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  “What is it?” Mrs. Wells asked.

  “Miss Banning sent for me last evening. She wanted to tell me in person what she had done and her reasons for it.” She nodded toward Concordia. “It happened much as you said. Then she gave me this.” She held up a sealed envelope, scrawled with the name Randolph Maynard. “She said it would allow me to go on with my life and be happy.”

  “But she promised to write her confession to Capshaw, not Mr. Maynard,” Concordia said.

  “It surprised me as well,” Charlotte said. She walked over to Maynard, holding it out. “She told me it is for you to do with as you wish.”

  Maynard broke the seal and pulled out a sheet covered on both sides in spidery writing. After a few minutes, he tucked it back in the envelope without a word.

  “But that isn’t all of it,” Charlotte said with a shiver.

  “Come, sit by the fire,” David said, escorting her to a rocking chair nearest the hearth. “What else did she say?”

  Charlotte bit her lip. “She asked me to come back for Caesar. Naturally I agreed, though Aunt Susan cannot abide cats.”

  Concordia, not over-fond of cats either, made a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry, he can stay with us. We have a large barn where he can hunt mice to his heart’s content.” Not that Caesar was likely to stay in the barn. The idea of the spoiled, indolent cat hunting for its supper defied the imagination. The beast would undoubtedly be running the place in no time.

  David frowned. “Does Miss Banning expect to be kept in jail? Surely that is not Capshaw’s intent.”

  Concordia shook her head. “He told me she would be allowed to return home after signing her statement.” She glanced over at Charlotte’s stricken face. All at once, she realized what the young lady feared. Her stomach twisted. “Where is Miss Banning now? At the station?”

  “I hoped you would know.” Charlotte said.

  Concordia stood. “I think we’ve waited long enough. We should telephone the station.”

  The doorbell rang again.

  This time, finally, it was Capshaw who stepped into the library, hat tucked under his arm.

  “At last, lieutenant,” Mrs. Wells said. “We are all eager to hear how Miss Banning is doing.”

  Maynard quietly slipped the envelope in his jacket pocket.

  Although Mrs. Wells gestured toward a chair, Capshaw remained standing. He tugged at his tunic and cleared his throat. “I am sorry to say that Miss Banning is dead. Her maid found her this morning.”

  No one spoke.

  David was the one who broke the silence and asked the question on their minds. “By her own hand or from natural causes?”

  “The coroner will try to determine that. It may be difficult to tell, given her age and ailments.” Capshaw peered closely at Concordia. “You told me yesterday she was writing her confession when you left. I found no such document.”

  Concordia avoided glancing at Charlotte or Maynard. “That is what she said.” She sighed, her heart heavy. “It cannot matter now.”

  Margaret Banning had resigned at last. This time, the decision was irrevocable.

  Epilogue

  Memorial Chapel, June 1899

  It is quite possible for the lady to be fond of her husband without committing the slightest offense against good taste. ~Mrs. John Sherwood

  Concordia tried not to fidget as Mrs. Wells and Charlotte adjusted the circlet of orange blossoms in her hair and settled the tulle veil over her shoulders.

  “There.” Mrs. Wells stepped back to assess the result. “You make a lovely bride, my dear.”

  Concordia turned to the small mirror behind the door of the vesting room, and examined the ivory satin gown from the few angles she could manage. She had chosen a simpler design than Mother had wished, but both were pleased with the result. The fitted bodice crossed in elegant Grecian folds, flattering the bosom and waist. Mother had prevailed in the choice of a full petticoat and a sizeable train, but Concordia had to admit the skirt’s soft chiffon draping and point lace trim made for a becoming effect.

  Although there had been a number of lemon tarts since the final fitting, the months of trudging back and forth between farmhouse and classes had ensured the dress still fit.

  She adjusted the aquamarine brooch at her shoulder. Mother had managed to soften the look of the horrid thing with a pretty lace rosette that partly obscured it. One could still see the sparkle of the water-blue gems. The compromise satisfied David’s mother, though Concordia would have to take care not to impale any congratulatory guests after the ceremony.

