Chapter 11

Armed with a headache powder and a thermos of very strong tea, Saffron made it to her office without regretting the previous evening too ardently. The sight of her cuttings and seedlings happily ensconced within the makeshift terrarium helped her nearly forget that her head pounded and her feet ached.

She resisted the urge to stroke a tiny cotyledon that was just poking its head from the dirt. The seed leaf was the promise of something thrilling, and she couldn't risk damaging it. So she merely gazed down at it, pleasure permeating her like warm sunshine.

She allowed it to fuel her work for a few hours until she deemed she'd waited long enough to return to the Chemistry Hall. Would Savita Datta or her cousin have found anything useful, or would Saffron find she'd wasted a day when she could have been making progress in helping Adrian Ashton?

The Chemistry Hall was humming with activity, but Romesh's office was quiet and dark. She ought to have been more specific in asking the time Romesh would be available.

She sighed and left the pungent hall for the Quad. Students cluttered the pavement and grass. She imagined Savita Datta joining their ranks in a few weeks as a student. She'd been so bright-eyed, it reminded Saffron so much of herself as she anticipated life at university.

Unfortunately, Saffron could see into Savita's future. Despite the prominence of women like Martha Annie Whiteley and Marie Curie, a fellow woman in the sciences would experience the same arbitrary, misogynistic opinions of others that had made Saffron's own academic life so unpleasant. It could only be made more difficult by Miss Datta's race.

That frustrating thought was eased as Saffron passed by a cluster of students who were speaking a language she thought was Arabic. Savita might be a woman, but perhaps at an institution like the University College London, her ancestry would matter less. People from all over the world came to the U to study, something Saffron had always enjoyed. In fact, it wasn't uncommon to overhear conversations in half a dozen languages over the course of the day, and—

Saffron froze, a puzzle piece clicking into place in her mind. The peculiar thing she'd struggled to identify about Adrian Ashton was suddenly crystal clear.

"How absolutely ridiculous," she breathed.

The light glowing under Alexander's office door and the slow tap-tap on a typewriter within assured her that she would get to confront Alexander the moment she'd climbed to the second floor of the North Wing.

She did not bother to knock.

Alexander sat at his desk, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows as he pecked away at the Noiseless sitting on his desk. He looked up from the typewriter, somewhat startled, but then broke into a smile that soon faded when he took in her angry expression. "What is it?"

"You," she said with a huff, tossing her handbag onto the chair before his desk, "are the most obnoxious man I've ever met."

He blinked. "Why is that?"

"What is the real reason you kept me from your brother last night?"

"Because he was drunk and I didn't wish you to believe anything he said or did while in that condition was a true reflection of his character."

He said it so readily that she was taken aback. Still, she felt it was important to confront the issue. "Adrian speaks with an accent." Alexander's nostrils flared. That was evidence of … something. "Why?"

"Because he spent a good deal of his childhood with our mother's side of the family."

"And they are?"

"Greek."

"And so you are Greek."

He nodded.

When confronted with a mystery, Saffron generally felt some sort of satisfaction when it was solved, especially if she'd been the one to do it. It was part of the reason science so appealed to her; it was all about finding answers to questions. But now, having pulled apart this minor mystery, she felt not victorious but hurt. She and Alexander had grown rather close before he'd left. They'd spent hours in this very room, talking about their work and their ideas and a dozen other things that were quite personal. She'd told him a good many things about herself and her family. She could count on the fingers of one hand the things she knew about Alexander's family, including this most recent revelation.

"I do not tell many people," he said, apparently sensing her disquiet.

She refused to voice the hurt threatening on her lips, why didn't you tell me? They were merely friends and stilted ones at that. The fun of dancing together the previous evening had made her forget.

She exhaled, feeling the last vestiges of burning curiosity drain out of her. Why did she find it so hard to remember that she was simply helping his brother avoid an accusation of murder? "I will need to speak to Adrian about the case—regardless of what secrets you fear he might reveal to me—if you want me to help him."

When he merely looked at her with that shuttered expression, she retreated from the room.

Saffron sought the sanctuary of her office but stopped short when she saw a familiar tall figure pacing before it.

"Hullo, Nick," she said, forcing a pleasant tone.

"Saffron," he said jovially. "I was worried I'd missed you. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by and see your digs." He tapped a finger on the plaque on her door stating her name. "Impressive. Show me around, won't you?"

