Beloved and Unseemly Page 20

  Concordia nodded. She did not envy him the task.

  Chapter 35

  Weeks 12 and 13, Instructor Calendar, December 1898

  This world should be known and served and treated with as much respect and sincerity as that other world, which is to be our reward. ~Mrs. John Sherwood

  Over the final two weeks of the semester, students and staff struggled to maintain the routine of classes and examinations. But with worried mommas scooping up their daughters to withdraw them early, and reporters and police trouping through administrators’ offices, normality had flown out the window. Mr. Sanbourne, naturally, canceled his classes for the rest of the semester. After a very private funeral service—to which no one from the school was welcome—Sanbourne spent nearly all of his time in his laboratory. He still had project deadlines to meet. George Lovelace stayed on as his assistant.

  The only happy bit of news during this time was that Charlotte had left the hospital and was recovering at her aunt’s house. Concordia paid a visit as soon as the young lady was well enough to receive callers.

  Concordia waited in the Dunwicks’ comfortably appointed parlor, watching the play of firelight reflected in the well-polished cherry wood tables and brass candlestick holders. She rubbed her hands in front of the fire. It had been a chilled streetcar ride.

  Lady Dunwick bustled in soon after. “Ah, Miss Wells, so good of you to visit, dear. Charlotte will be down shortly. Would you care for some tea?”

  “That would be most welcome, thank you.”

  Lady Dunwick tugged at the bell pull, then glanced out the window at the dull gray sky. “I fear we will have snow again this evening.”

  Concordia had little interest in conversing about the weather. “How is Charlotte? We’ve been so worried.”

  “Though she tires easily, she is nearly well. I fear I cannot say the same for her spirit.” Lady Dunwick lowered herself into a wingback chair. “She has been reading the newspapers, you see.”

  “About the death of Mrs. Sanbourne?”

  “Yes, that—and the speculation that Randolph Maynard will be arrested at any moment. She is quite fond of the gentleman, but I....” Her voice trailed off.

  Concordia knew what she did not say. The newspapers had been full of the story of Mrs. Sanbourne’s past with Maynard. Lady Dunwick could hardly approve a match between her niece and a divorced man who was once married to a lunatic.

  “I imagine the shock of learning about Mrs. Sanbourne’s past was difficult for Charlotte.”

  “Oh, she already knew about that,” Lady Dunwick said.

  Concordia’s cup clattered in the saucer. “I…I beg your pardon? Did Mr. Maynard tell her?”

  “No, more’s the pity. That would have raised him a bit in my estimation. Instead he lied to her, saying he had jilted Mrs. Sanbourne long ago and the woman must be holding a grudge. When Charlotte last stayed with us, she was making inquiries about the woman. Without my knowledge.” Her jaw clenched. “Sir Anthony used his court connections to help her, though he did not tell me of it until it all came out in the papers.” Lady Dunwick shook her head. “I would never have permitted Mr. Maynard to visit her in the hospital had I known.”

  “What did Charlotte do when she learned the truth? Did she confront Mr. Maynard or Mrs. Sanbourne?” Concordia asked.

  “Sir Anthony said she planned to, but….” Lady Dunwick’s voice faltered.

  Concordia grimaced. “Yes, I see. Charlotte returned quite late that evening. And then we had the fire. She had no opportunity.”

  “Actually, I did speak to her.” Charlotte stood in the parlor doorway, pale-faced and swaying slightly as she clutched the doorframe.

  Concordia hurried over to put an arm around her shoulders and lead her to the settee. “You spoke to her? When?”

  “The night I returned, quite late. I went to Randolph’s office to talk to him first about what I learned. He wasn’t there, but I discovered Mrs. Sanbourne, crouched at his door. She was trying to break into his office.”

  “Break into his office? Why?” Lady Dunwick asked.

  “She refused to say.” Charlotte sat back against the cushions. Exhaustion shadowed her eyes.

  “She was probably searching for the divorce decree,” Concordia said. “Maynard would not give her the paper unless she promised to leave the college.”

