Chapter 15

When Saffron knocked on Alexander's office door the next day, he was ready.

Ready to accept this unexpected offer of her assistance with a lawyer, ready to do something productive to help Adrian, and ready to put aside some of his misgivings about being more open with Saffron.

He did not like being wrong, but when he was, he admitted it freely. He'd been wrong in his behavior toward her before, for which he'd apologized sincerely, and he was beginning to realize that the way he'd handled Adrian's situation and personal history had not been the right one. He'd nearly destroyed Saffron's regard for him with his impulsivity and jealousy; he'd not make the same mistake again.

Not to mention that the rebuke Adrian had given him upon his return to the flat the previous evening had been thorough and, Alexander suspected, had been partially motivated by Adrian's hurt. He'd seen how Alexander had spirited Saffron away from him twice now, how irate he'd been to find her at the kitchen table listening to Adrian spill God only knew what about his own life or Alexander's. Adrian could be trusted to be candid but not prudent. Alexander could only be trusted to be the opposite. And Saffron thought his unwillingness to speak had to do with her.

He rose at the first sound of her knock and was opening the door before the next knock landed.

She wore her lavender coat and matching hat. She'd not put off giving him the information about the solicitor, and he felt that was a positive sign.

"Good morning," he said, stepping back to admit her.

She didn't move forward. She dipped her hand into her handbag and brought out a worn card instead. "Good morning." She offered it to him.

He took it, looking down at the name on the worn cream paper. It was good quality paper, with an engraved name upon it with an address in Marylebone.

"Feyzi?" he read, peering up at her.

"He is my family's solicitor," she said. "He's exceedingly pleasant, don't worry."

It was not the notion of meeting with a solicitor that made Alexander wary, though it should have, but rather that this man was in business with Saffron's family. Viscount Easting was her grandfather, something he'd been embarrassed to learn after Nick had mentioned it in their first meeting at the flat. Ellington was the estate where Saffron had grown up and had she been a man would have inherited. He'd not known of the Everleigh family's status when he'd been taught by Professor Thomas Everleigh, for he'd never been called a lord or an honorable or anything other than "Professor."

But that was a problem for another day. Saffron stood before him, offering assistance when she didn't have to. He'd make do with what he had, then see what the next step was in making her see he felt something more than the friendship she kept bringing up.

Alexander cleared his throat. "Have you met him?"

"I have, several times," she said. "He was a friend to my father in addition to managing the family's legal affairs." Her eyes clouded momentarily before flicking up to meet his again. "I should accompany you to see him. He's a very busy man, but he always makes time for me."

"I would appreciate that."

"Noon?"

He agreed, and she gave him a small smile before bustling off to her own office.

The lunch hour came upon him sooner than expected, leaving him rushing to tidy his space before struggling through doing up his cufflinks and donning his jacket. He was just tugging on his overcoat when Saffron's knock came upon his door again.

They caught a bus to Marylebone. Unfortunately, traffic left them at a standstill. Just outside the bus's window stood a sign marking the Warren Street Underground station.

"We ought to just get off and take the Underground," he said.

She shuddered next to him. "Absolutely not."

He quirked a brow, and to his surprise, her cheeks flushed pink. "Why not?"

"I do not care for the Underground."

"Because it's crowded? Smelly? Did you have a bad experience with a train getting stuck?"

"I don't like that it goes underground," she said almost plaintively. "And don't bother to poke fun at me, I've heard every jest about a botanist fearing being underground that could ever be told. Elizabeth has even invented new ones to make fun of me."

Alexander chuckled. "And said them far better than I could, I'd wager. Why do you dislike that it goes underground?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "I used to think it was claustrophobia, actually."

"Ah." Alexander had done research into phobias, thinking it might help him overcome his own neurosis after his injury. His research had led him to Freud and his examinations of anxiety hysteria. He wondered if Saffron was aware that Freud believed claustrophobia had to do with an excess of libido, and decided not to mention it.

"But this," she went on with a wave of her hand, "doesn't bother me in the slightest."

The bus wasn't packed as it might have been later in the afternoon, but they were standing with a handful of others near the rear, with every seat filled.

"And the greenhouses are packed with plants," Alexander added.

