. . .


THE CRUCIVERBALIST COURTSHIP

Chapter Six - Autumn 1936


Polite applause filled the room, and Amy turned toward Sheldon sitting next to her. Unlike her, he was not applauding. "Preposterous," he mumbled, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Please hold your tongue until we are outside," Amy hissed.

"Don't tell me you accept that hogwash! I've read more scientifically sound hypotheses in an H. G. Wells novel."

"Of course I don't. But we'll discuss it outside," Amy insisted as she gathered her handbag and all the small scraps of paper Sheldon had passed her during the lecture, each one pointing out an error or flaw in logic. Then she ushered him out the door with the rest of the crowd, hoping he didn't notice that she walked behind him, stuffing the scraps into a rubbish bin as she passed it. In truth, his notes had been both accurate and amusing; however, she didn't think it would do for a woman of her social standing to be found with them. It was unfortunate as she'd been so delighted when Sheldon said he could visit her in London and attend a Royal Society lecture with her, but now he'd probably never want to come again. It wasn't her fault; she couldn't control what lecture was going to be presented by whom on the day.

Finally on the pavement, Amy walked until it seemed they'd left most everyone from the gathering behind before she said, "Those are the type of lectures that make my fingers itch to write a review for The Herald again. They never published them, of course, but it was cathartic to type up all my exasperation nonetheless. And now you're here with me, so I can't even write it up to you in a letter!"

"Yes, you can. Please do. Don't hold back. I shall look forward to your eviscerating diatribe on the plethora of errors in scientific reasoning we just witnessed. Perhaps I'll frame it. After I rescind my membership." They stopped at a crosswalk.

"Would you really?"

The light changed and Sheldon stepped off the kerb. "It's not as though I use my membership. And the monthly newsletter has yet to teach me anything. Quite the opposite; they could learn a wealth of things from me. It's a waste of paper."

"But isn't it good to know who is researching and publishing about what topics? Just to stay abreast of the latest news."

"I dare say the world would be better served by staying abreast of my research and publications."

A double-decker barreled past them, drowning out any other noises, saving Amy from having to reply directly. Instead, after the bus turned a corner, she asked, "Do you always carry a small notebook with you? I've never noticed it before."

"No, but I thought you would enjoy my thoughts as they occurred to me." He paused. "Did you not?"

"It was a bit distracting," she admitted. "I missed some of what he said."

"Distracting! Trust me, you missed nothing. His lecture was the scientific equivalent of a Charlie Chaplin film: pratfall followed by pratfall. You've seen one, you've seen them all."

"Perhaps you should be the one to write that scathing article," Amy said with a grin.

Sheldon looked over at her, slowing their stride. "We should write it together. Start our own newsletter!"

"I prefer to reserve my libelous thoughts on the inferior intelligence of others for your ears alone."

"You say the most romantic things."

He looked so serious that Amy laughed at him, drawing the attention of a few passersby. She lowered her head and adjusted her hat, trying to gather herself into a presentable woman before they reached the front door of the Dorchester. Sheldon nodded in thanks to the doorman as they stepped into the beautiful hotel and left the noise of the city behind them.

Trying not to gawk, Amy took in the crystal and the brass and the sleek Art Deco lines of it all. Sheldon stepped away to turn his hat and umbrella in at the cloakroom, and she heard his voice carry softly in the space, "Foyles Literary Luncheon?"

"The ballroom, Sir, second door on your left."

He looked so easy here, even though Amy knew he'd never visited the expensive and fashionable hotel before. But he had the natural bearing of an aristocratic, his fine autumnal tweed suit complete with leather elbow patches perfectly tailored to his tall, slim figure. Maybe she shouldn't have worn her homemade two-piece knitted jumper and skirt, but she was tired of wearing her brown suit to events with Sheldon.

Once more at her side, Sheldon cupped her elbow and led her through the lobby, toward the ballroom, and steered her toward an open table. He leaned down to whisper in her ear as he pulled out a chair for her, "Another lecture by a lesser mind than ours. Once more into the fray, my dear."

Homemade clothing was forgotten as she leaned closer to him at the table.


