Chapter Twenty-Six
It should have been an easy drive to Leland’s country house, but the headlamps’ light barely cut through the dense rain that began to fall as Sidney and Gin left Chiseldon Park in one of her father’s cars.
Taking the vehicle had been simple enough, but slipping out of the house without rousing anyone’s suspicions required a furtive route through the west wing and into the belly of the great house.
Within fifteen minutes, they’d exited the kitchen, crossed the back garden, and stolen away into the night.
Though Gin insisted Sidney recline in the back seat, rest felt impossible for him.
He kept his eyes trained on her profile in the driver’s seat—the line of her neck, the curve of her ear, the smooth waves of her hair—glad she was too focused on the road to catch him staring.
It had been coming over him for some time now, of course: the realization that he was besotted with Ginevra Bishop against his better judgment.
Most nights’ dreams were now tinged auburn and emerald, her mirth dancing on the edges of consciousness.
There was no reason for a girl like her to give him a second thought.
And yet, in the garden, when he had felt so absolutely at his lowest, she had surveyed the shadows inside him without judgment.
She also might be simply nice, Sidney thought morosely.
If her heart belonged to Craddock, her friendship with Sidney—close as they had grown—was strictly platonic.
But Plato was the last philosopher he wanted to invoke right now.
He wanted to know if her skin still burned where their hands had clasped, if the fleeting kiss outside St. Mildred’s haunted her too.
Sidney shifted, uncomfortable though the plush seats were far nicer than any car in which he’d previously ridden, and tried to think of something other than kissing.
Ginevra had been unusually quiet, but perhaps she thought he was asleep.
He was half-afraid to break the deep, dark silence, but stewing in his own thoughts seemed the worst option. “Do you want me to drive?”
She startled, jerking the wheel sharply to the right, and course-corrected with another swift revolution to the left. “Sorry,” she exhaled. “I forgot you were back there.”
That was humbling enough to dampen Sidney’s lovesick flutterings and force him to ask the question that had needled him after she left. She’d been exceedingly considerate of his feelings, after all; it was his turn to be a supportive friend, much as he didn’t care to hear this particular answer.
He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the front bench. “Are you worrying about Craddock’s safety? With Leland damned on his testimony, he might need to lay low too.”
Ginevra’s shoulders heaved with a sigh. “Perhaps I ought to be concerned, but Donald has become such a menace that I hope he’s walking on tenterhooks.”
Sidney resisted the urge to twine his finger through an auburn curl at her shoulder. “Rather harsh on your fiancé, aren’t you?”
“My what?” Gin turned, gaping at him over the seat in horror. “Where did you hear that?”
“Watch the road or I won’t tell you—!”
Dutifully—if disgruntled—she turned around, and Sidney exhaled.
“The first time I went to Watkins’s seminar, Craddock cornered me and told me off for going to the Botanic Gardens with you.
Said you two were engaged to be married, and it wasn’t seemly for us to be seen together alone.
I told him to take it up with you since you’d invited me. ”
“The nerve of that man.” Ginevra’s hands tightened on the wheel with a menacing flex. “Sometimes, I feel as though I could murder him.”
Elation billowed through Sidney. “Are you not engaged, then?”
“We are most certainly not. I will marry a squash before I marry that man … and I should hope the party disabused him of the notion once and for all.”
Ginevra was so obviously annoyed it felt cruel to laugh, even if the revelation made the car feel far too cramped to contain Sidney’s delight.
This time when he leaned back, he dozed off with ease.
The car was silent and still when Sidney next stirred, the steady drum of rain on the roof absorbing the night. Gin had turned around on the front bench and was gently shaking his shoulder. “We’re here,” she said.
Sidney sat up, rubbing his eyes, and peered into the darkness. “How far to the house?”
“It’s down the lane a bit. I thought it best to walk so he doesn’t hear the car.”
“Do you have a brolly?”
Gin lifted an umbrella from the front seat. “Will you share it with more grace this time?”
“If you let me hold it.”
Gin snorted and opened the canopy in tandem with the car door, and Sidney followed.
She did relinquish the handle with only a few grumbles about her backside growing damp, and they proceeded up the drive guided by her minuscule torch.
