He was suddenly grateful for someone to whom he could talk about it. “Years ago I had a love affair. I didn’t know it, but the woman had a baby. A few days ago… I met my daughter.”

“Ah.” She looked at him with pity in her eyes. “You poor bugger. As if you didn’t have enough on your mind already. Is she the one that wrote the letter?”

Feliks gave a grunt of satisfaction. “There’s a letter.”

“I supposed that’s what you came for.” She went to the mantelpiece and reached behind the clock. “And is the poor girl mixed up with oppressors and tyrants?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so from the crest. You don’t get much luck, do you?” She handed him the letter.

Feliks saw the crest on the back of the envelope. He ripped it open. Inside were two pages covered with neat, stylish handwriting.

Walden Hall

July 1st, 1914

Dear Feliks,

By the time you get this you will have waited in vain for me at our rendezvous. I am most awfully sorry to let you down. Unfortunately I was seen with you on Monday and it is assumed I have a clandestine lover!!!

If she’s in trouble she seems cheerful enough about it, Feliks thought.

I have been banished to the country for the rest of the season. However, it is a blessing in disguise. Nobody would tell me where Aleks was, but now I know because he is here!!!

Feliks was filled with savage triumph. “So that’s where the rats have their nest.”

Bridget said: “Is this child helping you?”

“She was my only hope.”

“Then you deserve to look troubled.”

“I know.”

Take a train from Liverpool Street station to Waldenhall Halt. This is our village. The house is three miles out of the village on the north road. However, don’t come to the house of course!!! On the left-hand side of the road you will see a wood. I always ride through the wood, along the bridle path, before breakfast between 7 and 8 o’clock. I will look out for you each day until you come.

Once she decided whose side she was on, Feliks thought, there were no half measures.

I’m not sure when this will get sent. I will put it on the hall table as soon as I see some other letters for posting there: that way, nobody will see my handwriting on an envelope, and the footman will just pick it up along with all the rest when he goes to the post office.

“She’s a brave girl,” Feliks said aloud.

I am doing this because you are the only person I ever met who talks sense to me.

Yours most affectionately,

Charlotte

Feliks sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was so proud of her, and so ashamed of himself, that he felt close to tears.

Bridget took the letter from his unresisting fingers and began to read.

“So she doesn’t know you’re her father,” she said.

“No.”

“Why is she helping you, then?”

“She believes in what I’m doing.”

Bridget made a disgusted noise. “Men like yourself always find women to help them. I should know, bechrist.” She read on. “She writes like a schoolgirl.”

“Yes.”

“How old is she?”

“Eighteen.”

“Old enough to know her own mind. Aleks is the one you’re after?”

Feliks nodded.

“What is he?”

“A Russian prince.”

“Then he deserves to die.”

“He’s dragging Russia into war.”

Bridget nodded. “And you’re dragging Charlotte into it.”

“Do you think I’m doing wrong?”

She handed the letter back to him. She seemed angry. “We’ll never be sure, will we?”

“Politics is like that.”

“Life is like that.”

Feliks tore the envelope in half and dropped it in the wastepaper bin. He intended to rip up the letter but he could not bring himself to do it. When it’s all over, he thought, this may be all I have to remember her by. He folded the two sheets of paper and put them in his coat pocket.

He stood up. “I’ve got a train to catch.”

“Do you want me to make you a sandwich to take with you?”

He shook his head. “Thank you, I’m not hungry.”

“Have you money for your fare?”

“I never pay train fares.”

She put her hand into the pocket of her apron and took out a sovereign. “Here. You can buy a cup of tea as well.”

“It’s a lot of money.”

“I can afford it this week. Away with you before I change my mind.”

Feliks took the coin and kissed her good-bye. “You have been kind to me.”

“It’s not for you. It’s for my Sean, God rest his merry soul.”

“Good-bye.”

“Good luck to you, boy.”

Feliks went out.

Walden was in an optimistic mood as he entered the Admiralty building. He had done what he had promised: he had sold Constantinople to Aleks. The previous afternoon Aleks had sent a message to the Czar recommending acceptance of the British offer. Walden was confident that the Czar would follow the advice of his favorite nephew, especially after the assassination in Sarajevo. He was not so sure that Lloyd George would bend to the will of Asquith.

He was shown into the office of the First Lord of the Admiralty. Churchill bounced up out of his chair and came around his desk to shake hands. “We sold it to Lloyd George,” he said triumphantly.

“That’s marvelous!” Walden said. “And I sold it to Orlov!”

“I knew you would. Sit down.”

I might have known better than to expect a thank-you, Walden thought. But even Churchill could not damp his spirits today. He sat on a leather chair and glanced around the room, at the charts on the walls and the naval memorabilia on the desk. “We should hear from St. Petersburg at any time,” he said. “The Russian Embassy will send a note directly to you.”

“The sooner the better,” Churchill said. “Count Hayes has been to Berlin. According to our intelligence, he took with him a letter asking the Kaiser whether Germany would support Austria in a war against Serbia. Our intelligence also says the answer was yes.”

“The Germans don’t want to fight Serbia-”

“No,” Churchill interrupted, “they want an excuse to fight France. Once Germany mobilizes, France will mobilize, and that will be Germany’s pretext for invading France. There’s no stopping it now.”

“Do the Russians know all this?”

“We’ve told ’em. I hope they believe us.”

“Can nothing be done to make peace?”

“Everything is being done,” Churchill said. “Sir Edward Grey is working night and day, as are our ambassadors in Berlin, Paris, Vienna and St. Petersburg. Even the King is firing off telegrams to his cousins, Kaiser ‘Willy’ and Czar ‘Nicky.’ It’ll do no good.”

There was a knock at the door, and a young male secretary came in with a piece of paper. “A message from the Russian ambassador, sir,” he said.

Walden tensed.

Churchill glanced at the paper and looked up with triumph in his eyes. “They’ve accepted.”

Walden beamed. “Bloody good show!”

The secretary went out. Churchill stood up. “This calls for a whiskey-and-soda. Will you join me?”

“Certainly.”

Churchill opened a cupboard. “I’ll have the treaty drafted overnight and bring it down to Walden Hall tomorrow afternoon. We can have a little signing ceremony tomorrow night. It will have to be ratified by the Czar and Asquith, of course, but that’s a formality-so long as Orlov and I sign as soon as possible.”

The secretary knocked and came in again. “Mr. Basil Thomson is here, sir.”

“Show him in.”

Thomson came in and spoke without preamble. “We’ve picked up the trail of our anarchist again.”

“Good!” said Walden.

Thomson sat down. “You’ll remember that I put a man in his old basement room in Cork Street, just in case he should go back there.”

“I remember,” Walden said.

“He did go back there. When he left, my man followed him.”

“Where did he go?”

“To Liverpool Street station.” Thomson paused. “And he bought a ticket to Waldenhall Halt.”