Polonaise (31 page)

Casimir was in the stables, helping the grooms clean tack, and so obviously and happily absorbed in what he was doing that Glynde merely smiled, patted his head, and paused to watch him for a moment, trying to digest what had happened. His son. But the Princess would never admit it. She had made that ruthlessly clear. Fool; idiot to have approached her so absurdly too soon. But at least now, she knew that he was there, always, waiting for her. And what she had said about his father and brother … There was a certain ruthless sense in that, too. If he was to have any hope, he must make himself a man of power for her sake. Memory of his talk with Talleyrand filtered into his mind, bringing a hint of hope. I'll make myself her equal, he thought, a father for a Prince.

He turned sharply at the sound of his own name. ‘Monsieur Genet?' He had hoped himself quit of him.

‘I am told the Tsar leaves very soon,' Paul Genet told him. ‘You will want to take your leave of him, I am sure.'

‘Yes.' He waited in silent anger for Genet to propose to accompany him.

‘I wish I could join you. Do, pray, say everything that is civil to the Tsar from my master. I still have a word, myself, to say to Miss Peverel.'

‘Say goodbye to her for me, would you? Not that she'll notice
my absence, so important as she is these days. The Princess's right hand, wouldn't you ‘say?'

‘Not always the safest position.' Some curious shade had crossed the other man's face while Glynde was speaking, but before he could try to identify it, Genet turned away: ‘Mr. Warrington! Come to pay your respects to the little Prince, too?'

‘The hope of Poland? Hey, Casimir, how you've grown! Too big to ride on my shoulder now, are you?' And contradicting the words, Jan tossed him up on to his shoulder for a swift run round the stable yard, the little Prince laughing and hanging on to his curling dark hair.

Something about the spectacle disgusted Glynde. Or was he jealous, because he had not the same gift with children? At all events, he took a brusque leave of Paul Genet. ‘Tell Warrington I've an errand to do, would you? I'll see him back at our lodgings. And thank your master again on both our behalfs.'

‘I most certainly will. We will meet again, I hope.'

‘Some day?' Without enthusiasm.

Hurrying to the palace, he tried to calm his seething thoughts. Madness to have approached the Princess so soon. All his own fault? But what other chance would there have been? Or was the real madness even to have hoped? To have imagined an English gentleman the equal … He stopped at the thought … Not an English gentleman; the bastard son of a Frenchman. But she could not know that. As for the calumnies he had heard hinted about her, he most absolutely did not believe them. Would not believe them. What she had done in the past, she had done for her country. So – the inevitable question presented itself – what might she do now, for her son? Suppose he were to tell her of his relationship with Talleyrand, the
éminence grise
of Europe? Of the possible influence he might have? And knew the answer as he half formulated the thought. She would laugh, and dismiss him: a nameless bastard. And she a Princess.

He found Mackenzie helping Dr. Wylie pack up his medicaments for the long journey back to Petersburg, and the conversation inevitably started with the Prince's death. ‘A foregone conclusion, I'm afraid,' said Wylie, ‘but I did not wish to
discourage the Princess too soon. We'll be lucky if that's the worst thing to come out of Tilsit. I for one will be glad to see my master safe home at Petersburg.'

‘Before the cold weather sets in,' said Mackenzie. ‘These country quarters are all very fine in summertime. I shall be glad to be back in my own bed.'

‘In Petersburg or in England?' asked Wylie.

‘If I could only decide. The chance of the
Astrea
actually at anchor off Memel is a temptation indeed. And to be spared all those miles of rutted road between here and Petersburg. And yet – the pleasure of your company is a great inducement!'

‘Thank you,' said Wylie. ‘But, for the moment, can I persuade you to do without it? I have affairs that need my attention, if you two gentlemen will excuse me.'

‘Let's take a turn in the gardens,' said Mackenzie. ‘I long to hear more of this rash venture of yours into Tilsit.'

It was the chance Glynde had been hoping for, and he lost no time in telling Mackenzie the tale Talleyrand had suggested.

‘I wish you would name your source, Mr. Rendel,' Mackenzie said at last. ‘You must see that it makes my position difficult. And I wish, too, that you would explain to me what inspired you to bring this story to me.'

