Chapter Sixteen
Sidney sank onto a hard wooden seat in the audience, scanning for any sign of auburn hair.
Around him, the crowd in the auditorium was restless, ready for their entertainment to begin.
The lights dimmed, and Sidney checked again the exit behind him.
He had chosen seats near the back of the auditorium so it’d be easier to execute Ginevra’s plan, but he would slip out and claim he fell ill if she stood him up.
The idea was risky to begin with; without her brash determination, it was practically doomed.
The door behind Sidney opened, and a sharp tread marched down the outer aisle.
He looked up, expecting Ginevra at last, but it was a pair of burly, grim-faced men followed by Swithun’s Dean.
They progressed halfway toward the stage and stopped at the end of a row, where the Dean addressed someone seated, beckoning sharply for them to come.
To Sidney’s surprise, it was Marion Kirk who slunk up the aisle with the men, vengeance in her face.
It was peculiar, to say the least, and he weighed how annoyed Gin would be to find him missing when she finally arrived.
But then the curtains opened amid a smattering of applause, and there was another flutter of movement near the front of the room.
Ginevra had entered through an entirely different door and now floated across the room, whispering hellos and waving to audience members.
Light blue tulle puffed around her shoulders like a wreath of delicate petals, cascading over a dress that reminded Sidney of the wild cornflowers that grew near his childhood home.
Breathless, Gin dropped into the seat beside him as the curtains opened. “Just in time.”
Sidney ducked his head to whisper, “You missed Kirk being escorted from the premises.”
“What?” Gin exclaimed.
The girls on the other side of Sidney hissed at them to be quiet, and Ginevra shot a withering look in return. She sank closer to Sidney and whispered in his ear, “What happened?”
“That’s all I know. You missed her by minutes.” Gin’s tulle cape spilled across Sidney’s shoulders, tickling his neck, and he batted it away. “What on earth are you wearing? What happened to discreet?”
Gin swatted his hand and leaned back. “Trust me, please.” But her brow knotted in thought as a handful of actors emerged and began the opening scene.
Attending the Dramatic Society’s performance of Julius Caesar had surprised Sidney when Gin suggested it, but it was a clever idea he wouldn’t have considered.
The play was held inside the very same building that housed Dr. Neville’s office—and Neville himself was the production’s faculty advisor, which included a role.
Moving pictures had never captured Sidney’s imagination like live theater, and he relaxed deeper into his seat.
He hadn’t seen a proper play in years; not unless he counted the pantomime staged by farmworkers that Amélie had dragged him to watch one warm afternoon in France.
It was a rare snatch of color among other gray memories.
“You are very bad at having fun, my friend.” Amélie shook her head at him, a braided wreath of strawberry-blond hair glinting in the sunlight.
Usually, she dressed in slouchy clothes and a soft cap to blend in with other workers around the chateau.
But that day she’d put on a faded floral dress and forced him to dance with her when an old man struck up a waltz on his accordion.
It was the first time Sidney had tried to picture a life after the war ended.
Ginevra squeezed his forearm. “Here’s Lewis Hughes playing Caesar.”
Sidney forced the memory back into hibernation and refocused. A different group had come onstage, and he hardly recognized the American dressed in a toga. “Look how he’s shifted his posture. The mannerisms are nothing like in class.”
Ginevra hummed in agreement. “That slight adjustment to his accent too. I should never have guessed he’s American.” She hesitated, glancing at Sidney with dark-flashing eyes. “You didn’t seem happy the Rook ruled him out so quickly in favor of focusing on Neville. Do you not agree?”
“He’s right Hughes has no apparent connection to Vosburg or Robert Crowne. He wasn’t imprisoned in Germany during the war, and he’s only been in England a few years for school. If die Krone is our best lead to who killed Mr. Tolliver, it doesn’t make sense to focus on Hughes at the moment.”
“And since when do you readily agree with the Rook?”
The teasing arch of Gin’s eyebrow felt like a match rasping down Sidney’s spine, igniting a small flicker behind his breastbone that refused to extinguish.
He was relieved when she returned to watching the performance, and he clenched his fists to keep from toying with the tulle still brushing his shoulder.
After a few minutes of dumb silence, he realized he hadn’t even attempted a retort.
With a subtle point, Gin directed his attention to the stage. “There’s Neville, now.”
