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.”
“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.”
