Page 53 of The Unassuming Curator

I was grateful to receive your recent letter and to know that Dr. Thorndike is aware of my work. My research into the reality of differences in color perception is still in its infancy, but early findings are both fascinating and promising.

Although the primary focus of my scientific studies thus far has been the chemical composition of matter, I am drawn to discover more about what I have named “color blindness” because it is a condition claimed by both my brother and me. I am convinced that there is a medical reason for this disorder, and I am determined to uncover it.

I believe it might be advantageous to schedule a meeting. It would grant me an opportunity to learn more about your experiences and, if you are willing, allow me to examine your eyes. For my part, I would be happy to answer any questions you may have regarding my research thus far.

I will watch for your letter informing me of a convenient date.

Yours sincerely,

John Dalton

Henry lowered the paper and stared unseeingly at his office door. Nothing about his situation with Fernsby or the directorship had altered since he’d opened Dalton’s letter, but something else—something significant and deep—had changed. Just as Emily had thought might happen, a few penned words had lifted the feeling of isolation he’d known since first realizing that he could not differentiate colors the same way everyone else did. He now knew for a surety that he was not alone. There were others, including this renowned scientist, who saw the world as he did.

His earlier desire to see Emily was now a need. She was the one who had done this for him; she was the one he must tell.

Picking up his satchel, he slung it over his shoulder and exited his office. Locking his door behind him, he started down the stairs. Thankfully, the arrival of the crates had prompted Claridge to cancel today’s museum tours. Henry could depart early without leaving his colleagues in the lurch. Except, perhaps, for Townsend. His feet slowed as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He’d promised Townsend he would help him search for the missing document.

Suppressing his mounting impatience to be gone, Henry crossed to the manuscript saloon and opened the door. Townsend was alone, sifting through an enormous pile of papers.

“Any luck, Townsend?” Henry asked.

Townsend looked up with a start. When he saw Henry, he set the manuscripts in his hand on the table and released a tense breath. “No.” He pointed to a second pile. “That is where it should be—where it was.”

Henry knew better than to question the man. If he’d learned anything from working beside him in the accessions room, it was that Townsend was meticulous at record keeping.

“I offered to help you search . . .” Henry began.

“There’s no need,” Townsend said. “I shall go through the piles once more, but I am quite certain it’s not here.”

“We’ll search the accessions room tomorrow,” Henry promised.

Townsend’s grim expression became grimmer. “Very well, although it’s as likely to be in the butterfly display as on one of those tables. We cleared that room before the crates arrived.”

He was right, but saying so would not help.

“Did you mention the loss to Claridge?”

“I’m not quite ready to declare my neglect yet, Buckland,” he said gruffly.

Henry’s lips twitched. “Good. Neither am I.”

Townsend gave a noncommittal grunt and picked up the manuscripts again. “I shall not be at the meeting tomorrow,” he said, keeping his eyes on the papers in his hand. “I told Claridge that I have no interest in becoming museum director. I am too old for the job and have no desire to expand my responsibilities beyond literature. I also told him that if the board of trustees knows what’s good for them, they’ll vote to put you in Watts’s place.” He set down a few pages. “Fernsby’s far more interested in forwarding himself than in furthering the growth of the museum.”

Henry opened his mouth and then closed it again. How did one respond to such a comment?

Townsend eyed him wryly. “As much as I welcome your silence, I would advise you to remove yourself quickly. It won’t take me long to come up with a list of criticisms that will keep you firmly in your place.”

This time, Henry allowed himself to smile. “Duly noted, Townsend. Thank you.”

Townsend grunted again, and when he didn’t bother looking up, Henry beat a hasty retreat.

Chapter 20

Emily wound the wool around her knitting needle and pulled it through to cast off the last stitch in the row.

“There,” she said, setting aside her needles and raising her arms so that her ten-inch-wide knitted creation started above her head and flowed into a heap at her feet. “What do you think?”

From her throne of pillows on the bed, Phoebe grinned. “It’s marvelous. But unless the recipient is eight feet tall or intends to wind it around his head half a dozen times, it’s a good thing that you have brought this scarf’s creation to an end.”