Chapter 11 #2
“Nathaniel!” he exclaimed upon seeing them.
“Andrew! There you two are!” He waved drunkenly toward his companions.
“Hendrickson here and his colleagues from the medical school think they can take us in a game of skittles. I told them not a chance! What do you say, shall we give them a proper thrashing?”
“Not me,” Andrew said, his demurral softened by the amusement in his voice. “I can scarcely see the pins.”
“Let’s go,” Professor Kerr slurred, looping an arm through each of theirs and leading them toward the courtyard.
Outside, Andrew performed better than he had predicted. At least he could roll the ball in the general direction of the pins, which was more than could be said for Professor Kerr.
“How did I do?” Andrew asked after making his last throw.
“Not bad at all,” Nat replied. “Four pins.”
Andrew laughed. “Huzzah!”
It didn’t much matter. They were hopelessly behind, as Professor Kerr had only managed to knock down one pin during the entire course of the match.
But Nathaniel managed to convert a tricky split on his last throw, which earned him a cheer from the crowd and salvaged a little pride for the Natural Historians.
Professor Kerr, who had drained two more pints during the course of the competition, slapped Nat on the back. The motion threw him off balance, and he grabbed Nat’s arm as he swayed on his feet. “Excellent throw,” he slurred. “S-s-simply excellent.”
Nat slung an arm around his shoulders, hoping it looked chummy rather than as if he did not believe his supervisor was capable of crossing the courtyard without keeling over. “Wasn’t that fun? Well, it’s getting late. Perhaps we should—”
“Have another drink!” Professor Kerr exclaimed. “Just the thing.”
Andrew caught Nat’s eye over Professor Kerr’s head, his expression commiserating. “How about some food? Nathaniel and I sampled the soup earlier, and it was very good.”
“An excellent suggestion.” Nat gestured toward the door. “Come, let’s see if we can find a table and—”
“Boys.” Professor Kerr drew to a halt, his expression not sober, perhaps, but somber.
Nat shot Andrew an incredulous look. Boys? He and Andrew were both on the far side of five-and-twenty. Andrew arched an eyebrow, and Nat had to smother a laugh.
“Boys,” Professor Kerr repeated, apparently having missed their silent exchange, “there’s something I need to tell you. I’m tired. So very tired.”
Nathaniel seized upon this opening. “Allow me to summon a hackney carriage. We’ll have you home in a trice.”
The professor drew back, surprised. “Not like that. I mean to have…” He paused, making a garbled sound, his expression suggesting that the mere act of thinking was painful. “A few more drinks.” He looked from Nat to Andrew. “What I mean is that I’m weary. Weary of it all!”
“I see,” Nat said, even though he did not.
Professor Kerr cast his eyes toward the sky. “After all these years of teaching, I think I’ve earned my rest.” He lowered his gaze to stare at them each in turn. “Which is why I intend to resign the Natural History Chair at the end of this term.”
Nathaniel couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The Natural History Chair was about to be open! This was an event, an opportunity, that he couldn’t expect to come around more than once or twice in his lifetime. His one and only chance to establish himself in a proper career.
To feel like he wasn’t the family failure.
He’d thought he would have a few more years to prepare, to establish an extensive record of first-rate research.
Instead, his only chance to show his mettle in the field would be his upcoming trip to Lewis. Now, the success of the expedition was more crucial than ever.
Professor Kerr was still speaking. “Frankly, I don’t know how I’ve managed to carry on for all these years.
I’m ready for a quiet life, and I know just where I’ll pursue it.
Ten years ago, an uncle left me a cottage in the village of Dingwall.
It’s up in the Highlands, about fifteen miles from Inverness. A very pleasant prospect…”
While Professor Kerr prattled on, Nat’s gaze strayed to Andrew. Tonight, they had struck up the beginnings of a friendship. But Nat knew that Andrew wanted the Natural History Chair every bit as fiercely as he did.
Andrew gave him a sad sort of smile, and Nathaniel knew instinctively that he understood. Only one of them could win the professorship, although there was no guarantee it would go to either of them. The coming months would be awkward.
But Andrew had turned out to be a fine sort of fellow. Nat suspected they would get through them with their nascent friendship intact, no matter the outcome.
“Well!” Professor Kerr gestured with his pint glass, which was almost empty. “That’s that. Let’s go inside and get another round.”
He took a step forward but immediately swayed into the wall.
Gracious, but this was awkward. Professor Kerr was already as drunk as a wheelbarrow.
Nat needed to figure out how to nudge him toward the door, but he could hardly risk offending the man who might very well cast the deciding vote on his replacement.
Nat was trying to figure out a diplomatic way to get out of this mess when a guardian angel appeared in the unexpected form of a dark-haired young man whose clothing marked him as a groom.
“Professor Kerr?” he called as he crossed the courtyard.
“Professor… There ye are.” He turned and called over his shoulder. “He’s over here, Sean.”
Another young man, this one with a shock of orange hair, hurried over.
The professor started, spilling the remains of his drink into the dirt. “Finlay? Sean? What are you two doing here?”
Finlay removed the glass from his hand and placed it on a nearby table. “The missus sent us to collect ye.”
“What? I wasn’t finished with that,” Professor Kerr protested. “And what do you mean, collect me? I was going to have a few more.”
The ginger-headed groom, Sean, took the professor’s arm and draped it firmly across his shoulders. When he spoke, he had an Irish lilt to his voice. “We can’t be angerin’ the missus, now can we?”
Finlay had already positioned himself beneath the professor’s other arm. “Come, sir. Let’s get ye home.”
Nathaniel watched in relief as they led a protesting Professor Kerr toward the door.
“Thank God,” Nat muttered.
“Thank God, indeed,” Andrew agreed.
An awkward silence ensued. Nat was trying to formulate his words, to tell Andrew that, although they would both be competing for the Natural History Chair, he hoped they could still be friends.
Andrew suddenly frowned, turning his head. “I recognize that voice.” He squinted across the courtyard. “Is Iain Galbreath here?”
Nat turned. Surely enough, there was Iain, a smug look upon his pale face. “He is, indeed.”
Andrew rubbed his eyes beneath his spectacles. “And here we’d just managed to sort Professor Kerr. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Dare I to hope that Iain isn’t causing trouble?”
Nat craned his neck, trying to see around the crowd. “It looks like he’s going to play a game of skittles. His opponent is warming up.” Nat winced as the young man made his throw. “Poor sod. His form is absolutely wretched.”
“Worse than mine?” Andrew asked brightly.
“Much worse. More like Professor Kerr’s.”
“That bad,” Andrew mused. “Well, I suppose Iain is allowed to play a game of skittles, the same as the next man. So long as he’s not causing any trouble, I think I’ll head home.”
“Indeed. It was a pleasure talking to… Oh, hell.”
Iain’s opponent had just turned to pick up another ball. Nat’s stomach sank as he saw a very familiar face.
Andrew spun around, squinting across the courtyard. “What is it? What has Iain done this time?”
“Nothing yet. But trouble is afoot.” He caught Andrew’s eye, grimacing. “Iain’s playing against Kit Witherspoon.”