Chapter Twenty-Four
The problem, Oliver thought, was that individual confrontation did nothing. Alone, Comerford could dismiss him. Alone, Jennings could simply deny any wrongdoing.
So why not bring the whole thing to light in front of a crowd of people? And while a part of him had delighted in the drama of it all, the fact was that his hand had been forced. If Comerford wouldn’t listen, then Oliver would make him listen.
Anything for Kalila.
Comerford ushered them all into the nearest study, slamming the door behind him. Anger radiated off him in waves as he turned to face them, sweat beading on his forehead.
“What in God’s name,” he demanded, “is going on?”
Oliver exchanged a glance with Kalila, who had paled. Dameer stood by her, one vigilant hand on her shoulder. Jennings, meanwhile, had separated from the group and had gone to sulk by the door.
“Booth,” Comerford barked. “Would you care to explain why you saw fit to ruin the evening?”
“I think I improved upon it, actually,” Oliver said, despite knowing it would only increase Comerford’s vitriol toward him.
“And would someone care to tell me who exactly the alleged author of this paper is?” Comerford waved the offending object in the air while making it clear that he’d chosen to bypass Oliver’s remark.
“I am,” Kalila said, stepping forward. “You know me as Dameer Rafiq, Mr. Comerford.”
Comerford narrowed his eyes at her before turning to examine Dameer. “That is utterly ridiculous. Dameer Rafiq is in this room.”
“That may be so,” Dameer said, his voice steady, “but I did not write that paper. I barely know what a microscope is. I let Kalila use my name.”
Comerford stilled. “Why?”
“Because she’s my cousin,” was Dameer’s perplexed response.
An almost comical pause settled as everyone in the room considered this.
“And you!” Comerford exploded, whirling around to face Jennings. “Explain yourself.”
Jennings sniffed. “There’s nothing to explain.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Come off it, Jennings. You’ve lost.”
“Explain the theories, then,” Kalila said, her intelligent eyes ablaze.
The color, Oliver noticed, had returned to her face.
She turned to Comerford. “Do you not realize that it was the Society’s feedback that guided my work?
Jennings would not have had access to my earlier drafts. They’d all been returned to me.”
“Jennings?” Comerford prompted, and Oliver was irritated to hear a hopeful note in his ex-mentor’s voice. Why was it so difficult for him to simply believe the truth?
A rhetorical question, really, given that everyone in the room likely knew the reason.
“Why are you so involved in this, Booth?” Jennings asked. “What stake do you have in any of this?”
“I—”
“Everyone in this room is aware of your reputation,” Jennings interrupted. His focus slid to Kalila. “Though I never imagined you to be the type to go to such lengths for someone so—so plain. Perhaps your reputation is more fable than it is fact.”
It seemed that Oliver’s turn to grow angry had come. He frowned at Jennings, feeling a nerve begin to tick in his jaw. “Would you care to clarify?”
Jennings sighed. When he responded, it was in the condescending tone one might use with an infant.
“You clearly believe you have something to gain by doing this,” he explained.
“I don’t know what it is, naturally. But if I were to hazard a guess, I would say you’ve experienced a lapse in judgment and are desperate to bed—”
Jennings was silenced by a punch to the nose. He stumbled back as Oliver shook out his hand, wincing in pain.
Kalila gasped. “Oliver!”
“Booth!” Comerford thundered.
“He hit me!” Jennings shrieked, as if everyone in the room hadn’t witnessed it in real time. “He broke my nose, the bastard.”
“You will not refer to her ever again,” Oliver growled. He knew that punching Jennings hadn’t been mature, exactly, but God did it feel satisfying. “Do you hear me?”
In response, Jennings made a pathetic lunge at Oliver. Before he could lay a hand on him, Comerford yanked him back, practically throwing him into the door.
“That is enough,” he shouted, chest heaving with anger. “You are both expelled from the Society, effective immediately.”
“Why should Oliver be expelled?” Kalila stepped forward once more. “Not only has Jennings insulted me, but he also stole my work.”
Oliver marveled at the sight of her standing up to Comerford, hands on her hips, chin tilted up in challenge.
“Because,” Comerford responded, “we are men of science. This Society—my Society—is not a circus. I will not have it turn into fodder for the gossip mill.”
“I think it’s too late for that,” Oliver said. “Given what happened in the hall.”
“Given what you instigated in the hall,” Comerford corrected. “Nothing of the sort will ever occur again. Not if I have any say in it.” He settled his gaze upon Kalila. “And what, pray tell, was all of this for, Miss Darwish?”
“I wanted to come here to learn, Mr. Comerford,” Kalila said evenly. “But I soon realized that I would not be happy unless I published my work under my own name. And that would not happen unless I somehow managed to convince you to allow women into the Society.”
“This is no place for women,” Comerford said, keeping his tone equally measured. He was, after all, speaking to a lady. “We would lose all respect from fellow scientists.”
“That is ridiculous,” Kalila snapped. “Philosophical Transactions published Mary Somerville’s work in 1826, and she is a woman. I am not the only one of my kind, sir, not here, and especially not where I come from.”
Oliver glanced at Comerford with some curiosity, wondering how he’d respond. Kalila made a compelling argument, of course. Life was difficult for women like her, but it wasn’t as if some of them hadn’t seen success.
