by Ken Follett
However, he did not give utterance to such solemn thoughts, especially as his guest was a foreigner. "This place is like a club," he said lightheartedly. "It has bars, dining rooms, and a jolly good library; and only the right sort of people are allowed in." Just then a Labour M.P. walked past with a Liberal peer, and Fitz added: "Although sometimes the riffraff sneak past the doorman."
Walter was bursting with news. "Have you heard?" he said. "The kaiser has done a complete volte-face."
Fitz had not heard. "In what way?"
"He says the Serbian reply leaves no further reason for war, and the Austrians must halt at Belgrade."
Fitz was suspicious of peace plans. His main concern was that Britain should maintain its position as the most powerful nation in the world. He was afraid the Liberal government might let that position slip, out of some foolish belief that all nations were equally sovereign. Sir Edward Grey was fairly sound, but he could be ousted by the left wing of the party--led by Lloyd George, in all likelihood--and then anything could happen.
"Halt at Belgrade," he said musingly. The capital was on the border: to capture it, the Austrian army would have to venture only a mile inside Serbian territory. The Russians might be persuaded to regard that as a local police action that did not threaten them. "I wonder."
Fitz did not want war, but there was a part of him that secretly relished the prospect. It would be his chance to prove his courage. His father had won distinction in naval actions, but Fitz had never seen combat. There were certain things one had to do before one could really call oneself a man, and fighting for king and country was among them.
They were approached by a messenger wearing court dress--velvet knee breeches and white silk stockings. "Good afternoon, Earl Fitzherbert," he said. "Your guests have arrived and gone straight to the dining room, my lord."
When he had gone Walter said: "Why do you make them dress like that?"
"Tradition," said Fitz.
They drained their glasses and went inside. The corridor had a thick red carpet and walls with linenfold paneling. They walked to the Peers' Dining Room. Maud and Aunt Herm were already seated.
This lunch had been Maud's idea: Walter had never been inside the palace, she said. As Walter bowed, and Maud smiled warmly at him, a stray thought crossed Fitz's mind: could there be a little tendresse between them? No, it was ridiculous. Maud might do anything, of course, but Walter was much too sensible to contemplate an Anglo-German marriage at this time of tension. Besides, they were like brother and sister.
As they sat down, Maud said: "I was at your baby clinic this morning, Fitz."
He raised his eyebrows. "Is it my clinic?"
"You pay for it."
"My recollection is that you told me there ought to be a clinic in the East End for mothers and children who had no man to support them, and I said indeed there should, and the next thing I knew the bills were coming to me."
"You're so generous."
Fitz did not mind. A man in his position had to give to charity, and it was useful to have Maud do all the work. He did not broadcast the fact that most of the mothers were not married and never had been: he did not want his aunt the duchess to be offended.
"You'll never guess who came in this morning," Maud went on. "Williams, the housekeeper from Ty Gwyn." Fitz went cold. Maud added cheerfully: "We were talking about her only last night!"
Fitz tried to keep a look of stony indifference on his face. Maud, like most women, was quite good at reading him. He did not want her to suspect the true depth of his involvement with Ethel: it was too embarrassing.
He knew Ethel was in London. She had found a house in Aldgate, and Fitz had instructed Solman to buy it in her name. Fitz feared the embarrassment of meeting Ethel on the street, but it was Maud who had run into her.
Why had she gone to the clinic? He hoped she was all right. "I trust she's not ill," he said, trying to make it sound no more than a courteous inquiry.
"Nothing serious," Maud said.
Fitz knew that pregnant women suffered minor ailments. Bea had had a little bleeding and had been worried, but Professor Rathbone had said it often happened at about three months and usually meant nothing, though she should not overexert herself--not that there was much danger of Bea's doing that.
Walter said: "I remember Williams--curly hair and a cheeky smile. Who is her husband?"
Maud answered: "A valet who visited Ty Gwyn with his master some months ago. His name is Teddy Williams."
