Sir Edward got to his feet and called for someone to summon a doctor, his voice hoarse.
By that point the entire room was aware of something having gone wrong. There were many doctors present, but only one medical doctor came forward to offer aid. Saffron was shouldered out of the way, waking her out of her shock with a jolt.
The doctor murmured, seemingly to himself, as he checked over Mrs. Henry. After a moment, he looked around for Dr. Henry. “Is your wife allergic to anything?”
Dr. Henry gazed down blankly at his wife, not responding to the doctor.
The doctor ordered an ambulance be called, and Saffron looked around to see who was moving to summon it. Lady Agatha was being helped into an armchair by Mr. Snyder. Dr. Berking was standing off to the side, speaking to a few other guests, with his eyes rapt on the action.
Sir Edward stood stiffly next to Dr. Henry, his eyes darting to the doctor and the door. Dr. Henry blinked dazedly, then swore. He began to pace, running his hands through his hair again and again, and asking for a drink despite several bottles being within his reach. Mr. Snyder finally slapped him smartly, which seemed to help.
Saffron and the other guests were soon ushered into another parlor. Saffron’s hands hadn’t stopped trembling. She wished she could do something useful. Anything was better than standing in the midst of all these people droning on in hushed voices, expressing the usual sentiments of well wishes for the ill woman, amid speculation. The general consensus, spread by those who were close enough to hear the doctor, was a sudden and severe food allergy. Saffron looked about for Dr. Maxwell but couldn’t find him.
Before long, Sir Edward announced that Mrs. Henry had been attended to. The crowd seemed relieved, but Saffron didn’t feel it. The guests quickly disassembled, wanting to forget the unpleasant ending to an otherwise pleasant evening.
CHAPTER 3
As Saffron arrived at the university Monday morning, she wondered for the hundredth time what had become of Mrs. Henry. She’d spent the weekend recounting the story for her flatmate, Elizabeth, and trying not to consider just how ghastly the whole affair had been. A fair few of the inhabitants of the North Wing had attended the party, and no doubt information and rumors would be circulating in equal measure.
The long stretch of campus buildings stood tall against the cloudy sky. The north and south halls bracketing the dominating Wilkins Building formed the Quad, where, in addition to the greenhouses a street away, Saffron’s entire world had been contained during her time as a student. The simple gray facades of the buildings had once been imposing, unfriendly to her eyes—a reminder of all she had to live up to as Thomas Everleigh’s daughter. But now the campus of University College London felt familiar, comfortable. She did belong there, which she proved by being hired by the botany department as a research assistant. Soon she would make herself a more permanent fixture at the university.
Saffron entered the North Wing through the unadorned black door off the Quad and walked up the stairs to the second floor. Murky sunlight came through the windows, not quite illuminating all the corners of the clean and quiet hall. She paused outside the door to Dr. Maxwell’s office. The glazed glass panel was dark. The professor wasn’t yet inside, not surprising considering it was barely eight o’clock. Saffron sighed. She really did need her own key to his office, as this was not the first time she had been locked out.
Rocking on her heels, Saffron looked up and down the empty hallway. Maybe she could see if Mr. Ashton had arrived yet, to get a head start on whatever work she needed to do to help him prepare for Maxwell’s study.
Her low heels clicked on the polished white and black tile, the sound especially sharp in the quiet building. Mr. Ashton was on this floor, as he’d said, but she didn’t know which office was his. Conveniently, she turned the corner to find the man in question balancing a stack of books with one arm and attempting to unlock his office door with the other.
“Here, let me,” Saffron said, moving to open the door for him.
Mr. Ashton shifted his grip on the books. “Thank you.” He stepped back from the doorway to allow her to open the door. “I didn’t think anyone else would be here this early.”
He left the door open as he crossed to the desk and carefully deposited the stack of books on top, straightening the spines precisely.
“I usually come in early,” Saffron said, leaving it unspoken that it was to ensure she didn’t stay at the university late any more. She didn’t want to be alone in the building when certain lecherous department heads might linger.