The crystal crypt, p.12
The Crystal Crypt, page 12
“Sorry Poppy, he isn’t. He went out at lunch to meet someone in the Cock, then popped back in, briefly, to tell me he’d be out for the rest of the afternoon and didn’t know when he’d be back. He did say, though, if you rang, to tell you to carry on doing what you’re doing and that he’d try to get hold of you at your hotel this evening.”
“Oh,” said Poppy, disappointed. “I was hoping he’d be in. And I’m going out this evening so won’t be at the hotel.”
“Oooooh, anywhere nice?”
“A dinner dance.”
“How lovely!”
Poppy then went on to tell Mavis about the new dress she had bought but declined to mention the accident that had nearly lost the dress before she’d had a chance to wear it. After giving Mavis a few more details about the hotel – what her room was like, the view, the social standing of her fellow guests, and so on – she turned the conversation back to the business at hand.
“So that’s all Rollo said? That he’d try to call me later and that I should carry on doing what I’m doing?”
“That’s it, I’m afraid. Oh, and he asked me to pass on a message to Ivan too.”
“Oh?”
Mavis chuckled. “The message was for Ivan, not for you, Poppy.” Ivan Molanov was the archivist at The Daily Globe. He kept files of every story covered by the newspaper in its thirty-year history. He also kept records of other newspapers. If there was any background research needed by Globe journalists, Ivan was the man to ask.
“Oh, come on, Mavis…” Poppy teased.
“All right. It’s to do with your story anyway. He asked Ivan to find anything he could on the Leighton family. Seems like they own a jewellery shop in Mayfair.”
“Really? Now that is interesting.”
“Speaking of jewellery, would you like to speak to your fiancé? He’s just walked in.”
“Oh yes, please!” said Poppy, flushing with excitement. “But first, would you mind asking Ivan to do something on my behalf too?” Poppy opened her notebook to the notes she’d taken at the newspaper office. “Can you please ask him to do a search for anything on the Sanforth Foundation or anyone connected to it? They are funding some scientific research in Oxford, but I don’t know anything else about them. Anything he can find will be appreciated. Oh, and Mavis, can you get him one of those chocolate cakes he likes from the bakery to sweeten him up? I’ll give you the money when I get back.”
Mavis chuckled as she took down Poppy’s instructions, then passed the telephone to Daniel. “Your lady awaits.”
“Thanks Mavis… Hello sweetheart, how are you?”
“Missing you,” said Poppy, and she then went on to give Daniel a sanitized precis of her adventures – excluding, of course, her accident on the bike.
“Golly,” said Daniel, “it does sound like there’s more to this than meets the eye. Anything yet that confirms Sophie’s suspicion of murder?”
“Not yet,” said Poppy. “And there may never be. But I think there’s more than enough to suggest that her death wasn’t properly investigated, and that in itself is a scandal.”
“Yes, it is. Do be careful, Poppy, won’t you?”
“Of course!” said Poppy, feeling a pang of guilt that she had failed to mention that someone might have tried to injure her earlier in the day. But best Daniel didn’t know. He’d be up to Oxford like a shot, and while it would be lovely to see him, she didn’t want him trying to stop her doing her job because he was worried about her. It had always been an issue between them. In fact, they had broken off their courtship once because of it: he, in her mind, being overprotective, and she, in his, being reckless. Since he’d returned from South Africa, he had made much more of an effort to not restrain her. But she hadn’t been involved in a potential murder investigation since he’d been back. This was quite a different kettle of fish.
Instead, she told him about the dinner dance that evening and that she was going as Dr Fuller’s partner. “Best you only dance with Dr Fuller then,” he said teasingly. “I don’t want you swept off your feet by an amorous gentleman scholar.”
Poppy laughed. “Don’t worry, amorous gentlemen scholars are not my cup of tea.”
He lowered his voice. “But amorous gentlemen photographers are?”
She lowered her voice in turn. “I can think of only one.” Poppy could almost feel his glow down the telephone line. They spoke until her money ran out and the operator called time.
“Give my love to the children. And tell Rollo to call me tomorrow morning at the hotel, not this evening.”
