Chapter 15
15
Benedict met with his counterparts from the other neutral nations at the Swiss Embassy. They gathered in the library, twelve men who all understood the gravity of the situation. The bookshelves were filled with brown-and-gold leather volumes that looked as though they’d never been opened, yet they were a soothing sight in contrast to the acid filling Benedict’s gut.
He sat in an upholstered armchair while he outlined the situation as concisely as possible. “President Wilson is desperate to keep America out of the war, but tempers back home are hot. Germany’s refusal to grovel in remorse over sinking the Lusitania is throwing gasoline on the fires of pro-war sentiment.”
“Germans aren’t good at groveling, my friend,” Felix Jeppesen of Denmark said.
Everyone there had good cause to want to stay out of the war—the United States, Greece, Argentina, Spain, Mexico. All of them teetered on the brink, and each time another neutral nation was dragged into the war, it sent a tidal wave into their fragile alliances.
“I toured the trenches along the Marne last month,” Felix said. “I had expected the filth and the despair. I expected the endless miles of bombed-out craters in the mud, but I hadn’t expected the smell. There were open latrines and unwashed bodies, and the air tasted like sulfur and gunpowder. There were corpses everywhere, and they covered them in chloride of lime, which creates its own horrible smell. It’s been six weeks since I was there, and I still smell it. I’m not even sure it’s my imagination because I think perhaps it soaked into my skin. It’s the only explanation I can think of.”
Everyone in the room remained motionless. Felix sat two feet away, and Benedict could smell nothing but the dusty scent of old books, but he didn’t doubt Felix’s words. He could only pray to God he would be able to spare the millions of American men and boys from becoming the next round of cannon fodder to fill those trenches.
“I wish every warmonger back home could experience an hour of what you just described,” Benedict said.
Marc from the Swiss Embassy was matter-of-fact. “Delay. Stall. Suggest you are waiting for more advisers to arrive from the United States or more instructions. Anything to slow the drumbeat for war.”
It was good advice, and he prayed the ambassador would agree. It was past dusk when the gathering began winding down. Felix stood, and the men from South America began lighting cigars. Benedict had one last favor to ask.
“We have a German American woman who works at our embassy,” he said. “Inga is an excellent secretary and a skilled wireless operator. Could any of you find a place for her on your embassy staff?”
The Argentinian ambassador paused so long that he burned his fingers on his lit match. He shook the match out and sent him a reluctant shake of his head. “I’m sorry, my friend.”
Marc from the Swiss Embassy concurred. “It’s too hard to remain neutral without rocking the boat over a single individual.”
“What about safe passage into Switzerland? Surely you could accommodate that?”
“I could,” Marc said reluctantly. “And yet this isn’t something I am willing to do. I am sorry.”
A scan of the other men in the room was no more helpful. A few men looked away as they fiddled with their cigars.
Felix walked Benedict to the door of the embassy. He was about to leave when Felix stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry about the German woman,” he said. “You’re speaking of Inga, correct?”
Benedict nodded.
“And she has nobody in Germany? No husband or family?”
Only some distant relatives she hadn’t seen in decades. “None,” he said.
“No husband at all?”
What was Felix driving at? “Correct. Inga is completely on her own.”
Felix took another glance down the hall as if to confirm there were no loitering servants or diplomats who might overhear. “Perhaps you would like to know that I am married to a German woman.”
“Astrid is German?” It was a surprise because Astrid seemed completely Danish to Benedict’s eyes. She had no accent or other trace of German heritage.
“She was born in Munich,” Felix said. “She moved to Copenhagen as a child and never bothered with legal issues like citizenship. When we married, she came under my protection. We have been able to travel all over the world together, and she is the beneficiary of the same diplomatic immunity that I carry. If there is a diplomat at your embassy who is willing to offer marriage, it might be a solution to Inga’s dilemma.”
Benedict gave a nod of his head, even though he was the only single man at the embassy, and marrying Inga would be out of the question. He’d already endured one catastrophic marriage; he wouldn’t knowingly enter another.
He would simply have to find another solution to save Inga.
It was almost midnight before Benedict arrived back at Alton House, where most of the house was dark except for a faint glow from behind the drapes of the front room. He wondered who was still awake. His horse’s hooves clattered on the pebbled drive as he rode up and exhaustion tugged, but he needed to unsaddle Sterling before he could find the comfort of his bed.
He’d gone to the Swiss Embassy hoping for a miracle but came away with little but ominous warnings. The nightmarish images of Felix’s visit to the trenches haunted him as he led Sterling into the stables. Last August a dozen nations got pulled into the vortex of war because of a catastrophic failure of diplomacy. Now he stood on that same precipice, fearing failure as each passing hour brought them closer to the brink.
