The crystal crypt, p.27
The Crystal Crypt, page 27
Poppy was torn, not sure what to do. But the eager face of her youthful protégé spurred her on. “All right. I’ll open it. But if I see it’s nothing more than a personal letter, I shall re-seal it immediately. Agreed?”
“Agreed!” said Annabel, looking like a little girl on Christmas morning.
Poppy took a deep breath, took off one of her gloves, and ran a nail along the envelope.
She extracted three sheets of paper. The address at the top left was Somerville College and the date of writing, Friday 3rd April 1925 – two days before June’s murder.
Dearest Mother,
Oh Mama! I don’t know where to start. I shall be home next week for the Easter holidays, but I cannot wait until then to tell you what has been happening in my life. I am heartbroken. I am confused. I am ashamed. Oh Mama, please don’t judge me harshly. I know that my achievements in science are the achievements you should have had. How your career in medicine was cut short by marrying Papa and having Larry and me. I am eternally sorry that your talents and abilities were so cruelly ignored, but eternally grateful of how you have encouraged me in the fulfilment of my academic and professional dreams.
So, it is with a desperately heavy heart – and with a prayer that you will forgive me and understand – that I tell you I am pregnant. The father is a sweet, sweet man. A man whom you have met. It is Edward Sanforth. We fell in love. He proposed to me and in the heat of the moment we succumbed to our bodily passions. I now carry his child. Which is a joyful thing, but sadly the joy is tainted.
Edward believes – wrongly – that the child might not be his. Remember I told you about that awful Dr Raines? How familiar he had been with me? And you told me, rightly, to spurn his advances and remind him that our relationship was professional and nothing more? Well, I did so. But he has not taken it well. He has told Edward that I succumbed to him – willingly – and that he and I had a “roll in the sack” at a scientific symposium earlier this year at University College London. Well, it’s a blatant lie! But Edward isn’t so sure. I told him, today, of my pregnancy, expecting him to offer to marry me immediately, but instead he has raised this question over the paternity of our child.
I am heartbroken, Mama. I did not expect this of him. I thought he trusted me. I thought he was made of sterner stuff.
But that, I’m afraid, is not the worst of what I have to tell you. My personal circumstances aside, there is a more pressing issue I must draw to your attention, involving our family.
Remember I mentioned that Prof Sinclair had some experience in experimenting with the creation of synthetic diamonds? Well, last week – on my birthday to be exact – Larry came up to Oxford to lunch. He told me that he’d read about Prof Sinclair’s previous work at Harvard and that last year he had approached him to continue the work here. The prof had declined, saying that it was a chapter of his life that he wanted to leave behind. But Larry said that he had insisted. Apparently Larry, through his jewellery trade contacts in the USA, had discovered that the prof had stolen some industrial diamonds from Harvard University and sold them on the black market. At the time it was never proven, but Larry subsequently found the proof. He told me that he was using the information he had to both further science and help our family business. He asked me to help Prof Sinclair with his experiments – to speed it up. I told Larry I wasn’t interested, as I had my own work to do. Larry, as is his way, starting shouting at me, saying I had never done anything for him and the family, and that it was time I stopped being so selfish. I shouted back, we had a blazing row, and then he left.
I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I speak to the prof about it? Well, I did. And to my shock, I discovered that Larry has been forcing him to continue work on the synthetic diamonds in his spare time. I only found out about it because I have started to work in the Crystal Crypt odd hours in order to avoid that awful Dr Raines and his bratty grad student Mackintosh (remember him? The one who plagiarized some of my work on bromides?) Well, a few nights ago I came across Sinclair and saw what he was doing. I confronted him, and at first he denied it. But after I told him what Larry had told me about the Harvard diamonds, he succumbed and told me everything.
