Chapter 14
14
M AY 1915
Inga’s professional détente with Benedict held for only a few weeks. As the weather warmed up, so did their bickering. It seemed he couldn’t help nitpicking the way she handled her duties. He went back to calling her Miss Klein in that prickly manner of his. She remained aggressively cheerful whenever he entered a room, which seemed to irritate him because Benedict couldn’t help being a wet blanket.
Still, he had been true to his word and kept news of the Magnus scandal limited to only a handful of people in the American Embassy. Nobody at the other neutral embassies had been informed, which let Inga join in the periodic social gatherings without the mortifying incident tainting her reputation.
She loved the chance to unwind with staff from other neutral nations, like today’s lawn party at the Danish Embassy. It was a chance to quit worrying about the war and enjoy the comradery of people who lived in the same diplomatic limbo as she. The fine early May weather was perfect for tea in the garden overlooking the tiered lawn that gradually sloped down to the Spree River.
A game of croquet was set up on the upper tier, where Inga paired with Andrew to represent the Americans. They were competing with the team from Spain, while teams from Denmark and Argentina would play the next round.
Inga positioned her mallet carefully, then gently smacked the ball through the final wicket.
“Well done!” Andrew enthused, for they’d just run all seven hoops and won the round.
Inga let out a squeal and glanced over at the tea tables, where Benedict sat hidden behind an open newspaper. Everyone else at the tea table politely clapped, but soon went back to chatting and sampling the splendid array of tiny cakes and pastries.
“Mrs. Torres, you’re up!” Andrew called out to the wife of the Argentinian ambassador.
“Good luck!” Inga said as she handed her mallet to Mrs. Torres.
“I shall need it,” the older woman said. “It’s been years since I’ve played croquet.”
Felix Jeppesen, the chief of staff at the Danish Embassy, chimed in. “Not to worry, just be thankful the Swiss aren’t here today. They play hard, fast, and mean. There’s no beating the Swiss whenever they’re on the court.”
“Why is that?” Inga asked.
“They have a frustrated sense of competition because they’ve been forced to stay neutral in every war dating back to the Treaty of Paris in 1815,” Benedict said from behind his newspaper. Ah yes, reader of the Encyclopedia Britannica strikes again.
“Lucky Switzerland,” Mrs. Torres said. “I fear that Argentina may be forced to choose sides before much longer.”
That cast a pall over the gathering. At the moment, everyone there had the luxury of sitting on the sidelines while helping the Red Cross and other charitable organizations provide relief. They needn’t worry about draft riots back home or arrange to have the bodies of fallen soldiers transported back to America for burial.
“None of us have a prayer of beating the Swiss at croquet,” Felix said in an obvious attempt to recapture the mood. “They take it all so seriously. There’s too much German in them to be lighthearted. Sorry, Inga,” he said and flashed her an apologetic wink.
“Not to worry,” she replied. “You should brace yourself to be trounced in the final round. After all, we beat Spain straight up.”
Benedict finally lowered his newspaper to peer down at her from the upper terrace. “Inga, you don’t have the necessary gravitas to beat the Danish.”
“What does ‘gravitas’ mean?” she asked. “Something boring, I’ll bet.” If gravitas was a quality Benedict valued, it was almost certainly boring.
The Spanish ambassador supplied the answer. “It means heft. Solemnity of manner.”
“Austerity,” Felix added. “Heavy and ponderous and serious.”
Inga smiled up at Benedict. “You are correct, sir. I have no gravitas, nor do I want any.” She wandered to the upper terrace for a glass of lemonade. The Gerards made space for her at the tea table, and she scanned the delightful assortment of pastries displayed on the dessert stand. How charming everything looked! She helped herself to a raspberry pastry and went back to hectoring Benedict.
“Would you like something to eat?” she asked. “They have pear tartlets, raspberry streusel, and delightful little coconut sponge cakes.”
“No, thank you,” Benedict said.
“I’m sure they can produce a wedge of lemon to suck on if you prefer.” She kept her tone bright and airy, prompting another round of laughter from the group. Even Benedict’s lip quivered, and she almost succeeded in making him smile, though he managed to kill it before it could break free.
It was a triumph. Cracking Benedict’s ridiculous austerity had become something of a challenge she almost always lost but would never quit trying.
Soon waiters rolled out another tea cart, this one filled with elegant sandwiches and finger-sized quiches. The British blockade obviously wasn’t working very well if the lovely assortment of gourmet delicacies was any evidence. The Germans howled about the blockade and had been trying to paint the British as savages, denying milk to starving German babies, but Germany had never been dependent on imported food to feed itself. The markets still brimmed with produce, bread, and milk. Although the price of meat had risen sharply, few in Germany went hungry.
She helped herself to a watercress sandwich, dimly aware that a servant had interrupted the croquet game to carry a message to the Danish dignitary, who studied the slip of paper with a frown. It looked like a telegram.
Soon all four people playing croquet had gathered around the message, their faces grim. Mr. Gerard hurried down the terrace steps to read the message.
Benedict stood. “Something is happening,” he said darkly, his point underscored as Mr. Gerard came striding up the stairs with the news.
“The Germans have torpedoed a passenger ship off the coast of Ireland. The Lusitania . It sank in less than twenty minutes. The loss of life is going to be considerable.”
Inga crossed herself. “Poor souls.”
“The ship was sailing from New York to Liverpool, so there are bound to be Americans on board,” Mr. Gerard said.
“How could a ship of that size sink in twenty minutes?” Benedict asked. “It took the Titanic almost three hours to go under.”
