The crystal crypt, p.13
The Crystal Crypt, page 13
Poppy was grateful he kept the formalities short, not just because she was hungry, but because she was dying to ask Gertrude about the Sanforth Foundation. As the soup was being served, she lowered her voice and made her enquiry.
“That’s Mary Sanforth,” explained Gertrude. “And the man on her right is her son, Edward. Mary is the widow of the late American industrialist Edward Sanforth III. When he died, she set up the Sanforth Foundation in his name. The Foundation provides funding for academic research – mainly in the sciences.” She grinned. “Let’s just say my linguistics department has never been a beneficiary.”
Poppy smiled, then turned to Bill Raines. “And you, Dr Raines, has your laboratory benefited from Mrs Sanforth’s generosity?” Poppy made sure her look and tone were honest and open rather than interrogative, as if she were engaging in normal dinner conversation.
Raines smiled back, lowering his eyeline to her chest before raising it again to her face. “We have indeed, Miss Denby. Mrs Sanforth has been most generous.”
Poppy smiled as prettily as she could. “That is heartening to hear. And what, pray tell, is it you do in the laboratory that has caught Mrs Sanforth’s attention?”
Raines looked at her indulgently, as if she were a five-year-old asking him to show her how to tie her shoelaces. “Well, Miss Denby, we take pictures of crystals. Just like those pretty stones in your ring there.”
Poppy smiled again. “And why would Mrs Sanforth be interested in pretty stones?”
Gertrude laughed.
Raines’ smile slipped for a moment, then returned. “Well, it’s not the stones she’s interested in. I was just using that as an example. To help you understand.”
Poppy realized she needed to raise his assessment of her mental capabilities just a tad, or she’d never get him to divulge the information she required.
“Yes, I believe the molecular structure of diamonds is one of the first things crystallography students are introduced to.”
Raines dropped his spoon into his soup. “Goodness, Miss Denby, how do you know that?” he asked, before retrieving his spoon and cleaning up the splatter with his napkin.
Better not drop Sophie into it, thought Poppy. “Oh, I attended a lecture by Professor Bragg at the Royal Institution last week. That’s how I first heard about June Leighton and what a remarkable young woman she was.”
Raines’ eyes widened in surprise. “Bragg spoke about June in his lecture?”
Poppy had to think quickly. “No – no, it wasn’t him. It was in the reception afterwards. A few people were talking and they mentioned June. I listened in and thought she would make a wonderful subject for the column.”
“Who were these people?” asked Miles Mackintosh from across the table.
Professor Sinclair was in conversation with someone further down the table so wasn’t – apparently – listening. Yesterday Poppy had told him that it had been June’s mother who had suggested she do the article. Or, if she hadn’t said that exactly, it was certainly implied. Best she keep to the same story. “Oh, I didn’t catch all their names. But one of them was Mrs Leighton, June’s mother. She lives not far from the Institute.”
“I’m surprised she felt able to listen to such a lecture so soon after her daughter’s death,” said Mackintosh.
Poppy looked at him, her face neutral. But inside she was churning. Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive… However, she had promised Sophie, and she intended to keep that promise.
“Yes, I was a little surprised too. But she is very proud of her daughter and her achievements.” Poppy was on firmer ground now. She allowed herself to relax slightly and turned back to Bill Raines, who appeared more susceptible to her charms than the twenty-something graduate student. “So, Dr Raines, if Mrs Sanforth is not financing your research into diamonds, what is she financing?”
Raines was just about to answer when Professor Sinclair chipped in: “That, I’m afraid, is confidential, Miss Denby. And far beyond the scope of your article, I’m sure.”
Poppy smiled at him, nodding her understanding.
Drat and double drat. This isn’t going well. She wracked her brain for a phrase she’d written down during her meeting with Sophie yesterday. Then it came to her and she said, “June, according to her mother, had been working on something to do with a chemical called thallium, is that right?”
“Sort of,” said Dr Raines. “But more specifically, thallium dialkyl halides.” He rolled the words off his tongue at a rapid rate, then grinned, adding, “I know, it’s bamboozling, isn’t it?”
