Polonaise (44 page)

‘So should we, I suppose.' She looked at the dark, impenetrable forest on either side of the track. They had met no one so far in this interminable journey; it had occurred to none of them as a possibility. They were likely to pay for it now. She could hear the Princess's voice ahead raised in anger, and then, her blood chilled, Casimir's. The
kibitka
was lower than a carriage; she managed to get herself out of it without help and down onto the rough log road. Half walking, half running over the uneven ground, she made her way forward to where Casimir was standing, head tilted defiantly upwards at the Russian officer who looked down at him, amazed, from his big horse.

‘Don't speak to my mother like that! She's a Princess!'

‘Like all the other women!' But for the moment the Russian was amused by his small challenger. ‘And who are you, my fine princeling?'

‘The Prince Ovinski!' The boy's chin went up still further. ‘On my way to my estates at Vinsk. Out of my way, you boor.' To Jenny's relief, he was speaking French, not Polish. His mother leaned out of her carriage to intervene, but the officer was still merely amused.

‘Such a bold little Prince.' And then, thoughtfully. ‘Ovinski, eh? One of those damned Poles? But you'll maybe know Prince Czartoryski.'

‘Our cousin.' Now the Princess did intervene. ‘And a good friend of the Tsar's.'

‘Again, they say.' But his tone had mellowed. ‘I'm from Vilno myself, Highness.' Jenny was relieved to hear him use her title. ‘Czartoryski's been there for a while, founding a university for fools who want to study. He's back in Petersburg now. The Tsar sent for him. Any cousin of his … Trouble is, I've got guns back there. Can't turn them easily. We'll just have to clear ourselves a passing place. You put your people to work that side, Highness, we'll deal with this.'

The clearing work took a long time, and longer still for the convoy to pass their little party. ‘Did you count the guns?' Glynde asked Jenny that night. ‘I did. It doesn't look like peace to me.'

‘And you're glad?' Something in his tone had alerted her.

‘I have to be, and so should you, as an Englishwoman. Napoleon has got to be stopped. If he's not, he means either to conquer us or starve us into submission. He's still building ships. Nelson's victory at Trafalgar held him for a while, but he's been hitting us as hard as he could in our trade ever since. You have no idea of how things are in England. The price of bread going up and up; bankruptcies by the hundred; unrest among the labouring classes who always feel these things hardest. And, as bad as anything else, it's making trouble between us and the Americans. They don't like our navy's powers of stop and search, and you can hardly blame them.'

‘Oh,' she said. ‘I see. I wondered why things weren't so easy as they used to be between you and Mr. Warrington.'

‘Me and Jan?' She had amazed him. ‘What in the world makes you think that, Miss Peverel? We're the oldest and best of friends, he and I.' But afterwards, thinking it over, he found himself just a little wondering about this, and disconcerted to be doing so. ‘Tell me,' he went on now. ‘Does Marylka maintain her links with the Brotherhood here on the road? I'd very much like to send messages both east and west if it's possible.'

‘About the guns? I'll ask her.'

Marylka confirmed that they were being escorted by the Brotherhood, who would certainly start messages on their way in both directions, and Glynde sat down in his cell-like room
in their stopping-place that night to try and work out what he was to say, and to whom. The westward message was easy enough. Talleyrand must be told the Russians were arming the border. His own instructions, back in England, when he got in touch after his amazing encounter with Talleyrand's messenger, had been precise. ‘He's playing a deep and dangerous game,' he had been told. ‘Do whatever he tells you, keep us posted, and leave the rest to us.'

The eastward message proved more difficult. The seed of doubt Jenny had planted in his mind about Jan had grown apace. He had noticed a change in Jan himself, but had merely thought he had grown up, failing to draw the conclusion that now stared him in the face. The French and Americans were old allies against the English. Why had he never thought of this in connection with Jan? Had he let himself take his friendship too much for granted? Looking back over their relationship, he saw everything differently. At Tilsit, it had been Jan who insisted on crossing the Niemen, delivering them into Talleyrand's hands. Just suppose this was no accident. And then, what followed? If Jan was working with the French, he would very likely have been warned of his own arrival in Petersburg. In which case, it was no wonder that everything had gone so smoothly. So where did that leave Jan as a link in his chain of communication with England? The link he had been so pleased about. The answer was obvious. He had given it when he told Jenny Peverel of the growing threat of war between America and England, and had entirely failed to listen to himself. Fool. Idiot.