The don bore more resemblance to a wax figure every time Sidney saw him. He crossed the stage with a lethargic, anxious energy as though distracted and seemed especially nervous in the footlights. Sidney wondered how much experience he’d had onstage versus working behind the scenes.
Gin thrust the playbill toward him. “Sidney, Neville is playing Cassius. That’s the leak’s code name!”
“The leader of the conspirators against Caesar,” Sidney murmured. “Surely it can’t be that obvious, though.”
“Then it’s a dreadful coincidence … and even worse performance.” Gin tsked at her wristwatch. “We should be going, but wait a few minutes before following me. There’s an odious St. M’s girl down the row who might report me to Principal if she suspects we’re sneaking off together.”
She rose swiftly, and Sidney waited what felt like an appropriate interval before ducking out the rear exit and into the empty atrium—where there was no sign of his partner.
Slightly alarmed, he peered down the empty corridors and was relieved to spot a flutter of blue tulle behind a large potted plant in one corner.
Gin was wrestling a large amount of gray fabric over her head and bare shoulders. “Hold these, will you?” came her muffled voice, the tulle cape and an empty bag thrust in his direction.
Uneasy, Sidney checked that no one was watching this absurd ritual, but Gin soon emerged breathless and smoothed the gray cotton dress that now covered the blue. She added a black cardigan and an ash-brown wig with a thick fringe and long waves. “How do I look?”
The peacock had become a pigeon, and Sidney was very impressed indeed. “I’d never guess it was you. But why not start like that?”
Ginevra unceremoniously stuffed the tulle cape into the bag and skimmed her hands over the demure outfit.
“I wanted everyone to see me in the blue dress first because it’s memorable.
If we’re spotted, no one will think to associate this dull number with the extremely fashionable Ginevra Bishop who arrived at the play.
I even ran backstage and congratulated a few actors on a brilliant run. ”
“Where on earth did you even get a wig?”
“I made friends with the Dramatic Society’s costumer and asked to borrow it for a fancy dress party.” She offered a limp mop of black curls. “I brought you one too if you like.”
Sidney raised his hands to avoid touching the thing. “I’ll take my chances, thanks.”
Ginevra grinned. “Right—shall we?” She dropped the bag behind the palm, and they hurried toward the door at the end of the hall.
“Sid!”
A voice echoed behind them, and they whirled round. To Sidney’s shock and dismay, his brother Felix sauntered toward them, his cheeks dimpled in that way Sidney’s clenched jaw never could manage.
He clapped Sidney on the shoulder. “I thought that was thee sneaking out! Didn’t ken this was your sort of thing, or I’d have asked thee to come with me.”
Sidney forced a tight smile. Felix’s note that he’d tossed aside for Ginevra’s cipher all those weeks ago had mentioned coming to a play, but he’d been too distracted to think of it again. “Sorry. Been busy.”
“Aren’t you always, eh?” Felix cocked his head at Ginevra and his eyes sparkled. “And is this who you’re busy with, then? Felix—Felix Braithwaite.” He extended a hand, which Ginevra shook warmly.
“Gin Bishop. I didn’t know Sidney had a charming brother,” she said, a coy smile twitching her lips.
Sidney knew hair color was the only way in which they resembled, for Felix had been the taller, broader Braithwaite since secondary school.
But he did not like the way Gin’s eyes shifted between the two of them.
Sometimes it felt as though those eyes were indexing every detail down to his soul.
“Don’t let us keep you from the play,” Sidney said. “She needed—some air.”
The way Felix’s grin deepened made Sidney instantly regret the lie. There would be hell to pay in teasing for this moment later.
“Lovely to meet you,” Gin said breezily, waving her fingers as Sidney shuffled her away.
“Enjoy the air,” Felix said. “And Sid, didn’t forget to call Mam and Da!”
Sidney raised a hand in acknowledgment of his brother’s badgering, and they slipped through the door into the outer corridor.
“Your brother seems nice,” Gin said.
“He is.” Sidney peered down the passing hallway, checking the coast was clear. “He’s so damned nice it makes me feel like a shriveled walnut sometimes.”
“Perhaps you would feel less shriveled if you hadn’t suffocated your natural accent.” She cocked her head at him. “You’re a very good mimic, aren’t you?”
He shied away from the curiosity in her eyes and peered both ways down the hall. A precarious mission was not the time to own up to the insecurities that had driven him to relearn his pronunciations. “Come on, Neville’s office is this way.”