Polonaise (46 page)

‘He wants us all to commit ourselves. Cousin Adam says Alexander is just waiting until he is sure of us before he announces a Kingdom of Poland.'

‘I seem to have heard that one before,' said her friend. ‘And anyway, how can we? My father-in-law is president of the Council of the Grand-Duchy. You've no idea how busy he is with the preparations for the
Sejm
! It's going to be the most brilliant winter we've seen in Warsaw for years. You'll stay for the great opening in December, of course?'

‘Oh, I think so. And you?'

‘I'm insisting. My husband wanted to pack me off to the country for the good of my health, but I told him I'd go into a decline.'

‘Your health? Anna … you don't mean?' A quick look at her friend's elegant figure in the revealing empire-line dress.

‘Yes, I do! In January. And, Isobel, I'm sure it's a boy this time. Did I tell you about the prophecy I had from the sorceress?'

‘Yes, several times.'

‘It's all happening, just as she said. An heir at last! You can imagine how I am looked after! But, talking of sons, how does that school of yours go on? And your little Prince? A pity he'll be grown up when mine is ready for schooling.'

‘Oh, Anna, don't take it too much for granted! By the way, what is the news of Marie Walewska?'

‘Still holding court in Paris. Her little boy has his nose right out of joint of course since the birth of the King of Rome, but she don't seem to mind it too much. All the young Poles gravitate to her house when they are on leave from Spain, and crowd into her box at the opera. She's been presented at court now. That I would have liked to have seen. Graceful Marie and that stiff-necked little Empress, who never can find the right thing to say, or doesn't care to try. Not that there really can have been a right thing for that occasion. They say the Emperor is a devoted father.'

‘To both boys? It's odd to think that a year ago the whisper was that he would never have a child.'

‘Yes. I wonder if Marie is glad she proved he could. What an odd way to change the future of the world.'

‘And her own. Think of the difference to her. Someone was telling me that old husband of hers is facing bankruptcy.'

‘Aren't we all! The French seem to think Poland is made of gold and grain.'

‘And men,' said Isobel. ‘If I lose many more serfs, either here in town or at Rendomierz, I really don't know how I shall contrive to go on. But tell me about the new French Minister here, Monsieur Bignon. What is he like?'

‘My dear, a social disaster! No manner at all. A dyer's son I believe, one of Napoleon's jumped-up nobodies. He comes at you like a cavalry charge, and then can think of nothing to say, but “What are you doing in that little corner?” As if one was some poor little social outcast. At least he's not saddled with a frump of a wife, like some of them, but his being unmarried makes his entertaining an odd enough business.'

‘He does entertain, though?'

‘Oh, yes, everyone! Be sure you get invited. And let me warn you, my father-in-law and I both think there is more to him than meets the eye. The Council are delighted with him, I
believe. He really understands business, they say. And is formidably well informed. If I were you I'd make a point of telling him you keep two enemy aliens in your household. He's bound to know!'

Isobel met the French Resident at the theatre a few days later, and was grateful for Anna's warning. Brought to her box by Josef Poniatowski, the Minister of War, he seemed indeed the insignificant little man Anna had described, with no conversation, nothing to say about the play they were watching. But his eyes were formidably intelligent as he asked if he might do himself the honour of calling on her next day. ‘For a quiet word, Highness? You have been travelling, I understand. I long to hear about it.'

She received him alone, and actually found herself wishing she had not left Jenny behind in Rendomierz. Absurd. An Englishwoman; an enemy. She sometimes found herself wondering, these days, if it might not be the part of wisdom to get rid of Jenny. But how? And could she manage without her?

They talked for a few minutes about the play, the stifling weather and the bad summer that had meant one of the worst harvests ever. ‘You have found it so on both your estates?' he asked. ‘You are not long back, I understand, from the Ovinski estates near Vilno.'

‘Some months,' she hedged. ‘And not my estates, my son's. I feel it my duty to make sure they are kept in good shape for him.'

‘I did hear a rumour that the little Prince had come out as quite a fiery young Russian-hater. Some incident on your journey to Vilno?'

‘You heard about that?'

