Poppy returned to the office, her mind swirling with questions. Why had Mrs Leighton denied the existence of a fiancé? She had seemed almost offended by the question and, in Poppy’s estimation, was definitely not telling the entire truth. What did she have to hide? On the bus ride back to Fleet Street, Poppy had considered that Sophie might have been wrong about the fiancé, but so far everything else the laboratory assistant had told her (other than the possibly nefarious circumstances around June’s death) had been confirmed by the grieving mother. Poppy had chosen not to broach the subject of the means of death, feeling it would have been crass to do so. However, she had hoped that Mrs Leighton herself might have mentioned the cause of the accident and was disappointed that she had not. So, Poppy was no wiser about whether or not Sophie’s suspicions were well founded or even shared by June’s family. She had, though, been right about the tension between June and her male colleagues and the deceased woman’s belief that her fellow graduate student had stolen (or at least copied) her work. Poppy now felt more justified to pursue this angle.
But what about the non-fiancé? Assuming that Sophie had not just imagined it or got the wrong end of the stick, why had June told her she was engaged? Or perhaps told someone else who had told Sophie … Was June engaged or not? And if she was, why had her mother denied it? Had the young scientist kept it secret from her mother, perhaps worried about how she might react? Poppy had got the distinct impression that Mrs Leighton regretted giving up her medical studies to get married and would not want June to do the same.
Poppy felt the ring on her finger with the edge of her thumb. She was grateful she didn’t have to worry about that anymore. She knew that it was still expected that professional ladies would give up their jobs when they got married. In fact, in some key professions, like teaching, it was legally mandated that they did so by a “marriage bar”. Which was why, she was well aware, there were so many spinster schoolteachers – women who had chosen their jobs over marriage. It saddened her that they had been forced to make that choice. She would have to do some checking, but as far as she was aware, the marriage bar didn’t apply to laboratories or universities. Not legally, anyway. And of course, she smiled, as she stepped out of the lift on the second floor of The Daily Globe building, no one had thought of extending it to journalism.
She and Daniel had finally worked out their differences on this some time ago. When she had first met him, he had held more traditional views about women and work, which had led to a fair bit of conflict in their relationship. But once he had come to terms with the fact that she actually wanted to carry on working if or when they got married – and, eventually, had come around to wanting her to as well – there was still the complication of who would look after his young children. She had always felt that she would be expected to. However, five years later, the children, now eight and eleven, did not need such close attention, and besides, she and Daniel now both earned enough to pay for a housekeeper and a nanny. That would free her to keep on working. At least until she became pregnant. Golly, thought Poppy, when might that be? Poppy honestly did not know what she would do then. On the one hand, she had the example of Rollo’s wife Yasmin, who had gone straight back to work as soon as she could, but she was not Yasmin. She felt that she might like to stay home with the children for a while … How long that while might be she wouldn’t know until she got there. But for now, she wouldn’t have to worry about it. And if she could successfully apply the anti-conception advice she’d been gleaning from Marie Stopes’ books Married Love and Wise Parenthood, she wouldn’t have to worry about it for a lot longer yet.
Poppy giggled to herself, remembering some of the racier chapters of Married Love, as she opened the door to the art and photography department just as Daniel stepped out of the darkroom at the rear of the office. “And what are you smiling at, Miss Denby?” he asked.
“Nothing!” She flushed. Fortunately, her embarrassment was soon swept away on a wave of congratulations from Daniel’s colleagues, including some good-natured ribbing of the groom-to-be. Once it settled, Daniel ushered Poppy to his desk in the far corner near the darkroom, surrounded on three sides by shelves of camera equipment. On his desk, overlooking a scatter of photographs and newspaper flatplans, was a photograph of his two children, Arthur and Amy, with their mother Lydia. It had been taken when Amy was only a few months old, and, only a few months after that, Lydia was to die of the Spanish Flu. Poppy did not resent Lydia’s presence on Daniel’s desk or in his memories, but she did hope that one day she too might be framed and given pride of place. Daniel had taken many photographs of her, but none, as yet, had made it to public display. She imagined that now they were officially engaged, that might change. Or perhaps after their wedding … She pulled herself back to the present. There was work to do. And this was first and foremost a workplace.
She took a seat and retrieved the photograph of June Leighton given to her by Mrs Leighton. It was taken on the day of the young scientist’s graduation, and she stood smartly and proudly in her academic gown, clutching her scroll. “Are you able to make a couple of prints of this, please?” asked Poppy. “I’ve just been to see June’s mother, and she has loaned this to me but wants it back as soon as possible.”
“You’ve just been there now?” asked Daniel.
Poppy said she had and proceeded to tell Daniel what she had found out.
Daniel nodded encouragingly. “It sounds like you’ve got enough to justify a story, don’t you think?”
Poppy agreed. “Yes, I think there’s more than enough for the Women in the Workplace column. I’ll just have to run it past Rollo first, but I think he’ll agree. I’m also intrigued about this ‘missing’ fiancé too.”
“Yes, that does sound curious,” observed Daniel. “Someone’s not telling the truth: either June or her mother. Either way, it suggests there’s something worth digging into.”
“I agree,” said Poppy. “Or, alternatively, Sophie could have got the wrong end of the stick, or …” She paused, feeling guilty for contemplating what she was about to say, but knowing that it must still be said. “We cannot discount the possibility that Sophie might be getting her own situation mixed up with June’s. Emotionally.”
“Meaning?” asked Daniel.
“Meaning, that if there was no fiancé, and if June had not misled her, then Sophie could have been getting her own life and that of June confused. Let’s not forget that she spent some time in Willow Park Asylum – if what Rollo told us was correct. She might still be suffering the after-effects of her nervous breakdown. We all know that she is still hurting about Bert’s death. But if I recall, it’s more complicated than that. Hadn’t their engagement been broken off before his death? And hadn’t she been trying to rekindle their relationship with him just before he died?”
Daniel nodded. “Yes, I think that’s what happened. But we don’t know for sure. And it turns out that everything else she told us on Saturday was true.”
“Everything?” asked Poppy.
“Well, not the murder.”
“Not necessarily the murder,” said Poppy.
Daniel leaned back in his chair and tapped his finger to his chin. “Are you saying you believe her, Poppy? That June was murdered? But at the same time, you’re contemplating that Sophie might have made up an imaginary fiancé?”
Poppy sighed, remembering the earnestness with which Sophie had shared her suspicions about the young scientist’s death. “I don’t know, Daniel. But I have a sense, particularly after speaking to June’s mother, that there is more to this story. Whether it will lead to anything as sensational as a murder, I don’t know yet, but there’s something there. And I think Sophie’s instincts on this – that there might be more to June’s death than the official findings – might prove to be true. And I also know that just because someone has had nervous or mental problems, it doesn’t mean everything they say and do should be dismissed. But we do have to be careful to unpick what’s true and what’s imagined. To be honest, I don’t know enough about Sophie or her condition to be sure she’s not telling the truth. But I think I know enough about her to believe that she might be. Does that make any sense?”
Daniel leaned forward until their foreheads were nearly touching, then lowered his voice to an intimate whisper. “Oh yes, Poppy, it does. And I know enough about you to know that you will manage to unpick this. And that’s one of the very many things I love about you.”
“Oi, lovebirds! Get back to work!” came the voice of one of Daniel’s colleagues, accompanied by laughter from the rest of the office.
Poppy and Daniel pulled apart.
“Right,” said Daniel. “I’ll see what I can do with this photograph.”
“Thank you,” said Poppy, standing up and smoothing down her skirt. “Can you bring it upstairs when you’re finished?”
“It will be my pleasure, my lady.”