Chapter Twenty-Four
Sidney awoke to find himself drowning in blood.
He remembered bright light—Ginevra’s hand—a bumpy ride through the night, lolling on a shoulder that smelled of jasmine.
But he was now in what appeared to be a very large, very soft bed, two qualities that immediately ruled it out as his narrow excuse for a mattress at Swithun.
Crimson bed-curtains pooled around each of the four bedposts that accounted for the blood, but Sidney’s pulse continued to pound.
He pulled back the layered blankets and eased off the bed to find a pair of fur-lined calfskin slippers waiting for him that probably cost more than any of his everyday shoes.
It was then he realized he was wearing white pajamas with pale blue stripes.
He snatched up the robe on the end of the bed.
If he had awoken in an enchanted castle, it should know he needed breakfast.
This, however, was where his magical new domicile failed him.
Though a fire crackled in the hearth, there was neither a breakfast tray nor any sign of tea or coffee.
But despite the incipient grumblings of his stomach, Sidney had no desire to leave the room.
There was a softness and richness to the space that felt natural, as though the paintings and rugs had grown there.
Someone had chosen each piece with care and arranged them as they were meant to be—not as a museum display, but a home.
But there was also something familiar about it.
He was certain he’d never been here before; he would have remembered the striking portrait of a green-eyed blond woman, for one thing.
After a few minutes studying the lines of her face, Sidney drifted toward the windows that stretched to the ceiling.
Outside, the scene grew even more curious.
There were the usual features he expected from country manors—the tennis lawn, the fish pond, the rose garden.
But beyond these lay a grand maze constructed of dense privet stretching as far as Sidney could see.
A cold shiver ran down his spine, the metallic click of a key turning somewhere inside his mind though he was desperate to wrench it the other way.
There was a hazy noise behind him, a muffled voice as though someone was trying to speak through water, but Sidney couldn’t tear his eyes away from the maze.
Screams tore through his memory, unleashed from the deep.
Amélie’s screams.
Sidney yanked off his housecoat and shirt, the feeling of fabric against skin unbearable.
He sank into the chair and buried his face in his hands, but the room would not stop heaving.
The hazy noise buzzed again, competing with the screams, and Sidney gulped a breath of cold air that burned his lungs.
But when heavy hands fell on his shoulders, the room finally stood still.
“Sidney—” Harold bent close to his face, peering into his eyes with concern. “Can you hear me?”
Sidney’s skin prickled with gooseflesh as another shudder racked his body. He crossed his arms over his bare chest and nodded, and the discarded housecoat reappeared. Grateful, Sidney pulled the soft fabric tight around his shoulders.
“Would you like some tea, old boy?” Harold asked.
A china teacup appeared. The tendrils of steam felt good on Sidney’s face, and he hunkered over the cup for a moment before downing it all in two gulps. “More,” he croaked.
A teapot appeared next—in Ginevra’s hands—and Sidney hesitated. How much of that had she witnessed? He held up the cup, avoiding her gaze while she refilled it and added a splash of milk.
“Sugar?” She spoke as though addressing the vicar, which made him twice as embarrassed.
He shook his head and took a sip. “What happened? The last thing I remember was—was Leland.”
Ginevra paused a fraction too long, and he was forced to look up. Dark flecks glinted in the green as she shot a canny glance at their companion.
“Harold, would you mind visiting the kitchen? Sidney seems well enough to stomach food, and I’m sure the housekeeper has something delicious she could add to this tray.” She flashed a dazzling smile before which poor Harold was helpless, and he hurried out of the room, promising a hasty return.
As the door shut, Ginevra tucked herself onto the ottoman and clasped Sidney’s hands.
“Marion attacked Leland, and his gun fired. I think it was an accident, or it would have done more damage. But you hit your head on the bookshelf as you fell, and the cut bled quite a bit. Do you remember anything?”
Horror seeped through Sidney as the entire conversation from the sitting room returned to him. “Is Professor Leland really the Kremlin’s informant?”
“I believe so. I left a message with the Rook’s secretary last night briefly detailing what happened, but he hasn’t responded yet.
I imagine they have their hands full sorting out the mess.
” Ginevra’s nails pressed into his palms, but she forced a smile and relaxed a fraction.
