Page 65 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

Marion pursed her lips. “That night got out of hand. Whitby shot down every piece I wanted to write about the club’s skeletons, and I wanted to try something more visible. Those boys have made enemies across the city with their parties, and many strangers were eager to give them a comeuppance—but yes, they were more difficult to manage than students. I thought maybe the whole thing would spook Neville enough to talk to me, but he only went further into hiding.” She leaned toward Sidney, a fire burning in her eyes. “I’m determined to make him talk before I leave Oxford. He’s the one who pointed the finger at my uncle, and I want to hear the story from his own lips. Either Neville is mistaken … or he lied.”

“But you don’t have proof,” Sidney said. “Miss Kirk, I understand wanting to believe your uncle was innocent, but without proof—”

Marion snapped open her handbag, and Sidney again tensed, but she withdrew a letter and shoved it at him, her hand trembling. Carefully, Sidney turned over the crumpled page.

Jane—

It was a heavy-handed scrawl with several places the author had so violently scratched out lines that the pen’s nib had torn the paper. It took Sidney a moment to make sense of the rambling—one line a memory, the next an apology—but then the gist became clear: It was a farewell, and the closing line burned with an agony Sidney recognized:

The Fates have allowed my life to unspool far longer than they should, long enough for the lies from Vosburg to make this mortal coil unbearable.

I am sorry.

“It’s the letter he left my mother before he walked in front of a lorry,” Marion said quietly. “I found it among my parents’ papers last year. I’d known in my gut he couldn’t have—wouldn’t have—turned traitor. But hearing it in his own words lit the fire under me to find answers.”

The letter was slim evidence, but the pain in those brief words compelled Sidney to read it again. And again. “Yes,” he said, returning the note with care, “I can see how this made you feel he was innocent.”

“It’s not a feeling,” Marion said. “I know—”

There was a bustle of activity on the stairs, and her head turned in alarm as Leland crossed the drawing room with Watkins at his heels.

“Now, Marion,” Leland tutted, “why on earth are you here?”

She lifted her chin. “I want a word with Dr. Neville.”

“The man nearly lives in his office,” Leland said. “Could you not have sought him out there?”

“I’ve tried,” Marion said through gritted teeth. “Porters keep escorting me from the premises.”

“Well, yes,” a crooked smile tipped Leland’s mouth, “you can’t be surprised after that little scene at the party.” The smile broadened. “Though indeed, perhaps I should thank you. Book sales have soared from all the public attention.”

“Wonderful,” Marion said flatly. “Now let me talk with Neville, and I’ll leave immediately.”

“Dr. Neville is unwell,” Watkins said, stepping forward, “and you’re hounding him.”

“It’s not hounding him to want the truth!” Marion cried.

Watkins recoiled from the outburst, and Leland’s breezy manner finally stiffened. “Now see here, Marion,” he chided.

“I will not see here,” Marion echoed with a snarl. “All I want is a straight answer out of Neville about my uncle, Robert Crowne. I don’t think he was a traitor inside Vosburg. There must have been a mistake.”

“Your—uncle.” Leland gaped, his face turning pale. “That’s … quite a coincidence, Marion. I’m so sorry, but this really isn’t the time—”

There was more movement on the stairs, and Sidney’s pulse quickened. Ginevra stood behind Watkins and Leland, visible to only him. Frantically, she motioned for him to approach, and he stepped forward.

But Marion’s attention snapped to Sidney, and she stabbed a finger in his direction. “Braithwaite agrees with me. Don’t you?” she insisted.

Watkins raised an eyebrow.

“Good God, Braithwaite.” Leland shook his head. “How on earth did you get mixed up in this?”

“I was just trying to help. Miss Kirk has a note that seems worth consideration.” He nodded at her to offer up the letter, and she held it out with a stiff hand.

Watkins cast a curious glance at Leland, who grew increasingly fidgety, but she took the letter and read in silence. “Have you ever shown this to anyone, Miss Kirk?” she asked.

“No. I found it among my mother’s papers last year. I’ve never told a soul about the family connection until Braithwaite here.” Marion’s jaw clenched. “I’m confident I knew my uncle’s true character, and I want his name cleared now.”

“The truth won’t bring him back to life though,” Watkins said, her tone gentle.