Mama paused and turned to me. “We are about to embark on a war for independence, and that will include the freedom of thought, opinion, and belief. I cannot force Louis to do something against his convictions. He has never taken a stand against me before and has printed everything I’ve ever asked of him. He will continue to do so if it does not contradict his beliefs.”
“But our cause is justified. We will ultimately be victorious.”
“Stop.” She put up her hand. “In this time and place, that is yet to be determined. Regardless, there are always two or more sides to each issue. We cannot force Louis to do something he disagrees with—just as you do not want to be forced to do things you do not want to do. Just because we think—or know—we are right does not mean that Louis is wrong. His life and experiences have led to his own conclusions. ’Tis not my place to be his conscience.”
Her admonition convicted my heart. She was right. Of course she was right. Independence from England was not a black-and-white issue. There were several shades of grey intermingled in the argument.
I went to the shelf where we stored the type and pulled down a heavy wooden box. Mama and I knew how to run the press, and though it had already been a long day, it would be a long night, as well. It would take hours to set the type and then several more to print the broadside.
“We will need Rebecca and Hannah’s help,” Mama said with a sigh. She hated to have them work in the print room. “Tell them to eat their supper and then join us, please.”
I left her to find my sisters, a mixture of emotions churningin my spirit. I couldn’t stop thinking about Louis’s accusations against Henry. Had he heard rumors about Henry spying, or had he simply made it up because he knew Henry and I were friends and he wanted to hurt me?
I could not believe it was true. But if it was, then Henry was in far greater danger than I had realized.
6
LONDON, ENGLAND
MAY 25, 1914
The Royal Opera House was magnificent, both in architecture and in the array of glittering occupants the night Lord Cumberland invited us to his box. It was even more grand than the Met in New York City, but it served the same purpose: to see and be seen.
Tonight,La Bohèmewould play on the stage, but the British aristocracy would watch each other.
Mother Wells and I had attended the opera once while in London, as guests of Lady Paget. But this time we were on greater display. In the three days I had been in Lord Cumberland’s acquaintance, I had become distinctly aware of his popularity among the upper and lower echelons of London society. The newspapers were already covering our courtship—or, at least, the rumors of our courtship. The morning after the ball at Crewe House, a titillating review of the party made its way into theDaily Mirror, and my name was linked to Lord Cumberland’s, much to Mother’s delight, with claims that we had danced together twice. Today’s morning paper reportedus riding together in Hyde Park, taking luncheon at the Ritz, and attending a dinner party at 10 Downing Street, the home of the prime minister.
Lord Cumberland had hardly given me a moment’s rest, and though I wished to refuse his invitation to the opera, Mother would not allow me.
“We must take what we can get,” she had said that afternoon after we had come home from the Victoria and Albert Museum with the marquess. “The newspapers love you, and what better opportunity for your name to be known by everyone?”
It was a marvel that the papers reserved space for such tittle-tattle, though it shouldn’t be a surprise. Gossip sold papers, and for those who were on the outside, it was a form of entertainment purchased for a half-penny. But I couldn’t help comparing it to the serious newspaper I printed each Thursday in Williamsburg. If I were the editor of theDaily Mirror, London’s second-largest morning newspaper and foremost authority on the aristocracy, I would fill the pages with things that truly mattered, like the workhouses, the dangerous mills, and the children forced to labor for hours each day.
Lord Cumberland lifted the edge of the red curtain that closed off his box from the hall and motioned for Mother and me to enter. The space was large, with several matching red chairs but no other guests.
“Have you seenLa Bohème, Miss Wells?” he asked me as I passed him.
I could smell alcohol on his breath, an odor I had smelled every time I’d been in his company.
“I have,” I responded. “Twice in New York.”
“Do you enjoy the story?”
“I enjoy any theater I have the privilege of viewing.” I thought of Louis’s invitation to seeLove in a Villageat the modest theater in Williamsburg. The difference between this grand opera house and the tiny open-air theater was laughable.Though neither Louis nor Lord Cumberland had any chance of winning my affection, I could not help but think that Louis’s feeble attempts at wooing me were nothing compared to Lord Cumberland’s. Thankfully, Louis had not pressed the issue. I wished the same from Lord Cumberland.
Mother took the seat closest to the railing, and I sat in the middle with Lord Cumberland at my left. The thousands of conversations within the opera house were loud and echoing.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said to me, “but I’ve asked Prime Minister Asquith and Mrs. Asquith to join us, though they will be late.”
“Of course not.” I had been entertained by Mrs. Margot Asquith at her dinner party the night before. By her own account, she had brought her husband into her sparkling world of society upon their marriage twenty years before. She was vivacious, outspoken, and a tenacious gossip. I had learned more about London society in the two hours I dined with her than in the three weeks we’d been living at Berkeley Square. I was eager to have her join us at the opera, if for no other reason than to take the attention off myself. Lord Cumberland appeared to be infatuated with her and had paid little heed to me the entire time we’d dined with her and the prime minister.
He said quietly, “Mrs. Asquith was quite taken with you, as am I. She has instructed me not to let you get away.”
Mother must have heard him, because a self-satisfied smile lifted her lips. For my part, I did not know how to respond to Lord Cumberland’s forward statement. It was clear he was serious about me, though I had given him absolutely no encouragement. If anything, I had been distractable and bored in his company. If I said what came to my mind, it would be rude. If I said nothing, I risked him thinking I was playing a coquette.
So I said the only thing I could. “She is a wonderful hostess.”
Several people from the other boxes had their eyes on us, some even using their opera glasses to get a better look. Nodoubt the newspaper would comment on my appearance in public with Lord Cumberland yet again.
