by Archer, Kate
They were led into the drawing room by a sprightly old butler not much taller than Mrs. Herschel herself. Kitty hesitated near the door, hardly knowing what to do or where to look. The room was filled with people. Books were scattered on every surface. A pianoforte that must have come with the house had been unceremoniously pushed into a corner and piled with more books.
Mrs. Herschel spotted them and made her way over.
“My dear Miss Dell,” Mrs. Herschel said. “And this must be the baroness, your mother.”
“Indeed, I am, Mrs. Herschel,” the baroness said. “Very kind of you to extend the invitation.”
“The kindness lies in your coming,” Mrs. Herschel said. “I only hope we will not bore you, we are all abuzz about a letter that was recently received. Do come in.”
Kitty felt put at ease at once by Mrs. Herschel’s friendly manner. In any case, she could not have spared a moment for her nerves, she was far too intrigued to hear of an important letter. Surely, it must be some historical document, recently found. She was eager to hear the details and then communicate them to her father.
“My dear guests,” Mrs. Herschel said loud enough to capture everyone’s attention, “we are fortunate to have new additions to our weekly gatherings. May I introduce Lady Penderton and Miss Dell. Mr. Lackington, Sir John, I believe you are already acquainted.”
Kitty smiled at Sir John, meaning to encourage him. At least, she supposed that was what one did to encourage. She ought to have asked Miss Crimpleton about it before she left Devon. Whatever that girl had done, Frederick had been very encouraged by it.
Sir John inclined his head in her direction and gave her a small smile. One encountering the smallness of the smile for the first time might have been put off by it. But Kitty thought she understood one thing about Sir John—smiles of any sort were not given out freely. She must feel the compliment of it. After all, there must be more value in a small smile rarely given than a wide smile coming as freely as raindrops.
Mr. Lackington bowed kindly in her direction and she was cheered to see a person in attendance who she knew to be disposed toward her.
Mrs. Herschel proceeded to introduce the rest of the company. Most were gentlemen, some Kitty might have met at a ball and others who were recognized on their achievements alone. All but the women were members of the Royal Society. Of the women, Kitty took them to be far more illustrious.
Just as Mrs. Herschel had done, these ladies had gained fame in certain circles, despite being a woman. The great explorer, Lady Stanhope, only recently returned from her adventures in the Middle East, and botanist Mrs. Acton were among them. What minds were contained in this room! They were those who made the pursuit of knowledge their life’s work.
Kitty was intrigued to find that one of the men was named Mr. Crackwilder. Surely he was the man employed by Miss Danworth’s father to organize the Palaskar collection. It must be so, he stood with a cane just as Miss Danworth had described him.
Kitty was in awe to be in such company, and not for the first time wondered why society gave so much credit to those who had been born in a bed that had a title dangling over it, but so little credit to those who made their mark through their own efforts. She loved her brother dearly, but what had he ever done?
Kitty and her mother were shown to a sofa recently vacated to accommodate their arrival and Mrs. Herschel poured them tea. That was the only thing that resembled a usual call. Rather than conversations taking place in small groups, the company had surrounded Mrs. Herschel and clearly waited for her to speak.
“As you all know,” Mrs. Herschel said, “Sir John has received a mysterious letter that threatens the very foundations we stand on. The scientific community has fought long and hard to leave the embarrassing days of John Hill behind us. Sir John, do read the letter again for the edification of those who have not heard it.”
Sir John nodded and took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. He opened it with a snap and read: “The Royal Society continues to act in a frivolous and dilettante manner, inducting the worthless and excluding the worthy. One would not expect a society whose sole aim is the pursuit of ever-expanding knowledge to be blinded by such mundane attributes as title and money. This pandering to fools with worldly goods will not go unpunished. Even now, there is a John Hill in your midst. As I pen this, there is a paper published by the society that will be revealed to be a hoax. John Hill may not have gained a total revenge, but a reckoning is coming. May you practice blushing for yourselves now, as it certainly will become a habit when all is revealed.”