‘Common sense, Mr. Mackenzie.' He was relieved that they were interrupted at this point by Dr. Wylie, with the news that the Tsar proposed to start in half an hour. ‘It's time you made up your mind, my friend.'

‘I have,' said Mackenzie. ‘I'm for England.'

Paul Genet found the Princess and Jenny alone, the last guest gone. ‘Forgive me for coming back to trouble you, Highness, when you must be exhausted.' A quick glance from one to the other told him that they had been quarrelling. ‘I came to ask if Miss Peverel would take a breath of air with me. This is no place for an unattended lady, I am afraid, until the court goes. I hope you have arranged for an adequate escort for the journey to Vinsk, Princess?'

‘So do I! Yes – do get your bonnet, Jenny. A turn in the air will do you good. And I shall be glad to be alone, for once.'

‘I'll wait for you outside.' He and Jenny exchanged glances.

‘Poor lady,' he said, when she joined him five minutes later.
‘She's been having an unhappy time of it. To put it mildly. That's a very fetching bonnet, if I may say so.'

‘Compliments, Monsieur Genet?'

‘You called me Paul earlier today.'

‘I know.' She blushed crimson.

‘And I know why. It was to tease Mr. Rendel, was it not?' He had taken her arm and led her round the corner of the house to the neglected pleasure gardens. ‘Miss Peverel – Jenny – may I speak to you like a brother? The one you lost at Aboukir Bay?'

‘You remember that?'

‘Of course I do. And telling you that my father died there, too. Which was true, by the way.'

‘I never doubted it.'

‘Thank you. I am not always truthful. In my way of life, it is not possible, but what I am saying now is God's truth. As I see it.'

‘A timely qualification, Monsieur Genet.'

‘I liked it when you called me Paul. Whatever the reason. And, coming to that reason, that's what I came to talk about.'

‘Like a brother?'

‘Like someone who cares for you very much. Worries about you. It won't do, you know.' They had been walking down an avenue of shaggy lime trees; now, at the end of it, moving out of sight of the house, he stopped, turned her to face him. ‘He's entirely beglamoured. Even now, he won't get over her.'

‘What do you mean?' But she knew.

‘Fool of a man.' He said it with complete toleration. ‘He proposed today, didn't he? In the midst of the gossiping crowd. And got his comeuppance, as anyone could have seen he would. He's in a rage at the moment, but it won't last. He's under her spell; don't let yourself think otherwise, Jenny. How old are you?'

‘Twenty-six.' The big grey eyes met his straight, but through a veil of tears. ‘What a very personal question, Monsieur Genet.'

‘I'm speaking to you like a brother, remember.'

‘A brother would know.' But she was smiling now, an uncertain smile.

‘Twenty-six, and never been kissed.' She thought for a mad
moment that he was going to rectify this, but he put both hands on her shoulders and held her, studying her, grey eyes meeting grey eyes. ‘There's more to life than romantic passion, Jenny. In France, we arrange our marriages; by and large, they work very well.'

‘By and large.' She was still meeting his eyes. ‘We have arranged marriages in England too, only we don't call them that. My mother married my father, because he was the only man who proposed to her. She was plain, like me, with no fortune, like me. He made every minute of her life a misery. A petty tyrant. I couldn't bear to go on watching it. That's why I came to Poland. Single life has to be better than that.'

‘Would your mother think so?'

‘This is a very strange conversation.' She thought about it, their eyes still locked. ‘I don't know,' she said at last, slowly. ‘I absolutely do not know.'

‘She has children? How many?'

‘Three of us girls, and my dead brother. My sisters are married. I was the failure.' She thought about this, now. ‘I had never thought: I believe she hoped I would stay at home.'

‘And help her tame the tyrant, your father?'

‘I rather think so. Oh, poor mother, how good she was. She never said a word.'

‘Was? She's dead?'

‘No. But her life's over, such as it was. My father died three years ago, leaving her with nothing. My sisters complain about having to keep her. I don't think I shall ever see her again.'

‘There's no place for you there? You're very much alone, Jenny, are you not?'

‘I suppose I am.' This conversation, opening up the past for once, brought it home to her. Particularly after the sudden quarrel with the Princess.

