Chapter 6
On Friday, Kate arrived at Nathaniel’s office at a quarter to ten.
She felt almost naked, as she was dressed in a pair of Felix’s old breeches with nothing more than a tailcoat for concealment.
But for the last week, she had stayed up late each night sewing padding into strategic spots inside the jacket until she was satisfied that she could pass as a young man.
Today, she would find out if her assessment was correct.
She had brought the finished watercolors with her, thinking she could show him prior to the meeting with the other students, but now that she was here, she hesitated to knock, worried that she might be interrupting him at some other task.
“Kit? Is that you?”
Kate turned to find the subject of her ruminations striding down the corridor. Oh, dear. In the soft morning light, he looked even more handsome than she had remembered.
She recalled that he had asked her a question. “G-good morning, Mr. Sterling. Sir. I, uh…” She held up her portfolio case. “I brought the watercolors. I thought there might be time to show you before the meeting, but if you’re busy—”
“You have them there?” He paused in the act of unlocking the door to grin down at her, and Kate’s heart stuttered in her chest. “I can’t wait to see them.”
She followed Nathaniel into his office. If he found anything odd about how she looked in Felix’s jacket, he gave no sign of it. He went around the room, drawing up the window shades. She laid the portfolio on his desk and unwound the string from around the button that held it shut.
He rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he approached. “Let’s see what you’ve done.”
Kate pulled out the first painting. She had chosen a pose of Marigold crouched, in the moment before she sprang forward to chase the ball. She heard Nathaniel draw in a slow breath, but he said nothing.
After a moment, she withdrew the next watercolor, a close-up study of Marigold’s face, accurate down to the last whisker.
Nathaniel chuckled at the third painting, which showed Marigold rubbing up against an invisible object, a look of pure feline contentment on her face.
The final illustration showed her stretched out in repose, the tip of her tail curled and ready to flick as the big cat dreamed.
After studying it in silence for an interval that felt excruciating but was probably no more than twenty seconds, Nathaniel sat back. “These are spectacular, Kit. The job is yours, if you’ll take it.”
No one had ever accused Kate of being overly effusive. But she felt a smile bubbling up inside her, impossible to contain. She was talented. She really, truly, was. She had won this position based on skill.
She was good enough, both as an artist and a scientist.
“Thank you,” she said, voice quavering. She froze. Pull yourself together, Kate. She was supposed to be a young man, and young men did not snivel.
She purposefully dropped her voice a few notes. “I won’t let you down.”
She found Nathaniel regarding her with a soft smile. If he thought less of her for her momentary lapse, he showed no sign of it. “I’m sure you won’t. Now, let’s discuss our next steps. The project involves—”
He was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. He smiled apologetically, then called, “Come in.”
Three young men filed into the room. They seemed acquainted with one another, and they peered at Kate curiously.
The tallest of the three spotted the painting of Marigold on the desk. “Och, that’s bloody good!”
“Language, Roderick,” Nathaniel said as the three young men crowded around the desk and began examining the paintings. “You will find that the word bloody is seldom used in academic circles, unless one is discussing actual blood.”
Roderick flashed an apologetic grin. “Sorry. Hard habit to break.”
“Try,” Nathaniel said dryly.
A young man with hair so dark it was almost black looked up. “Did you find your illustrator, then?” he asked in a musical Welsh accent.
“I did indeed.” Nathaniel gestured to the corner into which Kate had retreated. “Gentlemen, meet Mr. Christopher Witherspoon.”
The three students gaped at him. “You did these?” the young Welshman asked.
“I… I did,” Kate stuttered.
The paintings she had shown Nathaniel that first day, of the owl, the squirrel, and the iridescent beetle, were still inside the portfolio. Roderick gave a low whistle when he came to the beetle. “That cunt Iain is going to shite himself when he sees this.”
“Roderick!” Nathaniel snapped.
Roderick waved a hand. “Sorry! It’s just… I was raised by my uncle. If ye kenned Uncle Angus, ye’d understand.”
“I can guarantee that your professors will not be eager to understand,” Nathaniel said darkly.
Roderick nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Nathaniel sighed. “Everyone, take a seat.”
The third young man, who had spectacles and wore his red, curly hair in a fashionably windswept mop atop his head, looked at Kate in surprise as she drew up a chair. “Will you be joining our class, Christopher?”
“I will.” The words came out softer than Kate would have liked. She cleared her throat. “Please, call me Kit.”
The redhead held out his hand with a friendly grin. “Pleasure to meet you, Kit. I’m Colin MacPherson.”
The young Welshman offered his hand next. His blue eyes flashed. “Arthur Rhys-Jones.”
“And I’m Roderick Buchanan,” the tall one offered. As his meaty hand swallowed Kate’s, she noticed that he was wearing a kilt instead of trousers. Combined with his flowing, shoulder-length hair, he looked like he’d stepped from the pages of a Walter Scott novel.
Nathaniel gestured for them to sit. “Gentlemen, let’s begin.”
He proceeded to lay out which lectures they were to attend during the spring term.
In addition to lectures in natural history and botany, they would be studying mathematics and even chemistry.
Most alarmingly, Nathaniel himself would be delivering a set of lectures not once but twice a week, and she was expected to meet with him privately every other week to monitor her progress.
Perfect. There would be no escaping her all-too-tempting tutor.
Nathaniel also provided them with a list of books they would be studying this term.
“Should you wish to make an early start on your reading, I would suggest you begin with the works of Charles Stewart, as those will be the first ones we’ll discuss.
” He stood. “I will see you back on Monday morning.”
