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‘You know it’s at Serbia’s door.’
    ‘I read that the Archduke was actually sympathetic to the desire of the Bosnian Serbs to rule themselves. Rather ironic,’ said Jonathan, smiling, as if he had put an excellent point in a tutorial, Celia thought.
    ‘Poor Emperor Franz Joseph,’ Rudolf was shaking his head. ‘As if losing a son and a wife was not enough, now his heir.’
    Sir Hugh laughed. ‘The Austrians deserve no pity. They and the Kaiser go hand in hand to war. Our idiot politicians speak to them in a kindly fashion as if they were babies, while all the while they plan to kill us.’
    ‘You’re wrong.’ Michael had a heavy scar on his forehead from when he had fallen off a wall as a child. It grew redder and stood out when he was angry. Celia watched it pulse under the skin.
    ‘They are all Bismarck’s heirs. Such people will stop at nothing before the entire world is part of Germany.’
    ‘And what qualifies you to state this, sir?’
    Verena was staring at Michael, trying to quiet him, but he was looking only at Sir Hugh, his eyes bright with anger.
    ‘Everybody knows it. The Germans shot him, I am certain of it. They will not be content until they have started a war. It’s time Mr Asquith stopped dallying and showed them how to behave. Europe is really in a shocking mess. We need to sort it out.’
    ‘We have left the wars behind, thank God,’ interrupted Rudolf. ‘That was last century. Now what is important is the Irish question. It is uppermost in the mind of Mr Asquith, I am sure.’ He spoke with certainty, in the same way he might recite a speech from
Henry V.
    Sir Hugh dropped his face to smirk. Celia blushed at herself for being ashamed of how her father pronounced God as Gott.
    Rudolf picked up his fork and set about the meat. ‘My dear, remind me that I must write to the managers of my factories in Berlin tomorrow.’
    Verena nodded stiffly. Sir Hugh failed to hide another smile. ‘It would be so convenient for the Germans who live in England if there was no war,’ he said. ‘After all, in a conflict, who would they choose?’
    Michael thumped his fist on the table. ‘We are English, sir.’
    Sir Hugh raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, of course.’
    ‘There will be no war,’ repeated Rudolf. ‘No more. The Queen waged too many.’
    ‘I think a war might be rather exciting,’ said Emmeline. ‘Shake things up a bit.’
    ‘Everybody was very afraid of British power,’ said Celia, remembering Miss Jacques’s history lessons at school. She thought of poor Sophie again, her husband, the Archduke, begging her not to die. Why wouldn’t Sir Hugh stop? Why was Rudolf letting him continue like this? She wanted to stand up and cry out,
My sister could marry anyone she liked, so we don’t need you!
    ‘Quite so, Miss de Witt. The Germans were particularly afraid of British power. Intimidated, rather. I expect the same is true now,’ said Sir Hugh, curling his lip. Michael was almost standing, his face angry. Jonathan watched, his demeanour calm. Celia almostwanted to throw her bread roll at him, as he sat there saving up stories to laugh about with people in New York.
    ‘Now, Michael, let us discuss another subject,’ Verena began.
    ‘No, Mother. I shall say it. Our loyalties are to the King. If there was a war, I would join the army. I would sign up to fight as soon as I could.’
    Verena’s hand was on her mouth. ‘You would not. You would not.’
    Sir Hugh curled his lip. ‘I would like to see that. Anyway, one doubts that the British army would require any further assistance. In this country we do not need men from foreign countries to fight. We have professionals. That is why we win.’
    Michael was clasping his knife. Then Jonathan gripped his hand and stood. ‘I think us Americans have much to learn from you Europeans,’ he said, his voice smooth. ‘We have a lot to consider about diplomacy. I am sure the future is one of Europe united.’
    ‘Under Germany, if they get