“Don’t be absurd.”
Maud gave up. For some reason, Fitz was pretending he did not care about Williams. But he never liked explaining himself, and it was useless to press him.
Walter came over, balancing a cup and saucer and a plate with cake in one hand. He smiled at Maud, but spoke to Fitz. “You know Churchill, don’t you?”
“Little Winston?” said Fitz. “I certainly do. He started out in my party, but switched to the Liberals. I think his heart is still with us Conservatives.”
“Last Friday he had dinner with Albert Ballin. I’d love to know what Ballin had to say.”
“I can enlighten you-Winston has been telling everyone. If there is a war, Ballin said that if Britain will stay out of it, Germany will promise to leave France intact afterward, taking no extra territory-by contrast with last time, when they helped themselves to Alsace and Lorraine.”
“Ah,” said Walter with satisfaction. “Thank you. I’ve been trying to find that out for days.”
“Your embassy doesn’t know?”
“This message was intended to bypass normal diplomatic channels, obviously.”
Maud was intrigued. It seemed like a hopeful formula for keeping Britain out of any European war. Perhaps Fitz and Walter would not have to shoot at one another, after all. She said: “How did Winston respond?”
“Noncommittally,” said Fitz. “He reported the conversation to the cabinet, but it was not discussed.”
Maud was about to ask indignantly why not when Robert von Ulrich appeared, looking aghast, as if he had just learned of the death of a loved one. “What on earth is the matter with Robert?” Maud said as he bowed to Bea.
He turned to speak to everyone in the room. “Austria has declared war on Serbia,” he announced.
For a moment Maud felt as if the world had stopped. No one moved and no one spoke. She stared at Robert’s mouth under that curled mustache and willed him to unsay the words. Then the clock on the mantelpiece struck, and a buzz of consternation rose from the men and women in the room.
Tears welled up in Maud’s eyes. Walter offered her a neatly folded white linen handkerchief. She said to Robert: “You will have to fight.”
“I certainly will,” Robert said. He said it briskly, as if stating the obvious, but he looked scared.
Fitz stood up. “I’d better get back to the Lords and find out what’s going on.”
Several others took their leave. In the general hubbub, Walter spoke quietly to Maud. “Albert Ballin’s proposal has suddenly become ten times more important.”
Maud thought so too. “Is there anything we can do?”
“I need to know what the British government really thinks of it.”
“I’ll try to find out.” She was glad of a chance to do something.
“I have to get back to the embassy.”
Maud watched Walter go, wishing she could kiss him good-bye. Most of the guests went at the same time, and Maud slipped upstairs to her room.
She took off her dress and lay down. The thought of Walter going to war made her weep helplessly. After a while she cried herself to sleep.
When she woke up it was time to go out. She was invited to Lady Glenconner’s musical soiree. She was tempted to stay home, then it struck her that there might be a government minister or two at the Glenconners’ house. She might learn something useful to Walter. She got up and dressed.
She and Aunt Herm took Fitz’s carriage through Hyde Park to Queen Anne’s Gate, where the Glenconners lived. Among the guests was Maud’s friend Johnny Remarc, a War Office minister; but, more importantly, Sir Edward Grey was there. She made up her mind to speak to him about Albert Ballin.
The music began before she had a chance, and she sat down to listen. Campbell McInnes was singing selections from Handel-a German composer who had lived most of his life in London, Maud thought wryly.
She watched Sir Edward covertly during the recital. She did not like him much: he belonged to a political group called the Liberal Imperialists, more traditional and conservative than most of the party. However, she felt a pang of sympathy for him. He was never very jolly, but tonight his cadaverous face looked ashen, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders-which he did, of course.
McInnes sang well, and Maud thought with regret how much Walter would have enjoyed this, had he not been too busy to come.
As soon as the music finished, she buttonholed the foreign secretary. “Mr. Churchill tells me he gave you an interesting message from Albert Ballin,” she said. She saw Grey’s face stiffen, but she plowed on. “If we stay out of any European war, the Germans promise not to grab any French territory.”
“Something like that,” Grey said coldly.
Clearly she had raised a distasteful topic. Etiquette demanded that she abandon it instantly. But this was not just a diplomatic maneuver: it was about whether Fitz and Walter would have to go to war. She pressed on. “I understood that our main concern was that the balance of power in Europe should not be disturbed, and I imagined that Herr Ballin’s proposal might satisfy us. Was I wrong?”
“You most certainly were,” he said. “It is an infamous proposal.” He was almost emotional.
Maud was downcast. How could he dismiss it? It offered a glimpse of hope! She said: “Will you explain, to a mere woman who does not grasp these matters as quickly as you, why you say that so definitely?”
“To do as Ballin suggested would be to pave the way for France to be invaded by Germany. We would be complicit. It would be a squalid betrayal of a friend.”
“Ah,” she said. “I think I see. It is as if someone said: ‘I’m going to burgle your neighbor, but if you stand back and don’t interfere, I promise not to burn his house down too.’ Is that it?”
Grey warmed up a little. “A good analogy,” he said with a skeletal smile. “I shall use it myself.”
“Thank you,” said Maud. She felt dreadfully disappointed, and she knew it was showing on her face, but she could not help it. She said gloomily: “Unfortunately, this leaves us perilously close to war.”
“I’m afraid it does,” said the foreign secretary.
Like most parliaments around the world, the British had two chambers. Fitz belonged to the House of Lords, which included the higher aristocracy, the bishops, and the senior judges. The House of Commons was made up of elected representatives known as members of Parliament, or M.P.s. Both chambers met in the Palace of Westminster, a purpose-built Victorian Gothic building with a clock tower. The clock was called Big Ben, although Fitz was fond of pointing out that that was actually the name of the great bell.
As Big Ben struck twelve noon on Wednesday, July 29, Fitz and Walter ordered a prelunch sherry on the terrace beside the smelly river Thames. Fitz looked at the palace with satisfaction, as always: it was extraordinarily large, rich, and solid, like the empire that was ruled from its corridors and chambers. The building looked as if it might last a thousand years-but would the empire survive? Fitz trembled when he thought of the threats to it: rabble-rousing trade unionists, striking coal miners, the kaiser, the Labour Party, the Irish, militant feminists-even his own sister.
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.”
