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

Chapter 19

19

The next two weeks were no honeymoon. Ever since the sinking of the Lusitania , Inga was fully engaged in taking dictation and wiring a flurry of cables as they attempted to keep America out of the war. Sometimes the meetings were between Mr. Gerard and other neutral nations who tried to negotiate a compromise between the U.S. and Germany; other times it was tense negotiations with President Wilson’s staff in Washington. Nothing appeared to be working. Both nations were digging themselves deeper into their entrenched positions in a grim stalemate.

Mr. Gerard’s demands for an audience with the kaiser were repeatedly denied. He was beginning to take it as a personal insult, as was President Wilson. With two powerful nations on the brink of war, why couldn’t Kaiser Wilhelm spare an hour to meet with the ambassador?

Benedict tried to explain it to her one night at the dinner table. “The Germans surround themselves with layers of hierarchy. Permitting a lowly American, one without a drop of royal blood, into the exalted kaiser’s presence would be tantamount to admitting the need to make amends.”

“But Mr. Gerard and the kaiser have often socialized,” she said.

Andrew helped himself to another serving of potato salad. “But not when the two nations were on the brink of war. If the kaiser accepts the meeting, it will be considered a sign of weakness.”

Maybe this was why Mr. Gerard was so adamant that she compile the horrible scrapbook of anti-German stories from the American press. She hated reading such vile content and was surprised to see how the American press celebrated the taunt Mr. Gerard threw at the German minister about using America’s lampposts for hanging disloyal German Americans. Inga had been in the room when the taunt occurred, and it was shocking how popular it made Mr. Gerard back home. He was celebrated as a bold new force in diplomacy, a man who took charge, having put the kaiser back on his heels. New York City announced that their iron lampposts that had recently been replaced would be melted down and made into bullets.

The cartoons were blatantly disrespectful. One portrayed the kaiser in diapers, crying like a spoiled baby; another showed him as a turkey with his feathers being plucked by gleeful soldiers from France and England. Plenty showed him personally drowning women and children of the Lusitania . The cartoons seemed needlessly inflammatory to Inga, but when she tried to protest to Mr. Gerard, he demanded she include them in the scrapbook.

“This is exactly what I want him to see,” Mr. Gerard insisted. “The kaiser is surrounded by underlings who tell him only what he wants to hear. He has no idea what the rest of the world thinks of him.”

So Inga collected the revolting cartoons and pasted them into the book. One of the cartoons even made fun of the kaiser’s withered left arm, caused by a difficult delivery at birth. How could people be so cruel? And what good could shoving this beneath the kaiser’s nose do?

Thankfully, compiling the scrapbook was only a small portion of her job. Most of the time she was in the ambassador’s office, taking dictation during his meetings. One day she typed sixty- five letters. She became accustomed to the strange language of diplomacy. In letters, Mr. Gerard displayed immaculate formality, with lavish use of official titles and effusive praise before getting to the point.

Then one morning, exactly three weeks after the sinking of the Lusitania , Mr. Gerard dictated a startling change of style in a letter addressed to the Chancellor of the German Empire, Herr Theobald von Bethmann Hollweg:

Your Excellency,

Three weeks ago, I asked for an audience with His Majesty the Kaiser. Last week I repeated the request. Please do not trouble yourself further.

Respectfully, JamesW. Gerard

Inga stared at the words she’d just typed. The implications were shocking, for this letter was a declaration that negotiations were at an end.

“Are you sure this is what you want to send?” she asked Mr. Gerard.

“I’m through with niceties, Inga. I’ve tried to follow the recommended protocol, and it has not succeeded. Please prepare the document on embassy letterhead so that I may put my signature to it.”

She did so, watching in trepidation as Mr. Gerard signed the document with a flourish. Thank heavens, she was safely married and could leave the country if this letter resulted in an immediate break in diplomatic relations. It was hard to even draw a full breath as she watched Mr. Gerard dribble a blob of scarlet sealing wax over the flap of the envelope, then press his ambassadorial stamp into the damp wax.

She said a silent prayer as he passed the letter to an army officer, who would then deliver it to the chancellery.

Mr. Gerard summoned Benedict and the rest of the diplomatic corps to inform them of the letter. “Be prepared to leave the city tonight,” he said. “If I don’t have an appointment with the kaiser before dinner, we’ll leave on the midnight train.”

The ploy worked. Two hours after the blunt note, Ambassador Gerard received an invitation to meet with Kaiser Wilhelm II at his castle in Upper Silesia.

Castle Pless was on the kaiser’s favorite hunting grounds. It was located in a hilly Polish region that had been annexed by Germany in the eighteenth century. Although the castle dated all the way back to the Middle Ages, it had been completely rebuilt in the nineteenth century, giving it a baroque style that made it look more like a palace than a castle.