"Exactly. So it's not to do with crowding or being in a place with a closed door. I believe it's actually being underground that bothers me. Subterraphobia, if you will."

Alexander laughed. "You're mixing your roots. Phobia comes from phobos, which is—"

"Greek. I am well aware," she said wryly.

"It could be bathophobia," he mused, emphasizing the Greek pronunciation of the words. "Fear of deep things. Or … ypógeios means underground, so ypógeiosphobia is the most accurate if you truly don't like anything subterranean. Rather a mouthful, though."

He couldn't resist smiling at the way Saffron watched his mouth form the words.

The traffic eventually cleared, delivering them to New Cavendish Street. Saffron led him to a red brick building with white window trim and black wrought-iron lattice work around the door and transom window.

They were admitted to a parlor to wait but had barely sat on the comfortable couch before a man in his late forties or early fifties entered the room. He was dressed in a smart, dark suit with a ruby-red tie. His black hair was generously threaded with gray, and his skin was tanned and creased in a way that suggested he smiled widely and often. He reminded Alexander of Mr. Ferrand.

"Miss Saffron," he said warmly, kissing the air next to Saffron's cheek as she took his hand. "And you have brought a friend, I see."

"This is Alexander Ashton, Mr. Feyzi," she said, smiling back. "Might we steal a moment of your time?"

Feyzi smirked. "It will not be stolen, I promise you. But your grandfather never too carefully analyzes his bill, so I would not concern yourself."

They were shown into an impressive study so heavily scented with pipe smoke that Alexander imagined it saturated the wine-colored walls. Volumes of law texts lined the walls, the dull titles vaguely familiar to Alexander from hours spent in his father's study being scolded.

"I love coming here," Saffron whispered to him. "He has the best tea."

Mr. Feyzi requested tea and it was excellent.

"Well, my dear," Mr. Feyzi said, settling at his desk, "what brings you?" He glanced between them as he took a sip of tea.

"Mr. Ashton is in need of a solicitor on behalf of his brother, but I will let him explain the particulars to you so you may determine if you could help him, or if you have a recommendation for another solicitor who could."

Feyzi took it in stride, nodding and looking at Alexander with interest. Saffron excused herself to wait in the parlor, ignoring Alexander's protest that she was welcome to stay.

The solicitor was polite as he gently prodded him for details on Adrian's case, and after a quarter of an hour, Feyzi had given him three names of barristers who might be helpful and discreet. He'd smiled knowingly when Alexander mentioned his desire to avoid his father's notice.

"I understand perfectly," he said. "Family is the trickiest of assets, but an asset it is. Jeremy Ashton is well spoken of. I would not avoid his involvement unless absolutely necessary."

Alexander privately agreed, but this was his brother's affair. Even acknowledging that, though, he knew that should his brother actually be arrested, Alexander's first telephone call would be to his father. Adrian and their father might not agree about much of anything, but they cared for each other. Not to mention Adrian would need their father's support.

"Please send the bill to me," Alexander said, rising to his feet along with the solicitor.

Feyzi stood but did not move to the door. Crossing his arms over his chest, he scrutinized Alexander with a slight squint. "Thomas Everleigh was a friend of mine, you know. School chums. Then when Lord Easting needed a solicitor after his old retainer died, Thomas insisted he take me on despite the fact I'd only recently finished school. He was a loyal friend, a good man."

"He was one of my professors," Alexander said. The brief but warm interactions between Feyzi and Saffron made it clear that Feyzi cared for her well-being. Alexander wanted him to understand that he also cared for her. "I was very fortunate to meet Saffron earlier this year. We worked together and became friends. She is also a loyal friend."

"That she is."

Alexander almost smiled at the hint of something in Feyzi's voice. It was meant to be threatening, he'd wager, but it only made him glad that Saffron had someone in the city she could turn to. But she hadn't turned to Feyzi when she was facing suspicion in the Berking and Blake poisoning. Now he thought of it, she had mentioned a solicitor in one of her letters to him when he was in Brazil, something about a visit from a lawyer had changed her plans for testifying in the case against Berking and Blake. He'd assumed it was from the prosecution, but now he wondered if it had been her family's lawyer.

He didn't want to get her in trouble with her family by asking. So he merely said, "I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Feyzi."

He rejoined Saffron in the parlor, but Feyzi was not done with them yet.

