Page 14 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“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.”