  Charlotte sighed. “I knew she was after something. At the Halloween Ball, Randolph found his desk had been broken into. He knew she was responsible.”

  Ah, so that was why Maynard’s desk had opened easily when she’d tried it. Mrs. Sanbourne had broken the lock. “What happened when you caught Mrs. Sanbourne in front of Maynard’s office?”

  “I am sorry to say I lost my composure.” Charlotte looked down at her hands, self-consciously unclenching them and flexing her fingers. “I told her I knew everything. About her marriage to Randolph, about what she had done to her baby, about the asylum. It just came spilling out.”

  Lady Dunwick shifted in her seat. “Oh dear.”

  Charlotte sniffed and wiped at her damp cheeks. “I had not planned to do that. I was only going to tell Randolph what I had learned, talk with him about what we should do. I feared she would try to hurt him again.”

  Lady Dunwick leaned forward and patted her hand. “You were under tremendous strain.”

  Charlotte grimaced. “But don’t you see? My outburst prompted her to the desperate, reckless act of setting fire to the cottage. She felt she had nothing to lose.”

  “So this is what you told Capshaw, just before we found Mrs. Sanbourne in the teachers’ lounge?” Concordia asked.

  “My mind had finally begun to clear. It all came rushing back.”

  Concordia pursed her lips, struck by a sudden thought. “Was anyone else working in The Hall that night?”

  “I noticed Miss Kimble’s office light was on.” Charlotte sucked in a breath. “Do you suppose she overheard?”

  Concordia waved a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter now.” Thank goodness Miss Kimble’s blackmail scheme had never come to fruition. They had enough of a mess on their hands.

  Lady Dunwick passed Charlotte a handkerchief. “You cannot blame yourself, my dear. Rachel Sanbourne was obviously unstable to begin with. Anything could have provoked her.”

  They were interrupted by a polite cough from the parlor maid. “Ma’am? There’s a Lieutenant Cap…Capshin?—at the door.”

  Charlotte and Concordia exchanged a glance.

  Lady Dunwick calmly plucked a speck of lint from her sleeve and smoothed her skirt over her knees. “Show him in.”

  Capshaw entered soon after, cap clutched respectfully, red hair tousled from raking a hand over it. His brows settled into their usual gloomy furrow as he bowed. “I fear I have bad news. Randolph Maynard has been arrested.”

  Chapter 36

  Week 13, Instructor Calendar December 1898

  There are instincts in the humblest understanding which will tell us where to draw the line. ~Mrs. John Sherwood

  Charlotte clasped her hands so hard the knuckles were white. “Arrested?” she choked.

  “Sit down, lieutenant,” Lady Dunwick said, motioning to a chair.

  Capshaw awkwardly folded his lanky legs as he perched on an antique rocker, which creaked in protest. “I wanted to tell you myself, Miss Crandall, before you read it in the newspapers.”

  Dread pooled in Concordia’s stomach. How would the school recover from such a disgrace? “There was no way to have avoided this?”

  “We had no choice. He is the only one with a motive.”

  “And what exactly do you judge the motive to be, Lieutenant?” Lady Dunwick asked.

  “Revenge. Protection. Either will suffice. Rachel Sanbourne had twice tried to kill Miss Crandall, and nearly succeeded the second time. We have found combustible paint thinner in her studio, and a gown hidden away behind her canvases. The hem smells strongly of the stuff. Between that and Miss Crandall’s account of confronting the la
dy mere hours before the fire, I have no doubt Mrs. Sanbourne was responsible.”

  Concordia was about to point out that Randolph Maynard would not have known of such evidence, until she remembered that she had convinced him of the woman’s guilt. “You have ruled out suicide?” she asked instead.

  Capshaw nodded. “No note in the Sanbourne home, or her studio, or anywhere near or upon her person. Our doc checked with a colleague of his, a chemist at Yale. He says there was definitely poison in both the tea and the victim’s stomach.”

  Charlotte leaned forward. “Do you know what kind of poison?”

  “Atropine.”

  Concordia frowned. “Atropine? What is that?”

