When Stars Light the Sky (The Women of Midtown #2)

Chapter 17

17

There was little change in the diplomatic stalemate over the next two days. Benedict pinned all his hopes on a Friday morning meeting with the German Foreign Office. There was still hope of negotiating an apology from the Germans and a promise to end unrestricted submarine warfare.

The problem was that Gerard’s temper had ratcheted ever higher in the past two days. The American ambassador arrived at the chancellery itching for a fight, and Benedict feared the Germans intended to give him one.

Benedict did his best to calm Gerard as they walked down the imposing hallways of the Reich Chancellery. Everything about this building was designed with magisterial intimidation in mind. High ceilings and endless marble corridors made their footsteps echo as they were escorted to the council chamber. They were to meet with Foreign Minister Von Jagow himself. Until now, the kaiser had sent underlings to negotiate, so an audience with the top minister gave Benedict hope.

“Keep your voice calm,” he advised Gerard as they approached the council chamber. “They already know our demands, so don’t needlessly antagonize them by restating the obvious. This must be handled delicately.”

“Thank you, but I’ll follow my own counsel,” Gerard said.

They were led into the stately room, where a long wooden table was flanked by German officers in full military dress uniform with epaulets, sashes, and gleaming medals. The men stood as Benedict and Gerard entered, but their faces remained carved in stone. The only two Germans not in uniform were Foreign Minister Von Jagow and Undersecretary Arthur Zimmermann.

Benedict and Gerard took two seats at the end of a long table.

“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Benedict began. “I believe you already have a copy of President Wilson’s note outlining the American position regarding—”

“The American demands , you mean,” Gerard corrected.

Benedict curled his hands into fists beneath the table. There was no call for needless antagonism, but Benedict couldn’t directly contradict his superior. The best he could do was fall back on the wording of President Wilson’s note. He kept his tone calm, placating.

“As a neutral nation, President Wilson insists that Americans have the right to travel on ships of their choosing without fear of torpedo attacks. He denies the Lusitania was carrying munitions, and as such, the families of Americans killed on the ship deserve an apology and compensation.”

“They deserve nothing,” Foreign Minister Von Jagow asserted from the other end of the long table. “The Lusitania was loaded with munitions intended to kill German soldiers. The deaths of the civilians, while regrettable, was more humane than what the ordinary German citizen is enduring. The English blockade is condemning our people to a slow and painful death by starvation. We won’t apologize for our navy’s defense of our homeland.”

Gerard’s expression hardened. “The average German is the plumpest, best-fed example of starving citizenry anywhere in the known world,” he retorted, which had the ring of truth since Germany didn’t lack for food as of yet. Their farms still operated, although their diversion of nitrogen from making fertilizer for crops to produce munitions would start having an effect if the war dragged on much longer.

“There is no call for insults,” Von Jagow said. He was a sharp-featured man of surprisingly small stature, yet his militaristic demeanor made him seem taller. “I reiterate: The American civilian deaths are regrettable. That is the extent of our official comments on the matter.”

Gerard’s chair slid out with a scrape as he stood. “Is it?” he barked, feeling around in his pocket. He took out a gold coin and threw it across the table, striking Von Jagow in the chest. “Explain that coin,” Gerard said, his voice vibrating.

Benedict silently cringed, wishing he could rewind the last five seconds and snatch that inflammatory coin back, for he knew exactly what it was. Someone in Germany had cast a commemorative medal to celebrate the sinking of the Lusitania .

Von Jagow didn’t look at it but instead slid the coin back down the table with a hearty push toward Gerard. Benedict trapped it with his hand before it could reach its destination. Gerard might conceivably throw it a second time.

“That coin was struck by a private party,” Von Jagow said. “Our government had nothing to do with it.”

“Newspapers are reporting that the crew of the U-boat were awarded medals for sinking the Lusitania ,” Gerard said, which incensed Von Jagow even more.

