“I’d say there are four men inclined to sympathize with him: the foreign secretary, Sir Edward Grey; the chancellor, McKenna; the president of the Board of Trade, Runciman; and the prime minister himself.”
Gus’s face brightened with hope. “That’s a powerful faction!”
“Especially now that the aggressive Winston Churchill has gone. He never recovered from the catastrophe of the Dardanelles expedition, which was his pet project.”
“Who in the cabinet was against Lansdowne?”
“David Lloyd George, secretary for war, the most popular politician in the country. And Lord Robert Cecil, minister for blockade; Arthur Henderson, the paymaster general, who is also leader of the Labour Party; and Arthur Balfour, first lord of the Admiralty.”
“I saw the interview Lloyd George gave to the papers. He said he wanted to see a fight to the knockout.”
“Most people agree with him, unfortunately. Of course, they get little chance to hear any other point of view. People who argue against the war-such as the philosopher Bertrand Russell-are constantly harassed by the government.”
“But what was the conclusion of the cabinet?”
“There was none. Asquith’s meetings often end that way. People complain that he’s indecisive.”
“How frustrating. However, it seems a peace proposal won’t fall on deaf ears.”
It was so refreshing, Maud thought, to talk to a man who took her completely seriously. Even those who spoke intelligently to her tended to condescend a little. Walter was really the only other man who conversed with her as an equal.
At that moment Fitz came into the room. He was wearing black-and-gray London clothes, and had obviously just got off the train. He had an eye patch and walked with a stick. “I’m so sorry to have let you all down,” he said, addressing everyone. “I had to stay last night in town. London is in a ferment over the latest political developments.”
Gus spoke up. “What developments? We haven’t seen today’s newspapers yet.”
“Yesterday Lloyd George wrote to Asquith demanding a change in the way we manage the war. He wants an all-powerful war council of three ministers to make all the decisions.”
Gus said: “And will Asquith agree?”
“Of course not. He replied saying that if there were such a body the prime minister would have to be its chairman.”
Fitz’s impish friend Bing Westhampton was sitting on a window seat with his feet up. “That defeats the object,” he said. “Any council of which Asquith is the chair will be just as feeble and indecisive as the cabinet.” He looked around apologetically. “Begging the pardon of government ministers here present.”
“You’re right, though,” said Fitz. “The letter is really a challenge to Asquith’s leadership, especially as Lloyd George’s friend Max Aitken has given the story to all the newspapers. There’s no possibility of compromise now. It’s a fight to the knockout, as Lloyd George would say. If he doesn’t get his way, he’ll have to resign from the cabinet. And if he does get his way, Asquith will go-and then we’ll have to choose a new prime minister.”
Maud caught Gus’s eye. They shared the same unspoken thought, she knew. With Asquith in Downing Street, the peace initiative had a chance. If the belligerent Lloyd George won this contest, everything would be different.
The gong rang in the hall, telling guests it was time to change into evening dress. The tea party broke up. Maud went to her room.
Her clothes had been laid out ready. The dress was one she had got in Paris for the London season of 1914. She had bought few clothes since. She took off her tea gown and slipped on a silk wrap. She would not ring for her maid yet: she had a few minutes to herself. She sat at the dressing table and looked at her face in the mirror. She was twenty-six, and it showed. She had never been pretty, but people had called her handsome. With wartime austerity she had lost what little she had of girlish softness, and the angles of her face had become more pronounced. What would Walter think when he saw her-if they ever met again? She touched her breasts. They were still firm, at least. He would be pleased about that. Thinking about him made her nipples stiffen. She wondered if she had time to-
There was a tap at the door, and she guiltily dropped her hands. “Who is it?” she called.
The door opened, and Gus Dewar stepped in.
Maud stood up, pulling the wrap tightly around her, and said in her most forbidding voice: “Mr. Dewar, please leave at once!”
“Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “I have to see you in private.”
“I can’t imagine what possible reason-”
“I saw Walter in Berlin.”
Maud fell silent, shocked. She stared at Gus. How could he know about her and Walter?
Gus said: “He gave me a letter for you.” He reached inside his tweed jacket and drew out an envelope.
Maud took it with a trembling hand.
Gus said: “He told me he had not used your name or his, for fear the letter might be read at the border, but in fact no one searched my baggage.”
Maud held the letter uneasily. She had longed to hear from him, but now she feared bad news. Walter might have taken a lover, and the letter might beg her understanding. Perhaps he had married a German girl, and wrote to ask her to keep the earlier marriage secret forever. Worst of all, perhaps he had started divorce proceedings.
She tore open the envelope.
She read:
My dearest darling,
It is winter in Germany and in my heart. I cannot tell you how much I love you and how badly I miss you.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh!” she said. “Oh, Mr. Dewar, thank you for bringing this!”
He took a tentative step closer to her. “There, there,” he said. He patted her arm.
She tried to read the rest of the letter but she could not see the words on the paper. “I’m so happy,” she wept.
She dropped her head to Gus’s shoulder, and he put his arms around her. “It’s all right,” he said.
Maud gave in to her feelings and began to sob.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – December 1916
Fitz was working at the Admiralty in Whitehall. It was not the job he wanted. He longed to return to the Welsh Rifles in France. Much as he hated the dirt and discomfort of the trenches, he could not feel good about being safe in London while others were risking their lives. He had a horror of being thought a coward. However, the doctors insisted that his leg was not yet strong enough, and the army would not let him return.
Because Fitz spoke German, Smith-Cumming of the Secret Service Bureau-the man who called himself “C”-had recommended him to naval intelligence, and he had been temporarily posted to a department known as Room 40. The last thing he wanted was a desk job, but to his surprise, he found that the work was highly important to the war effort.
On the first day of the war a post office ship called the CS Alert had gone out into the North Sea, dredged up the Germans’ heavy-duty seabed telecommunications cables, and severed them all. With that sly stroke the British had forced the enemy to use wireless for most messages. Wireless signals could be intercepted. The Germans were not stupid, and they sent all their messages in code. Room 40 was where the British tried to break the codes.
Fitz worked with an assortment of people-some of them quite odd, most not very military-who struggled to decipher the gibberish picked up by listening stations on the coast. Fitz was no good at the crossword-puzzle challenge of decoding-he could never even work out the murderer in a Sherlock Holmes mystery-but he was able to translate the decrypts into English and, more importantly, his battlefield experience enabled him to judge which were significant.
Not that it made much difference. At the end of 1916 the western front had hardly moved from its position at the beginning of the year, despite huge efforts by both sides-the relentless German assault at Verdun and the even more costly British attack at the Somme. The Allies desperately needed a boost. If the United States joined in they
