Chapter 17
Nearly as soon as the motorcar pulled up to the drive, Dr. Henry was striding out of the lobby, a frown planted firmly across his brow.
“Ashton!” he barked the moment Alexander emerged from the motorcar. “What the hell are you doing back here?”
“Miss Everleigh was injured,” he replied, offering Saffron his hands so she could straighten up out of the vehicle.
She gave Dr. Henry a forced smile. “It’s nothing serious, Dr. Henry. Alexander is just being cautious.”
Dr. Henry did not look pleased. “Get inside and have Koray summon a doctor, then,” he said tersely. Then he paused, in a kinder tone, added, “Damned bad luck to be hurt.”
Alexander helped Saffron inside and up the stairs—she refused to let him carry her even though the hotel was mostly empty—and when she was settled in her bedroom, he returned to the lobby to find the hotel’s proprietor to summon a doctor. Then, he went in search for Dr. Henry.
Yes, Saffron had told him not to ‘tattle’ to Dr. Henry about Clark’s behavior. And he wouldn’t be complaining about Clark’s behavior toward his fiancée, but another team member, interrupting their work and endangering the crew.
Dr. Henry was in his rooms, and he grudgingly led him to the suite’s small sitting room, where it looked he’d been privately brooding over a glass of whiskey. Mrs. Henry sat with her own glass of whiskey resting at her elbow as she paged through a fashion magazine.
“Mrs. Henry,” Alexander said with a polite nod, “would you mind if I had a word with Dr. Henry?”
“She knows all about it, Ashton,” Dr. Henry said heavily. He’d clearly had more to drink than the mostly empty glass cradled in his hands suggested. “And she’ll pry it out of me anyway. Lay it all out for us.”
Mrs. Henry sent him a coy smile over the pages of her magazine before disappearing behind them.
“Nonsense, Lawrence. Do go on, Mr. Ashton. I assure you, I’ve grown weary of crew business.
It’s nothing but dirty shoes and sunburns, and complaints about officials and missing artifacts.
Especially now the room search has turned up nothing but some very interesting reading material. ”
From the smirk in her voice, Alexander guessed she didn’t mean the fashion magazine she was all but hiding behind.
It didn’t matter if Mrs. Henry did hear what he had to say; if anything, she would likely be helpful, given how warmly she’d treated Saffron.
And, indeed, by the time he’d concluded his story, Mrs. Henry’s magazine had drifted back down to the table and her eyes were riveted on Alexander, lips pursed. She seemed far more interested in the tale than her husband, unfortunately.
“Look, Ashton,” said Dr. Henry. “These things Clark has done, these pranks, they sound like the same sort of things the chaps always get up to with new members of the crew. Toads in cots and clothes mysteriously soaking wet in someone’s trunk. What did the lads on your first expedition do?”
Alexander ran a hand through his hair impatiently. “They tossed me into a river.”
“See? They do it to everyone. Miss Everleigh should be glad she’s not being treated differently, even if she doesn’t like the pranks they’re pulling.”
Alexander opened his mouth to point out wet clothing didn’t put anyone’s life at risk, but Mrs. Henry snapped, “Use your brain, Lawrence. Giving a woman a sleeping powder and pushing a ruin over where she stood—these are not harmless jokes. Anything might have happened.”
“That is my concern,” Alexander jumped in. “Clark could have seriously injured her. She’s already going to miss at least a few days of work because of her ankle.”
Dr. Henry hauled himself to his feet, face flushing.
“Everleigh knew what she was getting into when she applied to join. You said”—he pointed to Alexander, and then his wife, a little unsteadily—“she’d be up for the task.
Until she comes to me and says she’s had enough, or until Clark does something actually worth a fuss, there’s nothing to do.
Clark is your man for the next few weeks, Ashton.
Find a way to keep him and Everleigh in order. ”
Mrs. Henry glared at him. “Lawrence, really—”
He reared back, stumbling to the left before catching himself on a wall. “This is my expedition, Cynthia!” he shouted. “Mine, damn it, and I’m not letting you women muck it up for me!”
Mrs. Henry rose to her feet, set her magazine down on the table, and, not breaking eye contact with her husband, stalked out of the room.