"That wasn't so bad," Amy said, dabbing the edge of her mouth with her napkin one last time before she tucked it under the rim of her dessert plate.

"The pudding or the lecture?" Sheldon asked, standing to assist her up.

"Both."

Back out in the lobby, there was a short queue at the cloakroom; it was still too warm for most to carry a coat although several of the men had checked their hats and umbrellas. Amy glanced out the front door of the hotel and noted the overcast skies although no rain appeared to have fallen yet.

"Lord Cooper? I say, is that you?"

A man in a pinstriped suit barreled through them in the crowd, almost shoving someone else aside, his hand already extended for a shake. His chest and shoulders seemed artificially wide. Amy was reminded of a rugby player who had once stormed into The Herald to complain about an article written about him, both men cartoonish in size. Both times, it seemed to her that the men were overly compensating for something.

"Er, yes." Sheldon ignored the outstretched hand.

"I said to Bertie - Baron Fitzwalter, you know - I said, 'My good man, could it be? The Earl of Medford at the Dorchester?' And he said, 'Why, old chap, I just saw him at The Royal Society!'" The pinstriped cartoon guffawed as though it was the funniest thing he'd heard all year. "What brings you out from under your rock?"

"Indeed." Sheldon angled toward Amy, his movements suddenly stiff. "Miss Fowler, may I present The Earl of Guernsey, Tobias Pip. We are acquainted from the House. Lord Pip, this is Miss Amy Farrah Fowler."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, My Lord," Amy said.

"I say. Are you the one?" Alcohol wafted from his breath; apparently he had enjoyed the cocktails at the luncheon.

"The one who what?" she asked even as she dreaded the answer.

"The bespectacled brunette?" He grinned, revealing teeth yellowed from cigarettes. "The librarian who refuses to put up her hair?"

Unfortunately, Amy knew exactly what he was talking about. She was surprised a man of his stature - or, really, any person worth anything all - would read the gossip columnists with such obvious relish.

"I'm not a librarian. I'm a cruciverbalist."

"A what? A little lady like you shouldn't use such big words, you know. Some might say it's indelicate."

"It's a -"

"A person who creates crosswords puzzles," Sheldon answered for her, his words clipped with anger. "Which it's abundantly clear you'd never be able to solve."

"Are you too delicate for such large words, Lord Pip?" Amy emphasized the last word as much as she dared. It was a schoolyard taunt, completely childish and inappropriate, and she knew it. But she was rewarded with the sound of a snort from Sheldon, as he attempted to smother a chuckle. "Or perhaps your island?"

Lord Pip's face flushed and he exclaimed, "I say!"

"Good day, Sir." Amy sneered the last word, knowing it was an insult to Lord Pip's place in the peerage, and then she nodded with what she hoped was finality, grabbing Sheldon's arm and turning them around to rejoin the almost-diminished queue for the cloakroom.

"Lord Cooper!" Lord Pip's voice blustered behind them. "Are you just going to let her speak to me in that way?"

Sheldon whipped around before Amy could stop him. "No, I will not," Lord Pip's face cracked open in an ugly grin that looked more like a grimace, "because I do not allow or disallow her to say or do anything she wishes. If I could give permission for others to speak, I would permanently revoke yours."

As quickly as he grinned, Lord Pip's face fell and promptly reddened more than it had before. "It's your loss if you don't listen to me, Cooper. You're being taken in by a money-hungry title-grabber, and a mousy one at that! Mark my words, you pass the time with one and you'll only be leading to the downfall of the great British bloodlines."

The quiet murmur of polite conversations in the lobby of one of London's most prestigious hotels stopped and Amy felt every eye turn toward them. A couple shuffled quickly out the door, their heads down. Amy suspected her face was just as red as Lord Pip's, and she balled her hands into fists at her side.

"I. Am. Not -"

"You will apologize to the lady immediately," Sheldon interrupted her, stepping closer to Lord Pip, "and never speak to us again."

"Lady? She's no lady. At least not yet. I daresay you'll make her one, won't you?" Lord Pip shrugged, a massive movement with his exaggerated shoulders. Although still red-faced, he was now feigning indifference although not successfully. "My God, man, you're such a recluse and a - a - bookworm -"

"Eremite? Intelligentsia?" Amy supplied. "Big words, I know."

