Saffron thought again of Miss Ermine and her fawning over Dr. Henry. She could guess what he meant. She sighed, continuing on down the sidewalk. “I’m afraid I’m as confused as ever.”
“The police will sort it out, no doubt. Once they figure out what poison it was, Dr. Maxwell will hopefully be in the clear.”
It was still early when they reached her building, though their walk was quite a long one. Saffron invited Alexander up to continue their conversation about the function of color variegation. Or at least, that was the reason she gave. She wasn’t going to waste a moment of Alexander Ashton being talkative and perhaps even a little flirtatious.
Saffron stepped in first to see if Elizabeth was home, and she wasn’t. She flicked the radiator and the lamps on in the sitting room, checking for any stray embarrassing articles, and invited Alexander in.
They sat in the sitting room for a while, Saffron chattering about the various examples of variegation and whether they were of benefit to the plants. Alexander’s theories became more and more outlandish, concluding that the cause for the darker green lines on the swordlike sansevieria plant in the corner of the sitting room was because there was a draft in the room and it was alternating too hot and too cold. Laughing, Saffron went to get a reference book with more information on the sansevieria, which was more of an excuse to powder her nose.
When she returned, she found Alexander examining the photographs on the mantle. Perched in a small silver frame was a photograph of Saffron and her parents. In the photograph, Saffron had been fifteen, a gangly girl with big eyes. Her mother had a smile very similar to Saffron’s, though in the black and white photograph it wasn’t clear that Saffron shared her coloring with her father. Thomas Everleigh stood proudly with his family, bright eyes framed by glasses and his graying brown hair smoothed back.
Next to Saffron’s family portrait was Elizabeth’s family, a group of light-haired, tall people. The Hale family all looked as strong and robust as their name suggested, like they’d spent their days hiking through the hills and fields of Bedford, where Elizabeth and Saffron grew up. Elizabeth sat in the middle of her mother and father, and two older brothers stood behind, both wearing uniforms. The oldest looked steadily into the camera. The younger brother glowed with pride. The familiar pang of heartache touched Saffron when she looked into Wesley’s eyes.
“Elizabeth’s family?” Alexander asked.
“Yes. This was just before her brothers were sent out.” Saffron indicated the older brother. “Nicholas is still in the military, off doing something important, Elizabeth says. But Wesley died at Flanders.”
Alexander’s eyes lingered on the brothers for a long moment, a strange expression on his face. “You and Elizabeth grew up together?”
She nodded and turned to the couch, where she sat with the book in her lap.
“You must have known her brothers quite well,” Alexander said, sitting down next to her.
“Yes, our families spent a lot of time together,” Saffron replied. “Wesley was just two years older than Elizabeth and me. Usually he was chasing me around or throwing things at me. Just before he left, we became quite close.”
“It must have been a shock to hear of his passing.”
“It was soon after my father died. It was a hard year.” Saffron busied herself with the book in her lap. Pages slipped past without her taking them in; she was too focused on the sting of grief and the contrasting guilt and appreciation of Alexander’s warmth at her side.
They sat together in silence for some time. Saffron continued thumbing through the pages. “I was home for the Easter holiday when we heard. My father was stationed at Ypres. He was among the first attacked with mustard gas.”
Glancing up, she saw Alexander’s eyes had widened in understanding. He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. It was quick, at least.” She remembered the strangeness of that sentiment, so often repeated, that it was better her father had died right away rather than linger with some of the horrifying effects that only became apparent months later. Her eyes seemed to drift to Alexander’s scarred arm of their own accord. “Where were you stationed?”
“In France, Fromelles.”
She nodded. She didn’t know what to say. Coming of age during the Great War and immediately after, the false hope and positivity that came with the end of the War left a bitter taste in her mouth. There was nothing hopeful about her father being gone or her first love dying.
Alexander reached for the book. “We don’t have to talk about it. It was all anyone talked about for years. It’s probably time to find something else to discuss.” He turned to a random page. “For example, this terrifying creation.” He pointed to a floweringDracula simia, whose jeering face peeked out ominously from within its pointed petals.
The click of the lock and the squeak of the door, followed by a long-suffering sigh, announced Elizabeth’s arrival. Her voice carried through the flat, complaining that the lord requested her to work on Saturday to prepare for a special event. She turned into the sitting room and stopped with a delighted smile when she noticed Saffron sitting with Alexander on the couch, obviously not spotting the open book in their laps.
In a dramatic swirl of magenta and with a brief, “Oh, beg pardon!” Elizabeth noisily retreated to the kitchen.
“You’ll have to excuse me a moment,” Saffron told Alexander with a grimace.
In the kitchen, Saffron found Elizabeth fighting a smile as she filled the kettle.
“Saff, you bad girl, you haven’t offered your guest a refreshment! You must have been distracted by something to so neglect your hostess duties,” she scolded.
“I know what you’re thinking, Elizabeth,” Saffron said in a dignified voice, “but you’re entirely wrong.”
“I’m wrong to think that you’ve made up with your biologist and you were in here studying … biology?” Elizabeth didn’t try to hide her grin.
“Eliza!” Saffron couldn’t help but smile too. “All right—you are very nearly correct. You did rather interrupt, though.” Saffron was actually glad of her interruption. It didn’t feel right to be so happy sitting on the couch with Alexander after discussing her father and Wesley. It had gotten easier, but that guilt was never far from her mind, even after five years.
“Shall I recall a sudden appointment?” Elizabeth offered.