Fitz felt a slight flush. So she was calling her fictional husband Teddy! He wished Maud had not met her. He wanted to forget Ethel. But she would not go away. To conceal his embarrassment he made a show of looking around for a waiter.
He told himself not to be so sensitive. Ethel was a servant girl and he was an earl. Men of high rank had always taken their pleasures where they found them. This kind of thing had been going on for hundreds of years, probably thousands. It was foolish to get sentimental about it.
He changed the subject by repeating, for the benefit of the ladies, Walter's news about the kaiser.
"I heard that, too," said Maud. "Goodness, I hope the Austrians will listen," she added fervently.
Fitz raised an eyebrow at her. "Why so passionate?"
"I don't want you to be shot at!" she said. "And I don't want Walter to be our enemy." There was a catch in her voice. Women were so emotional.
Walter said: "Do you happen to know, Lady Maud, how the kaiser's suggestion has been received by Asquith and Grey?"
Maud pulled herself together. "Grey says that in combination with his proposal of a four-power conference, it could prevent war."
"Excellent!" said Walter. "That was what I was hoping for." He was boyishly eager, and the look on his face reminded Fitz of their school days. Walter had looked like that when he won the Music Prize at Speech Day.
Aunt Herm said: "Did you see that that dreadful Madame Caillaux was found not guilty?"
Fitz was astonished. "Not guilty? But she shot the man! She went to a shop, bought a gun, loaded it, drove to the offices of Le Figaro, asked to see the editor, and shot him dead--how could she not be guilty?"
Aunt Herm replied: "She said: 'These guns go off by themselves.' Honestly!"
Maud laughed.
"The jury must have liked her," said Fitz. He was annoyed with Maud for laughing. Capricious juries were a threat to orderly society. It did not do to take murder lightly. "How very French," he said with disgust.
"I admire Madame Caillaux," Maud said.
Fitz grunted disapprovingly. "How can you say that about a murderess?"
"I think more people should shoot newspaper editors," Maud said gaily. "It might improve the press."
{ VI }
Walter was still full of hope the next day, Thursday, when he went to see Robert.
The kaiser was hesitating on the brink, despite pressure from men such as Otto. The war minister, Erich von Falkenhayn, had demanded a declaration Zustand drohender Kriegsgefahr, a preliminary that would light the fuse for war--but the kaiser had refused, believing that a general conflict might be avoided if the Austrians would halt at Belgrade. And when the Russian tsar had ordered his army to mobilize, Wilhelm had sent a personal telegram begging him to reconsider.
The two monarchs were cousins. The kaiser's mother and the tsar's mother-in-law had been sisters, both daughters of Queen Victoria. The kaiser and the tsar communicated in English, and called each other "Nicky" and "Willy." Tsar Nicholas had been touched by his cousin Willy's cable, and had countermanded his mobilization order.
If they could both just stand firm, then the future might be bright for Walter and Maud and millions of other people who just wanted to live in peace.
The Austrian embassy was one of the more imposing houses in prestigious Belgrave Square. Walter was shown to Robert's office. They always shared news. There was no reason not to: their two nations were close allies. "The kaiser seems determined to make his 'halt at Belgrade' plan work,
" Walter said as he sat down. "Then all remaining issues can be worked out."
Robert did not share his optimism. "It's not going to succeed," he said.
"But why should it not?"
"We're not willing to halt at Belgrade."
"For God's sake!" said Walter. "Are you sure?"
"It will be discussed by ministers in Vienna tomorrow morning, but I'm afraid the result is a foregone conclusion. We can't halt at Belgrade without reassurances from Russia."
"Reassurances?" Walter said indignantly. "You have to stop fighting and then talk about the problems. You can't demand assurances first!"
"I'm afraid we don't see it that way," Robert said stiffly.
"But we are your allies. How can you reject our peace plan?"
"Easily. Think about it. What can you do? If Russia mobilizes, you're threatened, so you have to mobilize too."
