concessions as mere technicalities. It will be relatively easy to get the voting age lowered and other restrictions eased. You must see that.”
“No, I do not,” Maud said icily. She did not like being told that she must see something. “This bill is a step backward. Anyone who supports it is a traitor.”
Ethel stared at Maud. She felt wounded. She said: “You can’t mean that.”
“Please don’t instruct me as to what I can and cannot mean.”
“We’ve worked and campaigned together for two years,” Ethel said, and tears came to her eyes. “Do you really believe that if I disagree with you I must be disloyal to the cause of women’s suffrage?”
Maud was implacable. “I most certainly do.”
“Very well,” said Ethel; and, not knowing what else she could possibly do, she walked out.
Fitz caused his tailor to make him six new suits. All the old ones hung loosely on his thin frame and made him look old. He put on his new evening clothes: black tailcoat, white waistcoat, and wing collar with white bow tie. He looked in the cheval glass in his dressing room and thought: That’s better.
He went down to the drawing room. He could manage without a cane indoors. Maud poured him a glass of Madeira. Aunt Herm said: “How do you feel?”
“The doctors say the leg’s getting better, but it’s slow.” Fitz had returned to the trenches earlier this year, but the cold and damp had proved too much for him, and he was back on the convalescent list, and working in intelligence.
Maud said: “I know you’d rather be over there, but we’re not sorry you missed the spring fighting.”
Fitz nodded. The Nivelle Offensive had been a failure, and the French general Nivelle had been fired. French soldiers were mutinous, defending their trenches but refusing to advance when ordered. So far this had been another bad year for the Allies.
But Maud was wrong to think Fitz would rather be on the front line. The work he was doing in Room 40 was probably even more important than the fighting in France. Many people had feared that German submarines would strangle Britain’s supply lines. But Room 40 was able to find out where the U-boats were and forewarn ships. This information, combined with the tactic of sending ships in convoys escorted by destroyers, rendered the submarines much less effective. It was a triumph, albeit one that few people knew about.
The danger now was Russia. The tsar had been deposed, and anything could happen. So far, the moderates had remained in control, but could that last? It was not just Bea’s family and Boy’s inheritance that were in danger. If extremists took over the Russian government they might make peace, and free hundreds of thousands of German troops to fight in France.
Fitz said: “At least we haven’t lost Russia.”
“Yet,” said Maud. “The Germans are hoping the Bolsheviks will triumph-everyone knows that.”
As she spoke Princess Bea came in, wearing a low-cut dress in silver silk and a suite of diamond jewelry. Fitz and Bea were going to a dinner party, then a ball: it was the London season. Bea heard Maud’s remark and said: “Don’t underestimate the Russian royal family. There may yet be a counterrevolution. After all, what have the Russian people gained? The workers are still starving, the soldiers are still dying, and the Germans are still advancing.”
Grout came in with a bottle of champagne. He opened it inaudibly and poured a glass for Bea. As always, she took one sip and set it down.
Maud said: “Prince Lvov has announced that women will be able to vote in the election for the Constituent Assembly.”
“If it ever happens,” Fitz said. “The provisional government is making a lot of announcements, but is anyone listening? As far as I can make out, every village has set up a soviet and is running its own affairs.”
“Imagine it!” said Bea. “Those superstitious, illiterate peasants, pretending to govern!”
“It’s very dangerous,” Fitz said angrily. “People have no idea how easily they could slip into anarchy and barbarism.” The subject made him irate.
Maud said: “How ironic it will be if Russia becomes more democratic than Great Britain.”
“Parliament is about to debate votes for women,” Fitz said.
“Only for women over thirty who are householders, or the wives of householders.”
“Still, you must be pleased to have made progress. I read an article about it by your comrade Ethel in one of the journals.” Fitz had been startled, sitting in the drawing room of his club looking at the New Statesman, to find he was reading the words of his former housekeeper. The uncomfortable thought had occurred to him that he might not be capable of writing such a clear and well-argued piece. “Her line is that women should accept this on the grounds that something is better than nothing.”
“I’m afraid I disagree,” Maud said frostily. “I will not wait until I am thirty to be considered a member of the human race.”
“Have you two quarreled?”
“We have agreed to go our separate ways.”
Fitz could see Maud was furious. To cool the atmosphere he turned to Lady Hermia. “If the British Parliament gives the vote to women, Aunt, for whom will you cast your ballot?”
“I’m not sure I shall vote at all,” said Aunt Herm. “Isn’t it a bit vulgar?”
Maud looked annoyed, but Fitz grinned. “If ladies of good family think that way, the only voters will be the working class, and they will put the socialists in,” he said.
“Oh, dear,” said Herm. “Perhaps I’d better vote, after all.”
“Would you support Lloyd George?”
“A Welsh solicitor? Certainly not.”
“Perhaps Bonar Law, the Conservative leader.”
“I expect so.”
“But he’s Canadian.”
“Oh, my goodness.”
“This is the problem of having an empire. Riffraff from all over the world think they’re part of it.”
The nurse came in with Boy. He was two and a half years old now, a plump toddler with his mother’s thick fair hair. He ran to Bea, and she sat him on her lap. He said: “I had porridge and Nursie dropped the sugar!” and laughed. That had been the big event of the day in the nursery.
Bea was at her best with the child, Fitz thought. Her face softened and she became affectionate, stroking and kissing him. After a minute he wriggled off her lap and waddled over to Fitz. “How’s my little soldier?” said Fitz. “Going to grow up and shoot Germans?”
“Bang! Bang!” said Boy.
Fitz saw that his nose was running. “Has he got a cold, Jones?” he asked sharply.
The nurse looked frightened. She was a young girl from Aberowen, but she had been professionally trained. “No, my lord, I’m sure-it’s June!”
“There’s such a thing as a summer cold.”
“He’s been perfectly well all day. It’s just a runny nose.”
“It’s certainly that.” Fitz took a linen handkerchief from the inside breast pocket of his evening coat and wiped Boy’s nose. “Has he been playing with common children?”
“No, sir, not at all.”
“What about in the park?”
“There’s none but children from good families in the parts we visit. I’m most particular.”
“I hope you are. This child is heir to the Fitzherbert title, and may be a Russian prince too.” Fitz put Boy down and he ran back to the nurse.
Grout reappeared with an envelope on a silver tray. “A telegram, my lord,” he said. “Addressed to the princess.”
Fitz made a gesture indicating that Grout should give the cable to Bea. She frowned anxiously-telegrams made everyone nervous in wartime-and ripped it open. She scanned the sheet of paper and gave a cry of distress.
Fitz jumped up. “What is it?”