Saffron opened her mouth to beg off as politely as possible but realized she didn't have her handbag, which contained the keys to her office. She'd left it on Alexander's chair, and she didn't care to see him until she'd stopped steaming. "How thoughtful. Allow me to show you our greenhouses. They'd probably appeal to an agent of the Agricultural Ministry."

Nick was pleasant company as they exited the North Wing and joined the flow of students from the Quad and onto the street. Saffron took them on the long way 'round, despite the fact she didn't have her jacket and the sun had long since fallen behind the tall buildings, leaving the streets in cold shadows. The Church of Christ the King, a grand building with buttresses and parapets and a lovely rose window, was tucked up next to the university buildings on Gordon Street. Through the opened doors hummed the varied sounds of the choir warming up their voices.

The greenhouses, across the street in a square fringed with young trees, were still illuminated by fading afternoon light.

"Have you visited any of the botanical research stations?" Saffron asked at the conclusion of yet another of Nick's diverting tales. Sometimes it felt as if he had a catalogue of them, ready to pull out to amuse at a moment's notice. "Have you seen any of their greenhouses?"

"I've seen a few," Nick said, dodging around her to open the door to the greenhouses for her. "None to rival this, however!"

It was rather impressive, especially in the dying light, to see the mass of leaves upon entering Greenhouse One. With deepening shadows sharpening the diverse shapes, the exotic plants seemed multiplied and alien.

He reached up to brush a fanning leaf out of his way as they ventured inside. "I'm used to rows upon rows of seedlings, numbered and carefully measured. And fertilizer. And manure! I suppose Elizabeth is not here to complain. So much manure, Saffron, I cannot even begin to say."

Saffron laughed. "We've our fair share of manure, though I rarely have to cope with it these days. They have the students assist with things like that."

"And you're a researcher," he said. "Recently promoted. Very impressive indeed."

"You are very kind."

"I am not, I assure you." He shot her a devious look. "Don't think I haven't lured you here under false pretenses. My boss is always saying I lack initiative. I'm plotting to convince you to reveal all your secrets so I might claim them for my own."

"Ah, yes," she said dryly, "the great secrets of seedlings and fertilizers."

"You say it as if that is not our bread and butter," he said with mocking severity. "Though truthfully, these days I suppose fungi is mine. Don't suppose you have any molds hanging around?"

"There are fungi everywhere," Saffron said, considering. "They're in the soil, their spores are floating in the air."

"And, unfortunately, they can cause quite a bit of trouble."

She led them toward the door to the second greenhouse. "Indeed. That's why you're heading up the northern line later this week."

"Indeed," he said. "I'll be visiting a research station while I do, come to think of it. I'll be able to compare your greenhouses to theirs and see who reigns supreme."

Saffron rolled her eyes at his dramatics. "I will wait with bated breath." She turned back to him, hand paused on the door's latch. "Nick, where exactly are you going?"

His cheeks were flushed, likely from the heat of the greenhouse. "Little place called Harpenden. Can't imagine you've heard of it."

"Actually," she said slowly, "I have."

"Ah, now this is more like it," Nick proclaimed, rubbing his hands together as they passed into the next greenhouse. "Rows and rows of little nothings ready to become somethings."

Saffron glanced at the lengths of workbenches covered with pots. "I didn't realize the research station in Harpenden studied fungi," she said casually. He hadn't replied to her earlier bait, being too overawed upon entering the room. She hadn't been lying earlier; fungi could, indeed, be very troublesome, to plants and people alike. If Petrov had been working with fungi, some strain could have done him in, and that should be easy enough to determine if the coroner knew what to look for.

"Fungi is just the start of it," Nick said. "Anything to do with growing plants is their domain up in Harpenden. Rather like you lot." He leaned over Dr. Miller's beet seedlings.

Saffron bit her lip. So much for that. "What sort of people do they have there? I imagine it's all old fogies in places like that."

He chuckled, moving on to another series of pots. "Bit like here, they have all sorts. Young, old, locals, foreigners. Harpenden has a number of women working there too."

"Foreigners," Saffron repeated, though she was curious about his last comment. "Where from?"

Nick meandered over to where she stood. "Forgive me, I should say they had one. One was an old fellow, recently snuffed it."

"Oh," Saffron said, feigning surprised sadness. That was no doubt Demian Petrov. How could she guide the conversation where she needed it to go?

Nick crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned toward her, his voice low but clear. "There's a bit of a mystery clouding the old man's death. Intrigue, you know. I daresay that must appeal to you, eh?"