Lord Pip scoffed at her. "Big words is all he'd have." Then his face swiveled back to Sheldon. "Old maid or not, you probably don't even know what to do with her in the dark, I'd say."

If anyone in the lobby was pretending to ignore the scuffle for propriety's sake, they gave it up now, gasping and openly watching at the trio.

Clenching her teeth to keep from yelling in such a public space, Amy said, "You listen here -"

"What Miss Fowler and I choose to do in the dark in is none of your business," Sheldon's voice overrode hers. "Once you've seen the naked glow of pure radium in the dark, nothing compares anyway. And Miss Fowler understands that."

Lord Pip laughed, a loud brutal thing. "Thank you for proving my point, Cooper. I daresay radium is the only thing you'll ever see naked." His eyes shifted toward Amy. "If you ever need a real member of the peerage, someone of pure English stock, to make you glow in the dark, I'll do what I can." With a disgusting wink, he clamped his hat on his head and barreled out of the hotel, leaving a murmuring wake behind.

"You'd better watch yourself!" Sheldon called after him, louder than ever, "I'm half-Texan and you don't want to know how Texans deal with scoundrels like you! So I've heard."

"Sheldon!" Amy hissed at him, turning him away from the pointed stares. She pulled him toward the coat-check counter.

"What?" he protested. "Didn't you hear what that scoundrel said about you?"

"Half of London heard. And the other half will in tomorrow's papers, no doubt." Amy tried to keep her voice calm and quiet. "Hat and umbrella, please."

The young woman at the counter, who had been staring just as wide-eyed as everyone else, scrambled into the room behind her.

"How can you be so calm? He was insulting your virtue!"

"I am well aware of that. Let's just go."

"Are you cowering to a member of the peerage, Amy? That's not like you -"

"Sheldon Cooper," Amy hissed again. She grabbed the sleeve of his expensive tweed suit jacket and pulled him behind the counter, desperate to do anything to get him out of the prying eyes of the lobby.

The cloakroom attendant was still there, taking far too long to find their belongings, and she stared at them, clearly stunned, "Miss! Sir! You really shouldn't be in her-"

"Scram," Amy growled at her. "Put up your tea break sign or something."

The poor young woman in her stiff uniform practically raced out of the cloakroom.

"Amy! What are we doing in here?" Sheldon looked around, no doubt confused to find himself in the cloakroom of the Dorchester. It did not match the grandeur of the ballroom they'd just left, lined on three sides with rows of forgotten coats and shelves of hats, a faint whiff of musty wool in the air. Smaller than Amy would have imagined, they were pressed close together.

"Getting out of the public's eye," Amy answered. She put her hands on her hips. "I cannot believe you'd make such a spectacle of yourself! And drag me into it!"

"I was being chivalrous!"

"You were embarrassing me! How dare you bring up darkness and nakedness in the lobby of the Dorchester like that!"

"It's a hotel, Amy. People are naked in the dark here every night."

"You just fed him all the ammunition he needed for his dirty innuendo."

"Innuendo? I thought it was blatant."

"That's even worse!"

"I still don't understand why you're so angry." His hand flailed. "You're always yelling and standing up to me! And there you were, just rolling over and keeping quiet -"

"I was trying to diffuse the situation. With witty quips, in case you didn't catch on."

"Pip is too stupid to understand your subtlety. It's best to be direct with his type."

"I prefer to be intelligent over rough at any time."

"Oh, was that intelligence when you called me an eremite? I should be the one that's angry."

"Technically it's a synonym for recluse."

"I am not a monk! And I was intelligent, too, you know, without resorting to name-calling. I brought up radium research! Which, may I remind you, I studied with the great Madam Curie herself in Paris. I was defending you!"

"You were interrupting me, which is no better than any other man."

"I was handling the situation. I was being chivalrous!"

"I already had the situation well in hand. I can defend myself! I do not need a man to do so, even you."

"Why are you so infuriatingly self-sufficient all the time?"

"Why are you so infuriatingly self-important all the time?"

"Woman!"

"Pompous man-child!"