‘Highness, you would be wise to believe that I hear everything. If you will also believe that anything you tell me will be treated with the strictest confidence, I hope we will go on very well, you and I. You have two enemy aliens in your household, I understand.'

‘My tutor and my companion are both British, it's true. I hardly look on them as enemies. Miss Peverel has been with me for almost ten years. And Mr. Rendel …' She paused.

‘Was recommended to you by Talleyrand himself.' He
laughed the grating little laugh. ‘Does that induce you to trust me, Highness?'

‘That you know? That he told you? Yes, I suppose so. So, where does that leave me, Monsieur Bignon?'

‘It leaves you what you have always been, a most beautiful lady, a great Princess.' His compliments were even more awkward than his laugh, and she was beginning to let herself comfortably despise him, when he concluded ‘And one with sufficient hostages to fortune, so that she had better be most scrupulously careful in her behaviour.'

‘Is that a threat?' She made it light, but she was frightened, just the same.

‘No, Highness, a friendly warning. You have estates – you and your son – too close to the border for comfort. If trouble should come, you will have need of all your friends.'

Glynde and his aunt had agreed to number their letters to each other, so when he received one from her at last, towards Christmas of 1811, he knew how many had failed to reach him. This one had taken nearly six months and had been so much handled on the way that it took him hours to decipher. But her first bit of news leapt from the page at him. She was writing to break the news of his father's death – and his brother's remarriage. She had had only one letter from him, she said: his fourth. ‘I am so very glad you are finding the running of your school such an absorbing experience.' She said nothing whatever about the Princess, but ended by sending very kind regards to Miss Peverel.

‘What other news?' asked Jenny, after condoling with him on his father's death.

‘We agreed to be very careful. But she speaks of her neighbour in the big house down the road – the Prince of Wales of course – and his Regency. He's taken over running the family business, she says, but decided to keep on the old staff. And then there's something I still haven't quite made out. Here, where she's crossed it. Something about an old friend? Your eyes are better than mine; see if you can read it.'

‘I'll try.' As she took the letter, their fingers brushed, and she was silent for an instant, fighting the turmoil his touch always roused in her. She moved a little away from him,
towards the light, grateful that he never noticed. ‘I don't wonder you found it difficult. Lord knows how many hands this letter has been through. Let's see … Something about her neighbour – the Prince Regent again, I suppose – hoping to make up an old quarrel. What on earth is this? A performing bear? A quarrel about a bear?'

‘Or with a bear? Russia, of course. If the Tsar really means to fight Napoleon, peace with England would be a very logical first step. I suppose we British are to be paymasters again. Bless your sharp eyes.' He took the letter back from her, not noticing how her hand avoided his. ‘Do you realise, Jenny, that would mean we no longer had enemies all round us?'

‘It would certainly make a change for the better.' Drily. ‘But, surely, you will have to go home now?'

‘I think not. My aunt does not suggest it. The period of mourning would be almost over by the time I managed to get there, and the rejoicings for my brother's marriage, too. I suppose I might arrive in time to stand godfather to the heir, but, frankly, I'd rather stay here, where I'm needed. Besides, I couldn't afford the statutory silver porringer and case of port.' He laughed. ‘And that's a deuced ungrateful thing to say to you, who saw to it that I'm a landed gentleman here. But when even the Princess grumbles about her finances, who am I not to emulate her? Having an estate has brought home to me just how savagely the French are bleeding this country.'

‘Well, yes,' she said. ‘But don't forget you're bleeding yourself, too. I ought not to take the income you give me.'

‘Your tiny salary? Try to stop!'

‘That's all very well, but I want you to halve it, please.'

‘Halve it? Why?'

‘Marylka told me the other day. That you have arranged to pay Marta's endowment to her convent for her. It's wonderfully good of you. I'm so glad … But I want to share it.'

‘I'll wring Marylka's neck!'

‘Please don't. It wasn't her fault. You know she's the soul of discretion. It was just bad luck. Mind you,' she smiled rather mischievously, ‘I'd have known something was up sooner or later, by the different way the servants treat you. They used not to like you overmuch, did you know? They do now.'

