Chapter 29
Alexander slipped on a shirt over damp skin before answering the quiet knock on the door.
When he saw it was Saffron standing outside with a bundle of fabric that look suspiciously like the clothing she’d worn that day, he hurried her inside, unwilling for her to be seen standing outside in a hall lined with the rooms of their colleagues.
Her face was pale, her lips pursed, and her eyes were haunted.
“What is it?” he asked the moment the door was shut.
She pressed her back against it, her head falling back and eyes closing. With her jaw clenched, the lines of her pale throat were strong, tempting even. Any sensual curiosity was banished when sob tore from her.
He stepped into her, pressing her to him while she shook. “What is it?” he repeated softly.
Face red and streaked with tears, she looked up at him. “I think I’m in real trouble.”
She showed him the broken glass and explained her suspicions about why it was planted.
“Surely no one truly believes me capable of murder, even if I do study poisons,” she said, her damp eyes searching his. “Clark just said those things to be horrible. Right?”
Alexander wanted desperately to be able to agree with her, but he wasn’t sure he could. “For once, you’re not underestimated,” he said with a sorry attempt at a smile.
She didn’t return it. In fact, that set her off crying again.
“I shouldn’t have come,” she choked out. He helped her to the bed, where he drew her onto his lap. “I should have just stayed behind.”
He allowed her to cry uninterrupted as more doubts and regrets and fear poured out of her. It weighed him down, realizing the extent of her tortured feelings, especially when guilt began to taint her words.
“I should have helped him,” she whispered brokenly. “Martin was poisoned. I should have realized it and helped him.”
She was silent after that. Alexander’s brain, meanwhile, kicked into high gear.
Dr. Henry had dismissed his concerns that morning.
If he’d just acted, he could have already found legal help.
He needed to find a way to protect Saffron, and the evidence planted in her room—for that had to be what the broken vial was—made it plain that the rules he’d thought this investigation would follow had been changed by Martin Neill’s killer.
It was only a matter of time before they found a way to put more evidence in Inspector Polat’s path and Saffron would be officially charged with murder.
Gently, he shifted her onto the mattress and stood. Then he went onto his knees before her, and took her cold hands in his.
“Saffron.” Her eyes lifted to his. “Marry me.”
Her face broke into a sad smile. “I already said I would.”
A feeling of rightness settled over him, chased by urgency. “Marry me now. Right now.”
Saffron stared at him. “Polat is probably going to arrest me!”
Alexander tucked a hair behind her ear absently. “I know.”
“I can’t bring any more trouble on you. It’s better if—”
Surprising even himself, he smiled. “Saffron, you’ve brought me trouble since I met you.
Trouble, adventure, excitement … I can’t imagine my life without you.
” He kissed her briefly, fiercely. “I won’t consider it.
If we marry now, I can act for you and arrange everything for a lawyer.
As your fiancé I can’t do much. As … as your husband I would have more rights to protect you and act for you. ”
He could see the internal battle she faced.
The image of her surrounded by flowers and smiles, the one he’d imagined countless times since setting his ring on her finger, faded into the cold reality they faced.
“It’s not what either of us want, but I can’t let you deal with being wrongly arrested for murder in a foreign country alone. Let me protect you.”
“But … we should get married because we love each other. Not because I’m being charged with murder!” Saffron said, her voice thick with tears.
His own throat grew tight. “It’s because I love you that I can’t let you face this alone.”
As an answer, Saffron kissed him.
Then they went to find the Henrys.
The Henrys agreed immediately to be their witnesses, and a brief conversation with the hotel’s proprietor informed them that the nearest church was just down the hill. Mr. Koray mentioned apologetically that it was unlikely to be led by someone with any English.
“Miss Everleigh,” Mrs. Henry murmured as Alexander hurried away to find Banks to translate, “I know time is of the essence, but perhaps you would care to take the time to change into something a little more celebratory.” She glanced meaningfully down at Saffron.
“Or perhaps even just don some stockings?”
Saffron was still a little dazed to find it was her wedding day, or night, rather, since the sun was setting. “That would be a good idea.”
Mrs. Henry bundled her off to her own rooms, a suite she shared with Dr. Henry.
She pressed a snifter of liquor of some kind into Saffron’s hands, then went to work primping her.
She helped Saffron change into a dress of her own, light-colored powder blue silk trimmed with lace that tickled Saffron’s arms and calves, and offered her a pair of earrings of silver figured into flowers, all the while recounting her own wedding day with soothing blandness and the occasional quiet laugh.