His head snapped back and his nostrils flared. Amy made a noise with her nose not dissimilar to a bull on the rampage. Then she charged. He tasted like anger and chivalry and heat. So very, very hot. She pressed against him, pushing him into the numbered cubicles. He returned her kiss, eager and furiously. Breaking for air, he moved his lips to her throat.

"You assume I am only out to steal your thunder!" Sheldon argued as he nipped at the pulse in her neck.

"You assume I am only out to create the storm!" She suckled on his earlobe until he groaned then she moved back to his mouth.

Ferocious. That was how she felt. The word pulsed in her brain, each syllable a heartbeat as she silenced him with her tongue, flicking, thrusting, battling for supremacy in his mouth.

"Dorchester and radium had better not appear in your next puzzle!" His hands kneaded the jumper at her waist.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean." Amy's reached inside his suit jacket, raking her nails down his chest, over his crisp, pressed shirt, even as the words crossed and assembled in her brain, incendiary reactions all.

"You infuriate me with your puzzles." In a swift move, he flipped places with her, almost slamming her back against the cubicles with a thack! Two hats lurched forward preciously on the edge of their shelves.

"You infuriate me with your constant mentions of Madame Curie." She tugged at his tie, bringing his lips just close enough to touch and then turning her head, denying him.

"She is dead!"

"Only just!"

The sounds of their frustrations filled the cloakroom, their mouths reaching, arching, moving together. Sheldon pawed at her knitted suit, finding and taking ahold of her bottom and Amy nibbled harder than she needed to at his lips in response.

"This is exactly why I do not like to come to London!" he growled.

"This," Amy splayed her hands just below his ears and tugged him closer, "is exactly why you should come more often." She proved her point with a kiss.

Then his hand snaked lower, down the side of her hip, moving the back of her thigh, setting into the crook of her knee as he lifted her leg, sending a delicious tickle up her spine even as he wrapped her leg around him.

"Wait. Stop." Amy pressed both of her palms against his chest, pushing him away from him. She wondered if her gaze was reflected in his: pupils wide, eyes wild, lips reddened with abuse, hair mussed. "We're in the cloakroom of the Dorchester," she whispered.

"I noticed. Several moments ago. And now you whisper?"

"No, I mean, we can't do this. Not here."

"Is there another hotel cloakroom that you would prefer?"

They looked at each other for a second and then Amy giggled, her giggle building to laughter, and she turned her head, covering her mouth with her hand to try and quiet herself.

Sheldon stood back, as much as he could, his shoulders rubbing the coats hanging behind him, a startled look on his face, the tendons in his neck stretching in that way they had. "I fail to see the humor in the situation. You've incited my baser instincts with your - your bluster."

"One either needs to laugh or cry," Amy said, calming herself, smoothing down her skirt. "And I fear we'll both be sobbing when we read tomorrow's gossip column."

"Pffttt. I never read them."

"You're a wise man."

"Ah! So I do win!"

Her fingers stilled from where they were brushing through her hair as a makeshift comb. "I'm only letting you believe that so we can leave quickly. Hurry, get your things."

The hat covered the worst of his upset hair, and he swung the umbrella like a walking stick. Amy tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they walked out together, heads held high, not turning to glance at anyone although Amy noticed the soft murmur had returned to the lobby so perhaps the cloakroom had afforded them more privacy than she'd imagined.

The doorman swung the door open for them, a cheeky grin on his face, but Sheldon and Amy ignored it as they stepped onto the noisy London pavement, their backs as straight and their noses as high as anyone stepping out of the Dorchester after luncheon. They walked in silence down the block, toward the Underground station.

Only there, just before they took their first step down, Amy murmured, just audible over the din of the traffic, "Radium! Humph. Just you wait. You haven't seen anything yet."

To his credit, Sheldon only stumbled slightly.

To be continued . . .


The Dorchester is one of London's most lavish and posh hotels. It opened in 1931 and remains famous for its opulent Art Deco decor. Foyles Literary Luncheons , hosted by Foyles bookshop (W & G Foyle Ltd.), have been held in its ballroom almost since its opening and continue to this day.

Marie Curie died in 1934.

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