“Golly, yes. Hard for us non-scientifically trained people to remember. What did her research involve? Thallium is used in rat poisoning, isn’t it?”
Mackintosh, who was already on his second glass of wine since Poppy and Gertrude had sat down, rolled his eyes and said, “Ah yes, thallium poisoning. The stuff of tabloid headlines. But June wasn’t poisoned, she was electrocuted. Accidentally. Best you get that straight in your article, Miss Denby.” He took another sip of wine and stared at her.
Professor Sinclair cleared his throat and intervened. “That’s enough, Mackintosh – of the comments and the booze, I think. Miss Denby, to save you any more time digging, let me tell you what you want to know. June was studying the molecular structure of thallium dialkyl halides, which are used in the production of optical lenses. However, young Mackintosh here was simultaneously and – I might add – independently working in the same area and beat her to publication. I believe Dr Fuller here might have mentioned that to you, as it has been a – how should I say – bone of contention between us. But I can assure you – and Dr Raines here will back me up on this – Mackintosh’s work in no way drew on Miss Leighton’s. It was pure coincidence that two great young minds were wandering down the same avenues. However, as soon as it was realized that research was being duplicated, June started work on a new project – the project that the Sanforth Foundation is financing, and which, I have already stated, I am not at liberty to divulge. Particularly to a lady from the press. Now, if you don’t mind, I wish no more to be said on the matter. Come. The second course is about to arrive. Let’s stop talking shop and enjoy it.”
“Hear, hear!” said Raines. Mackintosh just smirked and raised his glass.
“Well, that’s you told,” muttered Gertrude.
Poppy nodded graciously. Actually, she didn’t mind being shut down. She’d got quite a lot from the conversation already. She smiled at Gertrude, then finished her soup.
CHAPTER 17
The final savoury course of the sumptuous banquet – roast goose with oodles of port cherry sauce – had been followed by plates of pavlova. This was a bridge too far for Poppy, who just managed a couple of spoonfuls. Gertrude offered to finish the rest. As the last of the pudding plates were taken away, the guests all leaned back in their chairs and lit cigarettes while the quartet struck up a moderately paced foxtrot. It was far from the Black Bottom or the Charleston, but certainly enough to get the toes tapping. A few of the younger guests took to the dance floor.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Denby?” asked Bill Raines, slipping out of his gown and draping it over his chair. He presented a fine manly figure in the sharply cut tuxedo.
Poppy, who was so full she feared she could barely walk, did not care to dance; however, an opportunity to get Bill Raines on his own – in a chaperoned environment – was too good to miss.
“I would love to dance, Dr Raines.”
Raines flashed a smile at the other gentlemen at the table, then stood to claim his prize. Poppy smiled back and accepted his hand as he led her to the raised platform and joined the other couples. Poppy was a competent dancer, having learned the steps from Delilah. Over the years she’d had many opportunities to practise, including, once, a memorable night dancing in the arms of Rasputin’s assassin during an investigation into the murder of a Russian princess. As she took Raines’ hand and slipped into hold, she wondered whose arms she was dancing in tonight.
Poppy and Raines soon got into the slow, slow, quick, quick rhythm, with the scientist leading her confidently. The foxtrot hold was not as intimate as that for the waltz, and Poppy was grateful, appreciating the small gap between them. She accepted that she was using herself as bait, but she was still an engaged lady and did not want to betray Daniel’s trust. She smiled to herself as she remembered his comment about amorous gentlemen scholars. That notwithstanding, she still had a job to do. “You are a very good dancer, Dr Raines. Do you and your colleagues have much opportunity to socialize outside of the laboratory?”
“We see each other a fair bit. In a town like this, most of the social events are linked to the university and you see the same people doing the rounds.”
“Did June Leighton meet her fiancé at the university?”
“Fiancé? I didn’t know she was engaged. Who told you that?”
“Oh,” said Poppy, still determined to keep Sophie out of it. “Someone I spoke to in London.”
“Well, it’s the first I’ve heard of it. She wasn’t a very friendly girl around the lab. She didn’t talk about much other than her work.”
