Chapter Five
Sunlight streamed into the townhouse’s attic, landing directly on Kalila’s pillow as she gazed at her surroundings in a state of half sleep.
She had specifically asked for this room, which she had transformed into a working laboratory, because it was less prone to vibrations that would disturb her specimens.
Closing her eyes, she wondered why she’d awoken so early in the first place.
Just as she was drifting off, the door was thrown open with such force that it was a miracle it didn’t fly off its hinges.
“Good morning!” Caroline chirped.
Kalila sat up, pushing her wild hair away from her face.
Oh. Right.
“The lectures!” she gasped, stumbling out of bed. “Today!”
How could she have come so close to forgetting?
She, Caroline, Amelia, and a reluctant Dameer had spent the last two days preparing her for the role of a lifetime despite the little hiccup that had come into play with Mr. Booth’s appearance at the townhouse.
A neatly pressed, Kalila-sized suit was hung on a hook, and Amelia trailed in with a curly wig in her hands.
“Isn’t this perfect?” She raised the hairpiece up to the sunlight. “The wigmaker got Dameer’s hair just right.”
“My hair isn’t quite so bright,” Dameer muttered, entering the room. “Just to be clear, I am completely against this.”
“We know,” Caroline said, pushing Kalila into a chair. She began to pull her hair into braids. “If all you’re going to do is whine, you’re welcome to leave.”
“I’m not whining,” Dameer snapped, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. His voice softened. “Kal, if you’re caught—”
“I won’t be,” Kalila interrupted. “I promise.”
“You can’t promise such a thing.” Dameer buried his head in his hands in a show of frustration. “Mr. Booth is bound to notice that you’re not the man he met two days ago, but rather the woman.”
Kalila frowned, wondering if Mr. Booth would indeed discern such a thing.
After all, they’d stared at one another for an unusual—and embarrassing—amount of time.
There was a possibility that he’d meet her today and notice that she stood a full head shorter than the Dameer he’d met.
Though she and her cousin both had sharp features, Dameer took after his mother with his round eyes and high forehead.
Kalila could mirror his mannerisms to perfection, but some things simply couldn’t be imitated.
Still, what were the chances Mr. Booth remembered exactly what she and Dameer looked like?
He had met Dameer for all of fifteen minutes, and her for all of three, before he’d been ushered out of the house.
Most people could barely recall a person’s eye color after having known them for weeks, let alone take stock of their height, nose, and eye shape.
“If he says anything on the subject, I will have to skirt around it,” Kalila said finally. “After all, it’s possible for cousins to look very much alike.”
She wasn’t about to give up her chance to mingle with the Society just because Mr. Booth had seen her. It had been unfortunate, but nothing she couldn’t brush under the rug.
Or so she’d told herself repeatedly since they’d removed him from the parlor.
“Besides, he spent most of his time here staring at Amelia,” Caroline said around a mouthful of hairpins.
Kalila saw Dameer bristle in the mirror, and she bit back a smile. As soon as Caroline was finished pinning down the last of Kalila’s hair, Amelia stepped up behind her and attempted to place the wig on her head.
“Oh, no.”
“What’s the matter?” Kalila asked. It looked perfectly fine in the mirror.
“It doesn’t fit over the back of your head,” Dameer said, sounding somewhat triumphant. “You’ve too much hair.”
Kalila reached back and felt her own hair at the nape of her neck. “What can we do?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid,” Caroline said, tapping her finger against her cheek. “It’s too late to find another wig.”
The room fell silent as they registered this new hurdle. If only Mr. Booth hadn’t seen Dameer with his ridiculous, cherubic curls. If only he hadn’t seen either of them. Then she could have—
She broke the grave quiet to say, “Cut it off.”
“Kalila!” Dameer gasped as Caroline sent Amelia to fetch a pair of scissors. “Have you gone mad?”
“Not at all.” Kalila twisted in her chair to look at him. “It’s the only way to make it fit.”
“Or,” Dameer ground out, “you could give up this mission of yours. Isn’t that the more logical course of action?”
Kalila stared at him for a moment, feeling wounded despite herself.
Didn’t he realize just how important this was?
This was her opportunity to change the direction of her research, for her to finally take all of her passion and mold it into something real.
Her cousin gave her a challenging look that soon faltered.
“Dameer—” she started.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out at the same time.
Caroline glanced between them in amusement.