This was getting him nowhere. And all the time the answer was staring him in the face, provided by the Russian officer in that alarming moment of confrontation. Adam Czartoryski was back in favour with the Tsar. He would write to Jan, carefully, but he would write to Adam, too. He had always supported the British alliance and would certainly have means of getting in touch, if he thought fit. But, remembering the Tsar's secret police, Glynde made this letter, too, a very careful one.

It proved unnecessary. When they reached Vinsk, they found Adam Czartoryski himself standing with Miriam on the doorstep to greet them. If he was surprised to meet Glynde in
the Princess's train, he hid it well, but Glynde rather thought he was not surprised. As always, no real news could be exchanged while they were surrounded by servants, and their late dinner was taken up with an exchange of gossip. Czartoryski was newly come from Petersburg and was able to bring the Princess up to date on the latest scandal from there as well as from Vilno, where he had spent a week. He also talked at length about his university and the trained minds it would supply. ‘We so badly need an administrative class in Russia. I believe they are trying to fill the same need in the Duchy too, is that not so, Princess?' And then, without waiting for the answer she might find it difficult to give, ‘I have messages for you from my master, the Tsar. A word alone, if I may?'

‘Why, of course.' She coloured becomingly and rose. ‘If you will excuse us?' To the others. ‘But you're not riding back to Vilno tonight, Prince, surely?'

‘I must. My time is not my own at the moment.'

‘You really are about the Tsar's business?' She faced him in what had been the Prince's study, felt all over again how strange it was to find herself absolute mistress here. So long as Casimir was a child. What a curious thing to be thinking. She smiled at Czartoryski. ‘So, what is this serious errand from the Tsar?'

‘Two of them, in fact. The first, to find out how your little Prince goes on, and I see I can give an enthusiastic report. My master will be glad to hear he is so well attended. That was a stroke of genius, getting my old friend Rendel to act as tutor. My master asks to be remembered warmly to you.' He paused.

‘Most generous.' She was blushing again.

‘And some advice.'

‘Advice?'

‘Yes. He bade me tell you that he looks upon himself as father-in-God of all his subjects, among whom he is happy to number you, since your marriage to his much regretted servant Ovinski.'

‘Yes?' They had been standing so far, now she moved over to settle gracefully on an upright chair, gesturing him to do the same. ‘He is kindness itself,' she went on mechanically, fixing him with an enquiring glance.

‘And, therefore, grandfather to your son, the little Prince Casimir, in whom he takes an immense interest.'

‘Ah?' she leaned forward a little.

He took a new tack. ‘It is three years since the Prince's tragic death.'

‘Almost three and a half.'

‘Quite so. In the normal way, my master says, he would be urging you to remarry, to give the boy a father, would indeed have urged it long since.'

‘We spoke of it once, back in Petersburg.'

‘So? He did not tell me. He is delicacy itself, our master. A man of feeling. I often think that we are more fortunate than we understand. See how he has protected his sisters from the crass advances of the Corsican.'

She raised her head and looked him straight in the face. ‘So now there is a pregnant Austrian Empress.' She threw it at him. ‘An heir expected to the empire Napoleon has carved out for himself.'

‘Which changes everything,' he agreed. ‘I'm glad you see that, Isobel. I may call you Isobel?'

‘I don't see why not. You do not propose to call me anything else, I take it.'

‘Not wife, you mean? Quick of you. No. His message to you is simple, and hard. For the boy's sake, he thinks it best you do not remarry. Russian or Polish, Prussian or Austrian, no marriage you could make would do his future anything but harm.'

‘A Frenchman?' She smiled at him. ‘An Englishman? An American even?' And then, holding out a hand, ‘No, no! I'm teasing you. Can you blame me? It's hard on a woman to be condemned to celibacy for her child's sake. But you may tell your master that I am grateful from my heart for his advice. Which only confirms what I had decided for myself a long time back.' She smiled. ‘No need to tell him that. Tell him I am his loving servant to command. And tell me what he promises for Casimir.' Her tone had changed completely and he suddenly felt, strangely, as if he was dealing with a man, a fellow diplomat.