“Would she have come to a do like this?”
“She might have. Occasionally.”
“And did you ever dance with her?”
Poppy felt his right hand stiffen on her left shoulder. “Once or twice. She was not as light on her feet as you, Miss Denby. A gangly girl, really. Not my type.”
“But a brilliant scientist.”
“Is that what you’ve heard?”
“It’s what everyone says.”
“Not everyone,” he said, his words tinged with disdain.
Poppy took a few moments to consider her reply. Slow, slow, quick, quick… Slow, slow, quick, quick…
“So, who will replace her in the laboratory? Another woman?”
“By Jove, I hope not! No offence intended, Miss Denby, but women do not do very well in the scientific world.”
“What about Madame Curie?”
“The key is in the ‘madame’. She achieved what she did because of her husband. Without him, she would have not got where she is.”
Poppy tensed but brought herself under control. Getting into an argument with her dance partner about women’s capabilities would not help her achieve her goal.
Slow, slow, quick, quick… Slow, slow, quick, quick…
“I bow to your greater knowledge of the world of science,” she said eventually.
Raines chuckled. “If only all ladies did!”
“So, not another woman in your laboratory. Who will replace her?”
“That’s for Sinclair to decide. It is he who is missing a graduate student. But it has already been decided that it should be a man. The Sanforth grant is contingent upon it.”
“Goodness. Really?”
“Yes. And I’m very pleased that it is.”
Again, Poppy chose not to take the bait. Slow, slow, quick, quick… Slow, slow, quick, quick…
Poppy could hear that the foxtrot was approaching its final bars. She didn’t have much time. She had one more question, and she’d better make it count.
“So,” she said, “why was June X-raying a diamond on the night she died?”
Raines stopped abruptly, causing one of the other couples to almost bump into them. But he still held Poppy firmly in hold. “What kind of article are you writing, Miss Denby? Fess up. We don’t like naughty girls here, so tell the truth now.”
Poppy looked him straight in the eye, all pretence of a smile gone. “The truth, Dr Raines, is exactly what I intend to write. And now, if you don’t mind, will you please release my hand.”
Raines met her stare, his hand tightening on hers until it began to hurt. Poppy pulled back but was unable to break free. She was just about to yell at him – not caring if it were the done thing or not – when the music came to a stop and the other dancers applauded the band.
“Come on, Raines,” said one of them, “you’re hogging the floor.”
Raines spun his head to see who had spoken to him. Then, he fixed a rakish grin on his face, released Poppy from his hold, and gave her an elaborate bow.
Poppy couldn’t bring herself to feign a response. She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the scientist to deal with the mocking laughter of the other male dancers.
Poppy emerged from the ladies’ cloakroom feeling a tad calmer. She was just about to go back into the dining hall to rejoin Gertrude at the table when she spotted a gentleman leaving the hall, going outside, and lighting up a cigarette. If she were not mistaken, it was Mrs Sanforth’s son. What had Gertrude said his name was? Edward?
It was not considered appropriate for an unaccompanied lady to approach an unintroduced gentleman, but Poppy had had enough of doing the appropriate thing for one night. She hurried to the door and followed Edward Sanforth out into the garden.
A tall, thin man with dark blonde hair slicked back from a sharply featured face, he stood with one foot resting on a low wall surrounding an ornamental flower bed as he inhaled, then exhaled, his smoke. Poppy guessed he was in his early thirties.
Poppy approached him from the side, giving him plenty of opportunity to see her, so she would not appear to be sneaking up on him. But he was lost in thought.
She cleared her throat. “Ahem. Excuse me. Sorry to bother you, but are you Edward Sanforth?”
Sanforth turned towards her. He took a few moments before verbally acknowledging her, as if it took some effort to drag his thoughts back to the present. He had a faraway look that she sometimes noticed on Grace Wilson, her Aunt Dot’s companion, who spent much of her time cloaked in memories of past failings and the deaths of friends and comrades.
“Er, yes, I’m Edward Sanforth.”