Walter was about to protest, but he saw that Robert was right. The Russian army, when mobilized, was too big a threat.
Robert went on remorselessly. "You have to fight on our side, whether you want to or not." He made an apologetic face. "Forgive me if I sound arrogant. I'm just stating the reality."
"Hell," said Walter. He felt like crying. He had been holding on to hope, but Robert's grim words had shattered him. "This is going the wrong way, isn't it?" he said. "Those who want peace are going to lose the contest."
Robert's voice changed, and suddenly he looked sad. "I've known that from the start," he said. "Austria must attack."
Until now Robert had been sounding eager, not sad. Why the change? Probing, Walter said: "You may have to leave London."
"You, too."
Walter nodded. If Britain joined in the war, all Austrian and German embassy staff would have to go home at short notice. He lowered his voice. "Is there . . . someone you will especially miss?"
Robert nodded, and there were tears in his eyes.
Walter hazarded a guess. "Lord Remarc?"
Robert laughed mirthlessly. "Is it so obvious?"
"Only to someone who knows you."
"Johnny and I thought we were being so discreet." Robert shook his head miserably. "At least you can marry Maud."
"I wish I could."
"Why not?"
"A marriage between a German and an Englishwoman, when the two nations are at war? She would be shunned by everyone she knows. So would I. For myself I would hardly care, but I could never impose such a fate on her."
"Do it secretly."
"In London?"
"Get married in Chelsea. No one would know you there."
"Don't you have to be a resident?"
"You have to produce an envelope with your name and a local address. I live in Chelsea--I can give you a letter addressed to Mr. von Ulrich." He rummaged in a drawer of his desk. "Here you are. A bill from my tailor, addressed to Von Ulrich, Esquire. They think Von is my first name."
"There may not be time."
"You can get a special license."
"Oh, my God," Walter said. He felt stunned. "You're right, of course. I can."
"You have to go to the town hall."
"Yes."
"Shall I show you the way?"
Walter thought for a long moment, then said: "Yes, please."
{ VII }
"The generals won," said Anton, standing in front of the tomb of Edward the Confessor in Westminster Abbey on Friday, July 31. "The tsar gave in yesterday afternoon. The Russians are mobilizing."
It was a death sentence. Walter felt a cold chill around his heart.
"It is the beginning of the end," Anton went on, and Walter saw in his eyes the glitter of revenge. "The Russians think they are strong, because their army is the largest in the world. But they have weak leadership. It will be Armageddon."
It was the second time this week that Walter had heard that word. But this time he knew it was justified. In a few weeks' time the Russian army of six million men--six million--would be massed on the borders of Germany and Hungary. No leader in Europe could ignore such a threat. Germany would have to mobilize: the kaiser no longer had any choice.
There was nothing more Walter could do. In Berlin the General Staff were pressing for German mobilization and the chancellor, Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg, had promised a decision by noon today. This news meant there was only one decision he could possibly make.
Walter had to inform Berlin immediately. He took an abrupt leave of Anton and went out of the great church. He walked as fast as he could through the little street called Storey's Gate, jogged along the eastern edge of St. James's Park, and ran up the steps by the Duke of York's memorial and into the German embassy.
The ambassador's door was open. Prince Lichnowsky sat at his desk, and Otto stood beside him. Gottfried von Kessel was using the telephone. There were a dozen other people in the room, with clerks hurrying in and out.
Walter was breathing hard. Panting, he spoke to his father. "What's happening?"
"Berlin has received a cable from our embassy in St. Petersburg that just says: 'First day of mobilization 31 July.' Berlin is trying to confirm the report."
"What is von Kessel doing?"
"Keeping the phone line to Berlin open so that we hear instantly."
Walter took a deep breath and stepped forward. "Your Highness," he said to Prince Lichnowsky.
"Yes?"
"I can confirm the Russian mobilization. My source told me less than an hour ago."
"Right." Lichnowsky reached for the phone and von Kessel gave it to him.
Walter looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to eleven--in Berlin, just short of the noon deadline.
