A Botanist's Guide to Parties and Poisons (Saffron Everleigh Mystery #1)(8)

Before long, Sir Edward announced that Mrs. Henry had been attended to. The crowd seemed relieved, but Saffron didn’t feel it. The guests quickly disassembled, wanting to forget the unpleasant ending to an otherwise pleasant evening.





CHAPTER 3


As Saffron arrived at the university Monday morning, she wondered for the hundredth time what had become of Mrs. Henry. She’d spent the weekend recounting the story for her flatmate, Elizabeth, and trying not to consider just how ghastly the whole affair had been. A fair few of the inhabitants of the North Wing had attended the party, and no doubt information and rumors would be circulating in equal measure.

The long stretch of campus buildings stood tall against the cloudy sky. The north and south halls bracketing the dominating Wilkins Building formed the Quad, where, in addition to the greenhouses a street away, Saffron’s entire world had been contained during her time as a student. The simple gray facades of the buildings had once been imposing, unfriendly to her eyes—a reminder of all she had to live up to as Thomas Everleigh’s daughter. But now the campus of University College London felt familiar, comfortable. She did belong there, which she proved by being hired by the botany department as a research assistant. Soon she would make herself a more permanent fixture at the university.

Saffron entered the North Wing through the unadorned black door off the Quad and walked up the stairs to the second floor. Murky sunlight came through the windows, not quite illuminating all the corners of the clean and quiet hall. She paused outside the door to Dr. Maxwell’s office. The glazed glass panel was dark. The professor wasn’t yet inside, not surprising considering it was barely eight o’clock. Saffron sighed. She really did need her own key to his office, as this was not the first time she had been locked out.

Rocking on her heels, Saffron looked up and down the empty hallway. Maybe she could see if Mr. Ashton had arrived yet, to get a head start on whatever work she needed to do to help him prepare for Maxwell’s study.

Her low heels clicked on the polished white and black tile, the sound especially sharp in the quiet building. Mr. Ashton was on this floor, as he’d said, but she didn’t know which office was his. Conveniently, she turned the corner to find the man in question balancing a stack of books with one arm and attempting to unlock his office door with the other.

“Here, let me,” Saffron said, moving to open the door for him.

Mr. Ashton shifted his grip on the books. “Thank you.” He stepped back from the doorway to allow her to open the door. “I didn’t think anyone else would be here this early.”

He left the door open as he crossed to the desk and carefully deposited the stack of books on top, straightening the spines precisely.

“I usually come in early,” Saffron said, leaving it unspoken that it was to ensure she didn’t stay at the university late any more. She didn’t want to be alone in the building when certain lecherous department heads might linger.

Mr. Ashton’s office was the same design as Dr. Maxwell’s, rectangular with a window overlooking the Quad. His desk, the same warm oak as lined the walls, was gleaming and bare but for his spotless blotter and an articulating lamp without a speck of dust on its bronze shade. The books along the shelf next to it were perfectly aligned. A small couch with faded gray upholstery had been backed up to the unadorned white wall opposite the desk.

“You have a rather spartan sense of style, Mr. Ashton,” she remarked.

“I find it makes it easier to find what I need.” He straightened his blotter and the stack of books again before settling into his chair and looking at her expectantly. He was tidy in a gray suit and sober blue tie. Only his dark hair continued to defy his perfect order, with a wave that pomade couldn’t seem to control.

“I came to see how I might assist you with the expedition preparations,” Saffron said.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t had the opportunity to take a look at the materials from Dr. Maxwell yet. I was kept busy with the police yesterday.”

“The police?” Saffron repeated in surprise.

“I assume that means you haven’t spoken to them yet. They’re looking into what happened to Mrs. Henry,” Mr. Ashton said.

“But why would the police be interested in an allergic reaction?” Saffron asked.

“It wasn’t an allergic reaction.” Mr. Ashton hesitated, then added, “Mrs. Henry is in a comatose state. They said it was poison.”

Saffron gasped. “Poison?”

“They think it was something in her drink. You know, the champagne. It was being passed all around, and someone could have easily put something in.”

Shocked, Saffron sunk into the chair opposite Mr. Ashton. Mrs. Henry seemed like a normal person. Perhaps a bit unpleasant, considering the conversation she’d overheard in the hallway, but not so bad as to warrant being poisoned. “But why would someone poison Mrs. Henry?”

Mr. Ashton spoke slowly, as if weighing each word. “The police asked me an hour’s worth of questions, mostly about Dr. Henry.”

“Do they think he poisoned his wife?”

At this, he looked back to his desk. “I couldn’t say.”

He didn’t seem inclined to say more about it, and assured her that he would let her know what he needed for the preparations.

Saffron walked slowly down the hall, which was beginning to buzz with scholars, hoping Dr. Maxwell had arrived and had more information about Mrs. Henry. She found the white-haired professor scribbling on a piece of paper at his desk. Putting her bag on her chair on the far side of the cluttered room, she smiled at him when he looked up.