He left off mid-sentence, and his expression seemed to stick just where it was for a moment, too. He had seen, then, and he knew what it meant. How he was taking the revelation was much harder to discern, because he didn't do anything, at least for the moment. He might have looked a little paler, but maybe that was only her imagination?
She hesitated, trying to imagine what would happen next. He could simply leave, stand up and walk away from her without deigning to give her another word. He might be angry; he might be defensive. He'd tugged at his sleeve. She remembered his scars there. Juliana bit her lip, suddenly sure that he was angry even if he wasn't showing it externally. What must he be thinking? He'd told her things about his life that he'd probably never told anyone before. He'd shared his secrets with her, and now he'd discovered that she wasn't even a real researcher. He was thinking, probably, that it had all been for nothing. He was thinking that he'd wasted his time and risked his reputation and his life and it was all for nothing, because she was a fraud. She wasn't an academic, she was just some eccentric woman who worked the appointment desk at the House of Lytton.
It surprised her when he spoke. She hadn't expected him to call her Miss Binns, for all that was her name. She hadn't expected him to sound so polite about it. She bit her lip, wondering if it was too late to just leave.
"You were saying something about the particular difficulties of this field of research," she answered, voice wavering just slightly for all that she tried to hold it steady. Her heart was fluttering with nerves. Her hand was frozen on her notebook, on a nondescript page of notes — research notes, but written in her own form of shorthand that would have been difficult for a casual observer to parse together without knowing the system. "If I might put words in your mouth, I think the point you were trying to make was about trust," she said, voice thin — she felt as though she were tiptoeing out onto an icy lake, straining her ears to listen for cracks in the frozen air that might signal she had taken a step too far. "That given the subject matter, developing trust with the research subjects must be a very laborious process. And that even when established, that trust is fairly fragile."
She met his eyes. She was too busy trying to read his expression to bother attempting to hide the anxiety in her own. I hope it's obvious that I trust you, he'd written to her once before, but this was different than exchanging letters or even samples of hair. She'd ambushed him with this, and she knew it — had she ruined her chance to handle this properly? She had no idea what she was doing. No template for this. "But that's — I hope I didn't overstep. Perhaps you were trying to make a different point."
Jules
She hesitated, trying to imagine what would happen next. He could simply leave, stand up and walk away from her without deigning to give her another word. He might be angry; he might be defensive. He'd tugged at his sleeve. She remembered his scars there. Juliana bit her lip, suddenly sure that he was angry even if he wasn't showing it externally. What must he be thinking? He'd told her things about his life that he'd probably never told anyone before. He'd shared his secrets with her, and now he'd discovered that she wasn't even a real researcher. He was thinking, probably, that it had all been for nothing. He was thinking that he'd wasted his time and risked his reputation and his life and it was all for nothing, because she was a fraud. She wasn't an academic, she was just some eccentric woman who worked the appointment desk at the House of Lytton.
It surprised her when he spoke. She hadn't expected him to call her Miss Binns, for all that was her name. She hadn't expected him to sound so polite about it. She bit her lip, wondering if it was too late to just leave.
"You were saying something about the particular difficulties of this field of research," she answered, voice wavering just slightly for all that she tried to hold it steady. Her heart was fluttering with nerves. Her hand was frozen on her notebook, on a nondescript page of notes — research notes, but written in her own form of shorthand that would have been difficult for a casual observer to parse together without knowing the system. "If I might put words in your mouth, I think the point you were trying to make was about trust," she said, voice thin — she felt as though she were tiptoeing out onto an icy lake, straining her ears to listen for cracks in the frozen air that might signal she had taken a step too far. "That given the subject matter, developing trust with the research subjects must be a very laborious process. And that even when established, that trust is fairly fragile."
She met his eyes. She was too busy trying to read his expression to bother attempting to hide the anxiety in her own. I hope it's obvious that I trust you, he'd written to her once before, but this was different than exchanging letters or even samples of hair. She'd ambushed him with this, and she knew it — had she ruined her chance to handle this properly? She had no idea what she was doing. No template for this. "But that's — I hope I didn't overstep. Perhaps you were trying to make a different point."
Prof. Marlowe Forfang
Jules