A Botanist's Guide to Parties and Poisons (Saffron Everleigh Mystery #1)(4)

Luckily, Snyder had little else to say to her the rest of the meal. Irritation and confusion dampened her appetite, and Saffron spent the rest of the meal wondering if she’d regret venturing out of her little corner of university life.



* * *



At dinner’s end, Saffron stood carefully to ensure that none of the embellishments on her borrowed dress were caught on the chair, and followed the ladies to the drawing room. Electric lights glowed around the rose-red room, and a large fire had been constructed in the monolithic hearth to take the edge off the spring evening. Saffron chose a seat near the fire, not anticipating participating in the kind of conversation the other women were likely to share. Her grandmother had ruled such gatherings, always with a subtle but sharp barb ready to remind her that, given Saffron’s interests, her conversation was not welcome. Considering she was among ladies of similar class now, she wasn’t likely to be a great conversational partner. It had been years since she’d kept up with London gossip. She’d been far too willing to leave it behind when she’d began working in earnest toward her goal of becoming a botanist.

To her surprise, the hostess, Lady Agatha, brought her a cup of coffee. Her peach dress fluttered as she settled next to her. “My dear, I’m told you are Thomas Everleigh’s daughter. How wonderful to meet you.” She looked exactly like her grandmother’s compatriots: women of taste and means who had preserved their beauty to the best of their ability, but in the end looked like wilted flowers in silk and pearls. “Your father used to join us quite often when he was a professor, you know. What a charming man.”

“Oh, how nice,” Saffron replied with a noncommittal smile. Though she heard such comments often enough, it was usually from fellow scholars who were familiar with his work. She doubted Lady Agatha knew much about plant pathology.

“And such a gentleman! A great pity that we lost him well before his time. Dr. Everleigh put his colleagues to shame, those that were not brought up quite the same.” Lady Agatha gave Saffron a meaningful look. “I cannot imagine what it’s come to, when the halls of a prestigious institution such as University College are open to just anyone.”

To have her father’s death commented on so casually, to hear her father’s memory used to put others down, made Saffron’s insides roil. With saccharine sweetness, Saffron asked, “You mean those not brought up to have the same appreciation of academia?”

Lady Agatha’s frown was brief, covered by a brittle smile. “Of course, my dear.”

The hostess made a few more polite comments before joining a cluster of ladies on the other side of the room. Saffron watched her go with satisfaction.

Though he’d been raised in the upper class, thanks to her grandparents, Thomas Everleigh had all but rejected his status as heir to a viscountcy and taken up botany. His parents had indulged his studies, never thinking that he would make science into a profession. A life among the peerage hadn’t appealed to her father in the slightest, and that view had rubbed off on Saffron. She had been raised with a dual future in mind: her grandparents’ vision of a good marriage, and her parents’ hope that she would find her own way. So far, her way looked much like her father’s. She’d given up a lot to reach her goal, including the financial support of her grandparents, but she was reminded now of why she’d been so willing to turn her back on high society.

The woman who’d paid such attention to Dr. Henry during dinner sunk onto the couch next to Saffron. Black silk lavished with gold beading was held up by scant straps at her shoulders and gathered at her hips in a draping knot, mirroring the gold headband circling the crown of her meticulous russet waves. She was far more adorned than any of the other women and, despite heavily kohl around her hazel eyes and dark lipstick, was very young now that Saffron saw her up close. Her long red nails were wrapped about a cup of black coffee, and she wore an expression of practiced ennui. “Well, this is rather dull.”

Saffron waited for an introduction or some hint as to why this woman had chosen her to complain to, but none was forthcoming. Saffron took a sip of her coffee and tried to be objective in her reply. “Yes, I suppose it is. I never saw the point in sending the men and women off separate ways after dinner. It’s not as though we digest differently.”

The woman gave her a curious look. “No, I don’t think that is the issue …” She set her untouched coffee on a table next to the couch and withdrew a cigarette and a lighter from within the recesses of her matching gold handbag. Her dark lipstick coated the end of the cigarette as she lit it. “Daddy was absolutely gutted that he couldn’t come, considering this dinner was meant to celebrate his contribution,” the woman drawled, “so he sent me to tend to his friends.”

That enigmatic statement wasn’t followed by further explanation. Saffron still had no idea who this woman was, though she was clearly wealthy if her father had contributed enough to warrant a dinner being thrown in his honor. Had Saffron not been included in the invitation so last minute, she might have known who she, and her father, were.

“What did Lady Agatha have to say? She’s a bit of a busybody.” Fingering her string of jet beads, the woman asked innocently, “Anything good?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Saffron said, wishing the half hour or so requisite time was up.

“Too bad. I hear even in small ponds like a university there can be interesting things going on.” She blew out a puff of smoke and looked meaningfully at Saffron. “You know, who does what and with whom.”