  The thought of guests reminded her of something. “Has Penelope Hamilton arrived yet?”

  Charlotte nodded. “I saw her on my way to the vestry.”

  “Wonderful! I wasn’t sure she could come.”

  “She was surrounded by teachers and students. I don’t recall her being so popular when she was lady principal.”

  Concordia laughed. “Lady principals are rarely a popular breed.” Particularly the strict ones, as Miss Hamilton had been.

  “Her popularity might have increased if they had known she was working a case for the Pinkerton Agency at the time,” Concordia’s mother said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

  Concordia smiled. Penelope had tried on several occasions to recruit her for Pinkerton work. Their joint assignment last summer in San Francisco was enough adventure for a lifetime.

  “Let me help you with your train,” Charlotte said, shaking out the folds.

  Concordia eyed Charlotte’s gown, a high-cut satin duchesse. “I’m glad we decided on the peach tint. It’s most becoming.”

  Since Sophia was in no condition to serve as Concordia’s Lady of Honor—the baby was due any day now—Charlotte had agreed to fill the role.

  With a twinkle, Concordia added, “Mr. Maynard is sure to like it.”

  Charlotte blushed and self-consciously smoothed the skirt.

  Randolph Maynard had remained true to his resolve, only once making use of Miss Banning’s confession: to convince Lady Dunwick of his innocence. According to Charlotte, his discretion and selflessness had impressed her aunt, who permitted their courtship to resume, discreetly. If Lieutenant Capshaw knew Maynard had possession of Miss Banning’s confession, he gave no indication. Mrs. Sanbourne’s death remained officially unsolved.

  The whole affair was briefly revived when Peter Sanbourne’s body was discovered in a back alley in Hamburg. There was no sign of the blueprint. By that time, the college had turned over Sanbourne’s notes to the Navy, dismantled the engineering laboratory, donated the equipment to Boston Tech, and washed its hands of the program for good.

  Public opinion alternately sneered and sympathized with the college’s attempt to offer women such a progressive course of study, but most considered the incidents confined to the unsavory Sanbournes and the now-defunct program rather than the school as a whole.

  Eventually the newspapers moved on to fresher news, including the latest in the Philippine-American War. It was certainly a relief to the faculty and staff of Hartford Women’s College. They wanted to get back to the business of educating young women for the challenges of a new century.

  Mrs. Wells turned toward the window. “What is that noise?”

  A rhythmic pounding in the distance echoed against the stone walls of the chapel.

  “Ah.” Charlotte cocked her head to listen. “Hammers, I expect.”

  “They are re-building Willow Cottage,” Concordia added, noting her mother’s puzzled frown.

  The lady’s frown deepened. “Why today, of all days?”

  “They must take advantage of the good weather. It’s only two months before the students return,” Concordia said.

  Mrs. Wells nodded toward Charlotte. “I hear you will be taking my daughter’s place as teacher-in-residence. Congratulations.”

  Charlotte smiled. “I am looking forward to it.”

  Concordia was silent. Despite all of the daily aggravations that came with living amo
ng two-dozen lively young ladies, she would miss it. The farmhouse would be quiet without them.

  Mrs. Wells gave Concordia a quick glance and pursed her lips. “Miss Crandall, would you tell Mr. Langdon to expect us in a few minutes?”

  Once Charlotte had left on her errand, Mrs. Wells sat down on the bench and patted the seat beside her. Concordia sighed. They had already had a private talk about what a woman should expect on her honeymoon. She did not think another speech was in order.

  Her mother had something else in mind. “You know I am thrilled about you marrying David, but…are you happy?”

  Concordia smiled, clasping her mother’s delicate, blue-veined hands. “There are new adventures ahead. I am happy.”

  Mrs. Wells nodded. “With the right man, marriage can be delightful.”

  Concordia’s eyes crinkled mischievously. “There is that, of course, but I was referring to something else. Mr. Langdon has offered me a position.”

