Page 64 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

“Yes, surely,” Donald said peevishly. “I was Leland’s orderly.”

“You?” she exclaimed. “But—but I would have known that.”

“It’s not as though you listen to my stories,” he muttered. “Is it so very hard to believe?”

Gin bit back a retort. Donald was right: She had spent more time avoiding him since his first ill-fated proposal than talking to him. His aristocratic languor was not suited to warfare, and Donald as an orderly seemed more plausible than Donald in combat. Still, it was a bitter pill to swallow that such a connection should have been so close at hand. “So you knew Robert Crowne?”

“The Vosburg stool pigeon,” Hughes murmured.

Ginevra was surprised that the name should be so familiar to him; but of course, he had also heard Dr. Neville’s speech in Malwyn Hall about Professor Leland uncovering die Krone.

Donald glowered down his nose at Gin, his eyes hooded. “I certainly did know him. Crowne was a weakling. Whatever recompense he got from the Germans for his services, I hope die Zahnkrone thought it was worth it, in the end.”

“Die Zahnkrone?” she echoed, puzzled by the extra syllable.

“That was the Germans’ pet name for Crowne.” Donald scowled. “Honestly, Ginevra, pay attention.”

“But that’s not the word Dr. Neville used,” she said. “It was die Krone.”

“Yes, I’m well aware,” Donald spat at her. “It’s one of the mistakes I kept trying to correct in the manuscript. I know it’s wrong because I was pressing Leland’s uniform in the next room when Neville brought the news about Crowne to him. I slipped out a back way to give them privacy at the time, and I wasn’t present at the tribunal. But Neville quite clearly said die Zahnkrone with the zed.” He sneered. “Robert Crowne was always slinking about, glaring at everyone from the corners. He didn’t fit in, and he acted like he was too good to be an orderly. So yes, I’ve always thought it very amusing the Germans should nickname him ‘the tough crown’ for his attitude. I should think, as a German student, you would appreciate the nuance.”

“Of course,” Gin said shortly, “but zäh means tough, not zahn. I’m not surprised you forgot the umlaut, Donald, as your pronunciation is as horrid as your kissing.”

Hughes choked on his drink, his shoulders heaving, but Donald reddened to a furious shade of scarlet as he stalked away from the circle. Ginevra knew it was foolish to needle him, that she still might have pursued an amicable discussion about the future of Chiseldon Park when cooler heads prevailed away from the liquor cart. But seeing him stew in a fraction of the embarrassment he’d put her through on the balcony made it undeniably worth it. Donald Craddock was a rotten egg, and rotten at German too—

She stopped, recalling the word as Donald had pronounced it, and her chest tightened with alarm. If he had indeed heard die Zahnkrone, the German’s nickname for their stool pigeon didn’t point the finger at Robert Crowne. That pairing of words meant something quite different but distinct: not tough crown, but tooth crown.

Everyone in Vosburg had overlooked the real traitor hiding in plain sight.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“What makes you so sure Robert Crowne was innocent?” Sidney asked Marion Kirk. He knew too well the half-baked confidence of people blind with affection, but Marion’s icy glare seemed very clear-eyed.

“You needn’t sound so skeptical. You didn’t know him like I did.”

“So tell me.”

Marion tugged at the lace shrug as though it had grown heavy. “I was an infant when Uncle Robert was expelled from Oxford. He moved in with us because my grandparents were too ashamed of the scandal and expulsion to take him back. I think my parents only tolerated him, but he was more like a brother or cousin than an uncle as I grew up. He would take me fishing when my father was too busy with chores, or play cards when my mother fussed at me for being underfoot. He read me fairy tales in the winter when it was too cold to play outside and told me about Oxford—the good parts, at least, until the memories dragged him down again.”

Sidney nodded to show he understood, but bitterness filled Marion’s eyes.

“I realize now he had so much leisure because no one would employ him for a long time. Eventually, he started driving the ambulance for the local cottage hospital, and that was good for him. He was almost happy for a while and started talking about marriage, but my parents were relieved when he finally joined the army. I was the only one devastated.” Her face twisted as though reliving the past. “When he returned after the war, I barely recognized him.”

“When he came back a traitor, you mean—alleged traitor,” he amended at the glare from Marion.

“Do you know what it’s like to live with that burden?” she snapped. “No one in the village will meet your eye, or those who do would rather spit at you. Rob locked himself in his room and wouldn’t come out for months.” She looked down, her throat bobbing with emotion. “Even after Rob died, the taint of suicide lingered, and my parents couldn’t bear the gossip. They sold the farm and moved halfway across the isle. Only my great-aunt Patricia stayed in Shropshire because she’s a staunch old bird who doesn’t care what people say.” Marion’s eyes blazed with tears when she straightened. “When Uncle Rob joined the army, it was a second chance at life for him. He wouldn’t have squandered it by selling secrets.”

“People squander second chances all the time.”

“Not Uncle Rob,” Marion said, and the fierce edge in her tone marked a clear line she would not allow others to breach.

Again, Sidney checked the stairs. Was Watkins going to return with reinforcements soon? Or should he try to shuttle Marion to one of the Rook’s agents?

“You said you’re here for the truth,” he pressed gently. “You think you’ll find that tonight?”

Marion’s brow tightened with a scowl. “I’ve been after Dr. Neville all year to talk to me about what happened inside Vosburg, and he keeps putting me off. He can’t run very far here.”

“He might not be keen to speak with you after being ripped off the podium at Malwyn Hall.”