His voice was middle-English. She had assumed it would be American.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few moments. My name is Poppy Denby and I’m a journalist for The Daily Globe in London. I’m writing an article on a lady scientist called June Leighton who worked at one of the laboratories your company sponsors.”
Sanforth gave a tight smile. “You were the lady dancing with Raines. Did you enjoy it?”
What a curious question, thought Poppy. “Er, yes, I have just danced with Dr Raines.”
“Did you enjoy it?” he asked, more pointedly.
Not in the least! she thought, but moderated her answer to, “As much as one enjoys these sorts of formal dances with a partner one has just barely met.”
Sanforth grinned, suddenly making his unremarkable face light up with good humour. “I’ll take that as a no then.”
Poppy, despite herself, grinned too.
He chuckled. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Denby. But I’m not sure how I can be of help to you. The Sanforth Foundation is, firstly, not a company – that would be Sanforth Industries – and secondly, neither the company nor the Foundation is mine. My father was the majority shareholder of the company, but now my mother holds those shares, and she is the one holding the reins at the Foundation too. I am merely here to hold her wrap and pull out her chair.”
“Ah,” said Poppy.
“Ah,” Sanforth said and took another pull on his cigarette. “Would you like one?” he asked, slipping his hand into his jacket pocket.
“No thank you,” said Poppy. “So,” she said, “not your company or your foundation, but it does bear your name, so I imagine you know a little about it.”
He shrugged. “A little. What do you want to know?”
“Well, as I said, I’m doing an article on June Leighton. Have you heard of her?”
Sanforth sighed deeply. “I have. Did you know her?”
Poppy shook her head. “Unfortunately not. But she seemed like a remarkable woman. I am writing a posthumous article on her… With full permission of her mother,” she decided to add.
“I never met her mother before the funeral.”
“You knew June then? You’d met her?”
“Oh yes. And as you rightly say, she was a remarkable woman.”
Poppy heard the door to the hall open and close behind her, allowing a few bars of music to escape into the night. She’d better not take too long, or Gertrude would be looking for her. “That’s good to know. Could you tell me then what work the Sanforth Foundation was – or is – sponsoring in June’s laboratory? I’ve been told that she was just about to start work on a new project with Sanforth funding – before she died.”
Sanforth flicked his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with his shoe. “That’s not true.” There was anger in his voice.
Poppy took a step back.
He noticed and his voice softened. “I’m sorry, Miss Denby. I didn’t mean to alarm you. However, I don’t want any untruths to slip into your article.”
“Neither do I, Mr Sanforth, so perhaps you can clarify what you mean. What, exactly, is not true?”
The door to the hall opened again. Sanforth flicked a glance towards it, then turned to her and said quickly, “It’s not true that June was about to start work on a Sanforth project. She would never agree to that. And that’s why she was—”
“Ah Sanforth, there you are. Your mother’s waiting for you. She’s ready to go.”
Poppy turned to see a gentleman in an academic robe. She recognized him as one of those who had sat at the “high table”.
“Thanks, Wilson. I’ll be right there.”
Wilson waited expectantly. Sanforth gave him a pointed look. He took a few steps back but didn’t leave. Sanforth pursed his lips.
“May I contact you tomorrow, Miss Denby? I’m afraid I need to go. But I would dearly like to continue our conversation.”
I would dearly like that too. “Of course, Mr Sanforth. I’m staying at the Cherwell.”
Sanforth nodded. “I’ll be in touch in the morning, then. Good evening, miss.” He gave a little bow and accompanied the scholar back into the hall.
As the door closed, Poppy was all alone in the garden. If it were the middle of the day, she might have stayed there, but she did not care to allow the shadows a foothold in her imagination. The previous autumn, during the Agnes Robson murder investigation, she had been attacked on the edge of a park on a night very much like this. Fortunately, she and Delilah had recently taken selfdefence and ju-jitsu classes, so she had managed to fend off the assailant until help came. But the memory still sent shivers down her spine. She rubbed her arms in her sleeveless Lucien Lelong gown. Yes, it’s getting decidedly chilly out here…