“Come home soon, darling,” said Daniel, and then they were cut off.
Poppy held the receiver to her ear even after the line was dead, trying to keep the connection with her fiancé for as long as possible, but a knock on the side of the booth and the realization that someone else was waiting in line shook her out of her reverie. She apologized and withdrew.
Poppy visited the tea shop next door – succumbing once more to the full cream tea – and dreamed for a while about wedding dresses. However, after her second cup, she put thoughts of her upcoming nuptials aside and turned once more to the case at hand. It was time to meet Sophie in the churchyard to bring her up to date with the investigations and to tell her about the dinner that evening where she hoped to meet Dr Bill Raines and his assistant, Miles Mackintosh. She had of course failed to tell Daniel that Gertrude Fuller had suggested she might be “just the type of woman they would be attracted to”.
She also wanted to ask Sophie what she knew about the Sanforth Foundation and its connection to the laboratory, and what the former editor’s note about them “being at it again” might mean. However, when Poppy got to St Giles’ Church, Sophie wasn’t there. She waited for half an hour, but the lab assistant didn’t show up. Poppy considered going to Sophie’s house but then realized that she didn’t have her address. And the Post Office was now closed, so she couldn’t look it up in the directory. Oh well, thought Poppy. I’ll just have to try to find her tomorrow. Now I have to get back to the hotel to get dressed.
CHAPTER 16
The maid arrived at Poppy’s hotel room with an evening dress draped over her arm. Poppy thanked her and gave her a generous tip, declining the offer of help to get dressed. Poppy had never had a ladies’ maid, nor would she. She had grown up managing to dress herself, and she would continue doing so, even though she now earned enough money to pay for the symbol of social status. But she was glad that she could ask the hotel concierge to arrange for her slightly damp dress to be cleaned.
She hung it up on a hanger and appraised it with satisfaction. What a bargain! It was a Lucien Lelong cocktail dress – one of Poppy’s favourite designers – in mauve georgette crêpe. The calf-length skirt was gathered up on one side and tied to a scarf at the hips, causing the soft fabric to hang in flattering drapes. The bodice was loose, as was the current fashion, and sleeveless, with a cape of georgette flowing down the back to the waist. It was from Lelong’s 1924 spring collection – something she knew because Delilah travelled to Paris every year to see the new designs – and was now cut-price because it was a year old. Poppy didn’t care. It was new enough for her, and it was beautiful. She caressed the fabric, allowing it to cascade through her fingers and over her engagement ring. Daniel will love it, she thought.
She had also bought a pair of burgundy shoes that were on sale, as well as a string of waist-length beads made from wood and coated in a burgundy lacquer to match her shoes. They were nowhere near as nice as the Prince of Wales’ pearls that Aunt Dot had given her for her birthday one year, but she hadn’t thought to pack the pearls for her short trip to Oxford. Her ensemble was completed by a burgundy satin hairband, to which, using a diamanté paste pin, was attached a feather. The feather was a little worse for wear after the brief dip in the Cherwell, and despite an hour in front of the coal fire and attempts to comb it through, it still looked limp and crestfallen. Poppy decided to remove it. Besides, she was beginning to wonder if a formal dinner dance at a medieval college was quite the place to sport a feather in one’s hair. Was it even the place to sport a Lucien Lelong cocktail dress? She wasn’t sure, but it was too late now.
After a gloriously hot bath, she tamed her short crop of damp curls with Brillantine then applied her make-up. Again, thoughts of the potentially austere nature of the event moderated her application; this was not going to be a night at Oscar’s Jazz Club with Delilah. She then pulled on a clean pair of silk stockings, attached them to a pair of garters on the thighs, and slipped into her dress. It fell over her gently curved figure like a waterfall. She appraised herself in the mirror: elegant and sophisticated. It was hard to believe this was the same young woman who got off the train from Northumberland five years ago wearing a smart but dull twin set that she’d bought at a church jumble sale.
