Poppy and Annabel hurried to Somerville College. Or, at least, Annabel hurried, and Poppy tried to keep up. The younger woman was flushed with the excitement of the chase and ran like she was in training for the 1928 Olympic Games. They both arrived, breathless, at the arched entrance to the college to be greeted by the same scowling porter that Poppy had spoken to two days earlier. And that reminded Poppy of something. She’d been wanting to ask the porter to let her look at the logbook for the night Gertrude was assaulted and someone ransacked her rooms. But she had no authority to do so. Perhaps, though, now she had.
“Good morning, sir,” she said.
“Morning, miss.”
“Hold on a minute, Annabel,” Poppy called after the young woman who was half-sprinting through the gatehouse. “I have some questions for this gentleman first.” She said it in a tone worthy of Hercule Poirot, which must have impressed Annabel because the girl slowed down and complied.
“Mr Cooper, is it?” Poppy asked, relieved that she’d remembered.
“It is, miss.”
“Well, Mr Cooper, you said the other day when I spoke to you that if anyone had come into the college on the night Dr Fuller was attacked it would be in the logbook. You would not show me the logbook then. However, Dr Fuller has told me to tell you that you must show it to me. Isn’t that right, Annabel?”
Annabel’s eyes widened in surprise at the blatant lie, but to her credit she kept her composure. The fact is, both she and Poppy knew that Dr Fuller would give permission for Poppy to see it. They were just skipping a few steps.
“Yes, Miss Denby, it is. Cooper, Dr Fuller said you must show Miss Denby the logbook. She will be out of the hospital later today and will no doubt tell you herself then.”
“Then I’ll wait for Dr Fuller,” he growled.
“Are you sure you want to do that? She’ll be very cross,” said Annabel, as if talking to a naughty schoolboy.
Cooper crossed his arms and smirked. “I’ll take my chances.”
Poppy was very tempted to just grab the logbook, which was visible on the counter of his kiosk, and run. But she doubted she’d get far. Annabel, on the other hand … No. Best they wait for Dr Fuller. But why Cooper was being so stiff-necked about it, she had no idea. Unless … She narrowed her eyes and appraised the man.
Unless he has something to hide. He was here the day my bicycle was tampered with …
Poppy pursed her lips and turned to Annabel. “Mr Cooper is just doing his job, Annabel. We have to respect that. Now, where do I sign in?”
“Sign in?” asked Annabel.
“As a visitor to the college, don’t I have to sign in? I did when I first visited Dr Fuller.”
“Of course!” said Annabel, turning to Cooper with an undisguised air of triumph. “The logbook, Cooper, for Miss Denby to sign in.”
Cooper smirked at Annabel, picked up a pen and thrust it at Poppy.
Poppy took it with ironic grace and nonchalantly approached the logbook. But … Drat it! It was a clean page. Touché, Mr Cooper, touché.
Poppy and Annabel left the smug porter and entered the Somerville quadrangle. They passed Dr Fuller’s rooms, went through a metal-studded door and up a staircase to the first floor. They passed two undergraduates returning from the Easter break, hauling their trunks. Annabel greeted them both by name.
“Is it normal for women to remain in residence after they’ve graduated?” asked Poppy.
“You mean June Leighton?”
“Yes.”
“No, it’s not usually done. We’re short on space and need the rooms. But June was going to be doing some tutoring and lecturing for us next term, so we agreed that she could stay on for a while until she found digs in town. She was supposed to have moved out last year already, but she never quite got around to it. June was like an absent-minded professor. She was so focused on her work that she would often forget to eat. In fact, a few weeks before she died, she fainted in the college library. Dr Fuller – who you no doubt noticed enjoys her food – was quite concerned for her. She worried that turfing her out to find her own place would not be good for June.”
“I see,” said Poppy, wondering if June’s fainting spell had more to do with her pregnancy than skipping meals. But she kept her thoughts to herself. She very much doubted June had told Gertrude of her pregnancy, or else the principal would have mentioned it during their frank discussions about the deceased scientist. Poppy wondered if the poor girl had worried that the pregnancy would have seen her expelled from the college. Poor June, thought Poppy. Not only did she have to worry about how her fiancé and family would take the news of her pregnancy, but whether or not she’d lose her accommodation and, perhaps, her job. It wouldn’t look good for Oxford University to be employing a pregnant, unmarried woman.
Annabel stopped outside a room and extracted a large bunch of keys from her pocket. She selected the correct one and opened the door. The room was of reasonable size, with a bay window, overlooking the quadrangle. There was a single bed stripped of laundry, a desk with a lamp, bookcase and a single armchair. There was no en-suite bathroom, but the chamber pot peeking out from under the bed suggested June shared ablution facilities with other women on the same floor.
Annabel approached the desk – which was at a jaunty angle, pulled away from the wall – got down on her knees, and pointed triumphantly: “There!”
Poppy hitched up her skirt, got down on her knees and crawled alongside Annabel. Sure enough, between the leg of the desk and the skirting board was an envelope. Poppy, not wanting to disappoint Annabel and her rose-tinted ideas of detection work, took a handkerchief from her pocket with a flourish and used it to pick up the envelope, between thumb and forefinger. It was addressed to Mrs Roger Leighton, 61 Berkeley Square, Mayfair, London W1J GBD. So, June had been writing to her mother …
The letter – stamped, but unfranked – might very well have been the last correspondence of June Leighton. The envelope was sealed and on the back was June’s Somerville College address.
“Goodness,” said Poppy, “this is quite a find, Annabel. Well done. I’m not sure what to do though. It’s addressed to her mother, so perhaps I should take it to her unopened.”
Annabel’s face fell. “Oh. Aren’t you going to open it? What if it’s evidence of her murder?”
Indeed. What if it is?
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 plagiarised 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 racked her brain, trying to figure out who Larry meant. Then, she realised: 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 realised 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 recognised Reg Guthrie at the steering wheel. Larry opened the back passenger door and pushed her in.