She was not sure how she was going to maintain a semblance of normality in front of her family. Fitz might not notice her mood-men rarely did-but Aunt Herm was not completely oblivious.
She went downstairs at breakfast time, although she was too tense to feel hungry. Aunt Herm was eating a kipper and the smell made Maud feel rather ill. She sipped coffee.
Fitz appeared a minute later. He took a kipper from the sideboard and opened The Times. What do I normally do? Maud asked herself. I talk about politics. Then I must do that now. “Did anything happen last night?” she said.
“I saw Winston after cabinet,” Fitz replied. “We are asking the German government to withdraw its ultimatum to Belgium.” He gave a contemptuous emphasis to the word asking.
Maud did not dare to feel hope. “Does that mean we have not completely given up working for peace?”
“We might as well,” he said scornfully. “Whatever the Germans may be thinking, they’re not likely to change their minds because of a polite request.”
“A drowning man may clutch at a straw.”
“We’re not clutching at straws. We’re going through the ritual preliminaries to a declaration of war.”
He was right, she thought dismally. All governments would want to say that they had not wanted war, but had been forced into it. Fitz showed no awareness of the danger to himself, no sign that this diplomatic fencing might result in a mortal wound to himself. She longed to protect him and at the same time she wanted to strangle him for his foolish obstinacy.
To distract herself she looked through The Manchester Guardian. It contained a full-page advertisement placed by the Neutrality League with the slogan “Britons, do your duty and keep your country out of a wicked and stupid war.” Maud was glad to know there were still people who thought as she did. But they had no chance of prevailing.
Sanderson came in with an envelope on a silver tray. With a shock, Maud recognized Walter’s handwriting. She was aghast. What was the maid thinking of? Did she not realize that if the original note was a secret, the reply must be too?
She could not read Walter’s note in front of Fitz. Heart racing, she took it with pretended carelessness and dropped it beside her plate, then asked Grout for more coffee.
She looked at her newspaper to hide her panic. Fitz did not censor her mail but, as the head of the family, he had the right to read any letter addressed to a female relative living in his house. No respectable woman would object.
She had to finish breakfast as fast as possible and take the note away unopened. She tried to eat a piece of toast, forcing the crumbs down her dry throat.
Fitz looked up from The Times. “Aren’t you going to read your letter?” he said. And then, to her horror, he added: “That looks like von Ulrich’s handwriting.”
She had no choice. She slit the envelope with a clean butter knife and tried to fix her face in a neutral expression.
Nine o’clock a.m.
My dear love,
All of us at the embassy have been told to pack our bags, pay our bills, and be ready to leave Britain at a few hours’ notice.
You and I should tell no one of our plan. After tonight I will return to Germany and you will remain here, living with your brother. Everyone agrees this war cannot last more than a few weeks or, at most, months. As soon as it is over, if we are both still alive, we will tell the world our happy tidings and start our new life together.
And in case we do not survive the war, oh, please, let us have one night of happiness as husband and wife.
I love you.
W.
P.S. Germany invaded Belgium an hour ago.
Maud’s mind was in a whirl. Married secretly! No one would know. Walter’s superiors would still trust him, not knowing about his marriage to an enemy, and he could fight as his honor demanded, and even work in secret intelligence. Men would continue to court Maud, thinking her single, but she could deal with that: she had been giving suitors the brush-off for years. They would live apart until the end of the war, which would come in a few months at most.
Fitz interrupted her thoughts. “What does he say?”
Maud’s mind went blank. She could not tell Fitz any of this. How was she to answer his question? She looked down at the sheet of heavy cream-colored paper and the upright handwriting, and her eye fell on the P.S. “He says Germany invaded Belgium at eight o’clock this morning.”
Fitz put down his fork. “That’s it, then.” For once even he looked shocked.
Aunt Herm said: “Little Belgium! I think those Germans are the most frightful bullies.” Then she looked confused and said: “Except Herr von Ulrich, of course. He’s charming.”
Fitz said: “So much for the British government’s polite request.”
“It’s madness,” said Maud desolately. “Thousands of men are going to be killed in a war no one wants.”
“I should have thought you might have supported the war,” Fitz said argumentatively. “After all, we will be defending France, which is the only other real democracy in Europe. And our enemies will be Germany and Austria, whose elected parliaments are virtually powerless.”
“But our ally will be Russia,” Maud said bitterly. “So we will be fighting to preserve the most brutal and backward monarchy in Europe.”
“I see your point.”
“Everyone at the embassy has been told to pack,” she said. “We may not see Walter again.” She casually put the letter down.
It did not work. Fitz said: “May I see?”
Maud froze. She could not possibly show it to him. Not only would he lock her up: if he read the sentence about one night of happiness he might take a gun and shoot Walter.
“May I?” Fitz repeated, holding out his hand.
“Of course,” she said. She hesitated another second, then reached for the letter. At the last moment she was inspired, and she knocked over her cup, spilling coffee on the sheet of paper. “Oh, dash it,” she said, noting with relief that the coffee had caused the blue ink to run and the words had already become illegible.
Grout stepped forward and began to clear up the mess. Pretending to be helpful, Maud picked up the letter and folded it, ensuring that any writing that might so far have escaped the coffee was now soaked. “I’m sorry, Fitz,” she said. “But in fact there was no further information.”
“Never mind,” he said, and went back to his newspaper.
Maud put her hands in her lap to hide their shaking.
That was only the beginning.
It was going to be difficult for Maud to get out of the house alone. Like all upper-class ladies, she was not supposed to go anywhere unescorted. Men pretended this was because they were so concerned to protect their women, but in truth it was a means of control. No doubt it would remain until women won the vote.
Maud had spent half her life finding ways to flout this rule. She would have to sneak out without being seen. This was quite difficult. Although only four family members lived in Fitz’s Mayfair mansion, there were at least a dozen servants in the house at any time.
And then she had to stay out all night without anyone’s knowledge.
She put her plan into place carefully.
“I have a headache,” she said at the end of lunch. “Bea, will you forgive me if I don’t come down to dinner tonight?”
“Of course,” said Bea. “Is there anything I can do? Shall I send for Professor Rathbone?”
“No, thank you, it’s nothing serious.” A headache that was not serious was the usual euphemism for a