Sir John paused and said, “It is signed, Veritas—Latin, meaning truth.”
Mrs. Herschel said, “We must root out this Veritas. The Royal Society cannot be allowed to fall.”
Chapter Five
Kitty’s head spun. Mrs. Herschel had just charged the party that they must save the Royal Society. Who threatened it? Why?
Whatever was unfolding before her, it was fascinating.
“I implore all of you,” Mrs. Herschel continued, “to examine what has been published by the society in the past two years. We must uncover the paper that contains the hoax. Lean upon your own expertise and give close examination to those papers relating to your field.”
The company was energized by Mrs. Herschel’s directive and began moving off and forming small groups. Kitty was entirely mystified. Who was John Hill and why would anybody wish to threaten the Royal Society? Why was Mrs. Herschel leading the charge when she was not even a member?
Mrs. Herschel turned to Lady Penderton and Kitty. “I do apologize for the oddness of this drawing room, but as you have heard, we are in the midst of an emergency.”
“Do not apologize to me, Mrs. Herschel,” the baroness said good humoredly. “A mysterious letter? A plot? It is the most interesting thing I’ve heard in a drawing room in ages.”
“But Mrs. Herschel,” Kitty said, “at the risk of exposing my ignorance, who is John Hill? What did he do that could be so very damaging to the society?”
Mrs. Herschel took a sip of tea and put her cup down. “In the mid-fifties, there was a fellow who was excluded from the society, though he felt strongly he ought not to have been. A botanist, among other things. He did contribute to our understanding of plants and was even knighted by the Swedes. However, he was a prickly sort and so did not have enough friends to pave the way for him.”
“Ah,” Lady Penderton said. “A man who considers himself deeply wronged is always dangerous.”
“Just so, Lady Penderton,” Mrs. Herschel said, nodding. “As a revenge, John Hill wrote a preposterous paper called Lucina sine concubitu and submitted it to the society—a ridiculous piece of work proposing that…”
Mrs. Herschel trailed off, though both her listeners leaned forward. “Well, perhaps it is not suitable to go into details as it relates to human anatomy.”
Lady Penderton laughed. “I do not think you could say anything to shock me, and my daughter has read widely enough that little will be a mystery to her.”
Mrs. Herschel nodded. “It proposed that a female might get with child without help from a man. From the air, as it were.”
Kitty stifled a giggle. “That is preposterous, indeed. Who would believe such a thing?”
“The society did not publish the paper, but they did debate it,” Mrs. Herschel said. “That fact was reported everywhere when word got out about it. The paper was signed Abraham Johnson, but was in fact John Hill. Mr. Hill set out to embarrass the society as a punishment for being excluded, and so he did. It seems we are facing the same situation now. Though, back in those times Mr. Hill did have a point, there were far too many gentlemen inducted who were not particularly intellectual. Those days, fortunately, are long over.”
“I wonder why this Veritas, as he calls himself, should give a forewarning to his plan, though,” Kitty mused.
“I believe it to be a torture of the members,” Mrs. Herschel said. “The worst part of a bad outcome is the anticipati
on of it.”
“Speaking of the members, Mrs. Herschel,” Lady Penderton said, “how do you come to lead the effort to expose the rogue? Ladies are not even admitted to the hallowed halls of Somerset House.”
“Not technically,” Mrs. Herschel said, “though if one has discovered enough comets, one may be admitted to a certain curtained balcony to hear the occasional lecture. In any case, I expect I will someday be a recognized member and would like the society to still stand when we finally arrive at that hoped-for day. I am not alone in that prediction or that wish. I suspect Miss Dell will feel the same.”
“I most certainly do,” Kitty said. “But Mrs. Herschel, if the society has become more rigorous in its membership, what can this person have against it?”
“That is the real question, to my mind,” Mrs. Herschel said. “What is the actual motive of this person?”
