Chapter 6

She'd made it only two steps into the North Wing before Saffron was accosted by someone calling her name.

Despite her worry, a smile tugged at her lips to see the man hurrying forward. Mr. Ferrand was a sweet man, quite the opposite of Dr. Aster, to whom he was secretary. "Monsieur Ferrand, bonjour."

She accepted his hand, and he squeezed it briefly. "Bonjour, ma charmante amie. Pardonne-moi, but Dr. Aster wished me to find you as soon as you set foot on campus."

Saffron swallowed her misgivings and attempted to reply adequately. Since learning she would be going to his homeland a few weeks ago, Ferrand had insisted on speaking to her in French. She'd responded in kind though her command of the language was middling at best, her accent worse, even after three weeks of speaking French nonstop. He was gracious enough not to cringe as she said, "Montrez le chemin."

She followed him up the stairs, dodging clumps of students. As they reached the third floor, an idea struck her. "Monsieur Ferrand," Saffron said, "have you heard anything about my samples from the Amazonian expedition? Perhaps Mr. Winters—"

"Ah!" Ferrand opened the door to his office and swept an arm for her to enter. "I believe you must speak to Mr. Ashton."

Saffron blinked. "Alexander Ashton? From Biology?"

Ferrand merely winked in reply. Nonplussed, Saffron allowed him to shuffle her across the office and to the double doors that led to Dr. Aster's inner sanctum.

After the busy halls, Aster's office resembled a tomb, silent and gloomy. The only light came from the green banker's lamp, which illuminated only the top of Aster's highly polished desk, on which a pair of pale, age-spotted hands were folded.

"Miss Everleigh," came Aster's sharp voice from the darkness above those hands.

Saffron couldn't help it—she shivered. It was downright spooky in there. It didn't help that the windows were covered by thick draperies.

Ferrand tutted softly as he pulled them open. Saffron winced at the cool light. Ferrand gently took her test-tube rack with her cuttings out of her hand. She'd rather forgotten she'd been carrying it.

Aster sat at his desk on the opposite side of the room, a sour expression pinching his wrinkled face. He was an old man, but not the jolly old sort like Dr. Maxwell. There was no softness to him, from his precisely parted white hair to his gray eyes glimmering like melting snow over metal.

He nodded, and she sat in the chair before him.

"I trust the rest of your travels were sufficient," he said without preamble.

Her fingers linked together in her lap. The reason she'd extended her stay on the Continent had been among the worst experiences of her life—and she'd recently been held at gunpoint, poisoned, and abducted. Traveling to Ypres and Flanders had been a mistake but one she would never admit to Aster. "Yes, sir. I appreciate greatly your flexibility."

"Have you changed your mind about the case study paper?"

"No, sir."

He didn't miss a beat. "I see." Curiously, Saffron was sure that this was what Aster had been expecting. "What are your plans for ensuring your position within the department and your spot in the master's program?"

This was the question for which she'd rehearsed her answer, and so she said what she'd been planning, even if it stuck a bit in her throat considering what she'd just discovered in the greenhouses. "My initial analysis for the pigmentation study is on track to meet your first deadline. I will be more than capable of carrying out the study when classes for second term begin in January."

She held her breath as Aster watched her. Determination warred with fear. She was more than capable of carrying out a study while earning her master's degree. But should Aster not be willing to keep her on as a researcher, should she be sacked, finding another position after being dismissed from a university …

"Very well," he said.

Saffron didn't allow her shoulders to droop in relief. "Thank you, Dr. Aster."

Ferrand was not at his desk when she retrieved her cuttings, but she didn't slow to feel relieved that Aster gave her a reprieve. She had plants to find.

She directed brief, polite nods to the other staff members in the hall, who either nodded back or ignored her. News of her choice to keep her name off the paper would be known by the end of the day, and she had no doubt any acknowledgment would further dwindle. No one in the department, or likely the entire scientific community, would understand her reluctance to participate in government research. Even if their fathers, brothers, sons, and friends had been killed in the same manner her father had, at the hands of new and violent technology, she doubted any of them would be willing to put aside a potentially enriching opportunity out of principle. None of them was likely that idealistic—or that stupid.

She'd just started down the stairs to the ground level, lost in thought about where exactly one might stash her specimens, when a hand landed on her elbow. "Saffron."

Her hands fumbled, sending her test-tube rack flying. "No!"

She dove for it, but it was unnecessary. Alexander caught the rack easily, handing it back to her. She swallowed, hugging her cuttings close. "Thank you."

"Sorry," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I've been calling your name."

Heat rose in her cheeks. "I was lost in thought. My Brazilian samples have gone missing—"

"I have them."

Her mouth fell open. "You took my samples?"

"They're in my office."

She didn't bother asking why, she wanted to see her plants.

She followed Alexander to the second floor and around the corner to his office. It was so clean and sparsely furnished as to be sterile, but near his window stood an unfamiliar cart.

A trio of massive glass jars sat overturned on the cart. Next to them stood a lamp, shining directly on them. Condensation obscured what she hoped was beneath. She held her breath as Alexander moved aside the lamp and lifted the first jar.

Twelve tiny pots stood in two concentric circles. Bending, her face inches away from the dark soil, Saffron's heart swelled. Tiny green specks were just visible through the dirt. The Strychnos toxifera seeds she'd planted just before departing—the only plant that hadn't survived the journey from Brazil, and the only sample she was growing from seed—were alive and well.

She reached for the next jar. Alexander obliged her, lifting the other jars in turn so she could examine each plant. She counted her samples, mentally ticking off each specimen. Brugmansia sanguinea, now a thick stalk with a fringe of leaves, would someday grow into a tree with massive, trumpet-shaped flowers. The vines of her Chondrodendron tomentosum cutting were already budding with new leaves.

