Fall of Giants

“Only for women over thirty who are householders, or the wives of householders.”

“Still, you must be pleased to have made progress. I read an article about it by your comrade Ethel in one of the journals.” Fitz had been startled, sitting in the drawing room of his club looking at the New Statesman, to find he was reading the words of his former housekeeper. The uncomfortable thought had occurred to him that he might not be capable of writing such a clear and well-argued piece. “Her line is that women should accept this on the grounds that something is better than nothing.”

“I’m afraid I disagree,” Maud said frostily. “I will not wait until I am thirty to be considered a member of the human race.”

“Have you two quarreled?”

“We have agreed to go our separate ways.”

Fitz could see Maud was furious. To cool the atmosphere he turned to Lady Hermia. “If the British Parliament gives the vote to women, Aunt, for whom will you cast your ballot?”

“I’m not sure I shall vote at all,” said Aunt Herm. “Isn’t it a bit vulgar?”

Maud looked annoyed, but Fitz grinned. “If ladies of good family think that way, the only voters will be the working class, and they will put the socialists in,” he said.

“Oh, dear,” said Herm. “Perhaps I’d better vote, after all.”

“Would you support Lloyd George?”

“A Welsh solicitor? Certainly not.”

“Perhaps Bonar Law, the Conservative leader.”

“I expect so.”

“But he’s Canadian.”

“Oh, my goodness.”

“This is the problem of having an empire. Riffraff from all over the world think they’re part of it.”

The nurse came in with Boy. He was two and a half years old now, a plump toddler with his mother’s thick fair hair. He ran to Bea, and she sat him on her lap. He said: “I had porridge and Nursie dropped the sugar!” and laughed. That had been the big event of the day in the nursery.

Bea was at her best with the child, Fitz thought. Her face softened and she became affectionate, stroking and kissing him. After a minute he wriggled off her lap and waddled over to Fitz. “How’s my little soldier?” said Fitz. “Going to grow up and shoot Germans?”

“Bang! Bang!” said Boy.

Fitz saw that his nose was running. “Has he got a cold, Jones?” he asked sharply.

The nurse looked frightened. She was a young girl from Aberowen, but she had been professionally trained. “No, my lord, I’m sure-it’s June!”

“There’s such a thing as a summer cold.”

“He’s been perfectly well all day. It’s just a runny nose.”

“It’s certainly that.” Fitz took a linen handkerchief from the inside breast pocket of his evening coat and wiped Boy’s nose. “Has he been playing with common children?”

“No, sir, not at all.”

“What about in the park?”

“There’s none but children from good families in the parts we visit. I’m most particular.”

“I hope you are. This child is heir to the Fitzherbert title, and may be a Russian prince too.” Fitz put Boy down and he ran back to the nurse.

Grout reappeared with an envelope on a silver tray. “A telegram, my lord,” he said. “Addressed to the princess.”

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.