Chapter 3
It took four hours, several cups of coffee, and an ironclad constitution for Saffron to get Clark through three pages of notes. Saffron was so exhausted by his willful ignorance and selective deafness that when she retreated to her room to dress for dinner, she fell asleep instead.
She woke to hesitant tap-tapping on her door. Groggily, she got to her feet and opened it a crack.
Mrs. Demirel’s anxious face greeted her. “Miss Everleigh? Are you feeling well?”
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Demirel,” Saffron said awkwardly, opening the door more fully. “I am quite well, thank you. I merely laid down for a nap and clearly overslept.”
“I see, I see,” the older woman replied. “Mrs. Henry said as much at dinner, but I felt it best to check. There can be nothing more important than maintaining one’s good health. Especially on the high seas!”
Saffron could only agree before excusing herself to dress.
She was surprised to find, when she emerged five minutes later in a mauve gown beaded with silver, that Mrs. Demirel had waited for her.
She hovered just outside, wringing her hands.
Her worried eyes brightened when Saffron stepped outside and locked her door.
“But you look marvelous, Miss Everleigh! What an exquisite color,” she said, and walked side by side with Saffron as they went down the hall.
“And how clever your shawl matches so well. I’m afraid my own style is very dull indeed.
” She looked down at her gown of uninspiring beige satin, a poor choice with her fair hair and skin.
“I’ve little need to cultivate a fashionable wardrobe in Silchester.
I’m usually tromping around after my boys. ”
They mounted the stairs leading to the deck, and Saffron found no hint of sunlight on the horizon but a vast array of stars overhead. Sounds of the band drifted from the deck’s dance floor, and Mrs. Demirel led her in that direction.
“You’ve missed supper, but I’m sure a waiter will oblige you should you wish for something to eat,” she said. “Going about the ship on an empty stomach is an awful idea. I’ll summon something for you, shall I? Blancmange, perhaps?”
“Er, no, thank you,” Saffron said. “Thank you for checking in on me, Mrs. Demirel. I see Mr. Ashton there.”
He sat with the linguist Banks, the archaeologist Balthazar, and the Henrys at a table near the dance floor.
To Saffron’s surprise, Mr. Demirel was cutting a path through the dancers with a handsome older woman on his arm, nearly twirling her into Martin Neill and his own dance partner.
Saffron was pleased to see Martin socializing with someone other than the rougher members of the expedition crew.
From the stars in Martin’s eyes as he gazed down at the girl he carefully waltzed with, he was rather taken with her.
She was pretty, with reddish-gold hair bound up in a glittering pin and a floating gown of seafoam green.
Mrs. Demirel went stiff at Saffron’s side. Her eyes were fixed on the dancers, color slowly draining from her face.
“Mrs. Demirel, are you all right?” Saffron asked her, worried the woman would swoon.
She turned a tense smile on Saffron. “Just so shocked to see my husband up and dancing. He’ll make himself sick, moving like that.
” Her hands fluttered at her sides before she clasped them together.
“I-I believe I might be feeling a bit off myself. Yes, I think I will go below deck. Goodnight, Miss Everleigh.”
Deep pity echoed in Saffron’s empty stomach as she watched Mrs. Demirel hurry away. Was it concern for her husband that had shaken her so, or shock at seeing him dancing and smiling at another woman?
Her stomach rumbled, clearly uncaring about matters of the heart. She made her way to Alexander, who greeted her with a warm smile. He and the other gentlemen around the table rose to greet her.
“Everything all right?” Alexander murmured to her as he helped her into a chair.
“I fell asleep,” Saffron said sheepishly. “Nothing to worry about.”
Conversation flowed freely, as did the champagne the Henrys had ordered for the table. With the impending restriction on alcohol that entering Turkey would bring about, many among the crew were imbibing with enthusiasm.
Saffron was given a glass of champagne, then another. She danced with Alexander, who danced divinely, and then with Dr. Balthazar, who did not. After a foxtrot that was more of a fox-limp, she made her way back to the table.
Alexander remained on the dance floor with Mrs. Henry, gracefully whirling across the floor.
Dr. Henry was at the table, and by the time Saffron had made out who stood with him, it was too late to find somewhere else to be.
Clark, Wakefield, and two others crowded around one side of the table, sipping what looked to be whiskey from stout, sweating glasses.