“I-I still think this is a terrible idea,” Dameer said. “But I know how much you care about your work. I shouldn’t have implied—I just don’t want you to get caught, and after Mr. Booth’s visit—”
“That’s very sensitive of you, Dameer,” was Amelia’s pleasant interjection. She had been observing the exchange from the doorway. “Will these scissors do?”
“Are those garden shears?” Dameer asked, his voice breaking.
“Just do it,” Kalila said, holding tight to her wavering confidence. “Please.”
“Very well.” Caroline positioned herself behind her. “It’s only hair, Kalila. It’ll grow back.”
“I know.” Kalila squeezed her eyes shut. “Do it.”
The snipping sounds went on for what felt like forever. Kalila knew there was nothing wrong with short hair, but she also couldn’t help but think just how awful she’d look without the mane of curls she loved so well.
“Done,” Caroline said. “Look.”
Kalila’s gaze shifted up to the mirror. Caroline hadn’t cut off as much as she’d feared. Her hair now stopped right at her chin, the dark curls tickling her jaw.
“It isn’t terrible,” Dameer offered.
Caroline busied herself by pinning Kalila’s hair against her head. When she was done, the wig fit like a glove.
“Does my hair really look like that?” Dameer asked, sounding rather depressed.
“Yours is fluffier still,” Amelia told him.
“Wonderful.”
Minutes after Dameer had been shooed from the room, Kalila stood dressed in Mr. Southcott’s newly tailored clothing. She hardly recognized herself, what with her new head of curly blond hair and lack of skirts.
In fact, she thought she looked rather charming. And, more importantly, convincing. Mr. Booth wouldn’t suspect a thing.
“You did a wonderful job,” she said, looping her arms around Caroline’s neck. “You as well, Amelia.”
Amelia inserted herself into the hug. “You are going to change everything.”
“But only if you get going,” Caroline said in an obvious attempt to mask the emotion that tinged her voice. “You’re going to be late.”
“Shall I walk you to the university?” Dameer asked from his spot behind the closed door.
“Y—actually, no,” Kalila said in wonder. “No. I can walk myself.”
And she did just that. The freedom of walking through London without an escort was intoxicating.
Although she walked alone in Painswick, she’d always found herself accompanied in some fashion when in London.
Peering out from under the brim of her—Mr. Southcott’s—top hat, she spotted the gray steps of the Polytechnic University.
How many times had she strolled past it during previous visits, wondering what it looked like on the inside?
Far too many times, she thought.
She entered with no fanfare, marveling at how little attention she garnered.
The university’s entryway was littered with dozens of men, and she stood among them to take in the high ceilings and stained glass.
Dreamy, colored light filtered through, bathing her in an ethereal glow that seemed to say, You.
You are exactly where you’re meant to be.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice said from behind her. She turned around to see a man with rich brown skin and solemn gray eyes. “Are you here for the Society of Microscopic Biology’s lecture series?”
“I am,” Kalila said, making sure her voice was appropriately low. “Dameer Rafiq. A pleasure.”
Relief flooded the man’s face. “Kenneth Young. I’m not quite sure where to go from here, and I—”
“Gentlemen!” a voice barked. The entryway fell into immediate silence as everyone turned to see a massive man with an equally massive gray mustache. “The Society of Microscopic Biology’s lectures will take place in room 107. Five minutes.”
The man disappeared, and the group exploded into chatter once more.
“Laurence Comerford,” Kenneth murmured. “That was Laurence Comerford.”
“Just as I imagined him,” Kalila mused. When Kenneth gave her a curious glance, she shook her head. “From his comments on my work.”
“You’ve submitted?” Kenneth asked. “Good for you. I’ve never had the nerve.”
“And yet you’re here,” Kalila said. “Surely that means you’ve impressed them.”
“Kind of you to say, Rafiq,” Kenneth said, sounding terribly unconvinced. “Shall we head to 107?”
“I’ll follow,” Kalila told him, wanting one last moment to steel herself before diving headfirst into her new life as Dameer Rafiq. Kenneth nodded and disappeared.
She could do this. Kenneth Young, with his curious eyes, hadn’t blinked twice at her. That was proof that she was as convincing as she’d ever be.
But he was one man, and she was about to walk into a room of many, all of whom were adept at the detail-oriented art of microscopy.
She took a deep breath and told herself, not for the first time, that the series would go by quickly and smoothly.
She would do her work, break the glass that separated her from her fellow scientists, and leave without incident.
Brief encounter with Mr. Booth be damned.