  Her mother’s eyes widened. “A…a position? Surely you have not accepted it?”

  Concordia laughed. “Of course I have. Don’t worry. David knows all about it.”

  “Indeed,” her mother said faintly. “I thought the college would not permit a married woman to teach.”

  Concordia nodded. “This is something else. I am to be a lecturing fellow for the literature department. The college has never had one, although the position is not unheard of at other schools. My duties will include overseeing the seniors’ independent study projects and conducting monthly seminars.” She felt a rush of gratitude for Miss Kimble’s creative appropriation of funds and President Langdon’s equally creative job designation, which had circumvented the need for board approval. Her duties would ease the workload of the short-staffed English department. Not even Maynard had protested.

  She smiled to herself, remembering what a lady on last summer’s cross-country train trip had told her: You must be the exception, rather than the rule. She had been right. Perhaps, over time, such a circumstance would become the rule rather than the exception.

  Mrs. Wells frowned. “That is quite a lot to be responsible for, in addition to being a wife.”

  “No more burdensome than those charity projects you took up when Papa was alive. The duties are light in comparison to what I did before.” She grinned. “I am wondering what I shall do with all of my leisure time.”

  Mrs. Wells raised an eyebrow. “Should you find time on your hands, you may always visit your poor, neglected mother. But keep in mind, running one’s own household is more time-consuming than it might seem.”

  “At least I will not have to cook.” Their savings from the lower price of the Armstrong house had enabled them to hire someone.

  Mrs. Wells rolled her eyes. “Do not remind me of how remiss I had been in not teaching you that skill. It was difficult to extricate you from the library when you were growing up. How long will you be a…a—”

  “—lecturing fellow,” Concordia said. “The appointment is renewable yearly. It will depend upon the needs of the college.”

  “Or a change in your own circumstances, such as children?” Mrs. Wells asked with a twinkle.

  Concordia blushed. Children. Land sakes. Four chickens and Miss Banning’s moody cat were sufficient for now.

  Charlotte tapped on the door and stuck her head in. “Whenever you are ready. Everyone is in place.”

  Concordia took a breath. “Ready.”

  Charlotte passed her the bouquet of peach roses and white orange blossoms, trimmed in pale green satin ribbon. Concordia’s mother arranged the veil over her face. “Shall we remove your spectacles, dear?”

  Concordia shook her head. “I want to do this with my eyes wide open.”

  They left through the outside door of the vesting room, following the stone-paved path around to the chapel’s front doors. With a final squeeze of Concordia’s hand, Mrs. Wells slipped into the chapel to be escorted to her seat.

  President Langdon waited for Concordia just outside the doors. She put a hand to her sun-dazzled eyes for a better look at the man who would accompany her down the aisle. Instead of his usual rumpled jacket, ill-fitting trousers and dusty shoes, Langdon was attired in grand style for the occasion, sporting light gray pleated trousers, white foulard cravat, and a dapper Prince Albert coat. The effect was only slightly undermined by the strained buttons at his middle.

  He gave her a wide smile and held out his arm. “You look absolutely lovely, my dear. That Bradley fellow is a lucky man.”

  She gripped his arm, suddenly taken with a fit of nerves. She was going to do this. She was going to be married. If only Papa were here.

  It was as if she had said it aloud. Langdon patted her hand in reassurance. “Your father would have been pleased to see the woman you have become. I am a poor substitute, but we must make do, mustn’t we?”

  Concordia smiled. During her years at the college, Langdon had been her staunch ally, very nearly like a father to her. “It will be more than ‘making do,’ sir.”

  The ushers pulled the doors wide. Langdon tugged at his jacket and assumed his most dignified expression. “Shall we?”

  Sarah and Gracie, combed and scrubbed within an inch of their lives, waited eagerly with Charlotte in the vestibule. Concordia bent down and gave her young cousins a hug. “What beautiful young ladies I have to accompany me,” she murmured. Their faces glowed with excitement beneath their charming white chip bonnets, trimmed in pale green ribbon and white lace. Gracie swished the full skirts of her dotted muslin. Her older sister put a hand on her arm to keep her still.

