and a long evening’s conversation.
Margerit had come across Frances Collfield in the midst of an argument with the porter of the university’s library. The argument had, at that point, not yet touched on the fruitlessness of Miss Collfield’s request to view the collections but rather was stalled on the man’s inability to comprehend the flavor of French learned in English schoolrooms. Margerit intervened and her patience in disentangling the matter had been rewarded by the story of the visitor’s travels and details of her botanical research, and that was what had led to the dinner invitation. Traipsing across the face of Europe was, indeed, what had browned Miss Collfield’s face and given her movements a loose-limbed, purposeful stride that set her out of place on the city cobbles. But it wasn’t the usual quest for picturesque vistas or moldering ruins that drew her.
“Lichens,” she explained, as if discussing the ornaments on a new gown. “And the occasional moss, but primarily lichens.” The stoic and inarticulate servant, in addition to carrying the usual sketchpads and painting supplies, was burdened with several voluminous pressbooks of samples, carefully annotated as to location, elevation and substrate. “I have a theory regarding the distribution of the Lecanorae ,” she continued. “I don’t care to map the entire mountain range on my own and I’m told your university has an excellent geologic atlas by Leunerd. Is there no way at all to see it except with the escort of some man? I suppose I should have written ahead and brought letters of introduction, but I never plan my travels more than a few weeks at a time. If it weren’t for your kind invitation I wouldn’t even know where I’d lay my head tonight.”
“But of course you must be my guest as long as you like,” Margerit urged. “I think I can convince one of the dozzures to sponsor you.”
“You shouldn’t need to beg!” Barbara objected. A thought came to her, complicated but far more satisfying. “Margerit, why don’t we host a public lecture for Miss Collfield’s studies and invite Princess Annek as our honored guest.” She saw Margerit grin as she caught her meaning. If the ploy were successful, it was certain that some means would be found to bend the university’s rules.
* * *
“Public” was a relative matter, of course, but Margerit had insisted on letting the women of the Poor-Scholars house know that they were as welcome as the regular university students. More important to the success of their plan was that portion of high society that had either the interest or the ambition to attend. And since Annek had deigned to come, it seemed the choice of the Salle-Chapil as a venue hadn’t been overambitious after all.
The only part Barbara regretted was that, having lent her name as hostess, she was expected to take a far more public role than she preferred. While Margerit escorted Collfield and saw that all was prepared for the lecture, she waited by the doors, welcoming those whose status demanded personal attention. Jeanne took pity on her early in the evening and joined her, perhaps only for the chance to share whispered gossip in the brief quiet moments. Guests who felt no need for ceremony in their entrance had filtered in through the side doors, so it wasn’t until she felt the weight of being watched that Barbara noticed the woman from the courtyard staring at her from a corner of the room. She stood apart, with no sign that she’d come as anyone’s guest, but this was a public affair, after all, so there was nothing odd in that. It was the stare that was disconcerting.
Barbara leaned closer to Jeanne. “That woman over by the column—the dowdy one—do you have any idea who she is?”
Jeanne flicked her fan to disguise her own glance. “Goodness, no. Why should I?”
“Evidently the name is Chamering. I don’t know why I should know her either but she left her card for me the other day and I
Margerit had come across Frances Collfield in the midst of an argument with the porter of the university’s library. The argument had, at that point, not yet touched on the fruitlessness of Miss Collfield’s request to view the collections but rather was stalled on the man’s inability to comprehend the flavor of French learned in English schoolrooms. Margerit intervened and her patience in disentangling the matter had been rewarded by the story of the visitor’s travels and details of her botanical research, and that was what had led to the dinner invitation. Traipsing across the face of Europe was, indeed, what had browned Miss Collfield’s face and given her movements a loose-limbed, purposeful stride that set her out of place on the city cobbles. But it wasn’t the usual quest for picturesque vistas or moldering ruins that drew her.
“Lichens,” she explained, as if discussing the ornaments on a new gown. “And the occasional moss, but primarily lichens.” The stoic and inarticulate servant, in addition to carrying the usual sketchpads and painting supplies, was burdened with several voluminous pressbooks of samples, carefully annotated as to location, elevation and substrate. “I have a theory regarding the distribution of the Lecanorae ,” she continued. “I don’t care to map the entire mountain range on my own and I’m told your university has an excellent geologic atlas by Leunerd. Is there no way at all to see it except with the escort of some man? I suppose I should have written ahead and brought letters of introduction, but I never plan my travels more than a few weeks at a time. If it weren’t for your kind invitation I wouldn’t even know where I’d lay my head tonight.”
“But of course you must be my guest as long as you like,” Margerit urged. “I think I can convince one of the dozzures to sponsor you.”
“You shouldn’t need to beg!” Barbara objected. A thought came to her, complicated but far more satisfying. “Margerit, why don’t we host a public lecture for Miss Collfield’s studies and invite Princess Annek as our honored guest.” She saw Margerit grin as she caught her meaning. If the ploy were successful, it was certain that some means would be found to bend the university’s rules.
* * *
“Public” was a relative matter, of course, but Margerit had insisted on letting the women of the Poor-Scholars house know that they were as welcome as the regular university students. More important to the success of their plan was that portion of high society that had either the interest or the ambition to attend. And since Annek had deigned to come, it seemed the choice of the Salle-Chapil as a venue hadn’t been overambitious after all.
The only part Barbara regretted was that, having lent her name as hostess, she was expected to take a far more public role than she preferred. While Margerit escorted Collfield and saw that all was prepared for the lecture, she waited by the doors, welcoming those whose status demanded personal attention. Jeanne took pity on her early in the evening and joined her, perhaps only for the chance to share whispered gossip in the brief quiet moments. Guests who felt no need for ceremony in their entrance had filtered in through the side doors, so it wasn’t until she felt the weight of being watched that Barbara noticed the woman from the courtyard staring at her from a corner of the room. She stood apart, with no sign that she’d come as anyone’s guest, but this was a public affair, after all, so there was nothing odd in that. It was the stare that was disconcerting.
Barbara leaned closer to Jeanne. “That woman over by the column—the dowdy one—do you have any idea who she is?”
Jeanne flicked her fan to disguise her own glance. “Goodness, no. Why should I?”
“Evidently the name is Chamering. I don’t know why I should know her either but she left her card for me the other day and I
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