They were all there, all accounted for and apparently thriving in this rather unorthodox setup.

Unexpectedly, a lump formed in her throat. It was silly, perhaps, to care so much about a collection of plants that could kill someone so easily, but she did. She was so very glad to find them alive and well and not sitting at the back of some classroom rotting away. They couldn't help being dangerous, after all. The tropical pigmentation study was the only forthcoming project she had, and thus far the only thing keeping her from losing her position at the U.

"All's well?" asked Alexander from behind her.

She turned to the man who had apparently saved her plants and her study. "Not that I mind you brought them in here—you've done a wonderful job tending them—but why?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, a hip leaning against his desk. "I thought they had a better chance of survival if they were not in the greenhouses."

"You doubt Mr. Winters's ability to tend to them? Or you were concerned for your reputation if the samples you retrieved did not bear fruit?" Her questions were meant to come out teasing, but she couldn't conceal the growing certainty that she really didn't want to know why Alexander had taken her plants from the greenhouse.

"I overheard some people talking about how it would be rather amusing should some of your specimens be found to be ineligible for your study."

Any buoyancy she'd felt at finding her plants faded at this confirmation, her mood returning to the same low levels as when she'd left Aster's office. "I appreciate you rescuing them, then."

"I was happy to," he said, his gaze not leaving hers.

No doubt Alexander knew that saving her specimens was the surest way to her heart. She'd nearly melted in a puddle on the greenhouse floor when he'd shown her the collection when he returned in October, and he would remember that. She'd not be so easily swayed to forgiveness, even if the instinct to throw herself into his arms in gratitude was strong.

She turned back to the makeshift terrariums. "I'm going to help your brother, you know. That was never in question, even if every last one of my specimens died. I just wish this entire thing didn't feel like an act to secure my cooperation." She risked a look behind her to see his reaction.

Alexander's dark eyes flashed. He stepped into her space, making her lift her chin. "Nothing," he said with quiet intensity, "about this is an act, Saffron."

His palm met her cheek, his fingers brushing her neck. Then he was leaning down, bringing his face to hers …

She leaped away from him half a second before the office door swung open. "Mr. Ashton—" Mr. Ferrand paused with his head just inside the door, his open mouth snapping shut as he took in Saffron and Alexander standing close together. "Ouf! My apologies, my apologies." He made to duck out.

Face burning, Saffron called to him. "Wait, Monsieur Ferrand."

He opened the door just wide enough for his shoulders and smiled broadly. "I see you have already found each other. Quelle chance, eh?"

"Very good luck," Saffron said, giving him an exasperated look. "You might have mentioned Mr. Ashton had my specimens. I was quite concerned."

"I can see that now, mon amie, and I apologize once more." He winked at her. "Good day, adieu."

Saffron huffed when he closed the door. The sooner she left this office the better. She had loads to do, the first of which would be figuring out the finer points of the miniature terrariums. She nudged the cart experimentally and found it was heavy but not impossible.

"I can move them to your office for you," Alexander offered. "I would suggest keeping them in your office until you can have a word with Mr. Winters."

That was advice she would certainly be taking. "I can manage it myself. Thank you for all you've done." She looked up and saw he wore a strange expression. "I'll go to Inspector Green at lunch and see what I can do for your brother."

"It isn't that." He shot her a sheepish smile. "I'll miss those plants. We've become rather good friends."

It was infuriating that he'd decided to be so utterly charming. Why couldn't he have been like this when he came back from Brazil, rather than behaving like a disgruntled badger?

She gave him a tight smile. "I suppose you are welcome to visit them at your leisure."

"I'll do that."

It was inelegant work, navigating the cart with the jars and lamp to her office, and she had no doubt it made for an interesting spectacle for the students. But once she and her samples were safely ensconced in her office, among her books and cuttings and files, she felt as if all was right in the world, though she knew quite well it was not.

Catching up on her work was slow but not as intimidating as she'd feared. Budgets for second term were due soon, and the following week would bring the college faculty meeting where she would be expected to present a brief report on her current project. She'd have to prepare a statement that promised progress while striking the perfect balance of confidence and humility, knowledgeability and openness to learning. All while making sure her appearance did not detract from her presentation by being too eye-catching or too dowdy.

She turned to her Strychnos toxifera seedlings, which she'd placed directly on her desk beneath the articulating lamp. "It is wildly unfair, isn't it?"

When her stomach began to growl, she pulled out the sandwich Elizabeth had left for her and ate it while she reviewed what she knew of Adrian Ashton's situation.

Alexander hadn't told her much. Adrian had shared a train compartment with a man who was a horticulturalist who'd appeared unwell before he died, supposedly of some sort of poisoning. She knew less about Adrian himself, just that he was older than Alexander and was also a veteran of the Great War. Alexander had suggested that his brother had also required treatment from doctors, but she didn't have a clue as to what for. Alexander had received a serious injury from a grenade, leaving him with scarring on his right arm and possibly elsewhere. He also struggled with shell shock, though Saffron knew he'd worked hard to overcome it with meditation.

When her ham and cheese sandwich was finished, Saffron donned her coat and hat and left the university. If Adrian was similarly blighted by shell shock, and the police knew about it, that could be troublesome. The prejudice against those with the mysterious affliction could be strong, and if Adrian had given them any reason to believe he was unstable, they could have leaped on him as a suspect simply because many believed those afflicted with shell shock were prone to violence.

But her task was not to prove Adrian innocent but to offer to help find who was responsible, if anyone. She hoped Alexander was right and it was simply a matter of some accident in the victim's lab, rather than secrets she had to dig up before they could sprout like seeds.