Page 50 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

He clapped Sidney on the shoulder. “I thought that was thee sneaking out! Didn’t ken this was your sort of thing, or I’d have asked thee to come with me.”

Sidney forced a tight smile. Felix’s note that he’d tossed aside for Ginevra’s cipher all those weeks ago had mentioned coming to a play, but he’d been too distracted to think of it again. “Sorry. Been busy.”

“Aren’t you always, eh?” Felix cocked his head at Ginevra and his eyes sparkled. “And is this who you’re busy with, then? Felix—Felix Braithwaite.” He extended a hand, which Ginevra shook warmly.

“Gin Bishop. I didn’t know Sidney had a charming brother,” she said, a coy smile twitching her lips.

Sidney knew hair color was the only way in which they resembled, for Felix had been the taller, broader Braithwaite since secondary school. But he did not like the way Gin’s eyes shifted between the two of them. Sometimes it felt as though those eyes were indexing every detail down to his soul. “Don’t let us keep you from the play,” Sidney said. “She needed—some air.”

The way Felix’s grin deepened made Sidney instantly regret the lie. There would be hell to pay in teasing for this moment later.

“Lovely to meet you,” Gin said breezily, waving her fingers as Sidney shuffled her away.

“Enjoy the air,” Felix said. “And Sid, didn’t forget to call Mam and Da!”

Sidney raised a hand in acknowledgment of his brother’s badgering, and they slipped through the door into the outer corridor.

“Your brother seems nice,” Gin said.

“He is.” Sidney peered down the passing hallway, checking the coast was clear. “He’s so damned nice it makes me feel like a shriveled walnut sometimes.”

“Perhaps you would feel less shriveled if you hadn’t suffocated your natural accent.” She cocked her head at him. “You’re a very good mimic, aren’t you?”

He shied away from the curiosity in her eyes and peered both ways down the hall. A precarious mission was not the time to own up to the insecurities that had driven him to relearn his pronunciations. “Come on, Neville’s office is this way.”

The auditorium hosting the production of Julius Caesar was inside a large building on Hertford’s grounds that Sidney had visited for tutorials or lectures. But the passages felt very different when bustling with students and faculty. There was an eerie, ghostly quality to the space now, and twilight cast long shadows through the windows down the corridor. Every squeak upon the polished floor sounded like an accusation.

“Don’t walk like a burglar,” Gin whispered. “If someone does see us, we want to look as though we belong here. Your face is guilty.”

“Your heels clop like horseshoes.”

“I sound purposeful. Like we’re two stagehands sent to fetch something.” She darted into a nearby corner, returning with a mop and bucket. “There now. Try method acting.”

Sidney rolled his eyes but accepted the props.

They progressed down the hall without incident and stopped at the office labeled Dr. Samuel Neville. Gin tried the handle and sighed with disappointment when the door opened. “Pity, I was hoping to show off my lockpick skills.”

It was a small office—much smaller than Leland’s—but cozy, like a snug burrow for long winters. Overflowing bookshelves filled the walls, and the worn leather chair nestled in the corner was an inviting haven for overwhelmed students. Dusk was swiftly melting into night, but there was just enough light to make out details without turning on the lamp that might attract attention.

“I’ll start at the desk,” Ginevra said.

It was large and littered with papers, and Sidney did not envy her the task of combing through its contents without disturbing anything. Slowly, he surveyed the bookshelves. So many hiding places among those pages, so little time to check them all. “Do you have that small torch on you?”

She slipped it from her pocket and tossed it to him. Sidney shined it toward the shelves, tilting his head to better see the small beam’s spread of light.

“Are you looking for the entrance to a secret lair?” Gin asked.

“Dust.” Sidney crouched and examined the bottom rows. “I want to see which books he moves most often. If there’s a lot of dust, I doubt anything useful would be hidden there.”

“That’s very clever.”

The approval in her voice made Sidney angle his face away before she noticed his blush. “This kind of work is all about the details.”

“Not wigs and disguises? How disappointing.” The gentle rustle of papers stopped, and Gin inhaled sharply. “Good heavens. He’s drafting a letter of resignation.”

Sidney crossed to her side and shone the light on the page. It was full of circled words and scratched-through lines, but the gist of what remained was an apologetic notice of Neville’s intention to retire at the end of the year. “He’s not that old, though. Why retire now?”

“He hasn’t seemed well, though. Perhaps poor health is motivation enough.” Ginevra tucked the letter back into place and scrutinized the rest of the room. “That was the only thing of interest here. Where next?”