Page 49 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

Sidney ducked his head to whisper, “You missed Kirk being escorted from the premises.”

“What?” Gin exclaimed.

The girls on the other side of Sidney hissed at them to be quiet, and Ginevra shot a withering look in return. She sank closer to Sidney and whispered in his ear, “What happened?”

“That’s all I know. You missed her by minutes.” Gin’s tulle cape spilled across Sidney’s shoulders, tickling his neck, and he batted it away. “What on earth are you wearing? What happened to discreet?”

Gin swatted his hand and leaned back. “Trust me, please.” But her brow knotted in thought as a handful of actors emerged and began the opening scene.

Attending the Dramatic Society’s performance of Julius Caesar had surprised Sidney when Gin suggested it, but it was a clever idea he wouldn’t have considered. The play was held inside the very same building that housed Dr. Neville’s office—and Neville himself was the production’s faculty advisor, which included a role.

Moving pictures had never captured Sidney’s imagination like live theater, and he relaxed deeper into his seat. He hadn’t seen a proper play in years; not unless he counted the pantomime staged by farmworkers that Amélie had dragged him to watch one warm afternoon in France. It was a rare snatch of color among other gray memories.

“You are very bad at having fun, my friend.” Amélie shook her head at him, a braided wreath of strawberry-blond hair glinting in the sunlight. Usually, she dressed in slouchy clothes and a soft cap to blend in with other workers around the chateau. But that day she’d put on a faded floral dress and forced him to dance with her when an old man struck up a waltz on his accordion. It was the first time Sidney had tried to picture a life after the war ended.

Ginevra squeezed his forearm. “Here’s Lewis Hughes playing Caesar.”

Sidney forced the memory back into hibernation and refocused. A different group had come onstage, and he hardly recognized the American dressed in a toga. “Look how he’s shifted his posture. The mannerisms are nothing like in class.”

Ginevra hummed in agreement. “That slight adjustment to his accent too. I should never have guessed he’s American.” She hesitated, glancing at Sidney with dark-flashing eyes. “You didn’t seem happy the Rook ruled him out so quickly in favor of focusing on Neville. Do you not agree?”

“He’s right Hughes has no apparent connection to Vosburg or Robert Crowne. He wasn’t imprisoned in Germany during the war, and he’s only been in England a few years for school. If die Krone is our best lead to who killed Mr. Tolliver, it doesn’t make sense to focus on Hughes at the moment.”

“And since when do you readily agree with the Rook?”

The teasing arch of Gin’s eyebrow felt like a match rasping down Sidney’s spine, igniting a small flicker behind his breastbone that refused to extinguish. He was relieved when she returned to watching the performance, and he clenched his fists to keep from toying with the tulle still brushing his shoulder. After a few minutes of dumb silence, he realized he hadn’t even attempted a retort.

With a subtle point, Gin directed his attention to the stage. “There’s Neville, now.”

The don bore more resemblance to a wax figure every time Sidney saw him. He crossed the stage with a lethargic, anxious energy as though distracted and seemed especially nervous in the footlights. Sidney wondered how much experience he’d had onstage versus working behind the scenes.

Gin thrust the playbill toward him. “Sidney, Neville is playing Cassius. That’s the leak’s code name!”

“The leader of the conspirators against Caesar,” Sidney murmured. “Surely it can’t be that obvious, though.”

“Then it’s a dreadful coincidence … and even worse performance.” Gin tsked at her wristwatch. “We should be going, but wait a few minutes before following me. There’s an odious St. M’s girl down the row who might report me to Principal if she suspects we’re sneaking off together.”

She rose swiftly, and Sidney waited what felt like an appropriate interval before ducking out the rear exit and into the empty atrium—where there was no sign of his partner. Slightly alarmed, he peered down the empty corridors and was relieved to spot a flutter of blue tulle behind a large potted plant in one corner.

Gin was wrestling a large amount of gray fabric over her head and bare shoulders. “Hold these, will you?” came her muffled voice, the tulle cape and an empty bag thrust in his direction.

Uneasy, Sidney checked that no one was watching this absurd ritual, but Gin soon emerged breathless and smoothed the gray cotton dress that now covered the blue. She added a black cardigan and an ash-brown wig with a thick fringe and long waves. “How do I look?”

The peacock had become a pigeon, and Sidney was very impressed indeed. “I’d never guess it was you. But why not start like that?”

Ginevra unceremoniously stuffed the tulle cape into the bag and skimmed her hands over the demure outfit. “I wanted everyone to see me in the blue dress first because it’s memorable. If we’re spotted, no one will think to associate this dull number with the extremely fashionable Ginevra Bishop who arrived at the play. I even ran backstage and congratulated a few actors on a brilliant run.”

“Where on earth did you even get a wig?”

“I made friends with the Dramatic Society’s costumer and asked to borrow it for a fancy dress party.” She offered a limp mop of black curls. “I brought you one too if you like.”

Sidney raised his hands to avoid touching the thing. “I’ll take my chances, thanks.”

Ginevra grinned. “Right—shall we?” She dropped the bag behind the palm, and they hurried toward the door at the end of the hall.

“Sid!”

A voice echoed behind them, and they whirled round. To Sidney’s shock and dismay, his brother Felix sauntered toward them, his cheeks dimpled in that way Sidney’s clenched jaw never could manage.