Page 103 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

Kalila gave his arm a gentle squeeze in thanks, even as she contemplated stabbing Comerford with a dinner knife. He spoke as if she were not there, and when his words were directed at her, he spoke as if she were nothing but a silly child.

A bell chimed in the distance, signaling the beginning of the lectures. The crowd began to scatter, distributing themselves into neatly arranged rows of chairs.

“Well, I must be off.” Comerford straightened his waistcoat with a sharp tug of his hands. “I hope you enjoy the seminars, Rafiq.”

I’m still here, Kalila thought sourly as the man who seemed insistent on continually disappointing her left them to move toward the podium.

“We may as well find a place to sit,” Dameer said, leading Kalila toward an empty pair of chairs. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she grumbled, her skirts billowing about her as she dropped herself into the seat.

“He seems a bit brainless,” Dameer said, referring to Comerford.

Kalila sighed. “He’s a disappointment. And, really, I—”

She was interrupted by the first presenter, a scientist who had prepared a lecture on proposed improvements to Michael Faraday’s electromagnetic generator. Kalila was quickly absorbed in the seminars, though she did have to nudge Dameer once or twice to stop him from falling asleep. Every time the audience was allowed questions, she whispered her inquiries into her cousin’s ear for him to parrot. To Dameer’s credit, he repeated her questions to the room without argument.

At least I’m participating, Kalila thought. In my own way.

Four presentations later, Comerford took to the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “I have the distinct pleasure of presenting to you a researcher who has blossomed under both my guidance and that of his fellow scientists at the Society of Microscopic Biology. He has developed unique theories on tissue development at the cellular level that will be new even to the most seasoned of us. I would, of course, be remiss not to mention the scientist who laid the foundation Mr. Andrew Jennings was able to build upon: Mr. Dameer Rafiq.”

The audience clapped politely as Kalila sank down into her seat, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

Jennings regarded the crowd with a look of smarmy delight as he took his place at the front. In his hands, he held Kalila’s paper, which he began to read.

Verbatim.

“This cannot be happening,” Kalila whispered. “All of that fanfare and he’s just reading?”

“What else is he to do?” Dameer asked, ignoring the shushing coming from the person seated behind them. “He doesn’t know what to make of anything you’ve written.”

Kalila took note of the audience, who appeared—the only word that popped into her head was enraptured. It was as if the room now existed in a vacuum where all that mattered was her research.

Her research, which was being passed off as Jennings’s.

Oh, let’s not forget the shred of credit you received, Kalila, she thought.

“A question, if I may,” a loud voice said, ripping the entire room out of its reverie.

Kalila knew that voice.

Jennings trailed off, his eyes darting around the room before settling on Oliver, who stood in the back.

What is he doing?

“I don’t see how your first and third theories relate to one another,” Oliver said with unflappable calmness. “Would you elaborate?”

“I believe questions will be taken at the end of the seminar, Booth,” Jennings hissed.

Oliver smiled. “I’m sure Mr. Comerford doesn’t mind.”

“A touch impolite, to be sure,” Comerford put in from the front. “But as Booth has asked the question, you might consider answering it.”

“But—”

“All other inquiries will be posed at the conclusion of the presentation,” Comerford interjected. “Do I make myself clear, Booth?”