Page 80 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

Behind Watkins, Sidney closed the back door, catching Gin’s eye with a warning. They would have to explain their presence without revealing too much. Only where on earth had Hughes disappeared to?

“I remembered him bragging about this stupid house and had a hunch. I came to make sure the bastard didn’t get away.” Marion rubbed at her wrists, still red from the bindings. “But he got the jump on me, and these two just freed me.”

“We also realized the house was a likely hiding spot,” Gin said. “It seemed best to secure him until the police arrived, especially after he attacked Miss Kirk.”

“She attacked me first,” Leland growled.

Gin gave an elegant shrug, as though tying up rogue professors was a frequent pastime.

Watkins’s eyebrows rose. “Such exemplary dedication from students.”

“And colleagues,” Sidney said evenly. “Everyone is quite diligent for justice tonight.”

Watkins glanced at Neville with concern, but the other don was fixated on Leland. “Dr. Neville shared your suspicions about Professor Leland’s flight to this house but did not want to send police on a wild-goose chase. I did not think he has slept enough to drive alone.”

This, Ginevra understood. Dr. Neville shuffled across the kitchen unsteadily, still clutching the briefcase. His jumper and trousers were soaked, his glasses bespeckled with rain, and his thin hair lay plastered to his scalp. But he stared down at Leland like a starving man before his last meal.

Leland struggled to sit up, pathetic as a worm on the hook. “Sam, I’ll turn myself in, I promise. Only untie me, please.”

“Is that a confession?” Watkins asked.

Leland hesitated, the desperation in his face souring to a glower, but he recoiled when Dr. Neville crouched beside his head, the giant case hovering inches from his nose.

“I’m sure you’d like to turn yourself in,” Neville whispered, “because there’s not really enough evidence to condemn you for Vosburg—is there? Enough time has passed, and Robert’s now dead. It would be Donald Craddock’s word against yours, and people always want to believe you. Just like they did when Robert was expelled after Quintin Jones drank that vodka and died.” Neville pushed his glasses back up his nose, the whites of his eyes streaked with red. “You told them Robert imposed the sconce and made Quintin drink, didn’t you? But I remember it was you egging Quintin on.”

Ginevra stared at Sidney, her mouth ajar.

“We were all a part of it,” Leland protested. “Robert wasn’t innocent.”

“And he wasn’t guilty of that boy’s death either. But you let him take the fall for it, and it vaulted you in the club’s favor. An undesirable removed, and leadership protected.” Neville’s voice wavered, and he swallowed. “No, I’m quite aware that my testimony from Vosburg means little since you convinced me I’d heard wrong all those years ago. I’ve already sworn under oath it was die Krone.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he shuddered. “You used me to condemn an innocent man … my orderly, Leland. My friend. I won’t let you evade justice again.”

Neville set down the case and opened it. There was an ominous array of reels and dials and knobs, but Gin recognized it as a mobile recording machine. He unrolled the cable toward the nearest socket, and a red light lit up inside the case.

Leland strained against his bonds. “Jacqueline,” he appealed to Dr. Watkins. “Be the voice of reason here. These two are blinded by grief. Surely you can see I’m innocent.”

Watkins averted her eyes, toying with the zipper on her mackintosh. “I have tried to remain impartial. I didn’t know Robert Crowne nor anything of the events in Vosburg beyond your memoir. If you truly are innocent, then do you have anything to fear?”

Leland made a derisive huff at Neville’s box. “I’m afraid of the madman who lugged that great thing out here to record a confession obtained under duress when there’s absolutely no proof.”

Neville unclipped a handheld microphone and flipped a lever. “I’ll find proof.” His knuckles turned white clenching the microphone. “I—I know you’ll try to ruin me too with this, but I don’t care. I’m sure some of the Germans stationed at the castle would give you up in a heartbeat.”

“And I will personally help Dr. Neville hunt them down,” Marion added with a snarl.

She stared at Professor Leland with simmering vitriol, the kind of loathing born from years of aimless anger that had found its proper recipient. But it was the pain in Neville’s eyes that made Gin’s stomach twist in knots. Leland’s lies had made Neville an instrument in the destruction of Robert Crowne, and the don was not a ruthless man beyond the chessboard. A confession might bring Marion closure, but Dr. Neville would bear that guilt forever.

At last, Leland hung his head. “On with it, then.”

Neville made a ragged exhale and began flipping switches. Watkins turned away, muttering to herself about needing tea, and Sidney eased closer to Ginevra. He slipped one arm around her, and there was a gentle pressure as his hand snaked down her side, pulling her toward him. Gin startled, for it hardly seemed a moment for affection. But Sidney watched Neville and Marion as though oblivious to his own movements.

“Did you read the note from Leland’s pocket?” he murmured.

“What—?”

Sidney sauntered away as though he hadn’t heard her, and Ginevra reexamined the crumpled note still in her palm. It was handwritten and not encoded—dashed off in a hurry, perhaps? It seemed plain enough that Leland intended to request help leaving England. But there must be something about the message she was missing for Sidney to press the matter.

She looked to him for a clue, but he was taking a seat at the kitchen table. With his back to the large window, Sidney propped up his legs on the chair beside him and crossed his arms. He might just as well have been preparing for a nap, and Ginevra wanted to shake him. What the devil was she supposed to do now?

“Let’s make you more comfortable.” Marion shoved Leland upright against the cabinets, his trussed hands trapped behind him, and the professor winced. Ginevra wondered if they ought to adjust the bindings for his comfort, but the anger in the professor’s eyes when Marion held the microphone to his lips made her nix the idea immediately. A bound Leland was much safer.