suppose you would prefer a cottage-wide restriction imposed by Mr. Maynard? That would undoubtedly make you popular among your fellow cottage-mates.”

One of the girls made a face. “Can’t have May-Not getting involved,” she muttered to her friend. They hurried down the hall.

Concordia shook her head. The students had gleefully adopted the impertinent nickname coined by Miss Kimble, the school’s new bursar. It was spreading quickly. Admittedly, it suited the dean. Many a may not had fallen from those lips.

At last, all fifteen clocks were retrieved. Most had been concealed in the four freshmen rooms, though Concordia and Ruby found one in the kitchen dustbin and another under the chaise cushion in the parlor.

Ruby shook her head as she switched off the last of them. “Right mischievous, these girls. At least Mr. Maynard didn’ come stormin’ down the hill.”

Concordia twitched the parlor curtain aside. Sycamore House was dark. “We escaped notice this time.”

Wait a minute. Was that movement?

A window in Sycamore House opened, and a man stuck his head out. Concordia squinted for a better look.

“Who is it?” Ruby leaned closer.

Concordia blew out a breath. “Never mind. It’s Mr. Guryev, thank goodness. Not the dean.”

“Whew!” Ruby said. “Well, g’night miss.”

Concordia stayed by the window, curious. Guryev wasn’t staring in the direction of Willow Cottage, but directly down, into the Sycamore House gardens. She watched him for several minutes as he peered into the dark. Finally, he withdrew and shut the window.

She went back to bed, too tired to remove her dressing gown. As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered how they were going to get up for chapel on time, since they had switched off all of the alarm clocks.