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"Quite so," said Walter. "But Russia, too, wants territory in the Balkans. "
Fitz felt it was his job to defend the Russian government, perhaps because of Bea. "They, too, have good reasons," he said. "Half their foreign trade crosses the Black Sea, and passes from there through the straits to the Mediterranean Sea. Russia cannot allow any other great power to dominate the straits by acquiring territory in the eastern Balkans. It would be like a noose around the neck of the Russian economy. "
"Exactly so," said Walter. "Turning to the western end of Europe, France has ambitions to take from Germany the territories of Alsace and Lorraine. "
At this point the French guest, Jean-Pierre Charlois, bridled. "Stolen from France forty-three years ago!"
"I will not argue about that," Walter said smoothly. "Let us say that Alsace-Lorraine was joined to the German Empire in 1871, after the defeat of France in the Franco-Prussian War. Whether stolen or not, you allow, Monsieur le Comte, that France wants those lands back. "
"Naturally. " The Frenchman sat back and sipped his port.
Walter said: "Even Italy would like to take, from Austria, the territories of Trentino-"
"Where most people speak Italian!" cried Signor Falli.
"-plus much of the Dalmatian coast-"
"Full of Venetian lions, Catholic churches, and Roman columns!"
"-and Tyrol, a province with a long history of self-government, where most people speak German. "
"Strategic necessity. "
"Of course. "
Fitz realized how clever Walter had been. Not rude, but discreetly provocative, he had stung the representatives of each nation into confirming, in more or less belligerent language, their territorial ambitions.
Now Walter said: "But what new territory is Germany asking for?" He looked around the table, but no one spoke. "None," he said triumphantly. "And the only other major country in Europe that can say the same is Britain!"
Gus Dewar passed the port and said in his American drawl: "I guess that's right. "
Walter said: "So why, my old friend Fitz, should we ever go to war?"
{IV}
On Sunday morning before breakfast Lady Maud sent for Ethel.
Ethel had to suppress an exasperated sigh. She was terribly busy. It was early, but the staff were already hard at work. Before the guests got up all the fireplaces had to be cleaned, the fires relit, and the scuttles filled with coal. The principal rooms-dining room, morning room, library, smoking room, and the smaller public rooms-had to be cleaned and tidied. Ethel was checking the flowers in the billiard room, replacing those that were fading, when she was summoned. Much as she liked Fitz's radical sister, she hoped Maud did not have some elaborate commission for her.
When Ethel had come to work at Ty Gwyn, at the age of thirteen, the Fitzherbert family and their guests were hardly real to her: they seemed like people in a story, or strange tribes in the Bible, Hittites perhaps, and they terrified her. She was frightened that she would do something wrong and lose her job, but also deeply curious to see these strange creatures close up.
One day a kitchen maid had told her to go upstairs to the billiard room and bring down the tantalus. She had been too nervous to ask what a tantalus was. She had gone to the room and looked around, hoping it would be something obvious like a tray of dirty dishes, but she could see nothing that belonged downstairs. She had been in tears when Maud walked in.
Maud was then a gangly fifteen-year-old, a woman in girl's clothes, unhappy and rebellious. It was not until later that she made sense of her life by turning her discontent into a crusade. But even at fifteen she had had the quick compassion that made her sensitive to injustice and oppression.
She had asked Ethel what was the matter. The tantalus turned out to be a silver container with decanters of brandy and whisky. It tantalized, because it had a locking mechanism to prevent servants stealing sips, she explained. Ethel thanked her emotionally. It was the first of many kindnesses and, over the years, Ethel had come to worship the older girl.
Ethel went up to Maud's room, tapped on the door, and walked in. The Gardenia Suite had elaborate flowery wallpaper of a kind that had gone out of fashion at the turn of the century. However, its bay window overlooked the most charming part of Fitz's garden, the West Walk, a long straight path through flower beds to a summerhouse.
Maud was pulling on boots, Ethel saw with displeasure. "I'm going for a walk-you must be my chaperone," she said. "Help me with my hat and tell me the gossip. "
Ethel could hardly spare the time, but she was intrigued as well as bothered. Who was Maud going to walk with; where was her normal chaperone, Aunt Herm; and why was she putting on such a charming hat just to go into the garden? Could there be a man in the picture?
As she pinned the hat to Maud's dark hair Ethel said: "There's a scandal below stairs this morning. " Maud collected gossip the way the king collected stamps. "Morrison didn't get to bed until four o'clock. He's one of the footmen-tall with a blond mustache. "
"I know Morrison. And I know where he spent the night. " Maud hesitated.
Ethel waited a moment, then said: "Aren't you going to tell me?"
