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.”
Marion pursed her lips. “That night got out of hand. Whitby shot down every piece I wanted to write about the club’s skeletons, and I wanted to try something more visible.
Those boys have made enemies across the city with their parties, and many strangers were eager to give them a comeuppance—but yes, they were more difficult to manage than students.
I thought maybe the whole thing would spook Neville enough to talk to me, but he only went further into hiding.
” She leaned toward Sidney, a fire burning in her eyes.
“I’m determined to make him talk before I leave Oxford.
He’s the one who pointed the finger at my uncle, and I want to hear the story from his own lips.
Either Neville is mistaken … or he lied. ”
“But you don’t have proof,” Sidney said. “Miss Kirk, I understand wanting to believe your uncle was innocent, but without proof—”
Marion snapped open her handbag, and Sidney again tensed, but she withdrew a letter and shoved it at him, her hand trembling. Carefully, Sidney turned over the crumpled page.
Jane—
It was a heavy-handed scrawl with several places the author had so violently scratched out lines that the pen’s nib had torn the paper.
It took Sidney a moment to make sense of the rambling—one line a memory, the next an apology—but then the gist became clear: It was a farewell, and the closing line burned with an agony Sidney recognized:
The Fates have allowed my life to unspool far longer than they should, long enough for the lies from Vosburg to make this mortal coil unbearable.
I am sorry.
“It’s the letter he left my mother before he walked in front of a lorry,” Marion said quietly. “I found it among my parents’ papers last year. I’d known in my gut he couldn’t have—wouldn’t have—turned traitor. But hearing it in his own words lit the fire under me to find answers.”
The letter was slim evidence, but the pain in those brief words compelled Sidney to read it again. And again. “Yes,” he said, returning the note with care, “I can see how this made you feel he was innocent.”
“It’s not a feeling,” Marion said. “I know—”
There was a bustle of activity on the stairs, and her head turned in alarm as Leland crossed the drawing room with Watkins at his heels.
“Now, Marion,” Leland tutted, “why on earth are you here?”
She lifted her chin. “I want a word with Dr. Neville.”
“The man nearly lives in his office,” Leland said. “Could you not have sought him out there?”
“I’ve tried,” Marion said through gritted teeth. “Porters keep escorting me from the premises.”
“Well, yes,” a crooked smile tipped Leland’s mouth, “you can’t be surprised after that little scene at the party.” The smile broadened. “Though indeed, perhaps I should thank you. Book sales have soared from all the public attention.”
“Wonderful,” Marion said flatly. “Now let me talk with Neville, and I’ll leave immediately.”
“Dr. Neville is unwell,” Watkins said, stepping forward, “and you’re hounding him.”
“It’s not hounding him to want the truth!” Marion cried.
Watkins recoiled from the outburst, and Leland’s breezy manner finally stiffened. “Now see here, Marion,” he chided.
“I will not see here,” Marion echoed with a snarl. “All I want is a straight answer out of Neville about my uncle, Robert Crowne. I don’t think he was a traitor inside Vosburg. There must have been a mistake.”
“Your—uncle.” Leland gaped, his face turning pale. “That’s … quite a coincidence, Marion. I’m so sorry, but this really isn’t the time—”
There was more movement on the stairs, and Sidney’s pulse quickened. Ginevra stood behind Watkins and Leland, visible to only him. Frantically, she motioned for him to approach, and he stepped forward.
But Marion’s attention snapped to Sidney, and she stabbed a finger in his direction. “Braithwaite agrees with me. Don’t you?” she insisted.
Watkins raised an eyebrow.
“Good God, Braithwaite.” Leland shook his head. “How on earth did you get mixed up in this?”
“I was just trying to help. Miss Kirk has a note that seems worth consideration.” He nodded at her to offer up the letter, and she held it out with a stiff hand.
Watkins cast a curious glance at Leland, who grew increasingly fidgety, but she took the letter and read in silence. “Have you ever shown this to anyone, Miss Kirk?” she asked.
“No. I found it among my mother’s papers last year. I’ve never told a soul about the family connection until Braithwaite here.” Marion’s jaw clenched. “I’m confident I knew my uncle’s true character, and I want his name cleared now.”
“The truth won’t bring him back to life though,” Watkins said, her tone gentle.
Marion’s chin jutted in defiance. “But it is the truth nonetheless.”
The two women stared at each other, Watkins tapping the letter thoughtfully against her hand. Behind them, Ginevra peeped around the curve of a pillar. She pointed toward their circle and made a slashing motion against her neck before sliding back out of sight. Sidney tried not to gape.
“I didn’t know your uncle, and I know nothing about Vosburg beyond the official story.” Watkins returned the letter to Marion. “But I see no reason that you shouldn’t be allowed to speak with Dr. Neville for a few minutes, if you are respectful. Only let me prepare him first.”
“I don’t want him prepared,” Marion grumbled. “I want the bald truth.”
“Dr. Watkins,” Leland interjected, “surely this isn’t the place. It’s a party, for heaven’s sake.”
Watkins shrugged. “It will be easier here than explaining Miss Kirk’s presence at school.”
“Surely you don’t think there’s something to this nonsense.” Leland forced a laugh. “She’s claiming we accused an innocent man in Vosburg.”
“And if you were wrong,” Watkins said evenly, “wouldn’t you want to make amends?”
Leland’s face reddened at this, and his protestations withered. Before he could start again, Watkins ushered Marion into the study, leaving Sidney and Leland to follow.
Sidney looked back for Ginevra but instead found Craddock storming down the stairs. The young lord’s eyes locked onto Sidney’s and narrowed, and he quickly strode across the drawing room. “What the devil is going on? Where’s Kirk?”
“Dr. Watkins and Professor Leland have her in hand,” Sidney said, but Craddock brushed him aside with a scoff and entered the study. Sidney followed, glowering at his back.
The women stood beside Neville, who still hunched over the chessboard. Dr. Watkins laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sam, the young woman would like a word with you.”
Neville’s owlish eyes widened at the sight of Marion. “You again,” he whispered, fidgeting with his glasses. “I told you, I—I can’t—”
“You can,” Marion said firmly. “I’m not simply a bored student reporter, Dr. Neville. I’m Robert Crowne’s niece, and I have a right to know the truth.”
“She’s who?” Craddock cried, aghast, drawing a shush from Watkins.