regard to her own interests.’ They will not promise neutrality.”
“But there may still be time-”
“No. They have decided to mobilize. Joffre won the argument-as the military have in every country. The telegrams were sent at four o’clock this afternoon, Paris time.”
“There must be something you can do!”
“Germany has run out of choices,” he said. “We cannot fight Russia with a hostile France at our backs, armed and eager to win back Alsace-Lorraine. So we must attack France. The Schlieffen Plan has already been set in motion. In Berlin, the crowds are singing the ‘Kaiserhymne’ in the streets.”
“You’ll have to join your regiment,” she said, and she could not hold back the tears.
“Of course.”
She wiped her face. Her handkerchief was too small, a stupid scrap of embroidered lawn. She used her sleeve instead. “When?” she said. “When will you have to leave London?”
“Not for a few days.” He was fighting back tears himself, she saw. He said: “Is there any chance at all that Britain can be kept out of the war? Then at least I wouldn’t be fighting against your country.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Tomorrow will tell.” She pulled him close. “Please hold me tight.” She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.
Fitz was angered to see an antiwar demonstration in Trafalgar Square on Sunday afternoon. Keir Hardie, the Labour M.P., was speaking, dressed in a tweed suit-like a gamekeeper, Fitz thought. He stood on the plinth of Nelson’s Column, shouting hoarsely in his Scots accent, desecrating the memory of the hero who died for Britain at the Battle of Trafalgar.
Hardie said that the coming war would be the greatest catastrophe the world had ever seen. He represented a mining constituency-Merthyr, near Aberowen. He was the illegitimate son of a maidservant, and had been a coal miner until he went into politics. What did he know about war?
Fitz stalked off in disgust and went to the duchess’s for tea. In the grand hall he came upon Maud deep in conversation with Walter. The crisis was driving him away from both of them, to his profound regret. He loved his sister and he was fond of Walter, but Maud was a Liberal and Walter a German, and in times like these it was hard even to speak to them. However, he did his best to seem amiable as he said to Maud: “I hear this morning’s cabinet was stormy.”
She nodded. “Churchill mobilized the fleet last night without asking anyone. John Burns resigned this morning in protest.”
“I can’t pretend to be sorry.” Burns was an old radical, the most fervently antiwar cabinet minister. “So the rest must have endorsed Winston’s action.”
“Reluctantly.”
“We must be grateful for small mercies.” It was appalling, Fitz felt, that at this time of national danger the government should be in the hands of these leftist ditherers.
Maud said: “But they refused Grey’s request for a commitment to defend France.”
“Still acting like cowards, then,” Fitz said. He knew he was being rude to his sister, but he felt too bitter to hold back.
“Not quite,” Maud said evenly. “They agreed to prevent the German navy passing through the English Channel to attack France.”
Fitz brightened a little. “Well, that’s something.”
Walter put in: “The German government has responded by saying we have no intention of sending ships into the English Channel.”
Fitz said to Maud: “You see what happens when you stand firm?”
“Don’t be so smug, Fitz,” she said. “If we do go to war it will be because people such as you have not tried hard enough to prevent it.”
“Oh, really?” He was offended. “Well, let me tell you something. I spoke to Sir Edward Grey last night at Brooks’s club. He has asked both the French and the Germans to respect the neutrality of Belgium. The French agreed immediately.” Fitz looked challengingly at Walter. “The Germans have not responded.”
“It’s true.” Walter gave an apologetic shrug. “My dear Fitz, you as a soldier will see that we couldn’t answer that question, one way or the other, without giving away our war plans.”
“I do see, but in the light of that I want to know why my sister thinks I am a warmonger and you are a peacemaker.”
Maud avoided the question. “Lloyd George thinks Britain should intervene only if the German army violates Belgian territory substantially. He may suggest it at tonight’s cabinet.”
Fitz knew what that meant. Furiously he said: “So we will give Germany permission to attack France via the southern corner of Belgium?”
“I suppose that is exactly what it means.”
“I knew it,” Fitz said. “The traitors. They’re planning to wriggle out of their duty. They will do anything to avoid war!”
“I wish you were right,” said Maud.
Maud had to go to the House of Commons on Monday afternoon to hear Sir Edward Grey address members of Parliament. The speech would be a turning point, everyone agreed. Aunt Herm went with her. For once, Maud was glad of an old lady’s reassuring company.
Maud’s fate would be decided this afternoon, as well as the fate of thousands of men of fighting age. Depending on what Grey said, and how Parliament reacted, women all over Europe could become widows, their children orphans.
Maud had stopped being angry-worn out with it, perhaps. Now she was just frightened. War or peace, marriage or loneliness, life or death: her destiny.
It was a holiday, so the city’s huge population of bank clerks, civil servants, lawyers, stockbrokers, and merchants all had the day off. Most of them seemed to have gathered near the great departments of government in Westminster, hoping to be the first to hear news. The chauffeur steered Fitz’s seven-passenger Cadillac limousine slowly through the vast crowds in Trafalgar Square, Whitehall, and Parliament Square. The weather was cloudy but warm, and the more fashionable young men wore straw boaters. Maud glimpsed a placard for the Evening Standard that read: ON THE BRINK OF CATASTROPHE.
The crowd cheered as the car drew up outside the Palace of Westminster, then there was a little groan of disappointment when it disgorged nothing more interesting than two ladies. The onlookers wanted to see their heroes, men such as Lloyd George and Keir Hardie.
The palace epitomized the Victorian mania for decoration, Maud thought. The stone was elaborately carved, there was linenfold paneling everywhere, the floor tiles were multicolored, the glass was stained, and the carpets were patterned.
Although it was a holiday, the House was sitting and the place was crowded with members and peers, most of them in the parliamentary uniform of black morning coat and black silk top hat. Only the Labour members defied the dress code by wearing tweeds or lounge suits.
The peace faction was still a majority in cabinet, Maud knew. Lloyd George had won his point last night, and the government would stand aside if Germany committed a merely technical violation of Belgian territory.
Helpfully, the Italians had declared neutrality, saying their treaty with Austria obliged them to join only in a defensive war, whereas Austria’s action in Serbia was clearly aggressive. So far, Maud thought, Italy was the only country to have shown common sense.
Fitz and Walter were waiting in the octagonal Central Lobby. Maud immediately said: “I haven’t heard what happened at this morning’s cabinet-have you?”
“Three more resignations,” Fitz said. “Morley, Simon, and Beauchamp.”
All three were antiwar. Maud was discouraged, and also puzzled. “Not Lloyd George?”
