Page 57 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

Methodically, Sidney laid out what had happened since their meeting in the cemetery. “The visa papers and letter of resignation hidden in Neville’s office look like he’s planning a move to the Soviet Union, but now this new information tying Kirk to Robert Crowne seems like a stronger lead.”

“Did she strike you as someone motivated to spy for the Soviets?”

Sidney glanced at Ginevra, and she exhaled softly.

“I witnessed the depths of Marion’s fixation on the Damocles Club when I visited her rooms. My friend Audrey joked one of them must have broken her heart, but I wondered then if her opposition might be more ideological. To many students, even those without Communist sympathies”—Gin’s eyelashes fluttered pointedly at Sidney—“they represent what’s wrong with the class divide in England. Now knowing Marion has a family member who also betrayed his country, I wonder what sort of influence that might have had on her to follow suit.”

The Rook fell silent, and Sidney nodded to show support. She’d laid the problem out very neatly, and he knew the Rook would appreciate it too. But her answering smile and soft blush made him realize with a pang of guilt how much she had needed that reassurance.

“Yes, you were right to call,” the Rook said at last. “I’ll send someone to Patricia Crowne’s home in Shropshire to ascertain if Marion is there; if not, you should remain vigilant.”

“Are we shifting our focus from Neville to Kirk then?” Sidney asked. “This assumes Tolliver knew she was related to Robert Crowne.”

“Yes—at least, until we’ve located the woman. Given what we’ve seen of her activities already, I doubt someone like that will be bothered much by expulsion if she wants to cause more trouble.”

Sidney agreed. “It’s the poison that worries us. What if she tries to contaminate an entire event?”

“Yes, but it’s a matter of anticipating where she might strike,” the Rook said. “We can’t infiltrate every party in Oxford.”

Cold dread rolled through Sidney. He had never cared much for gambling, but in that moment, he would have bet everything he had on exactly what sort of party Marion Kirk couldn’t resist ruining. “The Damocles Club is hosting a party this weekend at a place called Foxley Hall. They’ve invited nearly the whole university.”

Ginevra’s head jerked up, her eyes wide.

“Ahh.” The Rook exhaled with resignation. “Very good, Braithwaite. That won’t give me long to assemble a team, but I should be able to slip enough people into the kitchens to watch for any foul play with the food. Could you and Miss Bishop procure invitations to watch for Miss Kirk among the guests?”

“Yes,” Gin said. “I’m sure of it.”

Sidney’s eyes caught hers in surprise, but she shook her head, her lips pressed together as though something tasted foul.

“Very well, then. Call again on Friday evening, and we’ll confirm the details.” The Rook hesitated. “If I were you, I wouldn’t consume anything at that party to be on the safe side.”

“Yes, sir,” Sidney said. “Till Friday.” He hung up and stared down at Ginevra. Her green eyes had deepened to a dark shade, nearly black, and simmered with an emotion Sidney couldn’t name. “You seem very sure of those invitations.”

“Yes, I am.” Gin heaved a sigh of resignation. “Foxley Hall is Donald’s home.”

Chapter Nineteen

It was a plan all too easy to set in motion once Gin settled her stomach. Donald was so assured of his desirability that his irritation with her vanished at the crook of her finger, and Gin found grim solace in how well she’d taken the measure of his character. The smug delight in his watery eyes foretold a renewal of future proposals, confident that her prior refusals had been based on nothing but foolishness. It was a bitter pill for Ginevra to swallow, but gaining prime access to the Damocles party was worth it.

Gin pulled white silk gloves above her elbows and clasped a diamond bracelet around her left wrist. She had chosen a midnight-blue gown for the party at Foxley Hall, a strapless affair that accentuated her collarbones and pearl necklace to great effect. The smooth, fitted bodice tapered to the waist and then plumed into a wide, full skirt held aloft with layers of soft tulle that swished when she twirled. It would be a very nice dress for dancing if she were going with someone other than Donald, whose bony arms at the Queen Charlotte’s Ball had felt like the embrace of a large praying mantis.

That was, of course, before the champagne and snogging and ensuing proposal, but it was a vivid detail that haunted Gin whenever Donald loomed too close. She uncapped her red lipstick and shuddered, wishing she could step into the past and chide her younger, heartbroken self. She’d still been reeling from her mother’s death, so desperate to escape her father’s house—anything had seemed like a better alternative to her grief and anger that night, even a man who kissed her like perusing the newspaper. She was very fortunate indeed that sense had returned with sobriety, but she could have saved herself a world of headache since.

Tonight, however, there was no room for remorse. She would suffer Donald’s presence for the good of the investigation.

Iris leaned around the doorframe and whistled. “Gosh, Gin, are you sure you’re not leading Craddock on a bit dressed like that?”

Gin whirled around. Iris wore a yellow dress the exact shade of a daisy center, her cheeks and lips a velvety pink. “Where are you going?” Gin asked sharply.

“To the party at Foxley Hall.” Iris smiled, smoothing her waist. “Harold asked me to accompany him.”

Gin stiffened. Donald had traveled home earlier in the day to oversee preparations, so Sidney had secured her a seat in Harold’s car. They knew better than to deter him from accepting the invitation; the best they could do was plan a series of diversions to keep him out of the refreshment. Adding Tweety to that plan complicated matters further still.

“How jolly.” Gin forced a smile. “Are you sure you want to, though? The Damocles set is awfully dull.”

“Yes, I do. I might never see the inside of a house like Foxley Hall again.”

“You’re welcome to Chiseldon Park whenever you like.”