Fall of Giants

“Slowly.” He could tell that her concern was genuine. She did not hate him, it seemed, despite everything that had happened. His heart was touched.

“How did you get your injuries?”

He had told the story so often that it bored him. “It was the first day of the Somme. I hardly saw any fighting. We went over the top, got past our own barbed wire, and started across no-man’s-land, and the next thing I remember is being carried on a stretcher, and hurting like hell.”

“My brother saw you fall.”

Fitz remembered the insubordinate Corporal William Williams. “Did he? What happened to him?”

“His section captured a German trench, then had to abandon it when they ran out of ammunition.”

Fitz had missed all the debriefing, being in hospital. “Did he get a medal?”

“No. The colonel told him he should have defended his position to the death. Billy said: ‘What, like you did?’ and he was put on a charge.”

Fitz was not surprised. Williams was trouble. “So what are you doing here?”

“I work with your sister.”

“She didn’t tell me.”

Ethel gave him a level look. “She wouldn’t think you’d be interested in news of your former servants.”

It was a jibe, but he ignored it. “What do you do?”

“I’m managing editor of The Soldier’s Wife. I arrange printing and distribution, and edit the letters page. And I take care of the money.”

He was impressed. It was a big step up from housekeeper. But she had always been an extraordinarily capable organizer. “My money, I suppose?”

“I don’t think so. Maud is careful. She knows you don’t mind paying for tea and cake, and doctoring for soldiers’ children, but she wouldn’t use your money for antiwar propaganda.”

He kept the conversation going just for the pleasure of watching her face as she talked. “Is that what is in the newspaper?” he asked. “Antiwar propaganda?”

“We discuss publicly what you speak of only in secret: the possibility of peace.”

She was right. Fitz knew that senior politicians in both major parties had been talking about peace, and it angered him. But he did not want to have a row with Ethel. “Your hero, Lloyd George, is in favor of fighting harder.”

“Will he become prime minister, do you think?”

“The king doesn’t want him. But he may be the only candidate who can unite Parliament.”

“I fear he may prolong the war.”

Maud came out of her office. The tea party was breaking up, the women clearing up the cups and saucers and marshaling their children. Fitz marveled to see Aunt Herm carrying a stack of dirty plates. How the war had changed people!

He looked again at Ethel. She was still the most attractive woman he had ever met. He yielded to an impulse. Speaking in a lowered voice he said: “Will you meet me tomorrow?”

She looked shocked. “What for?” she said quietly.

“Yes or no?”

“Where?”

“Victoria Station. One o’clock. At the entrance to platform three.”

Before she could reply the man in thick glasses came over, and Ethel introduced him. “Earl Fitzherbert, may I present Mr. Bernie Leckwith, chairman of the Aldgate branch of the Independent Labour Party.”

Fitz shook hands. Leckwith was in his twenties. Fitz guessed that poor eyesight had kept him out of the armed forces.

“I’m sorry to see you wounded, Lord Fitzherbert,” Leckwith said in a cockney accent.

“I was one of thousands, and lucky to be alive.”

“With hindsight, is there anything we could have done differently at the Somme, that would have greatly altered the outcome?”

Fitz thought for a moment. It was a damned good question.

While he considered, Leckwith said: “Did we need more men and ammunition, as the generals claim? Or more flexible tactics and better communications, as the politicians say?”

Fitz said thoughtfully: “All those things would have helped but, frankly, I don’t think they would have brought us victory. The assault was doomed from the start. But we could not possibly have known that in advance. We had to try.”

Leckwith nodded, as if his own view had been confirmed. “I appreciate your candor,” he said, almost as if Fitz had made a confession.

They left the chapel. Fitz handed Aunt Herm and Maud into the waiting car, then got in himself, and the chauffeur drove away.

Fitz found himself breathing hard. He had suffered a small shock. Three years ago Ethel had been counting pillowcases at Tŷ Gwyn. Today she was the managing editor of a newspaper that, although small, was considered by senior ministers to be a thorn in the flesh of the government.

What was her relationship with the surprisingly intelligent Bernie Leckwith? “Who was that chap Leckwith?” he asked Maud.

“An important local politician.”

“Is he Williams’s husband?”

Maud laughed. “No, though everyone thinks he should be. He’s a clever man who shares her ideals, and he’s devoted to her son. I don’t know why Ethel didn’t marry him years ago.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t make her heart beat faster.”

Maud raised her eyebrows, and Fitz realized he had been dangerously candid.

He added hastily: “Girls of that type want romance, don’t they? She’ll marry a war hero, not a librarian.”