This was the worst day of her life. Her country was going to fight an unnecessary war; her brother and the man she loved were going to risk their lives; and she was going to be separated from her fiance, perhaps forever. All hope was lost and she was in total despair.
They went down the stairs, Fitz leading the way. “Most interesting, Fitz dear,” said Aunt Herm politely, as if she had been taken to an art exhibition that had turned out better than expected.
Walter grasped Maud’s arm and held her back. She let three or four other people get ahead of them, so that Fitz was out of earshot. But she was not prepared for what came next.
“Marry me,” Walter said quietly.
Her heart raced. “What?” she whispered. “How?”
“Marry me, please, tomorrow.”
“It can’t be done-”
“I have a special license.” He tapped the breast pocket of his coat. “I went to Chelsea Register Office on Friday.”
Her mind was in a whirl. All she could think of to say was: “We agreed to wait.” As soon as it was out, she wanted to take it back.
But he was already speaking. “We have waited. The crisis is over. Your country and mine will be at war tomorrow or the day after. I will have to leave Britain. I want to marry you before I go.”
“We don’t know what’s going to happen!” she said.
“Indeed we don’t. But, however the future turns out, I want you to be my wife.”
“But-” Maud stopped speaking. Why was she voicing objections? He was right. No one knew what was going to happen, but that made no difference now. She wanted to be his wife, and no future that she could imagine would change that.
Before she could say more they reached the foot of the stairs and emerged into the Central Lobby, where a crowd was abuzz with excited conversation. Maud desperately wanted to ask Walter more questions, but Fitz gallantly insisted on escorting her and Aunt Herm out, because of the crowds. In Parliament Square Fitz handed the two women into the car. The chauffeur activated the automatic crank, the engine rumbled, and the car pulled smoothly away, leaving Fitz and Walter standing on the pavement, with the crowd of bystanders waiting to hear their fate.
Maud wanted to be Walter’s wife. It was the only thing she was sure of. She held on to that thought while questions and speculations buzzed around her head. Should she fall in with Walter’s plan, or would it be better to wait? If she agreed to marry him tomorrow, whom would she tell? Where would they go after the ceremony? Would they live together? If so, where?
That evening before dinner her maid brought her an envelope on a silver tray. It contained a single sheet of heavy cream-colored paper covered with Walter’s precise, upright handwriting in blue ink.
Six o’clock p.m.
My dearest love,
At half past three tomorrow I will wait for you in a car across the road from Fitz’s house. I will bring with me the requisite two witnesses. The registrar is booked for four o’clock. I have a suite at the Hyde Hotel. I have checked in already, so that we can go to our room without delaying in the lobby. We are to be Mr. and Mrs. Woolridge. Wear a veil.
I love you, Maud.
Your betrothed,
W.
With a shaky hand, she put the sheet of paper down on the polished mahogany top of her dressing table. Her breath was coming fast. She stared at the floral wallpaper and tried to think calmly.
He had chosen the time well: midafternoon was a quiet moment when Maud might be able to slip out of the house unnoticed. Aunt Herm took a nap after lunch, and Fitz would be at the House of Lords.
Fitz must not know in advance, for he would try to stop her. He might simply lock her in her room. He could even get her committed to a lunatic asylum. A wealthy upper-class man could have a female relative put away without much difficulty. All Fitz would have to do was to find two doctors willing to agree with him that she must be mad to want to marry a German.
She would not tell anyone.
The false name and the veil indicated that Walter meant to be clandestine. The Hyde was a discreet hotel in Knightsbridge, where they were unlikely to meet anyone they knew. She shivered with a thrill of anticipation when she thought of spending the night with Walter.
But what would they do the next day? A marriage could not be secret forever. Walter would be leaving Britain in two or three days. Would she go with him? She was afraid she would blight his career. How could he be trusted to fight for his country if he was married to an Englishwoman? And if he did fight, he would be away from home-so what was the point of her going to Germany?
Despite all the unknowns, she was full of delicious excitement. “Mrs. Woolridge,” she said to the bedroom, and she hugged herself with joy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN – August 4, 1914
At sunrise Maud got up and sat at her dressing table to write a letter. She had a stack of Fitz’s blue paper in her drawer, and the silver inkwell was filled every day. My darling, she began, then she stopped to think.
She caught sight of herself in the oval mirror. Her hair was tousled and her nightdress rumpled. A frown creased her forehead and turned down the corners of her mouth. She picked a fragment of some green vegetable from between her teeth. If he could see me now, she thought, he might not want to marry me. Then she realized that if she went along with his plan he would see her exactly like this tomorrow morning. It was a strange thought, scary and thrilling at the same time.
She wrote:
Yes, with all my heart, I want to marry you. But what is your plan? Where would we live?
She had been thinking about this half the night. The obstacles seemed immense.
If you stay in Britain they will put you in a prison camp. If we go to Germany I will never see you because you will be away from home, with the army.
Their relatives might create more trouble than the authorities.
When are we to tell our families about the marriage? Not beforehand, please, because Fitz will find a way to stop us. Even afterwards there will be difficulties with him and with your father. Tell me what you are thinking.
I love you dearly.
She sealed the envelope and addressed it to his flat, which was a quarter of a mile away. She rang the bell and a few minutes later her maid tapped on the door. Sanderson was a plump girl with a big smile. Maud said: “If Mr. Ulrich is out, go to the German embassy in Carlton House Terrace. Either way, wait for his reply. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“No need to tell any of the other servants what you’re doing.”
A worried look came over Sanderson’s young face. Many maids were party to their mistresses’ intrigues, but Maud had never had secret romances, and Sanderson was not used to deception. “What shall I say when Mr. Grout asks me where I’m going?”
Maud thought for a moment. “Tell him you have to buy me certain feminine articles.” Embarrassment would curb Grout’s curiosity.
“Yes, my lady.”
Sanderson left and Maud got dressed.