‘Don't be. Jenny – Miss Peverel –' Formally now. ‘I know it is too soon. I know you do not love me. But – tomorrow my master leaves for France, and I go with him. The next day, you go with the Princess to Vinsk. Who knows? We may never meet again. Now is our time. Now is my chance. Say you'll marry me, Jenny, and I swear you will never regret it. Everything shall be as you wish, for as long as you wish. I promise I'll make you love me, in the end.'

Now, at last, she looked away, detached herself gently from his grasp, moved from him to gaze down at weed-infested ornamental water. ‘Arranging your own marriage, Monsieur Genet, like a good Frenchman? You pay me a great compliment, but I must thank you and refuse. You seem to have forgotten that we are enemies.'

‘But we are not! You know perfectly well that we are not. We're friends, Jenny, the best of friends. We could so easily be more. Say you'll marry me! I'll tell my master. I know he'd help me …'

‘Do what? Our countries are at war, Monsieur Genet. You're a soldier. Can you imagine presenting me to Napoleon?'

‘Easily. He'd like you. I know it. Besides, look at the marriages he's made for his family.'

‘That's different, as you well know. There's one law for aristocrats; another for the rest of us.'

‘I'm more of an aristocrat than that upstart Napoleon. Before the Revolution …'

‘Was a long time ago. And this is all beside the point. I'll never marry without love, Monsieur Genet.'

‘I'll make you love me –'

‘By force?'

‘No! Damnation. What is it?' Lech had come running from the lime walk.

‘There you are, Pani Peverel. Thank God I've found you. The Princess needs you urgently.'

‘What's happened?' She turned and started moving back towards the house, the two men following.

‘I don't know. The Tsar came to see her.'

‘The Tsar?'

‘Yes. Hurry, please, pani!' There was no mistaking his sense of urgency, and she was glad of Paul Genet's arm, helping her as she half walked half ran over the rough grass of the walk. But glad, too, that with Lech close behind them further conversation was impossible.

When they reached the house, she detached herself, held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Monsieur Genet. And I do thank you.'

‘I won't give up.' He bent to kiss her hand. ‘Remember, I am at your service. Always.'

The Princess was shouting orders at a terrified Marylka. ‘There you are at last,' she turned on Jenny. ‘Never there when you are wanted. We leave tomorrow. For Petersburg, in the Tsar's train.'

‘What?' Jenny could not believe her ears.

‘You heard me. The Tsar has been here. He made it a request, but it was one that had to be obeyed. He says the Prince must be buried in the cathedral. It's a great honour.'

‘But not what he wanted.'

‘He's dead,' said the Princess bleakly. And then, brightening. ‘The Tsar saw Casimir at last! He was kindness itself, Jenny. Said all sorts of things. That Casimir must stay for a while in the Ovinski palace at Petersburg. As its owner.'

‘For a while?'

‘That's what he said.'

‘And the Brotherhood?' They had been quarrelling earlier about whether to approach them about the long, hazardous journey back to Vinsk. Jenny had wished to do so, and the Princess had insisted that there was no need.

‘Oh, do what you like! Nothing can make any difference to the Tsar's orders. Even They must see that. Send Them a message, if you wish, to say we are going. Just think, Jenny, we are going to see Petersburg!' Something was different about the Princess, Jenny thought; something had changed in her. The shock of her husband's death had passed, and there was a subdued glow about her, an expectation. Of what?

But it made it possible to ask a question she had longed to. ‘Did the Tsar say anything about this new Grand Duchy of Warsaw? About how it would affect you, with estates there as well as in Austrian and Russian Poland?'

‘He said it would be under French control,' said the Princess. ‘The King of Saxony will be the figurehead, but the French will rule. No other Ambassadors are to be allowed. But he promises that people under his protection will be safe under his brother Napoleon. That is one of the reasons why Casimir and I are to go to Petersburg. To make our position clear. He speaks with enthusiasm of Napoleon: a great man, a visionary, with a huge grasp of the future of Europe. And keep a careful tongue in your head. The Tsar don't much like you British.
More talk than action, he says. He's learned it by bitter experience. So – you'll watch yourself in Petersburg.'