Thick trees lined the way, and it wasn’t until they’d walked several minutes that Sidney spied the outline of a house looming in the night.
Gin clicked off the light and slipped it into her coat pocket.
It was a fraction the size of Chiseldon Park or Foxley Hall, but a very grand cottage, nonetheless. That a don could afford such a luxury—even one needing renovation—supported their suspicions of how the Kremlin’s money might have been spent. The house, however, was dark.
“Still think he’s here?” Sidney murmured.
“I’m sure the man loves his beauty sleep, even as a fugitive.
Let’s look around the back before we decide.
” Gin nudged Sidney toward a side gate leading into the garden.
The gate’s hinges proved broken, and progressing without noise took Sidney a few minutes of patient finessing while Ginevra held the umbrella.
When at last they slipped through, Sidney cast a wary glance at the black windows.
Ginevra might think Leland a fool, but the man had proven how slippery he was.
If he was smart, he was already watching them.
The garden was an overgrown mess. There was a haphazard path through the brambles, and Sidney caught Gin more than once from stumbling before they stopped behind a large tree.
There were two entrances on the back of the house: a pair of glass double doors that opened into a sunroom and a single door off what Sidney guessed was the kitchen.
But on the upper floor, a faint light glowed in a window.
“That’s candlelight,” Gin breathed. “Someone is definitely here.”
A soft crack in the undergrowth made Sidney whirl Ginevra behind him.
“It’s me,” a soft voice whispered. Hughes materialized from the edge of the garden, his trench coat collar flipped up against the rain. He peered at them from under his hat brim.
Gin prodded Sidney in the back until he stepped aside. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Hughes flashed a smile. “The people in charge worked out their communication issues. Your man said you two might need backup until the police arrive if I was still in the area. Lucky for you, I holed up in the village awaiting further directions.”
“Is that him?” Sidney nodded at the window.
Hughes shrugged. “I arrived right before you. I pulled off in the woods and then got turned around in the dark. Walked half a mile in the wrong direction.”
“I think there’s an old carriage house next door,” Gin said. “We should check for Leland’s car—that’d be simplest.”
“I’ll be right back.” Hughes trudged into the darkness, and his outline melted away.
Sidney raised the umbrella higher and stared up at the soft light. The patter of rain on the taut fabric overwhelmed other noises, and he strained to focus on their surroundings. If Hughes could sneak up on them like that, Leland could too. A candle upstairs didn’t mean he was actually there …
Gin shivered, and he lowered the umbrella. “Sorry.”
“I’m fine.” She leaned against him, huddling closer, and looked up. Her face was a smudge in the dark, but the sharpness of her body pressed against him was clear as daylight. Sidney forced himself to stop searching for the contours of her lips and watch for Hughes like a responsible agent.
A loud crash echoed inside the house.
“What the bloody hell was that?” Sidney peered into the black for any sign of movement, but both house and garden were still. The candlelight, however, had disappeared, and Sidney held his breath. When the soft light reappeared on the lower level a moment later, he exhaled. “He’s on the move.”
“What if he’s leaving? He might run into Hughes.” Gin grabbed his arm. “He’ll see our car on the drive.”
“I doubt he’ll risk turning back.” But with a man as desperate as Leland, Sidney wasn’t placing bets on his actions either. “Come on, let’s get closer.”
Carefully, they picked their way across the garden, taking cover behind a weedy arbor. The candle’s soft glow was just visible inside the dark room on the first floor. But Sidney halted as a face pressed to the window—and then vanished.
“Did he see us?” Gin breathed.
A second crash inside the house cut off Sidney’s answer.
Gin grabbed his arm. “What if he’s holding someone hostage? That girlfriend of his—Trixie—she could be a valuable bargaining chip given her father’s influence.”
“Now you’re thinking like an agent.”
Gin answered with a fleeting, smug smile, but then a volley of muffled, angry language from inside the house made them both freeze.
Sidney cursed under his breath. “We need to get a better look.”
The rain had softened to a fine mist, so he collapsed the umbrella and laid it down. Together, they ran at a crouch, and Sidney guided Gin to the window beside the one where the face had appeared. With his back pressed against the house, he peered inside slantways.