Fall of Giants

Lady Maud sent for her before breakfast. Ethel made up a coffee tray and took it to the Pink Room. Maud was at her dressing table in a purple silk negligee. She had been crying. Ethel had troubles of her own, but all the same her sympathy quickened. “What’s the matter, my lady?”

“Oh, Williams, I’ve had to give him up.”

Ethel assumed she meant Walter von Ulrich. “But why?”

“His father came to see me. I hadn’t really faced the fact that Britain and Germany are enemies, and marriage to me would ruin Walter’s career-and possibly his father’s, too.”

“But everyone says there’s not going to be a war, Serbia’s not important enough.”

“If not now, it will be later; and even if it never happens, the threat is enough.” There was a frill of pink lace around the dressing table, and Maud was picking at it nervously, tearing the expensive lace. It was going to take hours to mend, Ethel thought. Maud went on: “No one in the German foreign ministry would trust Walter with secrets if he were married to an Englishwoman.”

Ethel poured the coffee and handed Maud a cup. “Herr von Ulrich will give up his job if he really loves you.”

“But I don’t want him to!” Maud stopped tearing the lace and drank some coffee. “I can’t be the person that ended his career. What kind of basis is that for marriage?”

He could have another career, Ethel thought; and if he really loved you, he would. Then she thought of the man she loved, and how quickly his passion had cooled when it became inconvenient. I’ll keep my opinions to myself, she thought; I don’t know a bloody thing. She asked: “What did Walter say?”

“I haven’t seen him. I wrote him a letter. I stopped going to all the places where I usually meet him. Then he started to call at the house, and it became embarrassing to keep telling the servants I was not at home, so I came down here with Fitz.”

“Why won’t you talk to him?”

“Because I know what will happen. He will take me in his arms and kiss me, and I’ll give in.”

I know that feeling, Ethel thought.

Maud sighed. “You’re quiet this morning, Williams. You’ve probably got worries of your own. Are things very hard with this strike?”

“Yes, my lady. The whole town is on short rations.”

“Are you still feeding the miners’ children?”

“Every day.”

“Good. My brother is very generous.”

“Yes, my lady.” When it suits him, she thought.

“Well, you’d better get on with your work. Thank you for the coffee. I expect I’m boring you with my problems.”

Impulsively, Ethel seized Maud’s hand. “Please don’t say that. You’ve always been good to me. I’m very sorry about Walter, and I hope you will always tell me your troubles.”

“What a kind thing to say.” Fresh tears came to Maud’s eyes. “Thank you very much, Williams.” She squeezed Ethel’s hand, then released it.

Ethel picked up the tray and left. When she reached the kitchen Peel, the butler, said: “Have you done something wrong?”

Little do you know, she thought. “Why do you ask?”

“His lordship wants to see you in the library at half past ten.”

So it was to be a formal talk, Ethel thought. Perhaps that was better. They would be separated by a desk, and she would not be tempted to throw herself into his arms. That would help her keep back the tears. She would need to be cool and unemotional. The entire course of the rest of her life would be set by this discussion.

She went about her household duties. She was going to miss Tŷ Gwyn. In the years she had worked there she had come to love the gracious old furniture. She had picked up the names of the pieces, and learned to recognize a torchère, a buffet, an armoire, or a canterbury. As she dusted and polished she noticed the marquetry, the swags and scrolls, the feet shaped like lions’ paws clasping balls. Occasionally, someone like Peel would say: “That’s French-Louis Quinze,” and she had realized that every room was decorated and furnished consistently in a style, baroque or neoclassical or Gothic. She would never live with such furniture again.

After an hour she made her way to the library. The books had been collected by Fitz’s ancestors. Nowadays the room was not much used: Bea read only French novels, and Fitz did not read at all. Houseguests sometimes came here for peace and quiet, or to use the ivory chess set on the center table. This morning the blinds were pulled halfway down, on Ethel’s instructions, to shade the room from the July sun and keep it cool. Consequently the room was gloomy.