Chapter 1 #3
At dinner’s end, Saffron stood carefully to ensure that none of the embellishments on her borrowed dress were caught on the chair, and followed the ladies to the drawing room.
Electric lights glowed around the rose-red room, and a large fire had been constructed in the monolithic hearth to take the edge off the spring evening.
Saffron chose a seat near the fire, not anticipating participating in the kind of conversation the other women were likely to share.
Her grandmother had ruled such gatherings, always with a subtle but sharp barb ready to remind her that, given Saffron’s interests, her conversation was not welcome.
Considering she was among ladies of similar class now, she wasn’t likely to be a great conversational partner.
It had been years since she’d kept up with London gossip.
She’d been far too willing to leave it behind when she’d began working in earnest toward her goal of becoming a botanist.
To her surprise, the hostess, Lady Agatha, brought her a cup of coffee.
Her peach dress fluttered as she settled next to her.
“My dear, I’m told you are Thomas Everleigh’s daughter.
How wonderful to meet you.” She looked exactly like her grandmother’s compatriots: women of taste and means who had preserved their beauty to the best of their ability, but in the end looked like wilted flowers in silk and pearls.
“Your father used to join us quite often when he was a professor, you know. What a charming man.”
“Oh, how nice,” Saffron replied with a noncommittal smile. Though she heard such comments often enough, it was usually from fellow scholars who were familiar with his work. She doubted Lady Agatha knew much about plant pathology.
“And such a gentleman! A great pity that we lost him well before his time. Dr. Everleigh put his colleagues to shame, those that were not brought up quite the same.” Lady Agatha gave Saffron a meaningful look.
“I cannot imagine what it’s come to, when the halls of a prestigious institution such as University College are open to just anyone. ”
To have her father’s death commented on so casually, to hear her father’s memory used to put others down, made Saffron’s insides roil. With saccharine sweetness, Saffron asked, “You mean those not brought up to have the same appreciation of academia?”
Lady Agatha’s frown was brief, covered by a brittle smile. “Of course, my dear.”
The hostess made a few more polite comments before joining a cluster of ladies on the other side of the room. Saffron watched her go with satisfaction.
Though he’d been raised in the upper class, thanks to her grandparents, Thomas Everleigh had all but rejected his status as heir to a viscountcy and taken up botany.
His parents had indulged his studies, never thinking that he would make science into a profession.
A life among the peerage hadn’t appealed to her father in the slightest, and that view had rubbed off on Saffron.
She had been raised with a dual future in mind: her grandparents’ vision of a good marriage, and her parents’ hope that she would find her own way.
So far, her way looked much like her father’s.
She’d given up a lot to reach her goal, including the financial support of her grandparents, but she was reminded now of why she’d been so willing to turn her back on high society.
The woman who’d paid such attention to Dr. Henry during dinner sunk onto the couch next to Saffron.
Black silk lavished with gold beading was held up by scant straps at her shoulders and gathered at her hips in a draping knot, mirroring the gold headband circling the crown of her meticulous russet waves.
She was far more adorned than any of the other women and, despite heavily kohl around her hazel eyes and dark lipstick, was very young now that Saffron saw her up close.
Her long red nails were wrapped about a cup of black coffee, and she wore an expression of practiced ennui. “Well, this is rather dull.”
Saffron waited for an introduction or some hint as to why this woman had chosen her to complain to, but none was forthcoming.
Saffron took a sip of her coffee and tried to be objective in her reply.
“Yes, I suppose it is. I never saw the point in sending the men and women off separate ways after dinner. It’s not as though we digest differently. ”
The woman gave her a curious look. “No, I don’t think that is the issue …
” She set her untouched coffee on a table next to the couch and withdrew a cigarette and a lighter from within the recesses of her matching gold handbag.
Her dark lipstick coated the end of the cigarette as she lit it.
“Daddy was absolutely gutted that he couldn’t come, considering this dinner was meant to celebrate his contribution,” the woman drawled, “so he sent me to tend to his friends.”
That enigmatic statement wasn’t followed by further explanation.
Saffron still had no idea who this woman was, though she was clearly wealthy if her father had contributed enough to warrant a dinner being thrown in his honor.
Had Saffron not been included in the invitation so last minute, she might have known who she, and her father, were.