She wished she’d quizzed Dr Fuller more regarding what to expect this evening. She had never been to a function at a university, but she had been to receptions at diplomatic embassies and various government dos. This outfit would fit in well there. She tried on the hairband and immediately decided against it: jazzy, far too jazzy. The burgundy beads, though, were a must. The ensemble didn’t hang together properly without them. And if the dons and their guests at Balliol thought them too flighty, then so be it. Besides, the plan for this evening was to attract some attention – specifically from Dr Bill Raines and his graduate student, Miles Mackintosh. What was it Gertrude Fuller had said? “… you appear to be just the type of woman that men like Mackintosh and Raines would find alluring.”
Yes, she was deliberately setting herself up as bait. Poppy felt a bit sick thinking about it, but if she were honest with herself, it wasn’t the first time she’d done it. It was just the first time that she’d done it so overtly. Poppy was not falsely modest. She knew she was attractive. Not drop-dead gorgeous like Delilah, but she was aware that she was considered very pretty and could not ignore the fact that heads often turned when she walked into a room. It was something that she found annoying, realizing that people judged her on her looks and assumed she was just a bit of pretty blonde fluff. However, over the years in her work, she had discovered that that could be used to her advantage. Men, particularly, could be put off guard, assuming she was just Rollo Rolandson’s pretty little assistant without much going on between the ears. Nonetheless, she would sometimes play the dumb blonde, using people’s prejudice against them, while behind the guileless disguise her sharp mind would be gathering evidence and information. This was what she intended to do tonight, although she wondered how successful her ploy would be. She was concerned about what WPC Rosie Winter had told her: that her reputation had preceded her. How had she achieved the status of “renowned reporter sleuth”? She really hadn’t been aware that she had. But, after Rosie’s admission today that the policewoman admired her and wanted to meet her, Poppy realized that her investigations in Oxford – and perhaps elsewhere where her name had become known – might be hampered.
Goodness, she thought. Have I really become infamous? Delilah and Aunt Dot would be tickled pink by the idea, but Poppy wasn’t so pleased. She wondered how she might proceed – professionally – in future. Might she have to start adopting disguises like the famous private detective Maud West?
Well, it was too late now. She would just have to tackle this investigation as herself. She shook her head, checking that the Brillantine had now set, then applied a touch of perfume behind each ear. She finished off her toilette with some fresh lipstick and went down to the foyer to await Gertrude Fuller.
Balliol College Great Hall, built in the mid-1800s, was a relatively new addition to the six-centuries-old college, but was designed to fit in with the medieval ambiance. Poppy and Gertrude entered the college grounds via the back gate from Magdalen Street, rather than through the main entrance on Broad. Poppy wouldn’t have minded seeing all of the beautiful buildings and gardens, but Gertrude – who no doubt had seen them all many times before – was not playing tour guide and asked for their taxi to drop them at the closest entrance to the hall.
Inside the hall, laid out like a medieval banqueting hall, the ladies were led to their seats at one of the long dining tables. Gertrude mentioned that the platform at one end of the hall was usually reserved for the “high table”, where the college’s top dons and their guests dined, but this evening it had been cleared to make room for a dance floor. To the side was a string quartet, playing sedately while the scholarly guests ate and conversed. Poppy hoped they would up their tempo for the dancing later in the evening but wasn’t holding her breath. Oscar’s Jazz Club it was not.
Nonetheless, the room was abuzz with animated conversation. The academics arrived in their gowns – including Dr Fuller – but Poppy was assured that those who were brave enough to indulge in the dancing later would “disrobe”. Poppy stood out like a mauve sail on a black sea. She was not the only person there not wearing academic dress, but she was certainly the brightest. Thank heavens I left the feather behind! Gertrude assured her she looked perfectly splendid and not in the least bit garish. Poppy was sure the doctor of linguistics (as Poppy had discovered she was) was just being kind.