Lichnowsky said into the phone: "Russian mobilization has been confirmed by a reliable source here."
He listened for a few moments. The room went quiet. No one moved. "Yes," Lichnowsky said at last. "I understand. Very well."
He hung up with a click that sounded like a thunderclap. "The chancellor has decided," he said; and then he repeated the words Walter had been dreading. "Zustand drohender Kriegsgefahr. Prepare for imminent war."
CHAPTER TEN
August 1-3, 1914
Maud was frantic with worry. On Saturday morning she sat in the breakfast room at the Mayfair house, eating nothing. The summer sun shone in through the tall windows. The decor was supposed to be restful--Persian rugs, eau-de-Nil paintwork, mid-blue curtains--but nothing could calm her. War was coming and no one seemed able to stop it: not the kaiser, not the tsar, not Sir Edward Grey.
Bea came in, wearing a filmy summer dress and a lace shawl. Grout, the butler, poured her coffee with gloved hands, and she took a peach from a bowl.
Maud looked at the newspaper but was unable to read beyond the headlines. She was too anxious to concentrate. She tossed the newspaper aside. Grout picked it up and folded it neatly. "Don't you worry, my lady," he said. "We'll give the Germans a bashing if we have to."
She glared at him but said nothing. It was foolish to argue with servants--they always ended up agreeing out of deference.
Aunt Herm tactfully got rid of him. "I'm sure you're right, Grout," she said. "Bring some more hot rolls, would you?"
Fitz came in. He asked Bea how she was feeling, and she shrugged. Maud sensed that something in their relationship had changed, but she was too distracted to think about that. She immediately asked Fitz: "What happened last night?" She knew he had been in conference with leading Conservatives at a country house called Wargrave.
"F. E. arrived with a message from Winston." F. E. Smith, a Conservative M.P., was close friends with the Liberal Winston Churchill. "He proposed a Liberal-Conservative coalition government."
Maud was shocked. She usually knew what was happening in Liberal circles, but Prime Minister Asquith had kept this secret. "That's outrageous!" she said. "It makes war more likely."
With irritating calmness, Fitz took some sausages from the hot buffet on the sideboard. "The left wing of the Liberal Party are little better than pacifists. I imagine tha
t Asquith is afraid they will attempt to tie his hands. But he doesn't have enough support in his own party to overrule them. Who can he turn to for help? Only the Conservatives. Hence the proposal of a coalition."
That was what Maud feared. "What did Bonar Law say to the offer?" Andrew Bonar Law was the Conservative leader.
"He turned it down."
"Thank God."
"And I supported him."
"Why? Don't you want Bonar Law to have a seat in the government?"
"I'm hoping for more. If Asquith wants war, and Lloyd George leads a left-wing rebellion, the Liberals could be too divided to rule. Then what happens? We Conservatives have to take over--and Bonar Law becomes prime minister."
Furiously, Maud said: "You see how everything seems to conspire towards war? Asquith wants a coalition with the Conservatives because they are more aggressive. If Lloyd George leads a rebellion against Asquith, the Conservatives will take over anyway. Everyone is jockeying for position instead of struggling for peace!"
"What about you?" Fitz said. "Did you go to Halkyn House last night?" The home of the Earl of Beauchamp was the headquarters of the peace faction.
Maud brightened. There was a ray of hope. "Asquith has called a cabinet meeting this morning." This was unusual on a Saturday. "Morley and Burns want a declaration that Britain will in no circumstance fight Germany."
Fitz shook his head. "They can't prejudge the issue like that. Grey would resign."
"Grey is always threatening to resign, but never does."
"Still, you can't risk a split in the cabinet now, with my lot waiting in the wings, panting to take over."
Maud knew Fitz was right. She could have screamed with frustration.
Bea dropped her knife and made a strange noise.
Fitz said: "Are you all right, my dear?"
She stood up, holding her stomach. Her face was pale. "Excuse me," she said, and she rushed out of the room.
