Page 68 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

Hughes knelt at Sidney’s other side. “What happened?”

“Leland shot him,” Ginevra said, fighting a quaver in her voice.

“No, the bullet is lodged here.” Watkins tapped a small indentation in the bookcase. “It might have grazed him, but I think hitting the shelf hurt Braithwaite more.”

“He’s breathing,” Hughes confirmed. “I think he’s only stunned.”

Relief flooded through Ginevra, and she reached across Sidney to grab Hughes’s hand. “Could you find my friend Sarita DeSilva? She’s a medical student. She’ll know what to do.”

Hughes slipped out of the room with more speed than Donald, and Watkins followed, shutting the door behind her as the crowd outside grew.

Anxiously, Gin peeled back the sodden handkerchief. The bleeding had slowed, but Sidney seemed paler than normal. Despite the new freckles of dried blood, he was beautiful; the familiar knot between his eyes smoothed away, his long brown lashes brushing his cheekbones as though asleep. But it was far too much like the face of death, and she shuddered.

A shadow fell over Gin’s shoulder. Marion stared down at her, the lines around her mouth drawn. “I’m sorry for dragging him into this,” she said softly.

“It’s not your fault,” Gin said. “Leland’s a monster.”

Marion crossed her arms, turning toward the window till only her profile was visible. “I know. But maybe I should have left the past alone.”

If Sarita was shocked to find Sidney unconscious and bleeding, her implacable nature kicked in so swiftly that she set down to business with an efficiency that soothed Gin’s nerves. A quick inspection of Sidney’s head confirmed it was not a gunshot wound, and Sarita directed two footmen to carry him to a nearby settee. A maid soon brought a first aid kit and a basin of water.

The wet cloth on Sidney’s forehead made his eyelids flutter. “Ginevra,” he breathed.

“I’m right here.” Gin knelt beside the settee and held his hand as Sarita cleaned and bandaged the wound. His grip was tight, and he peered at her with hooded eyes as though he couldn’t bear the light.

“Mr. Braithwaite,” Sarita said. “I’d like you to sit up for a while.”

“I don’t want to sit up,” Sidney said, his voice hoarse. “My head is pounding.” He threw one arm over his eyes, still clinging to Ginevra’s hand.

“It’s very likely a concussion, Mr. Braithwaite,” Sarita said. “You should be fine with rest, but we’ll need to watch for swelling. I’d like you to stay awake a little longer, and then you can sleep if someone monitors you, especially through the night. Perhaps Mr. Webb would oblige.”

Sidney grunted and tried to straighten, and the wince shot straight through Ginevra. Harold was obviously the appropriate person for overnight surveillance, but sleep felt impossible for her. She would relax only if able to watch the slow rise and fall of Sidney’s chest.

“Could we keep Harold out for a bit?” he asked, rubbing at his temples. “Noise makes my head throb right now.”

“What about the telly if it’s very quiet?” Gin suggested.

Sidney nodded, though he seemed reluctant to release her hand, and Gin turned on the set in the corner. She propped Sidney upright with a few more pillows, and he sank back, his eyes so very weary that Gin was relieved when Sarita finally allowed him the sleep he so obviously wanted.

Outside the study, the party had finally disbanded. Watkins had proved herself a very effective guard for the door and departed last with Neville after promising to inquire after Sidney in the morning. Marion had slipped away without a word to anyone.

Iris tiptoed into the room while Gin and Sarita were tidying the first aid supplies and shut the door behind her. “Dr. Watkins spoke with Donald, and he said we can stay the night if Sidney can’t be moved.” She wrinkled her nose in amusement. “Harold Webb seems especially delighted.”

Ginevra imagined it was a begrudging concession from Donald. “Are the police not here yet?”

“The police?” Iris echoed. “Donald told everyone it was an accident while someone inspected an heirloom pistol.”

“What?” Gin whipped her head toward the doorway, ready to hunt down Donald and drill some sense into his skull. “That’s absolutely not what happened. Professor Leland shot him and then ran away!”

The girls recoiled.

“Leland? What on earth—!” Iris gaped. “Why would he even bring a gun?”

Gin brushed a lock of hair away from Sidney’s bandage, the weight of everything she still couldn’t tell the girls about Leland’s treachery a burden on her soul. “He claimed it was for extra protection after the protest at Malwyn Hall, but I think a guilty conscience put him on the defensive. We learned tonight that Donald, Professor Leland, and Dr. Neville were imprisoned together in Germany, along with Marion Kirk’s uncle. Dr. Neville accused her uncle of treason while inside the prison, but Marion has never believed it and came tonight to press him on the details. Except dear, dumb Donald unwittingly forced Professor Leland’s hand into admitting he was the traitor and let her uncle take the fall for it.” Gin sighed. “All this time the secret was wrapped up in a misheard German word.”

“Blimey,” Iris whispered. “I knew Damocles would throw a ripping party, but they’ve really outdone themselves tonight.”

“Leland’s a smug bastard,” Sarita said. “He would mince about all these years as though he was a hero rather than a villain.”