“The meeting is in two days’ time, so we must leave by train tomorrow morning,” Mr. Gerard told Inga. “Pack your bags with a week’s worth of clothing. You’re coming with us.”

She gasped. “Me?”

“Yes, you. I need a translator I trust. The kaiser speaks very quickly, and your German is better than mine or Benedict’s. I want you in the room with us, transcribing what’s being said exactly as you hear it.”

A weight landed in her gut. “I’ll be in the same room as the kaiser?” It wasn’t right, not for the daughter of a shoemaker. The kaiser’s image was pressed onto all the coins. Each Sunday his name was spoken in churches, and the congregants prayed for him.

Mr. Gerard must have sensed her dismay because he clapped her on the shoulder and said, “He’s an intimidating person, but he bleeds red just like the rest of us. Bring the scrapbook you’ve been compiling. I intend to present it to him on our first day at Castle Pless.” He had a spring in his step as he left her office.

Giving the kaiser the incendiary scrapbook seemed like a terrible blunder, and she needed Benedict’s advice. Maybe he could talk Mr. Gerard out of it.

It was eight o’clock in the evening before Benedict returned to Alton House. He must have dined at the embassy, for he went straight to his bedroom to pack.

Inga didn’t want to be caught in his bedroom, but she was going behind Mr. Gerard’s back by showing Benedict this scrapbook, and it was best done privately. She tucked the book beneath her arm, squared her shoulders, and knocked on his bedroom door.

“Come in,” he called out.

She cracked open the door but averted her eyes, praying he was fully clothed. “Are you sure? It’s me.”

Benedict blocked the entrance. Mercifully, he was still wearing the same three-piece suit he’d worn to the embassy. “What do you want?” he asked—not in the warmest of tones, but not hostile either.

“I need to show you something in confidence,” she replied in a low voice. “I fear the ambassador is about to make a terrible mistake.”

Benedict nodded. “I’ll meet you in the library in two minutes.”

She hurried downstairs to switch on the lamps in the darkened library. The Encyclopedia Britannica remained safely boxed up in the corner, as were all the important papers and correspondence from Alton House. They would be ready to leave within minutes if diplomatic relations were severed.

She put the scrapbook on the desk just as Benedict arrived. “What do you have to show me?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

She explained how she’d been charged with collecting the articles from American newspapers to show the kaiser and opened the leather cover of the scrapbook for Benedict to see. The articles were full of anger and hate and made Americans look like awful people.

Benedict remained standing, his gaze darting across the first set of clippings on the opening page. A muscle in his jaw worked as he turned to the next page while she silently cringed, ashamed that she had anything to do with this scrapbook. Benedict remained expressionless as he turned the pages. Vile cartoons lampooned the kaiser and portrayed German soldiers as barbarians as they raped and pillaged the countryside.

“Well?” she asked as he came to the last page. “I thought perhaps you should discourage Mr. Gerard from giving this to the kaiser.”

Benedict closed the book and pushed it toward her. “No, we should show it to him. Kaiser Wilhelm is surrounded by men who tell him only what he wants to hear. He needs to see this.”

She blanched. “You’re sure?”

Benedict nodded. “The kaiser knows President Wilson doesn’t want to get dragged into this war, but he doesn’t understand that Wilson is at the mercy of the voters. They don’t have elections in Germany, and Wilson is facing one next year. The scrapbook will show the kaiser that he can’t take President Wilson for granted.”

It was the last thing she expected Benedict to say, yet it lifted a weight from her shoulders. She trusted his judgment more than anyone else in the embassy. The wisdom of his reasoning made the world seem a little less chaotic, a little more certain. Amber light from the electric lamp cast shadows on the planes of his face, making him unusually handsome as he regarded her. He seemed almost kind.

“Thank you,” she said and gathered the scrapbook back in her arms. It was time to get out of here and put behind her these uncomfortable feelings. She turned away and opened the door when his voice stopped her.

“There’s something else you need to know,” Benedict said, and suddenly he didn’t sound so confident anymore.

She closed the door. “Yes?”

“We won’t actually be staying in Castle Pless,” he said, his eyes averted. “There is a hunting lodge a few miles from the castle, which is large enough to hold the American delegation. It’s where we will be staying for the duration of our visit.”

A hint of disappointment tugged. She’d never been inside a castle before and had been looking forward to staying there. A hunting lodge seemed a bit of a letdown. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

Benedict cleared his throat. “There are only five bedrooms. You and I will be required to share one.”

That would be awful for them both. “If we’re in a private hunting lodge, why can’t we have separate rooms?”

“Because there are spies everywhere in Germany. There will be servants at the hunting lodge who will be fluent in English, even if they pretend ignorance of it. They will be spying on everything we do, say, or write, so be mindful of that, even if it appears we have complete privacy.”

She braced herself. She owed Benedict a great deal and would not embarrass him by letting anyone in Germany know their marriage was less than genuine. It would be exquisitely awful, but she would do as he asked.