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.
Miss Everleigh paused at the edge of the portico. Past the classical columns, the white steps were darkened with fat drops of rain. A gust of wind caught leaves and discarded papers,scattering them across the Quadrangle’s large oval of pavement. The breeze was heavy with the scent of rain. The back of Alexander’s neck tingled unpleasantly.
They’d barely managed a step toward the stairs when a flash of lightning seared the sky, followed by an enormous crash of thunder that shook the ground beneath their feet. The sound froze the air in Alexander’s lungs, but his vision didn’t dim, nor did his heart stutter. He forced his fingers to loosen around the books in his hands.
In the moment it had taken him to breathe deeply and collect himself, the electric lights of the Wilkins Building and the others surrounding the Quad had gone out. The sky opened up and a torrent of rain began.
Moisture dusted his face as the rain fell heavily beyond the cover of the portico. He stepped back from the edge of the stairs and back toward the door.
Rather than shy away from the sheets of rain and rolls of thunder, Miss Everleigh’s face was upturned, her eyes closed, a soft smile on her lips. With the meager light of the twin gas lanterns at the doors to the gallery, her fair skin almost glowed.
She breathed deeply. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
Alexander couldn’t help but arch a brow at that. More often than not, rain took him back to a dark, muddy trench.
She peered at him, smile lingering as she added, “You know, fresh rain, wet grass, flowers, the scent of Earth’s renewal?”
Alexander forced a light tone. “I can’t say I’ve ever noticed.”
Miss Everleigh’s blue eyes opened wide, and she took another step back under the ledge, toward him, saving her books from further damage. With incredulity in her voice, she said, “But it’s one of the best things about spring! It keeps me awake at night!”
He blinked, entirely unsure how to respond to such a comment.
Miss Everleigh blushed deeply, but she continued on in a less whimsical voice, saying, “You know, spring insomnia. My father had it too, every spring. He said he’d lie awake for hours every April and May, with the windows open, just enjoying the scent of rain and earth and listening to the insects and frogs.”
Mention of Miss Everleigh’s father brought memories floating back through Alexander’s mind of another Everleigh, a professor he’d had before the war. It was vague, perhaps dimmed by all he’d faced in the years between, but he was quite sure it was the same man. “I had a professor called Everleigh when I first began my studies. He taught an introductory course to botany, I believe. A relation of yours?”
A surprised smile lit up her face. “Yes, that must have been my father. He was a professor here for a short time.”
“He must be very proud of you.” Lord knew, his own father would have been proud had he stuck to the plan and become a solicitor too.
Her bright smile faltered, and she said quickly, “How did you come into the field of biology? I believe you escaped the question at the party the other night.”
Alexander turned to the invisible rain. He’d rather not speak about why he’d chosen biology over law, but she’d been so artlessly open about her love of spring and rain, he felt an earnest reply was owed. “When I entered university, I planned to study the law,” he began. “I wasn’t convinced, but my father was determined so I went along with it. Then the war …” His words, never abundant to begin with, dried up. What was there to say about it that wouldn’t weigh down the humid air between them? “It was no worse for me than anyone else. I … was lucky. But I came back, as many did, done with war, death, and loss. When I returned to the university, I took one look into a microscope and was hooked. Biology is the study of life, after all.”He risked a glance at her, surprised at how much he hoped she wasn’t looking at him with pity.
Her large blue eyes were full of pain rather than unwanted compassion. “My father left his position here to fight. He died,” she said quietly. “I’ve always wanted to follow in his footsteps. I want to make him proud, doing what he loved.”
Alexander couldn’t think of anything to say in response to so starkly stated a sentiment.
Flashes of lightning illuminated the sky and the grounds, silhouetting the trees in the Quad. Rain and wind slashed through the darkness. They might have gone back into the foyer or the gallery to wait it out, but Miss Everleigh didn’t seem to have any inclination to return inside, and Alexander realized he didn’t either. Usually, he’d be holed up in his flat or his office, pointedly ignoring the flashes of light and cracks of thunder, but he found he could take it all in without his anxiety roaring to life. Miss Everleigh had very effectively distracted him. The storm was secondary to their strangely intimate conversation.
Before long, the electric lights of the buildings around the Quad buzzed back to life.
“Ah! I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Ashton,” Miss Everleigh said, turning back to the door.
Her easy return to the formality of the past few hours made him feel like his necktie was too tight. “Alexander.” He opened the door for her, his eyes on the hallway beyond. “Please, call me Alexander.”
CHAPTER 5
The raucous storm the previous evening had cleared the way for brilliant blue skies, and the day promised to be pleasant. Saffron had dressed accordingly in a copen blue blouse and matching skirt. Saffron made her way down the narrow hall of the Chelsea flat she shared with Elizabeth.
At the doorway of the kitchen, Saffron looked with affection at the woman sipping coffee at their little kitchen table in a dramatic dressing gown of crimson, a pleasant breakfast laid out before her. She and Elizabeth had always been the best of friends, growing up together in the heart of Bedford as neighbors. Saffron had thought that they would spend their lives together, entwined by youthful hopes of a match with Wesley, Elizabeth’s brother.
Along with robbing the Hale family, and Saffron, of Wesley, the war had decimated the Hale family’s fortunes. When Elizabeth had been expected to do her part to refill their coffers with a convenient marriage to a ghastly old man, she had escaped to London with Saffron.
At first, it was a grand adventure, exploring the city together when Saffron wasn’t busy with lessons. Saffron’s grandparents soon realized that her commitment to her studies was just as serious as their son’s had been, and they cut her off. Even with the meager funds Saffron’s mother managed to give to Saffron, sheand Elizabeth found themselves suddenly and desperately short on money. In addition to finding employment, Elizabeth had taken to domestic responsibility with more than just the enthusiasm stoked by the need to prove to their families they didn’t need their support. She seemed to have a real talent for cooking and household organization. She had made it possible for Saffron to complete her degree without having to find employment that would distract her from her studies, and had staunchly supported her friend at every turn.
