Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
Gin looked at Sidney, but he was equally surprised. The Rook had never been one for gifts—not without long strings. “What kind of bonus?” he asked.
The Rook shrugged and retreated a step back. “You needn’t take it, but the box will be emptied after a time.” He raised an eyebrow. “But I’ll wager you want it.”
Gin snatched the envelope before Sidney could grumble about stupid, cryptic messages.
Their return to Chiseldon Park in the wee hours of the morning was met by a very alarmed trio of friends, who were eventually mollified by the half-truthful explanation offered.
Gin feigned a late-night call from the police inquiring where else Leland might have fled—he was a friend of the family, after all—and her decision to rouse only Sidney to accompany her on a chase to forestall the professor had felt logical by midnight standards.
He was the only one with military experience, Gin protested.
Even wounded, he was worth the rest of them combined when it came to sneaking about and disarming someone.
Harold accepted this at face value because he obviously was not the person to hunt a murderer.
Sarita and Iris accepted this with coy looks at Ginevra that Sidney did not quite understand, but she hurried her friends out of the room with loud cries for tea before they could pry further.
Sidney chose not to investigate the giggling that erupted as the door closed behind them.
The Rook’s promised bonus needled at Sidney for the rest of term, but there wasn’t time for a trip to London so close to exams. He had barely finished his final paper when Gin dragged him into a cab bound for the train station.
It was a crowded day for travel, and the carriages were uncomfortably full; but the small pleasure of Ginevra’s hand brushing his every time she pointed out something picturesque in the passing landscape made it more than tolerable.
A second cab ride released them onto the pavement before the bank, and Sidney tugged down his shirt cuffs. For once, he was grateful he had the new suit to escort Ginevra. They were directed to wait in a small group of leather chairs that were stiffer than bricks.
Gin tipped up her chin to take in the high ceiling, holding on to her hat. “What if the key doesn’t work?” she whispered. “Or he’s already emptied the box because we took too long to get here?”
“Then I’ll personally hunt him down, and we’ll have a nice chat.”
Gin wrinkled her nose. “One of your nice chats, and we’ll never find him again.”
The starched man who fetched them was as silent as he was curious.
He must have been given instructions regarding whomever should present this particular key, for he seemed torn over whether to treat them as valued patrons or nuisances.
He escorted them down a hallway into a small chamber paneled in dark wood.
They each took a seat at the table, and he pressed a button on the wall.
A connecting door opened, and a woman entered with a metal box that she set before them.
“Please press this button again when you are finished.” The man inclined his head, and both he and the woman exited.
Gin removed the key from her handbag and inserted it into the lock, but her trembling hands rattled the whole thing.
“Ridiculous,” she whispered. “I can’t believe I’m so nervous.”
Sidney slipped his hand under hers and held the key steady, and she exhaled as the lock turned.
There were two underwhelming envelopes inside, each labeled with their respective surnames. Sidney picked up his and offered Ginevra hers. Curiously, she opened the flap and removed what appeared to be a legal document. Her breath hitched.
Sidney took in the flushed cheeks, the lips parted in shock. “Everything all right?” If the Rook had done something to upset her, there would be a not so nice chat in their future.
“I—I need a moment,” Gin stammered. She leaned forward on the desk, fencing her head in her hands. Wet blotches appeared on the document beneath her face.
There wasn’t much privacy Sidney could offer her, but he resisted the urge to squeeze her arm and angled himself in the other direction.
They had been alone often that term, and in far closer proximity, and still the little room with only them and the envelopes felt more intimate than a dressing room.
Finally curious, Sidney opened his own bonus. A single handwritten sheet was inside.
Dear Sidney—
He nearly dropped the letter, so acute was the tingle of shock. That handwriting—the tall, sloping letters so precise and slanting they resembled a line of dominoes mid-fall. He’d read many ciphers in that hand.
I hope this letter finds you well. When the Rook said I might write to you, I was shocked but pleased. He said you wanted the truth about what happened to me after I was captured in France. I can only tell you what they’ll let me, of course. But I’m glad for that much, at the very least.
First, my greatest lie: I am not French but English, Amelia rather than Amélie.
Sidney nearly dropped the paper. He reread the line three times, but the information was quite clear.
My parents are well-connected people and were mortified that their daughter should run away and throw herself into foreign espionage. But I should have gone mad if I stayed home and rolled another damned bandage!
Sidney choked on a laugh, still in disbelief. He would have been tempted to think this was some bizarre, psychological test of the Rook. But though the turns of phrase were different in English rather than French, the voice was the same: The Amélie he’d known was a disguise.