“ British newspapers are making that claim, and it’s a lie. A deliberate attempt to besmirch German character when we did nothing wrong by targeting a ship carrying bombs to hurl at our soldiers.”

The insults went back and forth. Never in Benedict’s years serving in the diplomatic corps had he witnessed such unbridled verbal attacks without any attempt to address the issue at hand. President Wilson’s demands lay ignored on the table as Gerard batted down every defense offered by the Germans. Both sides were digging deeper into their entrenched positions, both sides allowing anger to get the better of them. Someone needed to lower the temperature here.

Benedict met Von Jagow’s gaze. “Sir, give us something,” he implored. “At the very least, renounce that coin on behalf of your government. Give me something to soothe tempers back home. We do not want to go to war with you.”

The plea caused a silence. Von Jagow shifted in his chair and looked out the window, his fist clenched. Benedict held his breath.

“Our people are angry too,” Von Jagow finally said. “You scoff at our food situation, but famine is coming. We lost a quarter of a million men at the Marne, and here you speak to me of a hundred and twenty-eight dead Americans. We have a right to defend ourselves.”

Benedict remained implacable. “Please. We do not want to go to war with you. Give us something. Renounce the coin.”

Von Jagow gave a single nod of his head. “We can do that.”

Benedict had to kick Gerard beneath the table to warn him against speaking. Plenty of the Germans around the table weren’t happy either, but at least it was something.

President Wilson’s demands were ignored. Benedict had failed to gain a single real concession, and war looked more likely than ever.

Benedict spent an excruciating two hours in Gerard’s company at the embassy, arguing about the outcome from the disastrous meeting. Gerard was itching for a declaration of war, but Colonel Reyes threw cold water on the prospect.

“America isn’t ready to go to war,” Colonel Reyes insisted in the quiet of Gerard’s office. “We have no tanks and only a few modern battleships. We don’t have enough rifles for new recruits; they’re being trained with wooden rifles. War may be inevitable, but we need to stall. Our military isn’t ready.”

The arguments dragged on long into the night, and with each passing hour the weight on Benedict’s chest grew heavier. He was failing. Today had been a disaster, and the best he could do was stall for time. But war was coming.

A gentle tap sounded on the door. “A telephone call from Alton House, sir,” a clerk said. “Andrew reports that someone threw a can of red paint against the front door and hurled rocks through the windows.”

Gerard let out a string of curses. “Was anyone injured?” he asked.

The clerk shook his head. “No, sir. The Marine Guard you stationed scared the troublemakers off, and they’ve been working to clean up the paint mess. The staff is upset. Most of them started packing their bags and are ready to leave at a moment’s notice. We thought you should know.”

Benedict stood. “I should get home. If I sense any lingering trouble, I will collect the staff and bring them here to the embassy for their safety.”

It was almost ten o’clock by the time Benedict returned to Alton House. Shadows of red paint still marred the front door despite attempts to wash it away, and the broken windows had been boarded up. A sergeant in uniform sat on the front porch, shuffling a deck of cards.

“Is everything calm now?” he asked the soldier, who pocketed the deck and stood.

“Yes, sir. It was probably just some drunken rabble-rousers. It shook everybody up, but they’ve all gone to bed. Inga might still be up. She was in the library earlier.”

Inga . She was yet another worry on his growing list of failures. He and Inga had been butting heads since the hour they met. She was frivolous and flighty, but she was also smart and hardworking. Honorable. No matter how things played out in the coming days, he would not leave Berlin until Inga was safe. Although he’d never go so far as to marry her, he would think of something to protect her.

He thanked the sergeant, then headed into the darkened interior of the house. A beam of amber light slanted into the hallway from the library. He paused to gather his thoughts before approaching the open door.

She sat on the floor of the library. Dozens of volumes lay scattered on the floor and stacked on the tables, and an open trunk sat beside her. They were his volumes, the Encyclopedia Britannica .

