‘It’s a telegram, my lady.’
‘Ah. Miss Irene, she is not coming home. Oh, poor darling, but of course she’s right, we told her. When will I ever see her again? And now she is our enemy, I suppose.’
‘And Mr Freddy, my lady, what is to happen to him?’
‘Mr Frederick is leaving today, he has to go to an address the German Embassy has given him.’
‘Poor young man, he has been with us so long. And I understand there’s a young lady in London very sweet on him, poor thing.’
‘Would you help him pack his bags?’
‘I tried, my lady, but he says he wants to pack his bags himself. I never saw anything like it. Such odds and ends, I don’t know how he will fit everything in, even his dance cards he wants to keep, says they’ll remind him of all the girls he’s danced with. England’s his second home, he says. But we can keep some of his things, I suppose, until this is over. . . I understand Mr Edward is enlisting.’
‘Yes, he wants to be sure he has a chance to enjoy the fighting.’ Lady Benson shuddered.
‘There there, my lady, I’m sure he’ll be all right. Very likely they won’t send him into battle, they say it is just the single men who will have to fight. Very distressing for Mrs Edward, and particularly when she is expecting again.’
‘He says it is his duty, Wilson.’
‘Yes, my lady. But if you don’t mind me saying so, when you actually know someone like Mr Freddy, it’s hard to think of him as an enemy.’
‘I know you are particularly fond of Mr Frederick, and so am I, but for the moment we must put these feelings aside.’
Sir William burst through the front door, untidy as though he had been running, clutching an evening paper.
‘It’s definitely war, they expect Britain to declare war on Germany tonight. Elizabeth, it is a catastrophe. They speak of being in Berlin by Christmas, but how is that possible when we have no proper army? What will become of us, Elizabeth? What will become of our young people?’