Larry is blackmailing him, threatening to present his evidence of the Harvard jewel theft to the authorities. The prof said he was very close to finding the formula and just needed a bit more time. I asked him, what was Larry’s motivation? He said Larry is hoping to replace some of the most valuable diamonds in the shop with synthetics and sell the originals on the black market. And worse than that, remember the burglary we had last year when Papa lost some prize jewels? Well, it turns out Larry was the one who did it! He “borrowed” the jewels to bring to Sinclair so he could use them as comparative models.
I’m sure Larry will deny all this, and Prof Sinclair has said that he will deny it too, if questioned, so I should just keep quiet about it all. He said that if I help him, he will put forward my name for a fellowship and ensure that the Sanforth Foundation won’t terminate my employment for refusing to work on the explosives project. He was so upset that I agreed, but I don’t intend to keep my promise. Larry cannot continue torturing the poor man like this! Yes, he made a mistake at Harvard – all right, he committed a crime – but what Larry is doing to him, and what he plans to do to enrich himself, is just wrong. I know you’ll agree with me.
So, when Sinclair was distracted, I tore some of his lab notes out of his notebook – showing what he was working on – and have enclosed them here. I am sending them to you for safe keeping and for you and Papa to decide what to do. I expect you will not want to go to the police, but rather confront Larry yourselves and release poor Prof Sinclair from this awful bind he is in. Can we talk about it when I come home next week?
That, and of course, the baby. But please! Don’t tell Papa about that. I need time to sort this all out with Edward first. Oh, and by the way, Larry knows about me and Edward (but fortunately, for now, not about the baby). I’m not sure how he knows, but he does. He’s not happy about our relationship and tried to convince me to break it off. I told him to mind his own business. But of course, he won’t. Just another worry to add to my growing list.
Yours with a heavy heart,
June
Poppy flipped through the pages and found a torn sheet covered in notes, diagrams, and formulae. So, this is what Gertrude and Sophie’s attacker was looking for when he searched their rooms! The missing page from Professor Sinclair’s notebook. He must have discovered it was missing and tried to get it back. Had Larry Leighton already searched for it in June’s papers at his parents’ house and not found it? Then, he and Sinclair decided that the page must still be in Oxford. Who was it who had killed poor June? Sinclair? Her brother? Or both of them?
Suddenly there was a banging on the door and a panicked female voice. “Annabel! Are you there? Come quickly!”
Annabel, who had been reading the letter over Poppy’s shoulder, shouted to the door, “Go away, Susan! I’m busy!”
“But there’s a burst pipe in the bathroom! The whole floor will be flooded!”
“Oh bother!” said Annabel, looking to Poppy. “What should I do?”
“Go,” said Poppy. “There’s nothing more you can do here. I’ve got everything I need. I’ll come around and see you and Dr Fuller later. I’m going to meet up with my editor now and we’ll decide what to do.”
“Annabel! Come now!”
“Fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Annabel and stomped towards the door.
“Oh, and Annabel,” said Poppy, “don’t tell anyone else about this. Please. We need to handle this very carefully.”
“You can trust me,” she said, then opened the door to tackle the plumbing emergency.
Poppy wondered if she could really trust the eager student, but there was nothing she could do to control her. The sooner she met up with Rollo and Ike and then took the letter – and the pathologist’s report – to June’s mother in London, the better. She folded the papers, including the incriminating lab notes, back into the envelope.
As she did, the door opened again. She looked up, expecting to see Annabel, but instead – to the backdrop of screaming girls and gushing water – she saw the young man in the tweed flat cap. And suddenly she knew who he was: Larry Leighton.
She shoved the letter under the edge of the rug, hoping he hadn’t seen it.
“Not so fast, Miss Denby. Give that here.”
Poppy, still on her knees, didn’t move.
“I said, give that here!” He took a step into the room, slamming the door behind him. There was no way out. If Poppy had been on her feet, she might have attempted to grab something – the desk lamp, perhaps – and give him a good wallop. He strode towards her. She lunged at his legs, grabbing at his calves like a rugby tackle. It worked! Knocked off balance, he stumbled, giving her just enough time to scramble to her feet and flee for the door, screaming “Help!” as she did so. But before she could make her escape, he too lunged at her and, using the same tactic, knocked her off her feet. And then he was straddled on top of her. He slapped her once, twice, in the face, the pain searing through her cheek-bones. Then, he held her throat with one hand and made a fist with the second.