“What are you doing?” he asked in confusion. Inga looked like a sloppy mess. Her blouse was untucked, sleeves rolled up, and her hair had spilled free of its pins.

Her face was grief-stricken as she looked up at him. “I’m helping pack your books,” she explained, “but I can’t fit them all in the trunk.”

The encyclopedia was twenty-nine volumes, and it looked like she’d tried packing the trunk a dozen different ways to fit all the oversized books into the trunk. Benedict’s heart squeezed. He hadn’t given a thought to taking the encyclopedia with him, even though leaving the set behind would pain him.

“Don’t feel bad,” he murmured. “There are copies of the Britannica in America. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” she insisted, and it sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “These books have all the notes you’ve written in the margins. So many underlined paragraphs and turned-down corners. I found ticket stubs marking entries for each opera you attended. Postcards and newspaper clippings and book reviews, all tucked into the right spots. Benedict, you can’t leave them behind. No other encyclopedia in the world will be the same.”

A surge of affection welled inside because she understood. He looked away as another weight landed on his shoulders.

“The meeting at the chancellery did not go well,” he said, changing the subject. It was perhaps the understatement of the decade. Inga’s fingers curled around the edges of the volume she held, the only sign of emotion.

He couldn’t abandon her. She could be bothersome and frustrating, but she was burning the midnight oil to save his set of the Encyclopedia Britannica . She was a good woman who deserved his help.

“Come with us,” he said. “We can be married tomorrow morning.”

He couldn’t believe he’d just said that, and from the look of astonishment on Inga’s face, she was stunned too.

“I couldn’t ask that of you,” she said on a shaky breath, although she didn’t look repelled. She looked ... hopeful.

“It would only be for a few weeks. As soon as we get to New York, we’ll get an annulment.”

Inga didn’t move but stared at him from her position on the floor. He waited, hoping she’d turn him down. Maybe she’d succeeded in tracking down a family relation in Bavaria and had a safe place to go.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Yes. Thank you. Thank you .”

He let out a heavy breath. There wasn’t any going back now. “I will send a message to the ambassador tonight, asking for him to make it happen. It is best done quickly and quietly.”

“I agree.”

He didn’t want any flowers or parties or pretense. Everyone at the embassy knew this was nothing more than a legal arrangement that would be terminated as soon as possible.

“Wear your sage-green suit,” he said.

She looked momentarily surprised, then quickly nodded. “All right.”

He liked the green suit. It looked fresh and pretty and uniquely Inga. It shouldn’t matter what she wore, but he was a normal man with blood in his veins, and he liked the look of her in sage green. Not that it mattered. He would keep her at arm’s length for however long this sham of a marriage lasted.

“It will only be for a few weeks,” he reiterated.

“We shall both grin and bear it,” Inga concurred. “Smile even.”

He snorted. “Let’s not get too carried away,” he said before retreating upstairs, bothered by the gratitude shining from Inga’s eyes. He didn’t want Inga’s gratitude. He wanted something else from her, though he couldn’t quite put a name to it. Respect? Admiration? He closed his bedroom door with a gentle snick, then braced his hands on top of the bureau.

He shouldn’t have done it. He should have found another way to save Inga short of marriage, but there was no going back now.

He opened the top drawer of his bureau, where he kept a few personal possessions. At least he already had a wedding ring. He slipped the thin gold band on his pinky finger, remembering the last time he’d offered it to a woman.

Claudia had scoffed when he offered his mother’s wedding band to her.

“Benedict,” she scolded, “you’re a rich man. I think I’m entitled to a diamond, don’t you?”

At that point, Benedict was so grateful that Claudia was willing to marry him that he would have bought her an entire diamond mine if she wanted.

The fact that their marriage had been a catastrophe wasn’t entirely Claudia’s fault. Some men simply weren’t cut out for marriage, but Inga already knew that and would have no expectations of him.

There was nothing worse than a one-sided marriage, and despite all of his efforts, he’d begun to care for Inga and feared she could never return the sentiment.