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Fitz made a gesture indicating that Grout should give the cable to Bea. She frowned anxiously-telegrams made everyone nervous in wartime-and ripped it open. She scanned the sheet of paper and gave a cry of distress.
Fitz jumped up. "What is it?"
"My brother!"
"Is he alive?"
"Yes-wounded. " She began to cry. "They have amputated his arm, but he is recovering. Oh, poor Andrei. "
Fitz took the cable and read it. The only additional information was that Prince Andrei had been taken home to Bulovnir, his country estate in Tambov province southeast of Moscow. He hoped Andrei really was recovering. Many men died of infected wounds, and amputation did not always halt the spread of the gangrene.
"My dear, I'm most frightfully sorry," said Fitz. Maud and Herm stood either side of Bea, trying to comfort her. "It says a letter will follow, but God knows how long it will take to get here. "
"I must know how he is!" Bea sobbed.
Fitz said: "I will ask the British ambassador to make careful inquiries. " An earl still had privileges, even in this democratic age.
Maud said: "Let us take you up to your room, Bea. "
Bea nodded and stood up.
Fitz said: "I'd better go to Lord Silverman's dinner-Bonar Law is going to be there. " Fitz wanted one day to be a minister in a Conservative government, and he was glad of any opportunity to chat with the party leader. "But I'll skip the ball and come straight home. "
Bea nodded, and allowed herself to be taken upstairs.
Grout came in and said: "The car is ready, my lord. "
During the short drive to Belgrave Square, Fitz brooded over the news. Prince Andrei had never been good at managing the family lands. He would probably use his disability as an excuse to take even less care of business. The estate would decline further. But there was nothing Fitz could do, fifteen hundred miles away in London. He felt frustrated and worried. Anarchy was always just around the corner, and slackness by noblemen such as Andrei was what gave revolutionists their chance.
When he reached the Silverman residence Bonar Law was already there-and so was Perceval Jones, the member of Parliament for Aberowen and chairman of Celtic Minerals. Jones was a turkey-cock at the best of times, and tonight he was bursting with pride at being in such distinguished company, talking to Lord Silverman with his hands in his pockets, a massive gold watch chain stretched across his wide waistcoat.
Fitz should not have been so surprised. This was a political dinner, and Jones was rising in the Conservative party: no doubt he, too, hoped to be a minister when and if Bonar Law should become prime minister. All the same, it was a bit like meeting your head groom at the Hunt Ball, and Fitz had an unnerving feeling that Bolshevism might be coming to London, not by revolution but by stealth.
At the table Jones shocked Fitz by saying he was in favor of votes for women. "For heaven's sake, why?" said Fitz.
"We have conducted a survey of constituency chairmen and agents," Jones replied, and Fitz saw Bonar Law nodding. "They are two to one in favor of the proposal. "
"Conservatives are?" Fitz said incredulously.
"Yes, my lord. "
"But why?"
"The bill will give the vote only to women over thirty who are householders or the wives of householders. Most women factory workers are excluded, because they tend to be younger. And all those dreadful female intellectuals are single women who live in other people's homes. "
Fitz was taken aback. He had always regarded this as an issue of principle. But principle did not matter to jumped-up businessmen such as Jones. Fitz had never thought about electoral consequences. "I still don't see. . . "
"Most of the new voters will be mature middle-class mothers of families. " Jones tapped the side of his nose in a vulgar gesture. "Lord Fitzherbert, they are the most conservative group of people in the country. This bill will give our party six million new votes. "
"So you're going to support woman suffrage?"
"We must! We need those Conservative women. At the next election there will be three million new working-class male voters, a lot of them coming out of the army, most of them not on our side. But our new women will outnumber them. "
"But the principle, man!" Fitz protested, though he sensed this was a losing battle.
"Principle?" said Jones. "This is practical politics. " He gave a condescending smile that infuriated Fitz. "But then, if I may say so, you always were an idealist, my lord. "
"We're all idealists," said Lord Silverman, smoothing over the conflict like a good host. "That's why we're in politics. People without ideals don't bother. But we have to confront the realities of elections and public opinion. "