  Capshaw pulled out his notepad. “It is used to treat a slow heart rate…bradycardia, the doc called it. The stuff’s also used for bronchial congestion. Doc says it can be fatal in large enough doses, causing the heart to go into—” he glanced down at his notes “—fibrillation. Without medical help, death soon follows.”

  “And Mrs. Sanbourne was not prescribed this…atropine?” Concordia asked.

  “No.”

  “What about Mr. Maynard?”

  Capshaw shifted in his chair, generating more creaks. “No, he doesn’t take it, either. But Langdon does. The living quarters for the dean and president are on the same floor in Sycamore House. Langdon admits that he does not customarily lock his door, and regrettably has no idea if the amount of liquid in his bottle—there was very little left—is correct. He was prescribed the medicine for an episode of breathing trouble last winter, and he has not needed to take it in some time. If the bottle was full enough to begin with, Maynard could have easily extracted a lethal amount without Langdon’s knowledge.”

  “So why isn’t Mr. Langdon under suspicion?” Charlotte asked.

  Capshaw shook his head. “He has no motive. He only learned the truth about Mrs. Sanbourne after she was dead.”

  Concordia grimaced. That was true enough. “Does anyone else on campus take this medicine?”

  “I was still checking on that when I was ordered to arrest Maynard.”

  “Do you intend to continue the inquiry?” Charlotte asked in a quavering voice.

  Capshaw rose. “I will have a few details to pursue, but I doubt if it will prove Maynard innocent. I am sorry. If you’ll excuse me, Lady Dunwick, I will see myself out.”

  After he left, Charlotte turned to Concordia. “We must do something. We cannot allow Randolph to be hanged for a crime he did not commit.”

  Concordia did not answer right away. Her heart ached for Charlotte, watching the man she loved pilloried by the press as he sat helpless in jail. But what could be done?

  She straightened. Last spring, Maynard had done the impossible for her. He had saved her life. It did not matter how daunting the task of clearing him might be. “How do you suggest we start?”

  Charlotte’s shoulders sagged in relief. “We should learn who else is on this medication. We must act quickly, before the newspapers broadcast the details and the murderer disposes of it.”

  “It would be reckless of someone to dispose of needed medicine,” Lady Dunwick objected.

  Charlotte waved a dismissive hand. “Hide it, then.”

  Lady Dunwick raised a skeptical brow. “It seems unwise in the first place, to use one’s own medicine to commit murder.”

  Concordia remembered Capshaw’s words: Men do not always act prudently. “It could have been a last-minute decision, and the medicine was ready to hand.”

  “I suppose so,” Lady Dunwick said.

  “We cannot conduct a search of everyone’s rooms on campus looking for it,” Concordia said. “So where do we begin? We have no idea of motive. Who besides Mr. Maynard would have wanted to kill Mrs. Sanbourne?”

  “I read once, in a penny-dreadful crime story,” Lady Dunwick said, “that the husband is the most likely person to do away with the wife.”

  Charlotte gaped in astonishment. “Aunt Susan, you read penny-dreadfuls? Do not let Mamma hear you say that.”

  Lady Dunwick cleared her throat. “It was only the once. The train had been terribly delayed, and there was a rack of them at the station. I had not a scrap of anything to read.” The corners of her lips twitched. “It was actually quite engaging.”

  “I don’t believe questioning a grief-stricken husband will get us anywhere,” Concordia said. “No doubt Capshaw has already done so.”

  “But we could search his belongings for the medicine,” Charlotte said.

  Concordia shook her head. “Given the man’s trim form and boundless energy, I very much doubt he needs medication for a slow heart.”

  “We won’t know until we look.”

  “How would we get into his house?” Concordia asked. “Are we to be sneak thieves now?”

  Lady Dunwick grimaced. No doubt the lady wished she were anywhere else at the moment.

  “We’ll worry about his house later, and concentrate our efforts on his workshop,” Charlotte said. “He essentially lives on campus since his wife died. If he needs heart drops every day, the bottle is probably in a jacket pocket.”