She and Gertrude were also the only pair of ladies. Not all the gentlemen had female partners with them, but no other women were “unaccompanied”. Gertrude didn’t seem to mind and walked through the wood-panelled room, ignoring the portraits of the leading men of Balliol through the centuries staring accusingly at her. Poppy imagined that as one of the very first women to earn a doctorate at the esteemed university, Gertrude Fuller was well practised in shrugging off criticism, condescension, and judgment. Poppy felt like a baby bird protected by its mother on its first outing from the nest, surrounded by black-winged predators. Not all the guests showed animosity though; Gertrude obviously had a number of friends and allies in the academy. She stopped here and there to greet them and to introduce her friend, Miss Poppy Denby, who, she said, was a journalist from London writing an article on some leading alumni of Somerville College. This was close enough to the truth for Poppy to relax into.
The ladies were to be seated with some gentlemen and their partners from the history department, but Gertrude whispered something to the steward, who nodded and led them instead further down the hall. The steward pulled out a vacant chair, first for Poppy, then for Dr Fuller. The gentlemen at the table all rose as the ladies were seated. As the gentlemen took their seats, Poppy noted that none of them had female partners. As she’d already ascertained, this wasn’t unusual, but it did make her and Gertrude more conspicuous. She wondered if this had been Gertrude’s plan. And then, she suddenly recognized one of the gentlemen, just as he, in turn, recognized her.
Professor James Sinclair inclined his bald head. “Well, good evening, Miss Denby; this is a surprise. Good evening, Gertrude.”
“Good evening, James,” said Gertrude. “I believe you and Miss Denby have met.”
“We have,” said Professor Sinclair. “I hadn’t realized you were still in town, Miss Denby.”
Poppy smiled politely at the scientist. “I decided to stay on. After speaking to Dr Fuller here about June, I realized there was a lot more I needed to find out.”
“Is that so?” a gentleman to Poppy’s left interjected. Poppy turned towards him. There was something vaguely familiar about him. He was in his mid-forties: very handsome and debonair. Under his gown she could see that he was wearing a tuxedo.
“Yes, it is. I’m writing an article on June Leighton, mister—”
“Doctor,” said the man with the flicker of a smile. “Doctor Bill Raines.”
Dr Raines! That’s why Poppy thought he was familiar. She remembered now the man in the photograph that Sophie had pointed out. And that, she thought, flashing a quick glance at a younger man in his twenties on the opposite side of the table, is Miles Mackintosh. Gertrude smiled benignly. Thanks Gertrude – straight into the lion’s den.
“Bill, this is Miss Poppy Denby, the lady journalist who came to visit me in the lab yesterday. She’s writing an article about June for a London newspaper. I forget which one…”
“The Daily Globe,” said Poppy. “I do a monthly column about exceptional women.”
“Exceptional dead women?” asked Mackintosh, without an accompanying smile to soften the crass comment.
A flurry of discomfort was conducted around the table.
Poppy shrugged it off. “Not usually. Most of the subjects of my column are very much alive and making a mark on the world. Unfortunately, I only heard about June after her tragic death but still thought she should be featured.”
“She’s a worthy subject in life or death,” said Gertrude, fixing her gaze on Mackintosh.
Mackintosh shrugged. “For the readers of a tabloid newspaper, perhaps.”
“Now, now, Mackintosh; there’s no need to be rude. The young lady is just doing her job,” said Raines, as his eyes ranged up and down her torso. Eventually, he looked at her face and smiled. “I’m sorry, Miss Denby; we are all still quite shaken by Miss Leighton’s accident. I can assure you Dr Mackintosh meant no disrespect. An apology is in order, young sir.”
Mackintosh’s eyes narrowed, but disapproving glances from Professor Sinclair and the other gentlemen at the table compelled him to eventually say, “My apologies, Miss Denby. Miss Fuller.”
Miss Fuller. Not Doctor. An oversight? Poppy imagined not. But before Gertrude could reply to the jibe, the room was called to order. A gentleman (who, Gertrude whispered, was the Master of Balliol College) welcomed everyone to the dinner, which, he reminded them, was being given in thanks for a large donation made to the college by the Sanforth Foundation.
Poppy’s ears pricked at the name.
The Master went on to ask everyone to stand as he proposed a toast to Mrs Mary Sanforth, a dignified grey-haired woman to his right, who remained seated and nodded beneficently to the guests. The Master proceeded to say grace, then wished everyone a hearty meal and an enjoyable evening.