Saffron skirted the dance floor so she might creep up on the table to retrieve her handbag.
Naturally, the moment her hand touched the beaded purse, Wakefield caught sight of her. “Why, it’s the future Mrs. Ashton.”
For weeks, they’d referring to her as if she were already married. She wasn’t sure why they thought it made for a good taunt. “Good evening,” she said politely.
“Good evening,” the others chorused, save for Dr. Henry. His face had gone rather red, and he nodded stiffly at her.
“We were just discussing the entertainments available in our downtime in the city,” Clark said, eyes glittering.
“How … nice,” she ventured. She knew there were markets and tea houses, of course.
Dr. Henry and Clark, at least, were quite experienced travelers and likely knew where to find the more interesting areas.
And for once, Clark wasn’t regarding her as if she were a slug on a prized hosta.
“What sort of entertainments do you think Smyrna is likely to have?”
“Do you have much interest in entertainments, Miss Everleigh?” asked Wakefield, twirling the liquid in his glass.
“Of course,” she replied, wishing a moment later she hadn’t sounded quite so eager. She likely sounded as green as Martin Neill. She added, “When I visited Paris, I took in quite a bit of what the city had to offer.”
“Oh, France is renowned for its entertainments, in my experience,” Clark said, nodding sagely.
“Matchless, wouldn’t you say, Henry? In fact, if memory serves, Marseilles was a particularly entertaining city, was it not?
The conference there a few years ago provided us many opportunities to take in the sights and pleasures. ”
Had Clark’s exaggerated tone not told Saffron that they were no longer discussing things like theaters and museums, the way Dr. Henry determinedly looked away from the group now sharing knowing smiles would have been more than enough to clue her in.
Annoyance bubbled up in her chest, and not even for her own sake. She was used to off-color barbs being leveled against her, but to poke at Dr. Henry when he was clearly uncomfortable with whatever ribald reminiscence Clark alluded to was simply not very nice. “That’s enough, Mr. Clark.”
“Oh, you’re still here,” he cooed at her.
“If your eyesight is faulty, you might want to see a doctor before we rely on your perception on the expedition.”
“I see things very clearly, I assure you.”
A clever retort was very nearly on the tip of her tongue when Martin Neill hurried up to her.
“Miss Everleigh,” he breathed, smiling broadly. “I want—that is to say, would you be kind enough—”
“Spit it out, Neill,” groaned one of Clark’s younger cronies.
Martin’s dark eyes darted to him, his cheeks flushing. “Oh, quite right. Miss Everleigh, may I, er, borrow you for a moment? There’s a young lady, Miss Moore, who I’ve just been dancing with, when I told her I was to assist a female scientist in the field—”
A chorus of snorts and smothered laughs interrupted him.
“—she, er,” Martin stammered, trying very hard not to look at Wakefield as he apparently choked on his drink, “she mentioned she’d be very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Saffron determinately ignored Clark, who hooted with laughter as he thumped Wakefield on the back. “I would be happy to meet her.”
“Looks like Neill is getting a head start on his share of the entertainments,” Wakefield managed between coughs.
One of the younger men cackled. “Who knew he had it in him?”
“Would it be possible,” Saffron said, rounding on them, “for you lot to at least pretend to have some maturity?”
The younger men gaped, as surprised by her snapping at them as Saffron was herself.
It was like she’d opened her mouth and Elizabeth had spoken through her.
It felt rather good, actually. Good enough that she added, “I could swear I’m in a crowd of undergraduates with the childish rubbish I hear you all spouting. ”
“Oh dear,” Clark said with a chuckle. “If you think the subject of our jokes ‘childish rubbish,’ then I have terrible news for you about what happens after you take your vows.”
This elicited uproarious laughter. Saffron’s face burned. The Elizabeth in her head, so witty moments before, only sputtered with outrage.
Martin took an uncertain step forward. “I s-say,” he stammered, “there’s no call f-for being offensive, Mr. Clark.”
All the amusement drained from Wakefield’s face. He straightened up and took a threatening step toward Martin, who blanched.
“Neill, go back to your wooing,” Clark said, slapping a hand on Wakefield’s chest. The other man stopped, but glowered at Martin. “You might at least learn something from that girl.” He let out a laugh. “Maybe even some biology.”
Color flooded Martin’s face, dark and blotchy.