Chapter Twenty-Three
A shot fired inside the study, and Sidney stumbled backward into the bookcase.
He crumpled in slow motion, his head banging a shelf, and sprawled on the rug with his limbs askew in a way that made Ginevra’s heart plummet.
She pushed inside, heedless of the screams and shoving around her, and dropped to the floor.
“Sidney!” Gin shook his shoulder, but his eyes remained closed.
Blood seeped from a wound at his hairline, dribbling down his temple, and she fumbled inside his coat pocket for one of the omnipresent handkerchiefs to stanch the bleeding.
But the quick, pink blossom across the white fabric made her stomach heave.
Marion leaped away from the professor, snarling. “Are you truly mad?”
Leland stared at Sidney wild-eyed, the gun still outstretched in his hand. Marion started to advance again, and he whirled the gun on her. “It doesn’t have to be like this.” He swallowed, then waved her aside with the gun. “Everyone in the corner. Now.”
“Sidney needs a doctor, now,” Gin snapped.
Leland balked as though only just noticing her, and the fear in his eyes deepened. Ginevra did not think he would shoot her, the only daughter of his friend, but she didn’t dare turn her back on him either.
He swallowed and nodded toward the corner. “Everyone else then. Go on.”
Watkins shot him a cold glare and tugged Neville along, the latter blank-faced with shock. Donald hustled past them, and Marion followed with menace in her eyes for Leland.
With the gun still trained on them, the professor backed toward the door. “This has all been very unfortunate.” He glanced down at Sidney, but his gaze shied away. “I—I’m sorry about your uncle, Marion. Truly—”
“You,” she growled, “are a piece of shit.”
Leland blanched, his mouth flapping as though to say something else, but a shout down the hall made him turn and flee out of sight.
“Go after him!” Watkins cried.
Donald sprinted for the door but collided with Lewis Hughes entering the room. He skittered around the American and ran across the drawing room at such a loping pace that Ginevra knew it was useless. Leland would slip away from the party before anyone was the wiser.
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.”
Gin rubbed at her forehead. “It’s all about to catch up with him now, I’m afraid. But you see why Donald must tell the police what happened tonight. Leland fled after shooting Sidney, and God knows where he’s gone.”
Iris rose with alacrity, as if to call Scotland Yard herself, when there was a soft tap at the door. Sarita’s escort to the party entered the room, his dark eyes wary.
“Miss DeSilva,” he said, “I ought to be going.”
Sarita gasped and surged toward the door. “Oh heavens, I forgot you were here. I’m so sorry. Thank you for finding me, but I’ll stay with my friends tonight.”
They clasped hands, and the man inclined his head to Gin and Iris before withdrawing.
Iris ground her fists on her hips. “Sarita, who is that? You told Gin he’s not your boyfriend.”
“Do you two have nothing to discuss besides my love life?” Sarita said sharply. She arched an eyebrow at Sidney on the couch. “What about Ginevra’s?”
Gin took Sarita’s hand, ignoring the comment, and peered into her friend’s eyes. “I really don’t want to pry, but are you in trouble? You—you weren’t mixed up in Marion Kirk’s protest, were you?”
“What!” Sarita jerked her hand away. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“That boilersuit the other night, for starters. You’ve never worn anything like it before!”
Sarita grimaced. “I only wore it to keep my real clothes clean climbing over the wall.” She toyed with the leftover bandage on her lap, her brow furrowed, before tossing it aside with a groan.
“If you must know, I’m working with a group of Goan refugees raising support for the liberation efforts back home.
It’s a delicate situation since some of them have expired visas.
And if word traveled that I was helping them, my parents would be very cross.
My friend, Mr. Kamat, was here tonight to talk to students it’s otherwise difficult to contact.
” She sighed. “The other day, in the street, I knew I looked a fright because I’d asked someone to show me self-defense tactics.
I was embarrassed to be caught without any explanation, but it seemed best not to drag you two into it. ”
It was a feeling Gin knew all too well, and she squeezed Sarita’s hand again. “I understand, and I’m sorry for needling you about it. I’d love to do whatever I can to help.”
“Me too!” Iris chimed.