Unseemly Pursuits

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Week 2, Instructor Calendar, September 1896

This bodes some strange disruption to our state.

Hamlet, I.i

Concordia had been both expecting and dreading this meeting.

She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Enter!”

Lady Principal Grant’s office was much different in style than that of her predecessor. Gone was the light, airy, elegant feel of the room, the stacks of well-thumbed books, the open window. Instead, Olivia Grant’s office was dark and formidable: heavy draperies made the room stuffy and confining; dark wood frames held dour-looking historical figures, painted in stiff poses; matched leather-bound book sets lined the walls like well-trained soldiers. Knick-knacks occupied every ledge not already spoken for.

The lady principal herself filled the chair with her bulk. Without getting up, she gestured toward a chair.

“Sit down, Miss Wells.” Her tone was chilly.

Concordia had just smoothed her skirts in her chair when there was a knock at the door.

“Enter!” Miss Grant called.

Charles Harrison, the new mathematics professor, stepped in. He was a short, dapper man, his black hair parted precisely down the middle. Everything about him, in fact, appeared precise and perfect: the sharp trouser creases, the polished shoes and watch chain, the deliberation as he shut the door and seated himself at Miss Grant’s bidding.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Harrison,” Miss Grant said, a broad smile crinkling the fat folds of her face.

Concordia couldn’t help but notice that the atmosphere of the room had thawed.

Miss Grant settled her attention again on Concordia. “I understand, Miss Wells, that you directed the senior play last year.”

Concordia had expected this, and had her speech ready. “That’s true, Miss Grant, and I was happy to be of assistance. However, this year, I would ask that you not –”

“Young lady, do you think that I would assign you to direct the play?” Miss Grant interrupted. “While it is my understanding that you had a modicum of success with the endeavor last year, it isn’t a prudent course to have someone so young in such a position of authority. These seniors need a firm hand.”

Concordia was confused, and relieved. She would not be directing the senior play this year. Good! Yet a small part of her was perversely a little disappointed and insulted. Of course she could control the seniors. What nonsense.

However, she avoided saying any of this aloud.

The lady principal continued. “Mr. Harrison has volunteered to direct the play this year.” Mr. Harrison sat up even straighter, if that were possible.

“With all due respect, Mr. Harrison is a mathematics professor,” Concordia protested. Why was she objecting? Stop talking, she thought. Just stop.

But she couldn’t.

“The seniors have chosen Hamlet this year,” Concordia continued, turning to Charles Harrison. “Are you familiar with the play?”

“I had read it in my youth, of course,” Mr. Harrison said in his thin-voiced, meticulous diction, “and I am reviewing it now. I see no problem.”

“That is why I’m assigning you to assist Mr. Harrison,” Miss Grant said, fixing Concordia with her dark eyes, like currants pressed into pale dough. “You can give him the benefit of your experience from last year, along with your knowledge of Shakespeare—if that is necessary—and carry out whatever tasks he sees fit to assign you.”

Harrison’s face took on a nostalgic look. “I have fond memories of my own time among the footlights, back in my college days. I’m looking forward to it.” He turned to Concordia. “I would be grateful for your help, Miss Wells. I have some wonderful ideas to bring to the production.”

Concordia didn’t like the sound of that. Wonderful ideas often translated into dreadful headache.

“Miss Grant, I’m honored, but I don’t see how I have the time,” Concordia said. Was she recklessly consigning the fate of the senior play to a …mathematician? So be it. “I already have charge of the Literature Club and the Bicycle Club. And there are my cottage responsibilities, too.” Which Mr. Harrison, as a man, did not have, she added silently. Except for the most senior faculty, female professors at Hartford Women’s College were required to reside in the cottages with their students, acting as live-in chaperones, seeing to their day-to-day needs, making sure the girls did not get up to mischief.

Miss Grant’s lips thinned into a hard, narrow line. Concordia was to quickly learn that when this happened, woe betide the offender.

“I care not about your schedule, Miss Wells,” came the cold response. “Should you feel you are not up to the task, given your responsibilities, I am perfectly happy to dissolve the Bicycle Club to afford you more time.”

Concordia knew when she had been bested. She gritted her teeth. “That will not be necessary. I will manage.”

The lady principal smiled sweetly. “I thought as much. Oh, and one more thing, the play will be performed in December, rather than May. There are far too many distractions at the end of the spring term, so I have decided to change the date.”

Charles Harrison looked as startled as Concordia felt. “Surely we need more time? Could it not be in February or March, at least?”

While Concordia privately agreed with Miss Grant about the plenitude of distractions in the spring, the senior play was a time-consuming production. No doubt they would have to scale back some of Mr. Harrison’s wonderful ideas.

Miss Grant shook her head. “We’ll present it along with the other Christmas-time festivities, before the students leave for winter recess. The matter is closed.”

With that, she heaved herself out of the chair and shooed them out.