Beloved and Unseemly

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Week 2, Instructor Calendar September 1898

“Notebooks out, ladies,” Concordia said, swiveling the blackboard toward the light from the long, leaded-glass windows. She could have turned on the electric lights retrofitted to the forty-year-old classroom building, but they had recently taken to emitting a high-pitched buzzing sound. Her head already ached from too little sleep. She smothered a yawn as she wrote out the writing theme due Monday:

Describe the three sources of persuasion

in Baker’s Principles of Argumentation.

With a swish of skirts and the creaking of leather, the girls extracted their copybooks. Concordia frowned as she took a quick head count. Two juniors were missing. She checked the clock. Ten minutes into the class period. Both were Willow Cottage residents, and she knew they weren’t ill. Sleepy, certainly. The entire cottage barely made it to chapel this morning.

Most of the students had finished copying and looked up expectantly.

“Has anyone seen Miss Lovelace and Miss Gage? No? Very well, we will proceed without them. Miss Smedley, come up with your theme from yesterday and read aloud to the class. Your clearest diction, please.”

Alison Smedley, dressed smartly in a ruffled white shirtwaist and soft camel hair skirt, made her way to the instructor’s podium.

As Concordia listened, she marveled at the young lady’s progress since last semester, when her sulky lack of effort had nearly caused her dismissal. Charlotte Crandall had taken the young lady in hand, and Miss Smedley was applying herself at last. A change in room assignments had helped as well. Last year, Miss Smedley and Miss Lovelace had had the misfortune to be roommates. They were as opposite as two girls could be: Miss Smedley the product of an illustrious family, interested in literature, the arts, and the society pages; Miss Lovelace the daughter of a tradesman, here on scholarship, single-mindedly occupied in tinkering with all things mechanical. Each derided the pursuits of the other.

Concordia peeked at her watch again. Twenty minutes into the period. Where were they?

She saw the door open a crack as Miss Lovelace applied an eye to the opening. Concordia held up a hand for her to wait for Alison Smedley to finish.

“Nicely done, Miss Smedley,” Concordia said, finally waving in the two girls. “I was particularly impressed by your explanation of Hibben’s universality of consciousness as the primary postulate for inductive logic.” Miss Smedley flushed a becoming pink.

Concordia watched as Maisie Lovelace pawed through her bag for a pencil and settled her skirts. “Do not get too comfortable, Miss Lovelace—”

“Oh, Miss Wells, we did not mean to be late,” Maisie Lovelace interrupted. “Mr. Guryev was demonstrating Archimedes’ screw, and we were building our—”

“Now is not the time for explanations, young lady,” Concordia said sternly. “Pull out your theme and come to the front. And put your gloves back on, if you please.” It was unsuitable for a young lady to give a class presentation barehanded, no matter how close to the new century they might be.

“Umm,” Miss Lovelace said, her voice subdued as she tugged her gloves over smudged fingers, “I forgot...the theme was due today.” A blush crept up her throat.

Miss Smedley smirked and several students tittered. Maisie turned a deeper red.

“I see,” Concordia said. She turned to another student. “Miss Andrews, your turn.”

The young lady stood and smoothed her skirts.

The rest of the period passed without incident, as successive students read their essays aloud. Concordia could not help but notice Miss Lovelace’s distracted air.

Concordia had expected the girl to be ecstatic over the new engineering program at Hartford Women’s College. Last year, she and her fellow mechanical enthusiasts had gone to great lengths to coax the college to start such a program, including disassembling and reassembling President Langdon’s buggy in then-Bursar Isley’s office.

It had seemed a lost cause. Finally, through a grant from the original foundress of the school back in its seminary days, the old gymnasium was refurbished, equipment brought in, and Mr. Sanbourne and his assistant, Ivan Guryev, were hired. Tonight’s reception at Sycamore House would celebrate the new program.

Peter Sanbourne, the renowned inventor and engineer, was considered quite a catch. Concordia had not yet met the gentleman and only knew his assistant by sight. Sanbourne remained a recluse in his laboratory these first few weeks.

The appeal of Sanbourne’s assistant was much easier to grasp. The girls chattered on about the fine form and dark good looks of Ivan Guryev. Concordia imagined his classes were well attended.

She glanced again at the pencil-fiddling Maisie Lovelace. Perhaps the girl was lovesick.

The dismissal bell interrupted her thoughts.

“Very promising so far,” she said, with a nod to the student upon the platform. “You may finish tomorrow.”

Concordia adjusted her spectacles and collected her books. She was not eager to meet with the lady principal, but their talk was overdue.

As the others filed out, Miss Lovelace and Miss Gage hurried up to her desk.

“We’re so sorry, Miss Wells,” Miss Gage said. “Cleaning up the laboratory took longer than we realized.” She gestured to Miss Lovelace. “Maisie still hasn’t gotten all the grease off her hands.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Concordia said. “Your laboratory sessions obviously need to be longer. I will speak to the dean about adjusting the schedule.”

Maisie Lovelace’s features softened in relief. “I am sorry about forgetting the assignment. This certificate program is more demanding than I thought.”

Concordia slid her book bag strap over her shoulder. “I believe you are equal to the challenge. But I must have your essay by the weekend.”

Miss Lovelace smiled. “I promise.”

“Is there anything else you want us to do, to make up for our tardiness?” Miss Gage asked.

Concordia hesitated, her hand on the door. “Can anything be done about the electric lights? They make a terrible buzzing noise.”

“We’ll start on that right away,” Miss Lovelace said enthusiastically, rummaging in her satchel for the pouch of tools Concordia knew she always carried.

Concordia smiled. “After the essay, Miss Lovelace. After.”