The door slammed shut behind her, and Dr. Henry sagged into the nearest chair. “Oh, blazing hell,” he muttered. “Stepped right in it, didn’t I?”
Fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, Alexander sighed. “Yes, sir. You did.”
A soft tap at the door announced the arrival of someone Saffron hoped was the doctor. Her ankle was now impossible to articulate without her whimpering in pain, and seemed to be somehow swelling further by the minute.
Mrs. Henry opened the door and peered inside. “Miss Everleigh, a Dr. Yenmeck and his assistant have arrived. May we come in?”
Saffron straightened up best she could and bade them enter.
An older, gray-haired man with spectacles and a young, heavy man followed Mrs. Henry into the room.
Mrs. Henry came to stand at Saffron’s side, offering her a brief, commiserating smile as the doctor, facilitated by his interpreter, interviewed Saffron regarding her injury.
He moved on to examining the ankle—Saffron hoped he wasn’t offended at her lack of stockings—and soon declared it was not broken.
She sagged with relief. She didn’t know what she would have done had it been broken. One couldn’t hobble about a dig site in a cast, of course.
Dr. Yenmeck prescribed rest and pain medication, which Mrs. Henry assured him Saffron would receive in abundance. He promised to return in a day or two to check on her recovery.
Saffron was not left alone to rest as she’d expected—and, quite honestly, hoped. She was tired, in pain, and terribly dusty from the afternoon at the ruins. But Mrs. Henry came to sit with her after the doctor’s departure, and not long after, they were joined by Mrs. Demirel.
After explaining to the two women what had happened at the site, she had to bite her lip to keep it from wobbling as she realized the truth of the matter: She simply wasn’t wanted on the expedition team.
Maybe Clark was right. Maybe it was a mistake for her to be here.
She didn’t believe that, not really. She knew she had a place at the metaphorical table, one she’d earned by crafting a relevant study and doing the legwork to ensure anything she discovered here would be properly reported on.
But she also knew just because she was ready to be out in the field didn’t mean the others were ready for a young, unmarried woman to be ankle-deep in dirt with them.
Her already low mood sunk still lower. She’d been at University College London nearly six years, employed there for two.
She was one of many women employed there, many of whom were professors and researchers in their own right, though most had years of experience and stacks of publications to their names.
They’d fought for their places at the U and in the academic world.
Did she really want to spend years fighting for respect and acceptance?
She wasn’t even sure she would be able to complete her work at the agora now, let alone write anything with Clark’s cooperation.
Could she bear to see their names together in print, knowing how he despised her?
Why did he hate her so much? She wasn’t holding him back, as he frequently complained, especially because she only wanted to do more work.
Mrs. Henry interpreted her silence as exhaustion and rose to leave, drawing Mrs. Demirel along out of her seat and to the door. “Good evening, Miss Everleigh. Do send for me, should you have need of anything.”
Mrs. Demirel bobbled her head, wide-eyed. “Oh, yes. Please call for either of us, Miss Everleigh. I’m only too experienced with such things. I tend my boys’ ailments and injuries all the time. My husband’s, too,” she added, laughing awkwardly.
“Thank you, both of you,” Saffron said, forcing a smile. “Oh, actually, Martin Neill asked me to relay a message to someone. Would one of you be so kind as to telephone the Sa?lik Hotel and tell a Miss Corsianna Moore that he was unexpectedly called away for a few days?”
Mrs. Henry asked, “Made a quick friend, our Mr. Neill, has he? How unexpected.”
It was unexpected, Saffron agreed, but perhaps not so much as to warrant the look of shock on Mrs. Demirel’s face.
“He met the girl on the ship,” Saffron explained. “I believe he hoped to deepen the friendship while she and her family were still in town.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Mrs. Demirel said.
Saffron rather got the impression she was trying to make up for the rudeness of her shock that Martin might have caught the eye of a young lady.
“Don’t you worry, Miss Everleigh. I shall come to you in the morning, shall I?
Perhaps we can all breakfast up here. Oh, yes, that will be lovely.
I’ll arrange it all.” She flashed Saffron and Mrs. Henry a smile and fluttered out of the room.
“Brace yourself, Miss Everleigh,” Mrs. Henry said with dark humor, “for if you thought the menfolk were a challenge to conquer, the real trial by fire is about to begin.”