“Don’t move or you’ll get this,” he growled.
Poppy stopped straining against him. She dared not even call out lest he tighten his hold on her throat.
“Now missy,” he said. “Where’s your negro boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my colleague. And he’ll be here any minute. So you’d better let me go.”
“Sure he will. Now get up, before those stupid girls figure out how to fix the pipe I wrenched.” He held onto her throat but climbed off her. Putting his knee on her chest, he released her throat, then pulled off his belt and tied it around her wrists.
“Is this how June ended up with welts on her wrists before you killed her?”
“I did not kill my sister.”
“Oh? Then who did?”
“Someone who went too far trying to extract information from her.”
“What information?”
He looked to where she had slipped the envelope under the rug. “What I assume is in that envelope: some stolen notes.”
He got to his feet, leaving her lying on her back. But with her hands tied in front of her, her chances of escape were minimal.
He quickly extracted the envelope and returned to stand over Poppy. He opened the envelope, had a quick skim of the contents, then pocketed it, muttering to himself, “Stupid, stupid bitch.” Then, to Poppy, “Let’s go.” He pulled her to her feet.
“Where are we going?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“Well, what have you got to lose by answering them? I already know what’s in the letter. And I still believe you killed your sister. As will anyone else who reads it.”
“Well, I didn’t. I told you it was someone else.”
“Sinclair?”
Larry snorted with derision. “That old fool? No, he’d never hurt June. Not even to cover up his part in all this. But the same can’t be said of his lab assistant.”
Poppy wracked her brain, trying to figure out who Larry meant. Then, she realized: Reg Guthrie. The man who had caught her snooping around in the Crystal Crypt yesterday. The man who had supposedly found June’s body when he opened up the lab the morning after her “accident”. The man who had given her Sophie Blackburn’s address… Good God! Had he actually been in the flat waiting for her to arrive? Someone had been. Thank God the neighbour had seen her entering the back door from upstairs and come to investigate. And no doubt scared off Guthrie. “Is Guthrie working for you?”
“I needed someone to keep an eye on Sinclair. He couldn’t be trusted.”
“And did he attack Gertrude Fuller and Sophie Blackburn too?”
“Stupidly, yes. I just asked him to search their rooms to see if he could find Sinclair’s missing notes. I hadn’t realized he was such a brute. It’s made things… difficult.”
“Difficult? Difficult! Dear God! Do you know that he raped Sophie? And if what you’re saying is true, he’d already killed your sister. Surely that would tell you what a brute he was. And you didn’t think to report it to the police? To stop him hurting anyone else?”
Larry shrugged. “I couldn’t. He would have implicated me. I paid him.”
“And Inspector Birch and Dr Mortimer? Did you pay them too?”
Larry shrugged again. Poppy took that as an affirmative.
“So—” she started, planning to continue her interrogation.
“So, you should shut the hell up!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a penknife. He flicked open a blade. “I don’t want to hear one more word from you, or I’ll slit your throat. It will not give me pleasure to do so; I am not ordinarily a violent man. But you – and those other women – have forced me into this. You have given me no choice. Do you understand?”
Poppy swallowed hard and nodded. Yes, she understood.
Larry loosened the belt, just one notch, and pushed it further up her wrists, then pulled down her coat sleeves to cover it. It was slightly looser, but not loose enough for Poppy to shake free.
“Now, missy, we are going to walk out of here. You are going to clasp your hands and not let on you are tied up if we see anyone. If you do, I will stab you in the kidneys. Do you hear me?”
Poppy nodded, glancing at her hands hanging awkwardly in front of her. One was gloveless.