The conversation about John Hill and what ought to be done went on throughout the room. Kitty and her mother remained on the sofa and Sir John approached and gave his thoughts on the mystery. They must only discover two things—which papers hinted they might contain a falsehood, and which of those had been written by a man likely to be disgruntled over some matter. Kitty listened and worked hard to be impressed by Sir John’s reasonings, though she thought he rather stated the obvious. She had a great urge to rise and approach Mr. Crackwilder. She very much wished to hear of the Palaskar collection.
As Sir John wound down his conclusions, Lady Penderton signaled that it was time to take their leave. Despite the unusualness of the gathering, the baroness was not so eager to ignore the usual rules of a social call. She had, though, invited both Mrs. Herschel and Sir John to call on them.
In the carriage, Lady Penderton said, “Goodness, that was amusing. Your father shall be entirely diverted.”
Kitty supposed her mother was right. Her father, though well qualified to be a fellow of the society, refused to have anything to do with it on account of its president, Sir Joseph Banks. Sir Joseph had spent a lifetime bringing foreign flora into England and her father thought it the height of foolishness for its unpredictability. Lord Penderton was certain England would be taken over by bamboo or some other invasive species and they’d had a public falling out about it years before. Her father was very much of the opinion that the Royal Society had not had a sensible president since Martin Folkes, in his own father’s time.
“I shall be vastly interested in how the mystery unfolds,” Lady Penderton said. “I propose we make regular visits to Mrs. Herschel as I cannot think where else we’d hear anything about it.”
Kitty was surprised and pleased. “I am gratified, mama, that you should take such an interest in defending the reputation of the sciences.”
Lady Penderton’s peals of laughter filled the carriage. “No, child,” she said, recovering her breath, “I am only interested because it will amuse your father. I dearly love to make him laugh.”
*
Giles had no particular idea where the ridiculous Sir John hoped to encounter Miss Dell on Tuesday, but as he did have the idea of buying Miss Dell a book and thought Lackington and Allen a likely place to encounter them, he’d set off in good time.
Aside from encountering Miss Dell, he had planned to be introduced to Mr. Lackington. Miss Dell appeared to hold him in some regard and Giles supposed Mr. Lackington could select a book the lady would find riveting.
He had been disappointed to see no sign of Miss Dell, though he had loitered for hours. Mr. Lackington was also not on the premises. Giles wondered if he ought not come back another day, but then decided against it. He was determined to see that a book be delivered to Miss Dell before the sun had set. The morrow was Wednesday, and he would lurk outside of Miss Danworth’s house until he saw Miss Dell arrive to look at that collection of books that were to be so notable. Then he would casually arrive and reveal that he had been the mysterious sender of Miss Dell’s book. He and Miss Dell would be put on better footing instantly, and Sir John could do what he liked about it.
It had occurred to him, after much mulling, that Miss Dell had been irritated with him because, all along, he’d not paid the proper respect to her interests. That had been a mistake. A very stupid mistake. Why had he been so arrogant as to dismiss her proclivities, and why had he been so very sure she would throw them over?
He’d been very highhanded!
Well, he would rectify it. He would purchase some valuable volume and lay it at the feet of her scholarly heart. It was not a typical purchase for him, and certainly now in his penury it would not seem logical. But what were shops for, but to pay accounts at one’s convenience? Though tradesmen of all sorts had been inconveniently demanding payment from Dalton, he doubted a bookshop would be as miserly as a butcher.
The clerk, who’d been attempting to convince him for the past hour that Mr. Lackington would not return that day, stared hopefully at him.
“My good fellow,” Giles said, “I need a book about comets, or stars, or the sky in general. An expensive one. Show me the way.”
The clerk’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “This way, my lord,” he said, “to the section on astronomy.”
Giles followed the fellow up a set of stairs and past rows and rows of mile-high shelves of books. The clerk turned a corner and pointed to a section. “Just here, my lord,” he said. “Might I help you select something?”
“No, quite all right,” Giles said. “I shall know what I seek when I see it.”
The clerk bowed and left him alone to contemplate his purchase.
