Page 84 of Peril in Piccadilly
This time something definitely flashed in his eyes, although it might have been simple surprise at the abruptnon sequitur. “How do you know that?”
“I came back here the other day,” I said. “After we had had tea in the tearoom. After you received the note and after you loaded me into the Hackney and sent me home. I wondered why you seemed so determined to get rid of me, so I came back. And the doorman told me that you’re no longer a guest here.”
“That,” Wolfgang said, “is not a crime.”
No, of course it wasn’t. A bit underhanded, with the secrecy and all, but hardly a criminal offense. “You’ve been trying to make me believe that you’re still living here, though. Haven’t you? You’re still writing to me on Savoy notepaper.”
“I didn’t want you to think badly of me.” He gave me a soulful look. “If you thought me poor, you might not afford me your hand in marriage, and I wanted to marry you. I know I should have told you, but I was…” He dropped his gaze, “—ashamed.”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes across the table, but kept his own down.
“I know all about being a poor relation,” I told him. “I know it better than you, I daresay.”
In fact, it was only because of Uncle Herbert’s generosity and Christopher’s love that I lived as well as I did. But that didn’t excuse him having strung me along for weeks, if not months.
“Just out of curiosity,” I said, “where do you live these days?”
He did look thoroughly ashamed, I have to say, when he told me that he had taken rooms in a house in Shoreditch, of all places.
I picked up my cup of coffee and drank what was left in it. “I think it’s time I go home.”
“Please allow me to explain,” Wolfgang said.
I threw my hands up. “Explain what? What is there to say? You lied to me, Wolfgang. Not just once, but over and over. Every time we’ve met in the past month and a half, you’ve lied.”
“By omission,” Wolfgang said. “Not because I wanted to deceive you.”
What poppycock. It had been precisely because he had wanted to deceive me.
And he wasn’t the only one. Everyone had been deceptive, by omission if not directly. Crispin had lied to my face for years. And yes, I probably wouldn’t have handled it very well if he had told me the truth, but that was no excuse for his cowardice. And everyone else had known how Crispin felt, and no one had said anything about it. They had just watched me wander along, secure in my dislike of him and in my belief that he disliked me back, and no one had said a word to set me straight.
And now Christopher was gone, and might never come back. The Astleys might reject me. I might lose everyone I knew or loved, in addition to the lifestyle I had become used to. And of course it wasn’t about the lifestyle; I’m not as mercenary as all that. But my whole life had been turned upside down over the course of a few days. My eyes were burning, and so was my chest, and I probably shouldn’t have gulped that last half a cup of coffee the way I had done. Unless I was simply hyperventilating because my emotions were too much to handle, of course, and that was quite likely.
I pushed my chair back from the table and tried to force additional air into my lungs.
“What’s wrong, my dear?” Wolfgang asked, from what sounded like a long way away. “Do you not feel well?”
I didn’t, now that he mentioned it. The restaurant was doing a slow spin, and my fingers and toes were tingling. I blinked hard and managed to focus on Wolfgang. He was halfway up out of his seat, and he looked concerned. “Philippa? Are you all right,Liebchen?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. There was one of him, and then two of him, and then they blended together into one again. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, with some difficulty.
“Oh, dear.” He pulled money out of his pocket to cover the bill before coming around the table. “Lean on me. I’ll take care of you.”
“St George—” I managed, my voice garbled and full of gravel. “Tom?—”
They were both here somewhere, and I could count on either one of them to take me home.
“Not to worry,mein Schatz.Up you come.”
He hauled me to my feet. The room did another slow spin, and my knees buckled, and that was the last thing I remembered for a while.
ChapterNineteen
The first timeI woke up, it was only for a second, just long enough to blink my eyes open and recognize that I was alive and lying on a flat surface. My head was pounding, or perhaps the walls were, although it seemed more likely to be my head. I closed my eyes again and went back to sleep.
The next time I woke up was better, but still much the same. I had no idea how long it had been, but I was lying down in a room I didn’t recognize, but which was most likely the same place I had been the last time I woke up. It was a small room, a tight rectangle with a low ceiling and no defining characteristics. And it was dark, so it was hard to make out any details beyond the basics. The walls were still pounding, and my head spun. I felt as if I were floating, as if the room was rocking back and forth. I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.
The third time I woke up was better. It was still dark, so I couldn’t make out much I hadn’t seen the first two times I had opened my eyes, but my head was filled with less cotton and I thought I was better able to think clearly.
