Page 21 of Evil at the Essex House
I rolled my eyes. “Well, he got one. After he nearly broke both of my legs, he tried to insult Wolfgang and was insulted in turn. And then he drove me home and went off to see Laetitia Marsden.”
“Laetitia Marsden?” Christopher shook his head. “She’s not?—”
I cut him off. “Never mind Laetitia Marsden, Christopher. Although— no, never mind. He knows how I feel about that whole situation, and so do you. He can do whatever he wants.”
As Christopher had so eloquently pointed out, Crispin was spoilt and prone to not taking advice. Perhaps I would just stop telling him to stay away from Lady Laetitia and hope that a spot of reverse psychology would do the trick.
“Dinner was lovely, thank you for asking,” I said instead.
Tom’s lips twitched. “You’ve met someone, I hear.”
“If you want to put it like that.” I crossed the floor and sat down next to Christopher on the Chesterfield, crossing my legs. “His name is Wolfgang Albrecht, and he’s theGraf von und zuNatterdorff.”
Tom nodded. “So Kit told me. He knew you when you were a girl, Kit said?”
“That’s what he told us. I still can’t remember him, but he knew my parents’ names and where we lived and that I look like my mother but with my father’s eyes. It would seem that he’s at least seen us all—or them, at least—at some point.”
“Is there a reason you’re suspicious?” Tom wanted to know.
“I don’t know that I am,” I told him. “Not specifically. But I can’t remember him, and he’s German. And while that’s probably hypocritical of me—” since I was half-German too, “it’s too soon after the war to feel completely comfortable with that, I think.”
“But he hasn’t said or done anything that sounds out of character?”
“I have no idea what would be in or out of character for a GermanGraf. My parents weren’t wealthy, you know. Apparently it was a scandal when my mother left England and married a commoner in Germany. I have no idea why we would have hob-nobbed with aGrafin the first place. But no, I wouldn’t say so. Nothing he said today contradicted anything he said yesterday.”
“No reason to think he isn’t who and what he says he is?”
“None I can think of,” I said. “Why would he bother to approach me saying he’s theGrafvon Natterdorff if he isn’t? I’m nobody!”
“You’re one step removed from the Sutherlands,” Tom said, with a glance at Christopher, who sipped his cocktail calmly. “You’re living with the Duke of Sutherland’s nephew, you were more or less adopted by the Duke’s younger brother, and you’re involved with the Duke’s son and heir.”
“I’m notinvolvedwith St George.”
Christopher chuckled.
“Not romantically, perhaps,” Tom allowed. “But you’re friends, or something like it.”
I opened my mouth to protest—I’m certainly not friends with St George, and besides, what did he mean,perhaps?—and he waved me down. “You’re an access point to the Sutherlands, Pippa. You’re also an access point to Francis.”
I closed my mouth again. “Why Francis?”
“Francis was in the trenches during the War,” Tom said. “Aside from you, he’s the only one in the family with a bona fide connection to Germany.”
That was true. And it was only too easy to come up with reasons why someone might want a go at Francis, from the far-fetched to the blatantly obvious. Something had happened during the war, he had seen something or heard something, or he had killed someone or maimed someone or simply taken part in the fighting.
“Do you have any reason to think that he doesn’t simply want to get to know me better?” I asked.
Tom shook his head. “None at all,” he said cheerfully. “It’s just part of the job, you know. We’re deeply suspicious bastards in the CID.”
Of course. “Well, if you want to look into him, be my guest. But do it quietly, please. If he truly is who he says he is, I don’t want to upset him. Even though I don’t remember him, it’s nice to have a connection to my former life.”
Tom nodded.
“I see you made it back from Sussex,” I added. “Or was it Surrey?”
“It was Bristol,” Tom said, “actually.”
“Bristol?” That’s nowhere near Sussex or Surrey, nor does it sound like it. “County or city?”
