Chapter Sixteen #2
The auditorium hosting the production of Julius Caesar was inside a large building on Hertford’s grounds that Sidney had visited for tutorials or lectures.
But the passages felt very different when bustling with students and faculty.
There was an eerie, ghostly quality to the space now, and twilight cast long shadows through the windows down the corridor.
Every squeak upon the polished floor sounded like an accusation.
“Don’t walk like a burglar,” Gin whispered. “If someone does see us, we want to look as though we belong here. Your face is guilty.”
“Your heels clop like horseshoes.”
“I sound purposeful. Like we’re two stagehands sent to fetch something.” She darted into a nearby corner, returning with a mop and bucket. “There now. Try method acting.”
Sidney rolled his eyes but accepted the props.
They progressed down the hall without incident and stopped at the office labeled Dr. Samuel Neville. Gin tried the handle and sighed with disappointment when the door opened. “Pity, I was hoping to show off my lockpick skills.”
It was a small office—much smaller than Leland’s—but cozy, like a snug burrow for long winters.
Overflowing bookshelves filled the walls, and the worn leather chair nestled in the corner was an inviting haven for overwhelmed students.
Dusk was swiftly melting into night, but there was just enough light to make out details without turning on the lamp that might attract attention.
“I’ll start at the desk,” Ginevra said.
It was large and littered with papers, and Sidney did not envy her the task of combing through its contents without disturbing anything. Slowly, he surveyed the bookshelves. So many hiding places among those pages, so little time to check them all. “Do you have that small torch on you?”
She slipped it from her pocket and tossed it to him. Sidney shined it toward the shelves, tilting his head to better see the small beam’s spread of light.
“Are you looking for the entrance to a secret lair?” Gin asked.
“Dust.” Sidney crouched and examined the bottom rows. “I want to see which books he moves most often. If there’s a lot of dust, I doubt anything useful would be hidden there.”
“That’s very clever.”
The approval in her voice made Sidney angle his face away before she noticed his blush. “This kind of work is all about the details.”
“Not wigs and disguises? How disappointing.” The gentle rustle of papers stopped, and Gin inhaled sharply. “Good heavens. He’s drafting a letter of resignation.”
Sidney crossed to her side and shone the light on the page. It was full of circled words and scratched-through lines, but the gist of what remained was an apologetic notice of Neville’s intention to retire at the end of the year. “He’s not that old, though. Why retire now?”
“He hasn’t seemed well, though. Perhaps poor health is motivation enough.” Ginevra tucked the letter back into place and scrutinized the rest of the room. “That was the only thing of interest here. Where next?”
“Check the furniture. Back, sides, underneath…”
Gin began prodding and poking the leather armchair, and Sidney returned to the bookshelves.
A quick sweep of the next two shelves identified a few promising spots, but the books’ pages revealed nothing.
Sidney stepped back, taking in the shelves as a unit, but his focus kept drifting to Ginevra.
She was absorbed in her search with the eagerness of a child for an Easter-egg hunt, and her thoroughness was impressive.
Unable to move the chair, she had wedged herself behind it, and Sidney half feared her enthusiasm would dismantle the piece of furniture.
Sidney stopped, his eye snagging on the shelf beyond her. From this vantage, it was easy to see there was one book within arm’s reach of the desk that stood upside down on the shelf. He sidled around Ginevra and pulled it out.
It was a thick book, but real, with no hidden compartments. As he flipped through the pages, it fell open on its own to a sheaf of paper nestled between the pages. Sidney set down the book and opened the paper.
“Bloody hell,” he said. “It’s not just resignation. I think he’s moving to the Soviet Union. This is a visa application.”
“What?” Gin clambered from behind the chair. “That seems rather damning, doesn’t it? Finish spying and flee the country?”
“It does.” Sidney riffled through the pages one more time and refolded the bundle. “We definitely should tell the Rook—”
A woman’s voice hummed outside the door, and Sidney froze. Exiting through the window wasn’t an option, for the ancient panes of glass were sealed shut. If someone was coming in, they were doomed.
Ginevra, however, dropped to the floor and tugged Sidney down with her.
She crawled underneath the desk, waving for him to follow.
They’d be hidden well enough if the incoming person didn’t sit at the desk, but it was still a risk.
Perhaps they were better off being discovered and make excuses?
Only the punishment for couples caught in compromising circumstances always seemed worse for women than men, and Sidney’s stomach clenched.
The doorknob rattled, and he dove.
It was much tighter under the desk than he expected, especially with Gin’s dress constituting a third person.
She sat curled, knees to her chest, but the thick layers of her skirt bunched between them.
Sidney tried shifting away, but his head gently bumped the desk’s underside and Gin shook her head, wide-eyed.
The door opened and closed softly, and Sidney held his breath.
Light footsteps crossed the rug. There was the familiar sound of books sliding on and off the shelf, and a woman’s voice muttering. Sidney hung his head, trying to listen, and got a face full of tulle for his trouble.
An itch crawled under his nostrils. It wasn’t a full sneeze, but a miserable tickle.
Desperate, Sidney swiped the side of his nose across his shoulder, bumping Ginevra, but he couldn’t reach the spot driving him mad.
His hands were pinioned at his sides, and he didn’t dare shift too much lest he bump the desk again.
Gin stared at him, bemused. “What’s wrong?” she mouthed.
A real sneeze started building, and Sidney shuddered.
He’d been humiliated many times in his life, most recently when Gin had nearly kissed him outside St. Mildred’s.
But there was perhaps no lower he could sink than wriggling his nose like a rabbit six inches from her face in a pantomime of a sneeze.
Understanding flared in her eyes. Sidney winced, bracing to hold off the sneeze a little longer, but then something soft brushed his cheek.
Ginevra nuzzled his face, her nose gently bumping his, and Sidney sat in such profound shock that he momentarily forgot they were trapped under a desk, inside a don’s office, on a top secret mission for the British government.
He wanted to thread his fingers through her hair and draw her into a kiss that would most certainly lead to their mutual expulsion and a duel with Craddock if caught.
Ginevra drew back, her eyes glittering with amusement. “Sorry,” she mouthed again. “Did it work?”