"Miss Saffron," he said, beckoning to her, "a word, if you please."

Saffron flashed Alexander a quick smile, and followed the solicitor back out of the parlor, leaving Alexander to wonder exactly what Feyzi would be saying to her.

"An interesting fellow," Mr. Feyzi said as they settled in his office.

"He is," Saffron agreed.

"This is the same man you were involved with during that incident in the spring," he said, stating it not as a question.

"Yes, he is."

Mr. Feyzi was quiet for a moment, watching her in that uncanny way of his that was both kindly and assessing. At last, he said, "I will not mention this visit to your grandfather, of course, but I must caution you, Miss Saffron, that you risk further angering both Lord and Lady Easting—"

"I don't care, Mr. Feyzi," Saffron burst out. "You know that I do not."

"But you care about your mother," he said, a sharpness to his words that she rarely heard. "And she cannot refuse to open their letters as you do or simply run off to London."

Saffron bit her tongue. She would not correct him about running off to London; it would only sound childish. "You're right. But my mother has told me numerous times that I am to stay the course if this is what I want. You are the one to pass on her …" She released an embarrassed breath. "Monetary support. You know that staying here is what she wishes me to do."

"That does not mean your actions do not have consequences," he said. "Consequences your mother faces as a result of your disagreements with Lord and Lady Easting."

Again, she bit her tongue. Being friends with her father and watching Saffron grow up, albeit from afar, had given Mr. Feyzi a fatherly attitude toward her. She could not deny there were many times she appreciated it. Now was not one of those times.

"I appreciate the advice," she replied. "Mr. Ashton needs assistance, and it was within my power to help him find someone who could help his brother. That is all."

"I know how your mind works, Miss Saffron," Mr. Feyzi said wryly. "If there is a mystery afoot, you will poke into it. From what I gathered, this is a serious situation. I cannot in good conscience, allow you to—"

"I am helping a friend," she interrupted. "That is all."

Color touched his cheeks, and Saffron felt sorry for it. She did not want to offend him, but neither would she be "allowed" by Mr. Feyzi to do anything. She'd not left Ellington and her grandparents only to find another keeper—one that answered to them.

She cleared her throat. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Feyzi. I simply wish to do what I believe to be right." She got to her feet to take her leave, but Mr. Feyzi made a sudden sound of enlightenment and rose, crossing the room in quick strides.

"The tenants at your father's flat in Bloomsbury sent something over a few weeks ago," he said, extracting a file from a cabinet. "They said they were worried there was a pest of some kind inside the walls. They found a few things and sent this over by messenger. I had thought to send it to your mother, but …" He turned and brandished the file at her.

Not missing the way Mr. Feyzi's large eyes clouded over, she took the file, letting her fingers rest against his for a moment. "I understand," she said softly.

Mr. Feyzi had stayed at Ellington for a few days immediately following her father's death, helping her grandfather put affairs in order since he had lost his heir. Along with the rest of the household, Mr. Feyzi had been aware that her mother had slumped into something like a catatonic state of shock, unable to leave her bed for days. He knew now, from his visits to Ellington as well as his communications with Violet Everleigh to assist Saffron, that she still did not leave the manor. It touched Saffron that Mr. Feyzi was so saddened by it. He had known her mother for years and knew how brightly Violet Everleigh had shone before her light was doused by grief and fear.

Saffron peeked inside the file, her heart clenching at the sight of her father's handwriting darting across the papers within.

"I will give you a moment," Mr. Feyzi murmured somewhere behind her. The door snicked shut.

There were receipts, train tickets, letters between Thomas and Violet Everleigh and a handful of others in no particular order. She wouldn't read her parents' letters; what had been said between them during the months her father had spent at the university was private.

As she paged through the other notes and letters, however, familiar names caught her eye. She grinned at a note from Dr. Maxwell, reminding her father about a meeting. He'd been something of a mentor for her father too, she knew. There was a lengthy letter from a well-known French plant pathologist whose name she saw frequently in Annals of Botany. And a name that made her fingers falter, nearly dropping the file.

Dr. Jonathon Calderbrook's name was like a lightning strike straight to her heart. The name Dr. Ingham had mentioned during their brief meeting at the conference, the name Saffron had wondered over for weeks now. Paired with the words "Kew Botanical Gardens," it was enough to make Saffron break out in a cold sweat.