“My God,” Giles said softly, “who wrote all these books?”
The stack rose in front of him, a veritable mountain of literature. Most of the books were bound in the usual way with black or brown leather. There was one slim volume though, that was a delicate cream shade with gold embossed print. It was on the highest shelf, as if put there so only the most determined treasure hunter might find it.
Giles rolled the ladder over, climbed up, and pulled it from the shelf. Jumping down to the floor he turned it over. An Examination of Geocentric Cosmology and a Defense of Aristotle’s Theory written by Reverend H. Bête.
He was delighted with it. It sounded wonderfully obscure, just the sort of thing that would strike Miss Dell as worthy. As well, while he’d not paid much attention to his schooling, one could hardly get through it without hearing the name Aristotle more than once. The old fellow had written no end of things, though who would wish to plow through them all…
Miss Dell, that was who. Certainly, this must be the book for Miss Dell. After all, one could hardly go wrong with Aristotle and the binding on the book was magnificent.
He tucked the volume under his arm and jogged past the endless shelves and down the stairs. Seeing his clerk, he held the volume in the air like a hard-won victory.
The clerk hurried over.
“I will want this delivered,” Giles said. “It is to go to Miss Dell, in Hanover Square. I believe Mr. Lackington will know the precise address. A note too, to say: in admiration of your scholarship, may this new information add to your already noteworthy amount of knowledge and enlighten you on a subject of interest.”
The clerk’s brows slowly drew together, like two caterpillars warily approaching one another.
“I will leave it unsigned and inform the lady of its sender myself.”
“Unsigned,” the clerk said softly.
Giles paused. “No, that will not do,” he said. “What if she decides to give the credit to Sir John?”
“Sir John?”
“Never mind him, he is useless,” Giles said.
“You wish to purchase this book, my lord? With that note?” the clerk asked.
“Certainly,” Giles said, handing the book to the clerk. “If I wished for another, I would not have chosen this one. Can you not see how fine the binding is?”
“It is very fine, my lord,” the clerk said. In a much lower voice, as if he told a secret, he said, “This particul
ar volume is four pounds. The value lies in the binding, which is very fine. Otherwise, it is a curiosity, you see.”
Giles did think it curious that a book could run four pounds. It seemed a ridiculous amount for paper and leather, but then it was the great Aristotle and it was for Miss Dell. No expense must be spared.
“Put it on account,” he said. “And see it is delivered first thing on the morrow. That is absolutely vital. You must have some stack of papers somewhere, in which you keep your customers’ addresses?”
The clerk nodded. “We know well enough where to find Lord Penderton’s house, he’s one of our best customers. If you are certain—”
“It is to be signed mysteriously,” Giles said. “Sign it simply with ‘G.’”
“G, my lord?”
“Yes, of course G,” Giles said. “That cannot be confused with K for Kulle-whatever-his-name.”
“G,” the clerk said.
“And write it all down for me—the title, author, and my note. I would not care to forget any detail when Miss Dell wishes to thank me for it.”
“As you wish, my lord,” the clerk said.
Giles was thoroughly satisfied. The past hours had been well spent after all. Miss Dell could not fail to be gratified upon receipt of such an exquisite volume.
Sir John could not hope to compete. Oh, the fellow might run to the shop and attempt to buy something, but Giles had already purchased the superior volume. In any case, he doubted the fellow could afford four pounds for a book.
That he himself, at this moment, could not afford it either seemed not worth thinking of.
*
Kitty ran down the stairs to her father. He had sent word that he wished to see her in his library. She hurried down the corridor to the door of his study, a sense of foreboding growing with every step she took. It was just after breakfast and her father’s habit was to closet himself in that room with his studies until after two o’clock. He would come out at that hour, only because he began to get hungry. The last time he had broken with the schedule had been because a blackbird had flown in through an open window and could not be convinced to leave. He’d finally sought out the baroness to complain of a member of Aves having the unmitigated gall to install itself in my study.