Page 89 of Peril in Piccadilly
He looked at me. And then—I always knew he was quick—his eyes widened. “No.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You…” He seemed to have lost his breath, and it took a moment for him to regain it. “Youare the newGräfin von und zuNatterdorff?”
“It appears I am. Wolfgang told me that my father was his father’s younger brother, disinherited for reading Marx and wanting to work with his hands.”
“Dear Lord,” Crispin said faintly. He buried his face in his hands and hunched over, moaning. I patted him on the back while I wondered, half-heartedly, whether the shaking under my palm was from tears or laughter, and whether, ultimately, it mattered.
ChapterTwenty
Tom foundus like that a few minutes later, when he swung down the ladder to the deck of the lifeboat and landed lightly on his feet.
He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. After a look at Crispin and then one at me, he inquired, “Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” I said. “St George is simply overcome with emotion. His entire worldview has changed. It turns out that I’m not beneath him, after all.”
Crispin straightened his back and dislodged my hand. I removed it to my lap as he dropped his own from his face.
I still couldn’t tell whether the pink splotches on his cheeks were from too much laughter or some other strong emotion, although I could make a guess. If I were the granddaughter of theGraf von und zuNatterdorff, Uncle Harold could no longer claim that I was either common or poor. I was still German, of course, so that probably wouldn’t have been enough to change his mind about allowing Crispin to pursue me either way, but I could quite understand why the latter might be thrown for a loop, and perhaps not entirely sure whether he ought to laugh or cry about it.
“For the record,” he told me, “I never thought you were beneath me. That was my father and mother.”
I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter at this point anyway, does it?”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Well, you’re?—”
Engaged, I was going to say, but that was only until I realized that saying anything like that would give away the fact that I knew how he felt about me, and that wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have. Not now, and preferably not ever.
He gave me a suspicious sort of look. “I’m what?”
“A better man than your father, it seems. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Crispin said, and ignored, magnificently, the muttered comment from Tom that included the words ‘beneath’ and ‘different way.’ I decided not to dignify it with a response, either, but I’m fairly certain that both Crispin and I blushed.
“What’s going on?” I asked Tom instead, to get the conversation back onto safer ground, and also because I sincerely wanted to know.
He turned to me. “I brought your wrap and handbag.” He handed them over. “But there’s no sign of Kit. The crew said they haven’t seen anyone fitting his description.”
“You can speak German?” I shrugged out of Crispin’s jacket and handed it back to him with thanks before I wrapped my own coat around myself. I’m certain we were both grateful to have our own back, and to both be warmer than we had been.
“I picked up a bit during the war,” Tom said. “Enough to get by.”
“And you described Kitty,” Crispin said, “as well as Kit himself, I presume?”
Tom nodded. “I asked, but we also looked around. They were upfront about seeing Pippa being carried onboard. I think they would have mentioned it, had it happened before, as well.”
“Wolfgang would have no reason to bring Christopher to Germany anyway,” I said.
“He might have wanted to throw him overboard somewhere in the North Sea, though.”
I looked at Crispin, aghast. “What a horrible thing to say!”
He stared back. “How do you know that wasn’t what he planned for you, Darling?”
“I assumed he wanted the money,” I said. “He would have gotten it by marrying me. Not by throwing me overboard.”