‘I suppose they thought I was a puffed-up nobody, giving himself airs.' He caught her eye. ‘And so I was!'

The
Sejm
was finally opened by the King of Saxony on December 8th, and the moment the ceremonies were over, the infighting began. ‘My father-in-law says it's just like the good old days,' Anna Potocka told the Princess. ‘He's just waiting for someone to flourish his sabre! All the old quarrels; all the old factions! They can't even agree a budget, still less this new code of law.'

‘It's unbelievable,' said the Princess. ‘Here we are, surrounded by enemies, with the threat of war growing from day to day, and all the
Sejm
can do is grumble about past abuses and niggle about money for the army. I sometimes wish I'd been born a man!'

‘To join in the politicking? Don't be absurd.'

‘No. To make my own way in the world. Live as I please.' She sighed. ‘I believe I'll go home to Rendomierz for Christmas.'

‘A very good plan. There's nothing like Christmas at one's own fireside. Besides …' Anna paused. ‘May I speak to you like an old friend?'

‘Of course.' But Isabel's lips tightened.

‘You must have felt it, as I do. Things are changing here in Warsaw. The King may be tolerant, as you say, but the Queen's not. We're all to be purer than snow from now on. Seen to be!' She paused, twisting the rings on her left hand. ‘You've not quite understood, I think, my dear, what a difference the loss of a husband makes. Even to a Princess.'

‘What are you trying to say?'

‘I wish you'd remarry, Isobel. That's the way to live as you please. And stop the dull Queen's mouth. It's a pity your Cousin Josef is so heart-and-soul devoted to Henriette de Vauban.'

‘And her husband,' said Isobel bitterly. ‘They all live together, merry as grigs, in that palace of Josef's.' She picked up her gloves. ‘So, who do you suggest, since you are being so helpful?'

‘No need to fly out at me. I'm not the Queen! But, seriously, love, I had thought… Now he's to be a British Lord … That charming young Englishman, Mr. Rendel? Such a romantic
story. Risked his life to come to you; adores you, by all I hear; he'd make the very pattern of an obliging husband.'

‘Like yours?' But Isobel kept the thought to herself, and went home, furiously thinking, deciding nothing.

‘I'm thinking of going to Paris.' The Princess summoned Glynde to her side after dinner one wild March day, when it seemed that winter would never end. He did not want it to. There had been a change in the Princess since she came home for Christmas, a new gentleness, a tendency to consult him almost as an equal. Sometimes, mad hope had surged up in him, and sometimes he had seen Jenny looking at him thoughtfully.

‘To Paris? Is that wise?' He took her arm to guide her to the far side of the piano, where Monsieur Poiret was performing a noisy Beethoven sonata.

‘You think Petersburg would be wiser? You know as well as I do that no one tells us anything here. I went to see Monsieur Bignon when I was in Warsaw for the carnival, actually managed to get him alone for a minute, asked his advice. Wasting my breath! He wouldn't even admit there's a chance of war. So how could I ask him where would be safest for Casimir? For all the little boys? It's a terrible responsibility I have, Mr. Rendel.'

‘But will you get better advice in Paris? And may your going there not be misconstrued at Petersburg?'

‘A woman going to study the fashions? To see her old friend Marie Walewska?'

‘Whose house is full of young Poles on leave from the French army in Spain. That won't do you much good at Petersburg.'

‘What will? The Tsar's said nothing! Neither to us here in the Duchy, nor up in Lithuania. Vague talk about a kingdom, about reviving the Constitution of 1791. Never anything definite. Do you know what I told Adam Czartoryski last summer?'

‘No.'

‘I reminded him of that time – Lord, how long ago – when the Tsar came here. Do you remember? And how we hung on his words? He promised an announcement, over dinner, the
day before he left. And then a messenger came from his beloved Queen Louise, and off he went. No announcement. Nothing. Well, this time he's not even promised one. So – I am going to Paris, to the lion's mouth, to see what Napoleon has to say. He visits Marie Walewska, of course, to see the child. I shall speak to him of my son. He's a father now. He'll surely understand.'