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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.
{VI}
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 asid
e 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?"
"No. "
"Strange. " Maud felt a chill of foreboding. Was there a split in the peace faction? "What is Lloyd George up to?"
Walter said: "I don't know, but I can guess. " He looked solemn. "Last night, Germany demanded free passage through Belgium for our troops. "
Maud gasped.
Walter went on: "The Belgian cabinet sat from nine o'clock yesterday evening until four this morning, then rejected the demand and said they would fight. "
This was dreadful.
Fitz said: "So Lloyd George was wrong-the German army is not going to commit a merely technical violation. "
Walter said nothing, but spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
Maud feared that the brutal German ultimatum, and the Belgian government's foolhardy defiance, might have undermined the peace faction in the cabinet. Belgium and Germany looked too much like David and Goliath. Lloyd George had a nose for public opinion: had he sensed that the mood was about to change?
"We must take our places," said Fitz.
Full of apprehension, Maud passed through a small door and climbed a long staircase to emerge in the Strangers' Gallery overlooking the chamber of the House of Commons. Here sat the sovereign government of the British empire. In this room, matters of life and death were decided for the 444 million people who lived under some form of British rule. Every time she came here Maud was struck by how small it was, with less room than the average London church.
