Page 16 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“Take your seats, gentlemen,” he boomed. They all obeyed. Much to her irritation, Mr. Booth chose the seat next to hers. Kalila looked at the chalkboard, where the words NO FAIRIES had been printed in block letters.

Oliver groaned. “For God’s sake.”

“Welcome to the Society of Microscopic Biology,” Comerford said, his voice echoing around the small room. “In this lecture series, we will be studying the latest histological and observational techniques. But before we begin, I must need remind you that I will not entertain any talk of fantastical creatures.”

Kalila exchanged a confused glance with Mr. Young, who shrugged.

“Some of our contemporaries,” Comerford continued, “enjoy taking samples of pond water, looking at them under microscopes, and identifying fairies, sprites, and all manner of non-existent beings. In this Society, we conduct ourselves as distinguished men of science. No fairies.”

All of the men nodded in unison.

“Now, before I give you your first assignment, I must also draw attention to the glass tank at the back of the room.”

Everyone turned their heads like clockwork.

“That snake belongs to the Zoological Society,” Comerford said. “You are not to disturb it.”

“What is it doing here?” a bright-eyed young man asked.

“Basking in the sun, of course,” Comerford replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Room 107 boasts the largest number of windows, and Virginia requires warmth.” He paused in contemplation. “Or so I’ve been told by the Zoological Society.”

“Virginia?” Oliver repeated, voice cracking in delight.

“Comments to yourself, Booth,” Comerford said, indicating to Kalila that he had the particular talent of keeping Oliver Booth quiet. “Now. Under your microscopes, you will see slides boasting skin from the ear of a cat. I want you to identify as many unique features as possible. We will reconvene in thirty minutes.”

Kalila pulled a microscope toward her, almost vibrating in excitement. As she looked through the eyepiece, she shivered at the sensation of being watched. She turned her head, eyes meeting Oliver Booth’s.

“Is there a problem?” she asked. A woman would be scolded for asking such a rude question. A man, however, was doing no more than being assertive.

“Not at all.” Oliver scooted closer to his microscope. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone dive in with such energy.”

Kalila didn’t respond. It didn’t matter what observations Mr. Booth made as long as they remained innocuous. The thirty minutes seemed to go by in a snap, and soon Comerford’s voice interrupted her deep focus. The men rattled off different features until they had exhausted the very topic of cat skin. Comerford propped his huge form on a rickety stool and regarded them with impenetrable seriousness.

“Who wrote the Cell Doctrine?” he asked.

The men shifted in discomfort.

Kalila’s hand shot up in the air. “Schwann and Schlieden.”

“Very good, Rafiq. And what does it state?”

“That plants and animals are made up of many cells,” she replied, her blood buzzing with the pleasure of being right.

“Indeed. Our current microscopes can only show us so much,” Comerford said, as if he were reporting a terrible crime. “What could we be missing? Jennings?”

A spindly man with bright-red hair stood to attention. “Small structures, sir.”

“Sir,” Oliver repeated to Kalila, his voice low. “Transparent know-nothing.”

“Good,” Comerford said. “What else?”

Kalila brightened, ignoring Mr. Booth’s grousing. “New cells,” she said. “Stronger microscopes—perhaps ones that use something other than incident light—could reveal new structures to us. Ones that could confirm novel theories.”

“Or disprove them,” Oliver put in. Kalila, unable to control herself, glared at him.

He winked at her in response.

“It’s not just microscopes,” Kalila continued, choosing to ignore him. “Our histological sections are thick. Thinner cuts could reveal hidden structures.”