Dr. Ingham had asked Saffron if she'd known whether or not her father had accepted the position in Dr. Calderbrook's lab at Kew. The lab had been government-run, Ingham had mentioned. And Saffron hadn't wanted to know what, exactly, the government had wanted her father to do. Plant pathology, her father's specialty, was innocuous enough. But her former department head of Botany at the university, Berking, had mentioned he'd used her father's research to strengthen the toxins of a poisonous plant, which he'd then used to create a poison that had nearly killed someone. He'd planted a seed of doubt in her mind, and she'd allowed it to flourish. What if her father had been working on something dreadful? What if he had created something that could hurt people, just like the scientists who'd labored over the gas that had flooded the battlefield where her father met his death?

Indecision kept her frozen, but an acute wave of fury overtook it. She'd allowed Berking's words to worm their way into her mind, corrupting her memories. For months, she'd avoided mention of her own father, because she was afraid she'd find Berking was right. She did not want her worst fears about her father to be confirmed.

But no more.

She read the letter.

When she was finished, she needed the telephone, which she promptly was given access to by Mr. Feyzi.

After directing the operator, she only had to wait a moment to be connected.

"Immigration Ministry, the offices of Lord Tremaine," came the coolly professional tones from the telephone's handset.

Saffron straightened up. "Eliza—"

"How may I assist you?" Elizabeth's voice took on the strident tone of an impatient clerk.

"I hope you are of a mind to have fowl for dinner," Saffron announced.

There was the sound of shuffling, followed by an irritated "What the devil are you on about?"

Saffron grinned. "I hope you're in the mood for fowl tonight, Eliza, because I just realized I must eat a heaping serving of crow."

"If you don't start making sense immediately, I am ringing off."

She laughed. "Eliza—I am eating crow. I'm eating my words. I need you to look into Demian Petrov's file after all."

As Alexander did not fail to see the energizing effect of her newly formed plan, he asked what was on her mind the moment their feet touched the pavement outside Mr. Feyzi's office.

"I'm going to look around Demian Petrov's flat," Saffron declared.

Alexander stopped in his tracks. "Why?"

She waved an impatient hand. "Isn't it obvious? I've failed to come up with another way to prove your brother's innocence, and so I'm changing my tactic. My hypothesis about the chemicals he may have ingested has proven insufficient, so I must make a new one."

Alexander's brows lowered into a frown. "You plan to break into Petrov's flat and you're looking for what?"

"From what Lee said about the notes I took from the autopsy, it sounded as though it was not an acute poisoning, meaning it was something he'd been exposed to over time. Breaking into the Harpenden laboratory is an unlikely possibility, so I plan to look for anything that might have made him sick in his own home."

Though he shook his head in the slow, unbelieving way she was accustomed to, Saffron didn't miss the hint of a smile on his lips.

"Elizabeth can find his address in his immigration papers, I am hoping," she continued, "and as soon as I learn where he lived, I'll be able to find what may have been damaging his kidneys and liver. After I do that, I can tell Inspector Green that he may not have considered a chronic poisoning that couldn't be linked to Adrian." Alexander opened his mouth, no doubt to question her, and she raised a staying hand. "I plan on insisting very firmly that he take a look at other possibilities without revealing that I've been doing any sort of poking around."

"This is assuming we find anything in Petrov's home."

"We?"

His eyebrow quirked. "This is for Adrian's benefit. How could I let you go alone?"

She buried her pleasure at his words, giving him a severely doubtful look instead. "Considering the last time you helped me break in somewhere I was nearly caught and ruined a pair of stockings by hiding under a desk, I'm not sure I want your help."

To her surprise, he took a step closer, forcing her chin to tilt up to keep meeting his eyes. "Have no fear. I've been practicing my technique."

Her throat suddenly quite dry, she merely nodded.

They continued down the street, and when they'd boarded the bus to return to campus, Alexander asked, "What was your inspiration for this new plan of attack?"

Saffron's grip flexed on her handbag, in which sat the file of her father's papers. With a tight smile, she said, "I was merely reminded of how much can be hidden within someone's home. Important clues could be easily missed, if someone doesn't know what to look for."