“The Titanic wasn’t torpedoed,” Mr. Gerard bit out. “Early reports claim a huge explosion took out the Lusitania . The Germans will be made to pay for this.”
Inga turned away as a wave of guilt settled over her. Maybe the reports of how fast the ship sank were inaccurate. Maybe there weren’t any Americans on the ship. It was too early to start panicking.
“Do we know how many people were aboard?” Mrs. Torres asked.
“Almost two thousand,” Mr. Gerard answered. “Since it was sailing from New York, I’d estimate that as many as half of them were American. We need to return to the embassy to await news.”
The moment Benedict feared for over a year had finally happened, and the United States was about to be dragged into a pointless war they had no business fighting. At this very moment, millions of American farmers, factory workers, students, and young men were going about their ordinary lives. Unless Benedict could navigate this diplomatic minefield, those young men might be scooped up by the thousands and sent into the trenches.
He’d been locked in Ambassador Gerard’s office all morning, negotiating with German Undersecretary Zimmermann as they tried to find a way out of this quagmire. Inga sat in the corner, her fingers moving across the keys of a steno machine to record every word spoken. Zimmermann insisted that the Lusitania was a legitimate target because he believed it was carrying munitions, a charge that directly contradicted the American position.
Benedict tried to take the lead in negotiations, but Gerard was angry and belligerent, leaning far across his desk to be nose to nose with Zimmermann. “The United States demands a personal apology from the kaiser, monetary compensation for the families of every American victim, and a pledge to cease all unannounced submarine attacks.”
Zimmermann bristled. “That will never happen. Not one of them! The Lusitania was carrying munitions. It would not have blown up like it did if it hadn’t been stuffed to the gills with bombs. The violation of the treaty is on you , sir! Your nation was the one to break our agreement of neutrality by supplying munitions to the British.”
Gerard was speechless. The only sound in the room was the clattering of a stenograph machine as Inga typed every word. Her face looked white and tense, but her fingers kept firing.
“At this point, suggesting the Lusitania carried weapons is pure speculation,” Benedict said. “There will be time to assign blame in the future. Our mission today must be to find a path toward peace. We do not want war between our two nations.”
“Who doesn’t want war?” Gerard barked. “The moment the president gives me instructions, I shall deliver his declaration with great delight. We are this close to declaring war,” he said as he leaned across the desk, fingers pinched together.
Zimmermann scoffed. “President Wilson won’t declare war. He knows your country has half a million German immigrants living in America who will rise up in arms against your government if you declare war on us.”
Ambassador Gerard pounded his fist on his desk. “That may be, but we have half a million lampposts in America, and that is where those German citizens will find themselves swinging from if they rise up against us.”
Inga gasped. Even Zimmermann looked stunned, but Gerard didn’t back down. Anger crackled in the air, and Zimmermann reached for his walking stick and prepared to leave.
“I shall carry your tender sentiments to the kaiser,” Zimmermann said stiffly. Then he looked at Inga, who remained frozen in the corner, fingers suspended above the steno. “I am sorry you had to hear that, Fr?ulein,” he added. “How terrible that Ambassador Gerard should say such a foul thing before a citizen of Germany.” He turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
“H-how did he know I’m a German citizen?” Inga stammered.
Benedict sagged. “Because there are spies everywhere in Berlin.”
“He only said that to threaten me,” Ambassador Gerard said. “He knows of my friendship with Inga, and he said it to throw me off-balance.”
For the first time all morning, Benedict agreed.
Gerard stood and began pacing. “War is almost a certainty. President Wilson has already instructed that if our demands are not met, he is ready to declare war. We leave Germany tomorrow morning. I will not loiter and risk being arrested like they did to the British diplomats after they broke relations.”
Benedict met Inga’s gaze. The Germans wouldn’t let her leave. They knew she was a German citizen, that she didn’t have a passport, and they were in no mood to be conciliatory. They might even accuse her of being a spy.
Inga’s face remained white with fear. She clearly understood the danger she was in. It hurt to see, but Benedict couldn’t help her. If America declared war, within days a million young men would be called up and drafted to serve in muddy trenches. A million men . There wasn’t time to intervene on Inga’s behalf. The clock was ticking, and he needed to begin strategizing with his counterparts at the other neutral embassies about how to avert this disaster. He refused to concede war was inevitable.
“I’m going to the Swiss Embassy,” he told Gerard. “Marc Siegrist has decades of experience walking a tightrope of neutrality with the Germans. If anyone can help us stay the course, it’s Marc. It’s not too late for us. I’ll figure a way out of this short of war.”
“You won’t do anything without my authorization.”
The pugnacious expression on Ambassador Gerard’s face was terrifying. It looked as if he wanted to go to war. President Wilson didn’t, and ultimately Benedict worked for the president, not the ambassador. It seemed as if Benedict was the only American diplomat in Berlin desperate to preserve peace.
He met Gerard’s gaze squarely. “We both work for the president,” he said. “Of course I can’t negotiate behind your back, but I owe it to President Wilson to investigate all our options. I believe we can convince the Germans to agree to the president’s demands. I’ll take any help I can get with that. We must get there; this is too important.”
“Very well,” Gerard conceded. “Go and do your best, but in the meantime, we’re packing up both the embassy and Alton House.”
Benedict swept papers and telegrams into his attaché case. Inga remained frozen in the corner, looking petrified as she watched his every move. He paused before her. “Don’t let what Zimmermann said frighten you, Inga. We’ll find a way to get you out of Germany should the need arise.”
She gave the barest nod of her head, but it was obvious she didn’t believe him, and her instincts were absolutely correct. As he left the embassy, for the life of him, Benedict could see no logical way for Inga to escape from Germany.