A Botanist's Guide to Parties and Poisons (Saffron Everleigh Mystery #1)(11)
Saffron had a creeping feeling of discomfort. Everyone knew that xolotl was brought here and championed by Dr. Maxwell. From what she’d heard of it from others, they seemed to think it was wildly dangerous. And Mrs. Henry had dropped to the floor nearly the moment the champagne had touched her lips. Dr. Maxwell had been very nervous this morning …
No, Maxwell couldn’t have anything to do with the poisoning. What would he have against Mrs. Henry? Lurking within that question was a truth she didn’t want to acknowledge, making her heart pound as it formed in her mind. Dr. Henry could have been the target, and Dr. Maxwell certainly had something against him.
“Miss Everleigh.”
The voice made her jump, and its tone suggested this was not the first time her name had been spoken. She looked up into the dark eyes of Mr. Ashton, who was eying her curiously. His jacket was slung over his arm, the other holding a stack of books. His close-fitting charcoal-gray waistcoat and subdued blue tie were still perfectly tidy, though his white shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows.
“Do you have a moment to discuss Dr. Maxwell’s samples?” When she gave him a blank look, he added, “For the expedition.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, nodding absently. She shuffled her papers together and tucked them under her notebook in an attempt to straighten out her thoughts along with them. Clearing her throat, she asked, “What exactly did you need to know?”
“I heard from my department head this morning that Ericson has dropped out of the trip. His wife apparently took issue with him being absent when their child is to be born,” he said with a small smile. “So I was asked to replace him.”
A hint of envy threatened to dampen Saffron’s smile, but she said brightly, “Congratulations! How very exciting!”
“Thank you. I’ve been combing through Ericson’s papers and saw I have only a vague outline of Dr. Maxwell’s experimental design and a specimen list that looks only partially complete.” He set down a stack of books and put his jacket over the back of a chair, then withdrew a paper that he handed her. A large scar ran the length of his right arm, which had been obscured by his jacket. His tanned skin brought the scar into sharp relief. A few flecks of white marked his hand and his wrist, and beyond was a maze of mottled and puckered skin in shades of white, pink, and tan. Saffron wondered at him rolling his sleeves up in public. Most would attempt to hide such a flaw.
Hoping he didn’t notice her staring, Saffron quickly dropped her gaze to the paper. It was indeed a half-completed specimen list in Dr. Maxwell’s scrawling handwriting. Irritation clipping her words, she said, “Dr. Maxwell has been rather dragging his feet about completing his design.”
Mr. Ashton’s dark brows shot upward. “We leave in two weeks. The project designs were due a week ago.”
She knew the deadlines all too well. They were the source of some of the only disagreements she and Maxwell had ever had in nearly five years of mentorship. Her heart ached a little to think of how he’d told her she couldn’t understand the pressure he was under, the stakes. Why he simply hadn’t asked for her help, she didn’t know. Withholding a sigh, Saffron said, “I understand, Mr. Ashton. Let’s start with the specimen list.”
* * *
They worked until the light faded from the tall arched windows. The green banker lamps atop the tables were soon the only sources of light. Silence, usually broken by the shuffle of pages turning and the murmur of voices, lay thick and heavy around them. When a librarian pushing a rattling cart of books cleared his throat pointedly at them, Alexander looked about, then glanced at his wristwatch. Six o’clock. How had two hours already passed?
“I didn’t realize the time,” he said, frowning at the windows showing gloomy, dark skies. Thunder rumbled faintly beyond. His nerves pricked at the sound, but he ignored them.
“And we’re not even halfway through,” Miss Everleigh said, though she didn’t appear put out by the long list of specimens they hadn’t yet covered.
Indeed, she hadn’t objected to the slow and thorough way Alexander required his research to be put together, though it was clear from the haphazard notes in her notebook and her frequent jumps between texts that she wasn’t used to a more disciplined approach. It made Alexander cringe internally, but she was eager to help and certainly knew the list well, barely needing to reference any of the guides that were stacked on the table between them.
Alexander stood. He needed to get moving before the storm brewing outside set in. He could never trust himself entirely when thunder and lightning were involved. He unrolled his shirtsleeves, forcing himself to do it at a normal pace. Miss Everleigh had stared, as everyone always did the first time they saw his scarred arm, but that was no reason to rush and make it obvious that it bothered him. He didn’t do up his cufflinks—he didn’t care to struggle with them in front of her—and pulled on his jacket.
Miss Everleigh stood and gathered her things, and arms loaded with books, gave him a pretty smile. He felt his lips lifting to return it, and let himself smile back.
They set off through the stacks, their footsteps loud in the hushed space. He preferred the library when it was quiet like this. The hush was familiar and soothing.
They turned through another arch to the gently curving atrium lined with light blue silk paper and adorned with classical reliefs. The Flaxman Gallery had only just reopened after a lengthy redecoration, and now the small, octagonal space shone with refreshed beauty. Even for someone who cared little for art, there was nothing to compare to the bright light of a clear morning illuminating the gallery and making the ivory casts along the walls glow. Now the domed room was faintly blue and dim but for small electric lights casting a yellow glare on the reliefs from below. The dramatic statue in the middle of the room, St. Michael bearing down on an ophidian Satan, stood frozen in shadow as they passed.