  “Remember now,” Charlotte Crandall whispered to the girls, “just as we practiced.” She gave them a gentle prod as the organist played the first notes of Mendelssohn’s wedding march from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The congregation stood and turned as one to face the back of the church.

  “Mercy,” Concordia muttered under her breath. She had not had so many eyes upon her at chapel since her first day of teaching here, when she and her charges had been late to morning service.

  Walking side by side, the girls proceeded at a dignified pace up the center aisle toward the chancel, followed by Charlotte, then Concordia and Langdon.

  Concordia was grateful for the veil that obscured her flushed cheeks and misting eyes. She clung to Langdon’s arm to steady her steps. Every pew she passed held smiling associates, friends, and loved ones: Miss Pomeroy, Miss Jenkins, Miss Kimble, Mr. Maynard…so many. Ruby Hitchcock was already wiping her eyes. Alison Smedley and Maisie Lovelace had returned for the occasion, and fluttered their handkerchiefs as she passed. And there was Penelope Hamilton, too, eyes shining with happiness—and perhaps a tear or two. She inclined her head in greeting as Concordia passed by. The lady seemed as reserved as ever, though she did surreptitiously pull her handkerchief from her sleeve.

  Concordia stopped heeding them all as she approached David, waiting in front of the sanctuary steps, his father as best man standing beside him. Her heart leapt in her throat. David looked quite handsome today, dressed in a finely tailored, dark frock coat and light-gray pinstripe trousers. His hair curled at the collar in a manner that made her want to smooth it aside. His eyes held the promise of love and longing that she recognized within herself, and something more. She could not look away. A thrill ran through her at the many aspects of the man she would come to know.

  The moment felt strangely private between them. Langdon stepped aside with a light squeeze of her hand and the organ music ceased. The minister cleared his throat. Startled, Concordia and David came out of themselves to commence the business of getting married properly.

  The ceremony itself was a blur of bible readings, vows, kneeling, ring, and pronouncements. It was only when David tenderly lifted her veil away from her face and pressed his lips to hers that Concordia came back to herself. His kiss was warm and pledged more than could be expressed in present company. Concordia returned it with a full heart.

  They drew apart amidst cheers, a
pplause, and mothers sniffling in the front pews.

  “Mercy,” she murmured, sniffling a bit herself.

  David grinned and handed her his kerchief. “I hope your nose does not run every time I kiss you, Mrs. Bradley,” he teased, “for I plan to do so with great regularity.”

  She let out a contented sigh as they led the recessional down the aisle and out the chapel doors. “I suppose we must take that chance.”

  He drew her hand through the crook of his arm as they turned to greet their well-wishers.

  THE END

  Afterword

  It’s a great time to be a historical author, with the wealth of digitized historical material available on the internet. For anyone interested in the background research that went into the writing of this book (including a link to the full text of Mrs. John Sherwood’s Manners and Social Usages), I’ve shared some wonderful primary and secondary sources on my website, kbowenmysteries.com. I’d love to see you there.

  I hope you enjoyed the novel. Should you feel so inclined, please consider leaving a review on your favorite online book venue. Word of mouth is essential to help readers find books they will love, particularly those written by independently published authors. Thank you!

  To order other books in the Concordia Wells series, please visit kbowenmysteries.com and click on the “Books” tab. Purchase links to all of the online venues are provided.

  Also by K.B. Owen

  From The Concordia Wells Mysteries:

  Dangerous and Unseemly (book 1)

  Unseemly Pursuits (book 2)

  Unseemly Ambition (book 3)

  Unseemly Haste (book 4)

  * * *

  From The Chronicles of a Lady Detective:

  Never Sleep

  Acknowledgments

  Many people have had a hand in bringing this book into the world, and I want to express my sincerest thanks to them here. Among those who helped were several experts and scholars. Any errors found are solely mine, not theirs.