Page 7 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

There was no need to run for help now.

Chapter Three

OXFORD UNIVERSITY, APRIL 1951—TRINITY TERM, WEEK 1

Mr. Tolliver’s funeral was a quiet affair at the Wolvercote Cemetery during the Easter vacation between terms.

A surprising number of students were present besides Ginevra, Sarita, and Iris, a testimony to the librarian’s long tenure at the Bodleian. Though the vicar’s glowing remarks upon Tolliver’s service to the university filled the chapel with quiet goodwill, Ginevra rubbed at her collarbones, wishing the tight feeling within her chest would ease.

In many ways, the war had hardened her to death, especially when one wing of her home had been temporarily turned into a hospital ward. But Tolliver’s life had slipped away while she held him, and Gin felt responsible. It was silly, for a doctor had declared it a heart attack, but perhaps they could have acted more quickly and saved him.

When she spotted Sidney Braithwaite among the graveside crowd, it stirred these feelings further still. They had bumped into each other at the library all year after the disastrous introduction first term, and every week he pretended not to see her. The night Tolliver died was only the second time she’d directly addressed him, and it had gone even more poorly. She’d meant well, trying to warn Mr. Webb away from the Damocles boys, but she and Braithwaite interacted like oil and water, and she feared she had only made things worse. When she nodded politely at the funeral, he turned away and disappeared into the milling crowd of mourners.

The dawn of a new term—the final term of the year—meant there was little time to wallow in regret. Returning to the Bod after the funeral, however, daunted Gin more than the exams for which she needed to start preparing.

“Are you sure this is appropriate?” she stood before the floor-length mirror in Sarita’s room, twisting back and forth. The white Swiss dot dress felt far too cheery in comparison with her mood, but Iris had found it in Gin’s wardrobe and insisted she wear it on such a lovely spring day. It was one Gin hadn’t worn since her debutante season. “I feel as though mourning crape would be better.”

“Have you ever actually touched the stuff?” Iris shuddered. “I found an old veil of my nan’s once. It was so itchy and stiff, I don’t know how anyone could bear it.”

“If you’re grieving, you probably don’t notice,” Sarita drawled from the bed where she lay on her stomach, picking through a box of chocolates. “And if you’re not grieving, it probably irritates you enough to help fake it.”

Gin smoothed the A-line skirt and sighed. “Well, I am grieving. I can’t imagine the Bod without that dear old man.”

“And Tolliver would tell you don’t you dare grow maudlin over the books, or moisture would ruin them,” Sarita chided.

Iris shifted behind Gin and smoothed her elbow-length sleeves. “You look lovely. Try not to fret about him too much. He’d be horrified if his death ruined your prep for prelims.”

Gin knew her friends were right, though it couldn’t erase the memory of the old librarian’s final breaths in the garden. She pulled Iris into a tight side hug. “Are you sure you two don’t want to join me?”

“No, thank you,” Sarita said. “You turn into a bear while studying.”

“She’s right,” Iris said, patting Gin’s cheek. “I feel like a gooseberry. You only have eyes for your books.”

Gin squeezed her friend’s petite shoulders. “You could never be a gooseberry, darling. You’re more the size of a currant.”

At this, Iris began a defense of her proportions that included a few judiciously placed pinches that sent Gin scampering back to the mirror. She fluffed her hair and checked her red lipstick one last time.

Sarita rolled onto her side, propping up her head on one hand. “Is Braithwaite going to be there?”

Ginevra avoided meeting Sarita’s eyes in the mirror. “I have no idea.”

“You do seem to study at the Bod at the same time,” Iris piped up. “He’s always around when I sneak you biscuits.”

“I knew it,” Sarita breathed. She sat upright and held out her palm. “That’s a bob you owe me, gooseberry.”

Iris shook her head in mock exasperation and grabbed her handbag from the window seat.

Gin whirled around. “What on earth? I assure you, I don’t care where Sidney Braithwaite is.”

Sarita pocketed Iris’s money with a smug smile. “Of course, dear. You always chase after people at parties to check on them.”

Ginevra fumbled with her hat rather than mustering further defense. Braithwaite was the fly in the ointment of an otherwise lovely first year at Oxford. If they did always study at the same time, it was entirely unconscious on her part.

She gave the girls a cool nod. “You’re both very silly, but I love you. Enjoy your chocolates.” She sailed grandly from the room, secure in having put them in their place—until giggles erupted behind the closed door. With an aggrieved sigh, Gin tromped down the stairs and headed for the Bod.

It was both amusing and upsetting that Mr. Tolliver’s replacement at the library was a near copy of the man, albeit a more fragile, rumpled version who seemed to have misplaced his glasses. She would have preferred to duck past the newcomer before emotion could overtake her, but she’d received notice a book she’d requested had arrived.

Gin stopped at the desk. “Excuse me, but I think you have a book for me—Ginevra Bishop?”