Benedict took the extra time to brush the horse down, using short, brisk strokes along Sterling’s neck, spine, and legs, murmuring a constant stream of soothing words. He checked her hooves for stones, hoping whoever was still awake in the Alton House front room would be gone by the time he finished, for he didn’t care to talk to anyone. Sometimes it was easier to pretend confidence and calm, but tonight wasn’t one of those times. The smothering fear of failure enveloped him, and panic raced through his blood. There had to be more he could do, a new door to knock on, a new strategy to try.
He finished with Sterling, but the dim light still burned in the front room, and he sighed. There was no avoiding it. He headed through the rear entrance into the darkened house, where the crackling of a fire in the front room beckoned him. He made plenty of noise walking down the hall so as not to alarm whoever was still up; he just prayed they weren’t in the mood to talk.
It was Inga, kneeling before a roaring fire. Books and papers were scattered all around as she carefully sliced pages from a book. Colonel Reyes, the embassy’s military attaché, stood a few feet away, flipping through a thick codebook.
“What are you doing?” Benedict asked.
“We’re burning the codebooks,” Colonel Reyes replied. “There are too many to take with us, and we can’t let the Germans get their hands on them in case they seize this place before we can leave.”
Benedict sagged and plopped onto the couch opposite Inga. “Thank you for staying up to do this,” he told her. The firelight on Inga’s profile made her appear enchanting. Her blond hair had mostly come loose from its pins and spilled over her shoulders in a glorious cascade.
“Of course,” she said, her hand dragging a cutting blade to remove more pages from the codebook. She still hadn’t looked at him. This afternoon Inga had been white with fear, but now she seemed resigned. Inga could be annoying, bossy, naive, and she sometimes got on his last nerve, but she didn’t deserve to be left behind.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” he asked.
She shook her head. “For now, I’ll keep helping out as long as I’m needed. Perhaps the war will not come.”
Colonel Reyes frowned as he set another book onto Inga’s burn stack. “Anti-German protests have erupted all over the United States,” he said. “President Wilson won’t renounce them, and William Jennings Bryan has resigned in protest.”
The news hit Benedict like a fist to the gut. Bryan was the secretary of state and the only committed pacifist in the president’s cabinet. His resignation moved them even closer to the brink. “Any word on who will be appointed in his place?”
“Robert Lansing,” Colonel Reyes said flatly, and Benedict cursed under his breath. Lansing made no secret of his partiality to Britain. As secretary of state, he would lean on the president to demand a break in diplomatic relations.
Benedict scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Tomorrow I’ll release an announcement recommending that all Americans still in Germany evacuate.” It would be a dereliction of his duty not to warn them of the danger in remaining.
A danger Inga now shared. He began cracking his knuckles, thinking. Overall, Inga Klein was a good woman. Felix’s suggestion of marrying her was beyond the pale, but she didn’t deserve the fate looming before her. Impulsively, he stood and said, “Colonel Reyes, a word if you don’t mind.”
The attaché followed Benedict down the hall to the darkened library, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the tall window. Benedict closed the door but didn’t bother to light a lamp because this wasn’t going to take long. It was a mortifying conversation, and he wanted it over with as quickly as possible.
“I know your wife is back in Charleston, but are there any of the other American officers stationed with the Marine Guard who are unmarried?”
Colonel Reyes was only momentarily taken aback as he processed the question. “No, I think we’re all married,” he said. “Captain Jemison’s wife is here in Berlin, but the other men all have family back home. Oh! Lieutenant Givens. He was engaged until his fiancée threw him over last year, so I think he’s still a bachelor, sir.”
“Is he a man of good character?” Benedict asked.
Colonel Reyes blinked. “Of course. He’s been promoted up the ranks ahead of schedule, if that’s what you mean.”
Benedict crossed his arms. It wasn’t at all what he meant. “If you had a daughter of marriageable age, would you have any concerns if she was to marry Lieutenant Givens?”
Instead of answering, Colonel Reyes gave him a hard look of scrutiny. “What’s this all about?”
“Inga,” he said simply. “She’s in a tight spot, and someone pointed out that marriage to an American citizen would make it possible for her to leave Germany with the rest of the embassy staff.”
Understanding dawned. “Well, that’s a solution that hadn’t occurred to me. There aren’t many of us who aren’t married. Doesn’t being a widower count as unmarried?”
Benedict straightened his spine. “Obviously, but she and I are a terrible mismatch. Do you suppose there is any possibility Lieutenant Givens would be interested?”
“Is Inga interested? I think that should be the starting point of this rather unconventional proposal.”
No doubt Colonel Reyes was correct. He ought to consult Inga before taking this any further, but he was too exhausted to handle it tonight. In the light of day, his mind would be fully functioning again and perhaps a miracle would have happened by then or a better solution would present itself.
He couldn’t marry Inga. She would pickle his brain, and he would drive her insane. There was simply no way he could ever marry Inga. Could he?