  Concordia remembered the partitioned alcove beyond the laboratory, where Sanbourne said he often slept. Yes, it would be feasible to conduct a search there.

  Mercy, more snooping. “Very well, on two conditions,” Concordia said.

  Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “Which are?”

  “One, we ask Mr. Bradley to accompany us in case of trouble. He can be counted upon for his discretion.” He would not be thrilled by the request, she was sure.

  Charlotte nodded. “And the other?”

  “If we find something, we take it straight to Capshaw, and not confront Sanbourne.” If she had learned any lessons from her impromptu experiences as a lady sleuth, it was that one.

  Charlotte clasped her hands together in excitement. “Agreed.”

  Chapter 37

  Week 13, Instructor Calendar December 1898

  Education is always a power. ~Mrs. John Sherwood

  Concordia was grateful for Lady Dunwick’s offer of the carriage to take her and Charlotte back to campus.

  Once Charlotte had packed an overnight bag, they were on their way. The long-anticipated snow had started to fall, quickly coating the freezing streets and sidewalks. They huddled under the lap rug.

  Progress was agonizingly slow along the slick streets, amid the crush of Christmas shopping traffic in the downtown district. The vehicle continually stopped for pedestrians darting across, expressmen unloading deliveries, and passenger-laden streetcars. Storefronts sported jaunty red bows and fresh boughs of greenery across their doorways, now dusted in sparkling snow. Tinkling shop bells, the call of street vendors, and the strains of an accordion-player grinding out Christmas carols rung in the air. If Concordia had been in a more congenial mood, she would have welcomed the sights and sounds of the season. As it was, she felt as if she were passing through another world.

  She opened her jacket to peek at her watch. Nearly three. Once they were clear of downtown, they would make better time, but David still had another half an hour of class, anyway.

  “I have an idea,” she said to Charlotte. “We should talk to Miss Jenkins first. She may know who on campus besides Mr. Langdon takes atropine. I would imagine it is not a long list. We can also inquire as to whether she keeps such medicine on hand.”

  Charlotte nodded mutely, staring down at her gloved hands.

  “You love him very much, do you not?”

  Charlotte blushed. “I could not have imagined it when I first met him.”

  Concordia chuckled. “Your imagination is wilder than mine. He does not give a favorable first—or second—impression.”

  The carriage deposited them in front of the farmhouse, and Charlotte had her first view of the place. She gave an approving nod. “I remember this as a ramshackle old homestead. The grounds still need tending, but you’ve done wonders with the house.”

  Concordia looked ar
ound. The fresh coating of snow softened the landscape and made it quite pretty. The grounds would come in time. “We could never have made the necessary repairs without the town’s help. You heard about Gown and Town Day?”

  “I missed quite a lot in the hospital.”

  Concordia squeezed her hand. “Let’s get your bag inside and show you where you’ll be sleeping. The accommodations are a bit tight, I have to warn you.”

  Once Charlotte had deposited her valise upon a folding cot in Miss Smedley’s room, they put on warm boots and headed for the infirmary. It was still snowing, but very finely now.

  “This is a healthy walk,” Charlotte puffed.

  “I hope it is not over-taxing.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Fortunately, Miss Jenkins was in her office writing reports. Concordia explained their errand.

  Hannah Jenkins nodded. “I am, of course, acquainted with the basic medical condition of each staff member. But you must know that information is confidential.” She sat back and tucked her pencil through the topknot of her thinning white hair.

  “Under normal circumstances, we would not presume to ask you to breach patient confidentiality,” Concordia said. “But Mr. Maynard’s future is at stake. The police will require you to reveal the same information to them, anyway. We already know that Mr. Langdon takes this medicine. Capshaw told us.”

  The infirmarian raised a skeptical brow. “If Maynard has been arrested, why would the police make further inquiries?”

  Charlotte spoke up. “Lieutenant Capshaw promised me he would pursue all leads, in case Mr. Maynard is innocent. He did not want to arrest him yet. He was instructed by his superior to do so.”

  Miss Jenkins shook her head. “I will wait for the police to make the request. I cannot help you.”