Fifteen minutes later, the party met in the lobby. They set out in a pair of taxis ordered by Mr. Koray down the quiet, dusty road. They sat in silence, hands clasped tightly in darkness, for only a few minutes before the motorcar wrenched to a stop.
“My grandparents will never speak to me again,” Saffron said, voice wavering.
Alexander’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. “Neither will my mother. Let’s go.”
The church was a matchbox of a place in a stand of cypress trees.
Saffron was reminded of a jewelry box when they walked inside.
The ceiling was set with octagonal insets, their centers stamped with flowers.
The light of dozens of candles softly flickered off unlit stained glass in the apse and glimmered on the brass incense braziers and candle holders.
The scents of old books, frankincense, and something herbal lingered in the air, familiar and exotic all at once.
Banks and the Henrys were already inside, and Banks was in conversation with an elderly man in black who could only be the priest. Banks waved them forward.
“He’ll do it,” he said breathlessly.
The priest was shorter than she was and wore a long robe that hung from a rounded belly, and when he met her eyes, he spoke softly.
“He wants to know you want this,” Banks translated for her. “He says you look afraid.”
“I am,” she said, an anxious laugh bubbling up out of her, followed by a rush of tears. She blinked them back to look at Alexander. “And I do. I do want this.”
The ceremony was brief. Saffron’s heart was pounding too loudly in her ears to make out the measured words of the priest, or Banks’s murmured translation. Hysteria lingered in her periphery, held back only by the steady pressure of Alexander’s warm hands on hers.
And then Alexander was speaking to her, and she focused on his lips as they spoke the words binding them together. Then it was her turn to stumble over them. Then they were married.
Emotion rose up and crashed into her, tender and sweet and stinging. She searched Alexander’s eyes, unsure what she was looking for in their dark depths, but she found it there all the same.
Their witnesses offered congratulations, and Saffron was surprised to see a twinkle of tears in Dr. Henry’s eyes as he gruffly offered his best wishes. They signed the church’s registry, and Alexander led her back outside, leaving Banks and the Henrys to talk to the priest.
In the shadow of the cypresses, Alexander took her in his arms. His kiss was one to blot out thought of anything but what they had just become to one another.
Breathless, they went to the waiting taxi.
A giddy laugh burst out of Saffron as she asked, “How are you, husband?”
Smiling, he kissed her hand. “Quite well, wife.”
“I suppose we shouldn’t tell people, should we?” she asked, her smile fading.
“I don’t expect it’ll come up with anyone except the police.”
“But if anyone sees you …” She pressed her lips together, too embarrassed to continue. Perhaps he meant this marriage to be for the benefit of the investigation only, at least until things settled down. Perhaps he didn’t mean to make it officially official tonight.
Alexander’s brow dipped before a rather boyish grin spread over his face. “Don’t worry about that, Mrs. Ashton.” He kissed her.
She wanted to enjoy the moment of giddy pleasure it brought her, but the closer they got to the hotel, the harder reality pressed in on them.
When they arrived, another motorcar was parked outside.
Fear flared in Saffron’s chest. It was possible it was not Polat, returned to with the warrant he needed to search her things, but she knew that it was.
Alexander tucked her close to him and they stepped into the warmly lit lobby.
Mr. Koray hurried around the reception desk when he saw them enter.
“Mr. Ashton, Miss Everleigh,” he said, “a moment, if you please—”
Polat interrupted him from the landing of the stairs.
“There is no need, efendi. I have finished.” He came down the rest of the stairs to stand before Saffron and Alexander.
He looked only at her, satisfaction in his cold green eyes.
“You will come with me to the police station now, Miss Everleigh.”
“Why?” Saffron was glad her voice didn’t shake. “I’m sure I can answer any additional questions here.”
“There are no more questions to ask. I am arresting you for the murder of Martin Neill.”
Although they were all expecting it, the impact of the words felt like an enormous gong that rang and reverberated around the room. Voices quieted beyond the open parlor doors.
Her voice did shake this time. “I did not kill Martin Neill.”
Polat’s mustache tipped up to one side as he gave her a curt smile. “Come.”
She looked to Alexander, unable to hide the panic welling up in her. He glared at Polat. “You are making a mistake, Inspector.”
“Now, Miss Everleigh,” Polat snapped, reaching out a hand for her.
She released Alexander’s arm and moved to the door, unwilling to let Polat touch her, much less drag her to his motorcar. She gave Alexander a nervous twitch of a smile. “Will you come to the police station?”
He nodded gravely.
“Good,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.”
And then Polat stepped past her and led her down the stairs, into the motorcar, and away from her husband.