Chapter Twenty-Five #3
But Gin turned quickly before he could see the impending tears and strode from the room.
She would not have expected such a reaction to omitting Father, but it felt like the final severance to life before her mother’s death.
Painful as the relationship had been, it would not be easy to think of herself as someone other than his daughter.
But with this branch severed, she hoped that new tendrils of growth would one day flourish, and she could figure out in time what that meant for her—Bishop, yet not Bishop. Ginevra Aster?
She shook her head, overwhelmed at the thought, and turned down the corridor. Her maternal grandparents were a distant memory, and there were no other Aster relations to her knowledge. Ginevra Aster would feel just as lonely as Ginevra Bishop.
It was an even greater pity there was no way of knowing her real father’s name. Was her mother never planning to share the truth? How could she have been so shortsighted in her plans, to tie herself to someone as selfish as the viscount for mere financial security?
“Ginevra!” Sarita’s voice started Gin from her reverie, and she found her friend beckoning from the doorway into the garden. “Darling, you look a fright. What’s wrong?”
It was no small comfort to run into Sarita’s arms.
They sank to a stone bench on the veranda, and only then did Ginevra allow the flood of tears to overwhelm her.
Sarita stroked her hair and did not press further for answers.
When Iris arrived bearing tissues, Gin tried to daub her eyes without smearing her mascara.
She hiccupped, choking on a laugh, and squeezed both girls’ hands.
“It’s all a great muddle, and I can’t explain—not yet. But I love you both,” she said fervently. “More than I can properly express.”
They fell silent again, and Ginevra sat supported between her best friends as they stared up at the grand house aglow in the darkness.
Abandoning Chiseldon Park to Donald had felt like an abomination, but this revelation snapped the last great link Ginevra felt for the old house.
She could let it go—she would let it go.
And she would find what she needed elsewhere.
Ginevra sighed, squeezing both girls’ hands. “I suppose I should check on Sidney again before I retire. He seemed so dreadfully weak this morning.”
“I still can’t believe Professor Leland shot at him!” Iris exclaimed.
“I can,” Sarita said darkly.
“I hope the police have caught up with him by now…” Ginevra quieted as the butler exited onto the terrace. “Yes, Abbott?”
The butler made a polite cough. “Your dressmaker called, miss. He said there was a problem acquiring the fabric for a gown you ordered and requested you call him back at your convenience.”
The subtle note of wariness in his tone dried Ginevra’s tears. Abbott was skeptical of the caller’s identity but too well trained to argue, which meant it was likely the Rook’s cover story.
“Blimey,” Iris said. “What sort of dress needs a phone call this late?”
“He’s a darling old man who keeps appalling hours,” Gin said, trying to be lighthearted. “I should imagine he didn’t even notice the moon was out. Thank you, Abbott. I’ll ring him back before I retire, or he’ll fret over it all night.”
“I wish my seamstress were half so diligent,” Sarita said.
“Yes.” Ginevra forced a laugh. “It’s almost tedious.”
By the time she’d shuttled the girls to their bedrooms and slipped into her own, Gin’s nerves were stretched thin. She picked up the phone inside her private sitting room and placed the call with trembling hands.
This time, the Rook answered directly. “We can’t find Leland,” he began without preamble. “I’ve sent men to his lodgings, his office, the girlfriend’s London flat, and the nearby train stations. We found quite a bit of evidence connecting him to the leak, but the man has vanished.”
“You think he’s hiding?”
“I think he’s smart enough to try. But if we blink, he could disappear forever, and we don’t have the manpower to scour the country. Can you think of where he might have gone?”
“No, but I can rouse Sidney. He might have an idea.”
The Rook hesitated. “Is the lad all right?”
“I think so. He slept for a long time.”
The Rook exhaled softly. “Now is the time to make use of your social connections and gossip, Miss Bishop. Are there any friends with whom Michael Leland might take refuge?”
Ginevra’s skin prickled. Her stepmother, Sylvia, was certainly a friend of the professor’s. Would Leland try to come to Chiseldon Park? But if he thought Gin would tell her father, that might protect them from an unwanted guest.
This alarming idea, however, was immediately superseded by a weightier one that Gin knew in her bones was correct: Leland was chuffed about the house he’d acquired in Wiltshire.
He was still prattling on about renovations at Donald’s party, which did not sound as though he’d yet made it a formal residence …
but it might be an ideal temporary refuge if not well-known.
Gin closed her eyes, mustering all her skills of persuasion.
Correct she might be, but she anticipated resistance to her accompanying proposition.
“Sir, I think I know where Leland’s hiding. And Sidney and I can be there rather quickly.”