Chapter Sixteen #3
It had worked all too well, but Sidney was tempted to shake his head and see if she’d try again.
Only the soft thud of a book shutting recalled him to his senses.
The person had shifted closer to their hiding spot and now perused the shelves behind the desk.
Sidney ducked his head, wary of the tulle this time, and peered through the arm of the chair concealing them.
All thoughts of kissing vanished.
It was Dr. Watkins. She had pulled over a step stool and was searching through the books on top of the bookcase, murmuring at each one she inspected.
After clicking her tongue in disappointment, she shifted the stool to the next shelf and repeated the process.
Sidney realized with a rush of panic that he had also left the book containing the visa application on the floor while squeezing under the desk.
If Watkins decided to pick it up, she would definitely spot them.
But why hadn’t she turned on the office’s light?
At last, the don made a soft exclamation of success and slipped a book into the bag hanging from her shoulder. She stepped off the stool and picked it up, turning away from the shelves, but stopped.
There were more voices in the hall.
Watkins darted out of sight. There was a soft bump as the step stool moved across the room, and the door opened.
“Oh, Dr. Watkins,” a man’s nasal voice said in surprise. “Is everything all right, ma’am?”
“Yes,” Watkins said hastily, “I was looking for something Dr. Neville borrowed, but no matter.”
“I’m searching too,” the man said. “I can’t find my mop … ah!” Heavy footsteps crossed the room. “I suppose I left it in here earlier. Sorry to bother you, ma’am.”
“Not at all, I’m finished…”
The door shut behind them. Voices faded down the hall, but Sidney waited until he was dead certain the coast was clear before crawling from under the table and retrieving the dropped book.
“Could you see what she was really doing?” Gin asked. “I know an evasive tone when I hear one. She was most certainly not ‘looking for something.’”
“She was, though. She took a book but didn’t want to be caught in here.
” Sidney returned the step stool to where Watkins had stood and climbed, surveying where the don had been digging.
The thickest layer of dust lay upon these books.
He opened a few at random but could see nothing unique about them besides being very old.
Inside each one, Neville’s name was written on the flyleaf.
Sidney stepped down to Ginevra’s side. “I don’t think Watkins was borrowing that book she left with.
I think she might have stolen it.” He turned the book around and tapped the inked scribble.
“I noticed a lot of books formerly owned by professors at Olenev’s and thought it an odd coincidence they would all do business with him.
But what if she’s selling others’ books to him on the sly? ”
“Some of these probably are worth quite a bit,” Gin mused. “I suppose if she’s careful, only taking books that won’t be missed, she could turn a small profit as a side business.”
“And Olenev’s not the type to care where she’s getting them.”
“Not an innocent reason, but not treason either. Neville on the other hand…” Gin tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, eyes wide with incredulity. “Planning a move to the Soviet Union only incriminates him further. We’ll have to tell the Rook.”
Sidney replaced the step stool. “Do you want to call him, or shall I?”
Ginevra grimaced. “This silly article for The Blue is due tomorrow, so I shall be burning the midnight oil. Do you mind?”
“No, I’ll handle it,” he said, herding her toward the door, “but we should be going. The playbill said there’s an intermission, and I don’t want Neville to catch us next.”
Gin peeked into the hall, signaling the coast was clear, and Sidney pulled the door shut behind them.
He felt absurdly naked without the mop and bucket in hand, but the hallway had not seemed quite so long on their first trip.
They turned the corner, and Sidney’s pulse finally eased at the sight of the exit to the main hall.
Only the door opened as they approached, and Lewis Hughes strode right toward them. He was half in costume, Caesar’s laurel leaf crown in hand, and stopped short at the sight of them.
Ginevra hesitated only a second and tugged Sidney onward. “You were grand, Mr. Hughes!” she cried. “Simply grand. You’re so talented with Shakespeare, I don’t know how you memorize it all.”
Sidney choked on a laugh at the awful imitation of a Cockney accent that Ginevra had thrown on like a tattered shawl, but a subtle pinch on his forearm helped him instantly quiet.
“Thank you.” Hughes glanced at Sidney, and his brow puckered: He knew he was out of place, and his lips parted, a question in his eyes.
“This lad got turned around trying to fetch a prop,” Ginevra interjected.
“You’ve got to get back onstage, don’t you, Mr. Hughes?
We’ll get everything put right again.” She pumped the man’s hand, and Hughes’s expression eased to bemusement.
“It’s a real treat to have someone of your caliber acting for us. A real treat.”
With a grand twirl around Hughes, Gin tugged Sidney toward the exit.