Page 56 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

“I’ll see if she’s available,” she said stiffly. “But gentlemen are not allowed upstairs. You may both wait in the sitting room.”

The sitting room was a cramped space with spindly furniture unlikely to bear much weight. Sidney perched on the edge of a chintz settee in the corner and tried to keep his elbows away from the china figurines upon the side table.

Ginevra, however, paced before the picture window, the air crackling with her restless energy. “I can’t believe we missed something so important. Honestly, what good is the Security Service if they can’t uncover basic genealogy?”

Sidney coughed, glancing toward the open door to the foyer. “Our friends,” he emphasized softly, “are sometimes hampered by the same restrictions as everyone else. You might be surprised how bad recordkeeping is in small villages. One flood, one fire, and it’s all gone.”

Gin groaned in disgust. “I suppose you’re right…”

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and a brunette woman wearing a gardening apron and rubber gloves strode into the room. “Gin, what a delightful surprise! McKibbin made it sound like encyclopedia salesmen had come calling.”

Gin rushed forward, “I’m so sorry to trouble you, Audrey. I was trying to return a book to Miss Kirk and discovered she’s gone. Has she really been sent down?”

Sidney had to admire the innocent shock painted on Gin’s face.

“That’s the short of it, yes.” Miss Tuttle pushed back the damp hair clinging to her temples, bending her wrist to avoid the rubber gloves. “And after what we saw in her room, I wasn’t that surprised. The girl had an unhealthy interest in the Damocles Club. It was bound to end poorly.”

“Do you know where she’s gone?” Gin asked. “If I wanted to post the book.”

Miss Tuttle snorted. “You’re far too nice, Ginevra. I’m sure McKibbin has the address if you insist on playing Good Samaritan. Kirk was from Shropshire, if I remember correctly.”

“Back with her parents?” Gin asked lightly, though the soft clench of her hands betrayed her nerves.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. She didn’t get on with them, from what I understood. McKibbin always quizzes new girls about their families, especially if they don’t visit, and Kirk made some very sour comments about not seeing eye to eye. I think there was an aunt, perhaps? A great-aunt? Or maybe a cousin—” Miss Tuttle stopped, the full force of her gaze snagging on Sidney in the corner. “Oh! Hello there, I don’t think we’ve met. Audrey Tuttle.”

Sidney rose. “Sidney Braithwaite. I’m a friend of Ginevra’s.”

Too late, he realized how easily her given name had rolled off his tongue with familiarity. Gin, however, didn’t seem to notice. She looked out the window, lost in thought.

Miss Tuttle’s eyes flicked between Sidney and Gin, one eyebrow raised with obvious delight. “Are you indeed? Then you are a friend of mine.” She extended her gloved hand, then grimaced. “On second thought, let’s not shake. I’ve been setting the rat traps for McKibbin.”

“Rat traps!” Gin’s attention snapped back into the room. “Audrey, that’s absurd. You must find new lodgings.”

“Just say the word, darling, and I shall follow, but I can’t very well hole up in St. M’s unless they have a secret garret for LMH’s postgraduate spinsters. The rats have fallen to me because of Kirk’s departure—it was her job to spread the poison—so I am perhaps a little sad to see her go. But it was rather satisfying to see McKibbin lose her rag when she discovered Kirk had stolen all the rat poison as a final act of rebellion. Of course, McKibbin in high dudgeon is both entertaining and dangerous for those of us left behind, but I salute Kirk for trying—”

“Sorry,” Gin interjected. “Did you say Miss Kirk took all the rat poison?” Her eyes cut at Sidney in alarm.

“Yes, every box of it. McKibbin buys it in great quantities to wage war on the infestation, and she used to make Kirk sprinkle it around every night. It never seemed to do much good, though; maybe Kirk was chucking it in the bin and toddling off for a smoke instead.” Miss Tuttle snorted. “Anyway, it’s all gone missing, so I was deputized as rat-trap-setter.… Gin, are you feeling unwell?”

The ghostly tinge to Ginevra’s skin made Sidney stride across the room.

“Yes,” she said faintly. “I think it was something I ate at lunch. We should probably leave anyway.”

“Of course, dear. I’m so sorry you came for nothing, but it was charming to see you again.” Miss Tuttle’s brown eyes cut mischievously at Sidney. “It was very nice to meet you, too, Mr. Braithwaite.”

She escorted them to the door, and they exchanged farewells. Ginevra’s pallor was even worse in the sunshine, but Sidney refrained from inspecting her until they were beyond the window’s observational reach. He tugged her down the next alleyway and grabbed her shoulders, bending over to peer into her eyes. “Are you really unwell?”

“Sidney,” Gin breathed. “Marion stole rat poison. That often contains cyanide. That could have been how she poisoned Tolliver—” Her breath hitched, her eyes growing wide in alarm. “What if she wants to poison someone else now?”

It took several tries to reach the Rook that evening, the secretary’s tone increasingly more strident with each crumpet order from the nearest telephone box. When she finally transferred them, Sidney had nearly cut off the circulation in his index finger from winding the cord.

“Am I to regret giving you this number?” the Rook said tersely.

“Sir, we think Marion Kirk is related to Robert Crowne!” Ginevra cried. She stood on tiptoe, her face pressed close to Sidney’s to share the receiver. “It turns out she led the protest that interrupted Leland’s book party, and she’s been expelled for it, and she seems to have stolen a great deal of rat poison.”

There was a long pause.

“Start at the beginning,” the Rook said, his voice clipped.