“Philosophical Transactions published Mary Somerville’s work for the novelty of it,” Comerford grumbled.
Kalila frowned. “The novelty?”
“I do not speak of her research,” Comerford clarified. “I meant to say that it is a novelty for a woman to practice science, and novelty sells. That is all.”
Oliver raised his eyebrows in stunned surprise. How could Comerford be so—so—archaic? And how had he not noticed it before?
Kalila’s jaw tensed. “I do not think there is any point in conversing further then, Mr. Comerford.”
“I only speak the truth, Miss Darwish,” Comerford replied. “I would be doing you a disservice otherwise.”
“You do me a disservice by remaining as closed-minded as ever,” Kalila said. Then, to Dameer, she muttered, “Let’s go.”
“What about me?” Jennings interjected, hands still covering his nose. “I was assaulted!”
“Shut up, Jennings,” Kalila snapped. She walked up to the desk where Comerford had dropped her paper. Gathering it against her chest, she nodded at Oliver. “Thank you for trying.”
“Kalila, I—”
“I’ll wait for you,” she said softly.
He watched as Dameer opened the door for her, the two of them disappearing into the hall.
“Get out, Jennings,” Oliver said.
Jennings stamped his foot in indignation. “I ought to file a report with the police.”
“If that is what it takes for you to leave this room, then have at it.”
With one final grunt of frustration, Jennings left, slamming the door behind him. Oliver and Comerford faced each other in silence.
“Sir,” Oliver began. “I—”
“I cannot let you back into the Society, my boy,” Comerford rumbled, the endearment breaking Oliver’s heart. “You’ve gone too far this time.”
“That was not what I intended to say,” Oliver said, having to work doubly hard to stop his voice from breaking.
Why is this so hard? I thought I’d made peace with this.
This being the fact that he could no longer rely on Comerford as he once had. It felt like a sort of grief, really, even if the severing of whatever tied them was ultimately the best thing to do.
Comerford propped himself against the edge of the desk. “Say your piece, then.”
Oliver took a deep breath. “You—you were always there for me when I most needed it,” he began, forcing himself to hold Comerford’s gaze. “But you weren’t really there, were you? You were only physically present.”
“I can’t say I follow,” Comerford murmured.
“Of course you don’t,” Oliver said. “You’ve no idea why I needed the Society, what my life is like outside of the walls of this building. And that’s fine. You’ve disappointed me, but it’s partially my fault for having placed you on a pedestal in the first place.”
Comerford knit his brows together. “I’ve disappointed you?”
Oliver gestured at the door. “Why won’t you allow her in?”
Comerford sighed. “A Society that has men and women working side-by-side in close quarters is just—is just not done, Booth. I don’t need to explain why.”
“But you could ignore all that,” Oliver protested, his throat tight with emotion. “Couldn’t you?”
“How could I? Who would take our research seriously?”
“You are one of the most respected figures in this community,” Oliver told him. “The others would bend to you in a heartbeat.”
“You don’t know that.”
Oliver studied him for a moment before saying, “You don’t think she’s capable.”
“What am I meant to think of a woman who dressed up as her cousin to infiltrate a Society of men?” Comerford asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“You’re meant to think her ambitious,” Oliver said. “What would you have her do, exactly?”
“Stay home,” Comerford burst out in exasperation. “I would have her stay home, Booth. I would have her keep house and raise children. That is what I would have her do.”
“So you’ll impede progress simply because you cannot look past your own beliefs about what women ought to be doing,” Oliver said, his insides growing hollow. “You—that makes you a terrible scientist.”
“Booth—”
“Thank you for the expulsion,” Oliver said, hand resting on the doorknob. “You saved me the energy I would have needed to resign.”
Without waiting for Comerford to respond, Oliver slipped out of the room. He slumped against the shut door and let out a shuddering breath.
“Oliver!”
Oliver saw Kalila rushing in his direction. She skidded to a stop before him, beaming.
“There you are,” Oliver said, his shattered heart mending at the mere sight of her. “I thought I’d find you at the townhouse.”
“I wanted to wait for you,” she said. “Dameer is in the entryway. We can go together.”
Warmth invaded Oliver’s body at the very idea that he’d been waited for. That she wanted to return to the townhouse together.
“All right, then,” he said, straightening. “Let’s go. I’m done wreaking havoc here.”
“Just one thing before we do.”
“Anything,” he responded, smiling down at her.
Before he knew what was happening, Kalila had grabbed him by the lapel, pressing her lips against his in a short, sweet kiss.
“Thank you,” she said, breath feathering against his skin.
“What are you thanking me for?” he chuckled, heart fit to burst. “It all went sideways.”
“Not at all,” she said. “I have my paper again. It went as well as it could have.”
“There you two are,” a voice called from the end of the hall. Oliver looked over Kalila’s head to see Dameer approach.
“We were just about to find you,” Kalila told him.
Dameer wrinkled his nose in annoyance. “Jennings is lurking out there and is whining to anyone who will listen. I could only wait for so long.”
To Oliver, Kalila said, “I can’t believe you hit him.”
“I’d have done it if Booth hadn’t,” Dameer said.
“I doubt that,” was Kalila’s response.
“Either way,” Dameer said, shooting her a familial glare, “I have to ask—what now?”
What now, indeed.