Saffron laughed nervously, excitement coursing through her. "You've my attention, Nick."

"Well," he intoned dramatically, "the fellow died rather suddenly. On a train, here, in town."

"Oh, my," she breathed, keeping her eyes wide and bright with curiosity. "Whatever happened?"

"They don't know. But the old man was a White. Fled the Bolsheviks and sought shelter here right as the revolution was heating up. His work in exchange for safe haven, or at least, that's what I'm guessing from his employment records. The whole thing sounds fishy, doesn't it?"

Saffron opened her mouth to agree that it did seem fishy, but if Nick was going to visit Harpenden, perhaps speak to the other scientists there, she didn't want to encourage his belief that something was going on in the laboratory. Stoking the fire of suspicion likely wouldn't do Inspector Green any favors in discovering the truth of what had happened to Demian Petrov.

Instead, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "What do you know about Greece?"

Nick cocked his head. "Is that some sort of odd London turn of phrase I haven't learned the meaning of?"

"No," Saffron said with a laugh. "I just wondered, with all the changes the war caused …" She strained to recall anything she'd read about Greece in the newspapers from that time or after, something that would make Alexander keep his origins to himself. "They had a sort of power struggle, didn't they? They ended up on our side, I think."

Still looking at her curiously, Nick nodded. "They had a king, and that king wasn't too certain he wanted to fight against his closest neighbors. Their prime minister disagreed, and eventually they joined up with us. The people, naturally, had strong opinions either way, and it all came to a head after the war ended. Bit of a mess over there now, Greece and the former Ottomans and all of them. I was stationed in that part of the world for a good many years. It all seems so far away now." He smiled down at her. "I find myself rather glad to be home."

The longer he stared down at her, the more aware she became of their nearness, the way Nick leaned over her, not quite crowding her, but not quite giving her enough space either.

A throat cleared. Saffron looked around Nick to see Alexander in the doorway of the greenhouse. He held up her handbag. "You left this in my office."

"Oh, thank you." She rushed forward to retrieve it. "Nick just stopped by the U."

Alexander nodded, barely flicking him a glance.

"Since he works in agriculture, I thought to show him the greenhouses," she said.

"Ever the educator," Nick quipped.

The conversation stalled, and Saffron found herself looking determinedly at a beet sprout. Why were they so awkward with each other?

Alexander excused himself a moment later, and Saffron would have preferred retreating to her office to contemplate what she'd learned and what it meant, but Nick insisted on touring the rest of the greenhouses. When they reached the xolotl vine, she explained its involvement in the poisoning of one of the university staff's wives.

Nick let out a low whistle. "If I recall correctly, your father was also a botanist. He had that massive conservatory."

"He did. A separate one he constructed on the property—"

"Near the stables, I remember now. A mysterious old place, wasn't it? Locked up all the time, if my memories of my bored adolescence are correct."

"Yes, my father kept all his specimens well away from the smaller conservatory connected to the house. He studied plant diseases." And more, if reports from others were to be believed. Her mind turned to Dr. Ingham and his suggestions. A few days ago, she'd been determined to ignore his questions, too distraught over everything that had occurred in France. A tiny spark of curiosity was lit at the mention of the greenhouse at Ellington. Had her father housed only sick plants he was experimentally treating or had other plants grown within? Something to do with the lab Dr. Ingham said her father had been invited to join?

"I can understand their concern, having seen the disastrous results of illness among plants," Nick said. He let out a sigh. "I still cannot believe that my career has come to center around plants, of all things. You, at least, have the excuse of your father as your entry into botany."

"That is something Elizabeth and I have puzzled over," Saffron replied, starting toward the door. "Why are you working in the Agricultural Ministry? Aren't you meant to be some sort of war hero?"

A smile played on his lips. "Deliver one message while under fire, and the world wants to vaunt you as a hero."

Nick walked her back to the Quad, where lamps now glowed gold at the twin gatehouses on Gower Street. He bade her good night with a promise of another dinner with Elizabeth when he returned from Harpenden, and Saffron returned to her office.

She tidied up her things, contemplating Alexander and his so-called secret. Most of Europe had been involved in the war; she didn't know why he should feel the need to hide his Greek heritage, especially when they'd ended up on the same side as England.

She checked once more that her samples were well insulated and was just reaching for the blinds on her window when she saw two tall figures just beyond the gatehouses.

They stood in the pools of light cast by the lanterns, allowing her to see perfectly the angry expression Alexander wore as he spoke to Nick.