“You will be delighted to learn, however, that your instincts about Lewis Hughes were correct. His trip between Olenev’s bookstore and Mr. Tolliver’s cottage was not a coincidence: I learned last night he’s assisting American intelligence. ”
Among the growing surprises of the past day, this seemed a trifling matter. “The Americans would waste our time rather than tell anyone they had a man over here.” Sidney scrubbed a hand down his face, cataloging the information. “How do you think Tolliver worked out it was Leland?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I keep thinking about a new German dictionary he purchased for the library.
The next librarian found it on Tolliver’s personal desk in the office and gave it to me since my name was down to see it.
” Gin’s brow knit together, and she picked at a loose thread in the cuff of Sidney’s housecoat.
“I wonder if he used it to verify his guess about Krone and Zahnkrone. Perhaps I could have pieced all of this together sooner if I’d inspected it more closely. ”
Sidney laid a hand on hers, and she stilled. “Don’t start thinking over what you could have done differently, or the regrets will grow bigger than any success. You did work it out, and that’s what matters.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Gin smiled, but it faded as she withdrew her hands with a businesslike air. “I think it’s wisest we stay here until we know they’ve apprehended Leland.”
“Where are we, exactly?”
“My home in Wiltshire,” Gin said with a lightness that rang false.
“Returning to Oxford while Leland’s still at large didn’t seem safe, and Donald was being an absolute ninny about calling the police.
I can call your parents—your brother?—anyone you wish, and I’ll take you to them if you prefer.
But we won’t bother anyone here—the Park has heaps of room.
” A soft blush rose in her cheeks. “Sarita and Tweety are here too. I’ve installed us all in the west wing, which my father treats as though it’s enchanted by dark magic because it was my mother’s domain—and perhaps it is, for I’m sure the maids don’t dust in here regularly, and yet it smells fresh as spring.
My father and stepmother aren’t even home at the moment, they’ve traipsed off to Paris—”
“Thank you.” The words came out hoarse and rough, but Sidney hoped it conveyed a fraction of how he felt. He wasn’t used to Gin babbling or showing nerves; if it was because she feared his reaction to waking up in Chiseldon Park, he wanted to set that straight immediately. “Your home is beautiful.”
“The parts my stepmother hasn’t yet ‘updated’ are—don’t visit the conservatory or you’ll rescind the compliment.” Gin surveyed Sidney’s temporary quarters with an approving smile. “But yes, this room is one of my favorites. It has the best view of the maze by far.”
Sidney avoided the window lurking in his peripheral vision and kept a tight rein on his breathing. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
“Frightened me? You were nearly shot—it wasn’t your fault at all.”
“No.” Sidney willed his pulse not to resume its erratic flutter. “Just now. When you came in…”
Her face softened with understanding, and she reached again for his hand. Turning his palm up, she started to trace the creases. “Of course I wasn’t frightened,” she said, her voice achingly soft. “Everyone has nightmares. They’re more bearable if someone can hold you—”
The door reopened, and Harold returned with a fresh tray. Gin sat back, prim and proper once again, and Sidney tucked his tingling hands under his elbows.
“I come bearing gifts!” Harold bustled about Sidney, shooing Ginevra off the ottoman to arrange the food, and gave an excellent impression of a mother hen as he fluffed and tucked the blankets.
It didn’t annoy Sidney as much as he would have expected, and he accepted Harold’s ministrations without fussing.
Though the spot where Ginevra had leaned against his leg now felt cold.
Gin gave an approving nod. “I think we all need to nap and laze about today, and we can face tomorrow with a fresh perspective.”
“Jolly good. I’m comfortable here.” Harold sat and propped his feet on Sidney’s ottoman. “If you don’t mind, of course, old boy.”
Sidney grunted in assent and leaned deeper into his own chair. He turned his head against the soft cushion and tried to close his eyes, but he couldn’t bear to look away until Ginevra’s silhouette disappeared through the doorway.
It was dark when Sidney woke again.
He had fallen asleep in the armchair, and the new crick in his neck reproached him for the decision.
But it was more pleasant to awaken to the cozy glow of a dying fire than those crimson bed-curtains.
There was a note from Harold on the empty chair beside him: Dining downstairs with the girls, back soon.