“What did Lady Agatha have to say? She’s a bit of a busybody.” Fingering her string of jet beads, the woman asked innocently, “Anything good?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Saffron said, wishing the half hour or so requisite time was up.
“Too bad. I hear even in small ponds like a university there can be interesting things going on.” She blew out a puff of smoke and looked meaningfully at Saffron. “You know, who does what and with whom.”
Saffron withheld a sigh. This was precisely why she hadn’t missed society. “I think most of us are more interested in our fields of study, actually.”
“Oh, you work at the university, do you?”
Saffron nodded, deciding it was time to figure out who this noxious woman was. “I’m Saffron Everleigh. I’m a research assistant.”
A slow smile spread over the woman’s face. “Miss Everleigh? Well, then.”
Saffron’s spine straightened at the odd look the woman was giving her. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”
The woman tapped ash from her cigarette into the crystal dish on the side table. “Eris Ermine. My father is Cedric Ermine.”
Saffron vaguely recalled the name Ermine from her earlier days in London but couldn’t remember anything specific. She gave Eris Ermine a polite smile and took another sip of coffee. To her relief, the gentlemen filed back in, carrying glasses of scotch or port, several puffing on cigars.
Miss Ermine sighed. “Never was one for the books, myself. But there are some values to working in academia.” Her eyes followed Dr. Henry as he entered, drink in hand.
“Er, yes,” Saffron agreed. “You know Dr. Henry? I believe he’s heading up the expedition.”
“Of course—he’s a favorite of my father’s.
” She spoke in a low voice, eyes still on the man in question.
“I might have to change my tune, though, if what I’ve heard about the university is true.
Seems like some of you academic lot tend to spend a lot of time researching each other.
” With that, she shot Saffron a sly smile and walked off toward Dr. Henry.
Saffron stared after her. What did that mean? Was that a reference to Dr. Berking? He’d said something nearly identical to her the last time she had spoken to him.
Saffron stood, deciding that it had been a mistake come to the dinner at all. Making connections simply wasn’t worth it.
In a moment, Mr. Ashton was before her. “May I get you a drink, Miss Everleigh?”
She blinked at him, surprised by his offer. “No, thank you. Excuse me.”
She’d just turned away to search out the lavatory when lumbering footsteps approached her.
Her entire body tensed like it was preparing to flee, as if running away was the answer for dealing with the man she knew was behind her.
His voice cut through the clinking of glasses and loud conversation surrounding her.
“Ashton, glad to see you abandoned your pretty petri dishes and joined us!”
Dr. Berking’s voice was the equivalent of a series of bombs dropping across her evening.
Mr. Ashton turned toward the professor, and Saffron, gritting her teeth, did the same.
The department head was a head shorter than Mr. Ashton and round as a barrel.
Dr. Berking had a robust head of graying red hair and small blue eyes, with a mouth that was almost always curled into a grin.
Now, that grin was as slimy as one of Dr. Maxwell’s butterwort leaves and just as benignly predatory.
Saffron looked away, hoping he’d ignore her.
“I bet you’re regretting your choice not to apply to join us on this adventure, aren’t you, Ashton?” Berking nodded, chuckling. His eyes slid to Saffron. “Why, you are looking delectable this evening, Miss Everleigh!”
Her face heating, Saffron kept her gaze on the floor. He wanted to see her squirm under his lascivious glare. If she ignored him—
Berking lowered his booming voice slightly. “But then again, you always look good enough to eat. And the right flavor too.”
Saffron’s eyes snapped to Berking’s jeering face, and she swallowed her gasp of rage. He wasn’t looking at her, but to Mr. Ashton, looking to share a laugh.
Before she could muster up words to defend herself, Mr. Ashton said sharply, “That’s quite enough, Dr. Berking.”
Humiliation burned her face, that Mr. Ashton had to not only hear Berking’s comments but defend her against them.
If the floor could open up and swallow her, she’d have been eternally grateful.
Rather than sink into the carpet, Saffron stood stock-still as Berking put a large hand on her shoulder and chuckled.
“Miss Everleigh knows I am the consummate joker, of course.”
He winked at Alexander and disappeared into the crowd.
Saffron managed to mumble, “Excuse me,” before slipping away.