So, with Larry walking at her side, they exited the room. Poppy looked around, desperate to catch anyone’s attention, but it seemed to still be all-hands-on-deck with the plumbing emergency. Larry took her elbow as they reached the stairs and helped her negotiate them. Then, across the quadrangle to the gatehouse. She was not fool enough to expect help from Cooper the porter; by now she’d figured out he too was in Larry’s employ. No doubt he was the one who had alerted Larry that she and Annabel were searching June’s room. A car pulled up outside the gatehouse and Poppy’s heart sank when she recognized Reg Guthrie at the steering wheel. Larry opened the back passenger door and pushed her in.
CHAPTER 35
Rollo, Ike, and George Lewis scrambled into George’s car outside the Oxford Gazette office. Their first port of call was the Radcliffe Infirmary. Rollo, despite his short legs, hurried ahead of the other men and collared the first nurse he could find. “Is Poppy Denby here?”
“Is she a patient?”
“No. But she’s visiting a patient.”
The nurse looked down at him with her tri-corner hat, hovering above him like a swan about to take flight. “And what is that patient’s name?”
“Blackburn. Sophie Blackburn.”
“Are you a family member of Miss Blackburn? She is very poorly and we must restrict visitors.”
“I – yes – I am her cousin from America.”
“All right then, sir, this way.”
Ike and George caught up with Rollo. “She might also have popped in to see Dr Fuller,” said Ike.
The nurse looked a little perplexed. “Are you here to see Dr Fuller too?”
“We are,” said George. “I’m a friend of hers.”
The nurse pointed in the other direction. “She’s more able to receive visitors. Third door on the left.”
Five minutes later, Ike, George, and Rollo reconvened in the hospital foyer.
“Any luck?” asked Ike.
Rollo shook his head. “No. Although the policeman at Sophie’s door – who wouldn’t let me in – said Poppy had been to visit about an hour ago.”
“Gertrude said the same. She said that Poppy had left with one of the Somerville students just over an hour ago. The girl apparently had something to show her in June Leighton’s old room at the college.”
“Lead the way!” said Rollo, and the men hurried back to the car.
It was just a short drive to Somerville from the infirmary. The three journalists bundled out of the car and into the gatehouse. They were greeted by a middle-aged man in a black suit and a bowler hat. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
Again, Rollo took the lead. “Can you tell us if Miss Poppy Denby and her companion – Ike, did Dr Fuller give a name?”
“Annabel Seymour.”
“Poppy Denby and Annabel Seymour. Are they still here?”
The man gave Rollo a curious look. “I’m sorry, but there is no Miss Denby here. Miss Seymour left after breakfast this morning – around nine o’clock – and she hasn’t returned since. She said she was off to do some shopping in town.”
Rollo scowled. “We were told they were here. Is there another entrance to the college?”
“There is, but the doors are locked. This is the only way in and out. If either of those ladies were here, they would have had to have come in this way.”
“Then, why is Poppy Denby’s name in your logbook as having arrived at eleven o’clock this morning and, as yet, not having signed out?” Ike stood with the logbook in his hands.
“I – well – I – she must have slipped in when I took a tea break.”
“In that case, please lead the way to June Leighton’s old room,” said Rollo, his patience wearing very thin.
“I can’t do that. No men are allowed in the college.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, man! These ladies might be in danger!”
The porter pursed his lips and folded his arms over his chest. “Rules are rules.”
That was the final straw. Rollo reached into his inside pocket and pulled out his revolver.
“Rollo! What the hell?” said Ike.
“Put the gun away, man,” said George. “This isn’t the Wild West.”
“Ordinarily I’d agree with you,” said Rollo, “but there are outlaws on the loose in this town and I’m not prepared for Poppy to be their next victim.” He jabbed the gun into the porter’s belly. “Lead the way.”
Ike and George exchanged a worried glance over Rollo’s head but followed behind the American as he prodded the porter to take them to June Leighton’s room. Fortunately, as term hadn’t yet started, there were no students in the quadrangle, but who knew who was looking at the alarming spectacle from the windows above?