Kate was the first to file out of the room.
She could hear Nathaniel’s other students chattering behind her.
She wasn’t sure what she should do. She didn’t want to seem rude or aloof, but they were clearly already friends, and she felt presumptuous assuming she would be welcome in their circle, especially given that she was a woman.
Not that they knew she was a woman, but gracious, why did this have to be so terribly awkward?
She had no idea what she should do, and—
“Oy! Kit!” came Roderick’s booming voice.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Arthur asked.
Kate turned around. “I thought I would go around to the bookshops to purchase the texts Mr. Sterling mentioned.”
The three young men caught up with her and stopped. “That’s where we’re headed as well,” Colin noted.
“But not before we’ve had lunch,” Roderick said. “I’m starving.”
“You ate half your weight in eggs and sausages not three hours ago,” Arthur noted dryly.
“Aye. As ye said, ’twas three entire hours ago.” Roderick slapped Kate on the shoulder, forcing her to take a staggering step forward. “Come on, then. What’re ye waiting for?”
“Oh!” They were inviting her to lunch. Kate couldn’t believe it was this easy. “I didn’t want to presume.”
“We’d be glad to have you,” Colin said. “But you don’t have to come if you’d rather not.”
“Yes, ye do,” Roderick said. “We’re going to share all the same lectures, and we’re going to be doing it for the next three and a half years. Face it, Witherspoon—ye’re stuck with us.”
Kate laughed. “I daresay that will suit me just fine.”
They went to a nearby pub. Kate ordered the same drink as her companions—brown ale—along with a ham, leek, and potato pie.
A barmaid brought out the drinks, and Kate braced herself as she took her first sip, trying not to wince and give away the fact that she’d never had it before.
But it wasn’t as bitter as she had expected; it actually had a hint of caramel.
Arthur leaned back in his seat. “Where’d you learn to draw like that?”
Kate had already decided that her best strategy was to stay as close to the truth as possible. “I’m mostly self-taught.”
Colin gaped at her. “Self-taught? Really?”
Kate shrugged. “There wasn’t any money for lessons. And there wasn’t much to do in the little village where I grew up other than paint.”
“Ah, boredom,” Arthur mused. “The most powerful of the muses.”
Roderick nodded to the barmaid as she set a huge pork chop before him. “I’ve seen a painting by that Kenneth Weatherby bloke.”
Kate almost choked on the bite of ham pie she’d just taken. She waved a hand in front of her mouth and took a sip of ale, pretending it had been too hot. Once she’d recovered, she said, “Is that so?”
Roderick took a swig of his ale. “My Uncle Angus bought it. It’s of a pheasant. He has it hanging in his study.”
“I… I see,” Kate sputtered. She wasn’t sure which painting he was referring to. She’d painted a lot of pheasants over the years, as they were popular with sportsmen.
“I’ve seen quite a few of his works,” Arthur said. “There was an exhibition at the Royal Society the year before last. And another one at Oxford, the year before that.”
Kate recalled those exhibitions perfectly. They had been the highlights of her father’s career, such as it were. Although Kate had spent months on those paintings, he had not taken her with him to see either of the exhibitions. “I’m afraid I missed them.”
“Have ye seen his work before?” Arthur asked.
Kate poked at her pie, considering her answer. “No, I’ve never seen anything painted by Kenneth Weatherby before.” It happened to be true; her father couldn’t draw so much as a matchstick man. “Why do you ask?”
“Because his style is remarkably similar to yours,” Arthur observed.
Kate fumbled her fork, dropping it handle-first into her pie.
“Oh! That’s… That’s very kind. What a wonderful compliment!
” She fished out her fork and wiped it on her napkin.
“I think you’ll find that the work of most scientific illustrators is somewhat similar.
We attempt to paint as precisely and as true to life as possible, rather than incorporating a personal style. ”
This was a bald-faced lie. Kate could identify the work of a dozen different scientific illustrators at a glance. But she hoped her statement sounded plausible to someone without artistic training.
“I agree with Arthur,” Roderick said. “His work is good. Very good. But I don’t think it’s any better than yers.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” Kate replied. “I hope that by doing this project with Mr. Sterling, I’ll be able to establish a reputation as a scientific illustrator, just like Mr. Weatherby. So,” she said, eager to change the subject, “where are you all from?”
The conversation moved on, but Kate was unable to relax. What did men talk about when no women were around? She had a terrible feeling she was about to find out.
Surely enough, when the time came to clear their plates, the barmaid leaned forward, exposing an impressive expanse of bosom. “Is there anything else I can get ye gents?” she asked suggestively, her eyes fixed on Colin.
“N-nothing for me!” Colin stammered, his face turning as red as his hair.
Roderick draped an arm over the back of his chair and looked her up and down. “I can think of a thing or two.”
Arthur was having none of it. “Just the bill, thanks, love.”
She chuckled and sauntered off to fetch it. Roderick glowered at Arthur. “Why’d ye have to go spoiling my fun?”
“Because if I had to watch your pathetic attempts to flirt with that woman, I’d cast up the sausages I just ate.”
Roderick gestured to Kate and Colin. “I’m sure these two would like to see me in action. Learn a few tricks of the trade, as it were.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “What a treat that would be. At least Kit could turn it into a drawing. Homo idioticus, in his natural environment.”
Arthur and Roderick bickered while they settled the bill, and they continued as the group went from bookshop to bookshop to purchase the texts they would study this term.
But it was a friendly sort of bickering.
And by the time Kate told them goodbye, through some miracle, she was confident that she could count all three of them as friends.