‘Promises?' he said, as if to a fellow diplomat. ‘Nothing. But I am instructed to hold out hopes. My general errand is to
find out what support there would be here, in Lithuania, as well as in the Duchy, if the Tsar our master were to offer a Kingdom of Poland.'

‘In exchange for support against the French? And who for King?'

‘Ah, there's the crux of it. For the moment, himself. Who else, in this moment of crisis.'

‘Crisis?'

‘Best admit it. Napoleon talks peace, but his acts deny it. Acts speak louder than words.'

‘They most certainly do.' She smiled at him. ‘Do you remember coming to Rendomierz with the Tsar, and how he raised all our hopes? And dashed them to the ground at the last moment. I doubt he can afford to do that again. There are Poles in Paris now would be in Petersburg, if he had spoken out.'

‘Straight words. I am to repeat them to my master?'

‘If you wish. You'll be going to Pulawy, of course? Your father seems content enough in the Duchy as it now is.'

‘I look forward to seeing him. And hope that we can persuade Josef Poniatowski to pay us a visit there.'

‘Bold of you! But a mistake, I think. He's committed, heart and soul, to the French.'

‘And you are not?'

‘I'm committed to Poland. French or Russian, I'll support the one that gives us a clear promise.'

‘And if neither does?'

‘I shall be in trouble. So shall we all. If you'll take my advice, you'll not speak to Josef Poniatowski. Or, speaking, will remember that whatever you say will go straight back to Napoleon. Poniatowski is his man. If I'm sure of anything, I'm sure of that.'

‘But I have the Tsar's orders.'

‘Our absolute master.' She shrugged. ‘Tell me, how long must I stay here at Vinsk in order not to hazard my estates?' She corrected herself: ‘Casimir's, I mean.'

‘I am sure our master would be happy to have you leave as soon as you wish, so long as you are ready to join your voice to mine in the Duchy.'

‘In favour of a Kingdom for Poland? Of course. But in the
meantime, what am I to do for the best? I'm responsible for my son's welfare; for his estates. From what you say, war may break out any moment. All my estates – all our estates lie in the debatable ground. It was only by the goodness of God, and the kindness of my cousin Josef Poniatowski that no disaster struck us at Rendomierz in the last war. Marie Walewska has taken her son to Paris, I hear. Should I take Casimir there? Or to Petersburg?'

‘Don't think of it! Your duty lies here, where your estates are.'

‘All very fine.' Isobel was describing the conversation to Jenny after he left next day. ‘He says my duty lies here, but here in Russian Vinsk, or home at Rendomierz?'

‘Don't you think the fact that you call Rendomierz home is your answer?'

Isobel smiled. ‘I must confess I had forgotten how un-comfortable life is here in this ramshackle wooden building. I think you are probably right, Jenny. We'll plan to go back to Rendomierz before spring. No chance of even that wild man Napoleon opening a campaign sooner.'

‘No. And don't you think he'll probably stay in Paris for the birth of the Empress's child? Everyone says he is a most devoted husband. Poor Marie …'

‘Nonsense! I wouldn't mind a house in Paris. You wouldn't believe what a life of luxury she leads. And surrounded by the cream of the young Polish officers. Even the hero Kosciusko has called on her, they say. And she's friends with all those sisters of Napoleon's.'

‘Poor Marie, just the same,' said Jenny.

They were back in Rendomierz for the spring and the news of the birth of Napoleon's heir, the little King of Rome. Warsaw emulated Paris in its rejoicings, and the Princess lost no time in going there to join in the festivities. Glynde and Jenny were glad enough to be left alone with the problems of the school. The months spent under the domination of the elderly, irascible Master at Arms had left their mark on the little boys, and it was going to take some time to get them back into line. In Casimir's absence, the Russian-hater Karol had become their leader.

‘I almost wish we had taken him with us!' Jenny said to Glynde when she had finished mopping Casimir up after one of his frequent and bloody fights with his rival.