The Doll (55 page)

Izabela rose hastily: ‘My dear, what on earth puts Wokulski into your head?'

‘Nothing …' Flora replied, plucking at the tape of her bodice, ‘only I recall that in April you told me … that that man had been pursuing you with looks for a twelve-month, that he was surrounding you on all sides …'

Izabela burst out laughing: ‘Ah, I remember! Of course, that was how it seemed … But today, now that I know him better, I can see he does not belong to the category of men one needs to fear. He adores me on the quiet, that's so: but he will adore me just the same, even if I were to … get married. A look, a pressure of the hand suffices admirers of Wokulski's sort …'

‘Are you certain?'

‘Completely. In any case, I've found that what seemed to me like snares on his part was nothing but business. Father is lending him thirty thousand roubles and who knows but what all his devices weren't for that purpose?'

‘Suppose it were otherwise?' Flora asked, continuing to play with the fringe of her bodice.

‘My dear, for goodness sake!' Izabela protested, ‘why are you trying to vex me?'

‘You yourself said that such people can wait patiently, set their snares, even risk everything and smash …'

‘Not Wokulski, though.'

‘Recollect the Baron …'

‘The Baron insulted him in public.'

‘But he apologised to you.'

‘Oh Flora, don't tease me,' Izabela burst out, ‘you are intent on making a demon out of this tradesman, perhaps because we lost so much on the sale of the house … because father is ill … and because Starski is back.'

Flora made a gesture as if to say more, but stopped: ‘Goodnight, Bela,' she said, ‘perhaps you are right, now.'

And she went out.

All night long Izabela dreamed of Starski as her husband, Rossi as her Platonic lover number one, Ochocki as number two and Wokulski as the trustee of their fortune. Not until ten next morning was she awakened by Flora who reported that Spigelman and another Jew had come: ‘Spigelman? Oh yes … I had forgotten … Tell him to come back later. Is papa up?'

‘He's been up an hour. I was just speaking to him about the Jews and he would like you to write a letter to Wokulski.'

‘What for?'

‘To ask him to be kind enough to call this afternoon and settle the bills of these Jews.'

‘Wokulski has our money, certainly,' said Izabela, ‘but it would not do for me to write to him on this matter. You write, Flora, on father's behalf. Here is paper, on my desk …'

Flora wrote the letter and meanwhile Izabela began dressing. The arrival of the Jews was like a dash of cold water, and the thought of Wokulski troubled her: ‘So we really cannot do without this man?' she said to herself, ‘well, if he has our money, then of course he must pay off our debts.'

‘Please ask him,' she said to Flora, ‘to come as soon as possible. For if Starski finds this vile Jew here …'

‘He has known them longer than we have,' Flora murmured.

‘All the same, it would be awful. You don't know the tone of voice that … that … used to me yesterday.'

‘Spigelman,' Flora put in, ‘yes, he is impertinent.'

She sealed the letter and took it into the hall, meaning to send away the Jews who were waiting there. Izabela knelt in front of an alabaster statue of the Virgin Mary, imploring her that the messenger would find Wokulski at home and that Starski would not meet the Jews in the house.

The alabaster Virgin Mary heard Izabela's prayers: within an hour, at breakfast, Mikołaj handed her three letters. One was from the Countess, her aunt. In it, she informed Izabela that the doctor would call on her father for a consultation between two and three o'clock, that Kazio Starski was leaving town before that evening and might call at any moment.

‘Remember, dear Bela,' her aunt concluded, ‘to behave so that the boy thinks of you on his journey and while in the country, to which you and your father must come within a few days. I have already arranged things so that he will not see any young ladies in Warsaw or in the country (apart from you, my angel). Except, of course, for his good old grandmother, the Duchess, and her uninteresting granddaughters.'

Izabela made a slight grimace: she did not care for this emphasis: ‘My aunt is fussing over me,' she said to Flora, ‘as if I had already lost all hope … I don't like that.'

And the picture within her of the handsome Kazio Starski darkened somewhat.

The second letter was from Wokulski, announcing he would be at their service at one o'clock: ‘What time did you tell the Jews to come, Flora?' Izabela inquired.

‘At one o'clock.'

‘Thank goodness! If only Starski doesn't call just then,' said Izabela, picking up the third letter: ‘This hand is somehow familiar,' she added ‘whose is it, Flora?'

‘Don't you recognise it?' Miss Flora replied, with a glance at the envelope, ‘Baroness Krzeszowska's …'

A flush of anger mounted into Izabela's face: ‘Ah, so it is,' she exclaimed, throwing the letter down on the table, ‘please send it back, Flora, and write on the envelope ‘Not Read' — what does she want, hateful woman …?'

‘You can easily find out,' Flora murmured.

‘No, no, no! I don't want any letters from that insufferable creature. Some new chicanery, no doubt, for she writes nothing else … Still, see what she says. This is the last time I accept her scrawls …'

Flora opened the envelope slowly and began reading. Gradually her curiosity gave way to amazement, then to embarrassment: ‘I ought not to read this,' she murmured, handing the letter to Izabela.

As she read, Izabela went as pale as the paper. She rose from the table, crumpled the letter and raised her hand as if to hurl it into someone's face. Suddenly, seized by fear, she wanted to flee away or to call someone; but at that moment she recollected herself and went to her father.

Mr Łęcki was lying on the sofa in his slippers and dressing-gown, reading the
Courier
. He greeted his daughter very affectionately, and when she had sat down, looked at her in an attentive manner and said: ‘Is the light bad in this room, or does it seem to me that my child is out of humour?'

‘I am somewhat agitated.'

‘So I observe, but it is from the heat. And today you ought,' he added, threatening her with a smile, ‘today you must look nice, you mischievous thing, for young Kazio, so your aunt told me yesterday, is to visit …'

Izabela said nothing, her father went on: ‘It's true that the lad is rather spoiled with everlasting gadding about the world, somewhat in debt too — but he's young, handsome, healthy and wild about you. Joanna hopes the Duchess will keep him in the country a few weeks, and the rest is up to you. And it might not be a bad thing, you know. A good name … his fortune will somehow be put together from various sources … And in addition he's a man of the world, well-bred, even a kind of hero, if it's true that he's been all around the world.'

‘I had a letter from Krzeszowska,' Izabela interrupted.

‘Ah? And what does the silly woman say?'

‘She says our house was not bought by Szlangbaum, but by Wokulski, and that with the help of false bidders he gave twenty thousand more than it was worth.'

Speaking in a stifled voice, she looked in alarm at her father, fearing an outburst. But Tomasz merely sat up on the sofa, cracked his fingers and exclaimed: ‘One moment! One moment! You know, it may be true.'

‘How can it be?' Izabela rose hastily, ‘he dares present us with twenty thousand roubles — and you can speak of it calmly?'

‘I speak calmly because, had I delayed the sale, I should not have got ninety but a hundred and twenty thousand …'

‘But we could not wait, as the house was up for auction.'

‘And because we could not, we have lost and Wokulski will gain, because he can.'

After this remark, Izabela became somewhat calmer: ‘So you do not consider it charity on his part? For yesterday you spoke of Wokulski as if you felt you had been trapped by him …'

‘Ha ha ha!' Tomasz laughed, ‘that's capital — simply capital! Yesterday I was somewhat agitated, even very much so, and something … something began to dawn upon me … But today! Ha ha ha! Let Wokulski overpay for the house. He's a tradesman and ought to know how much and what he is paying for. He loses on one and gains on another. I for one can't resent the fact that he took part in the auction of my house. Although I'd have the right to suspect some shady business in his putting up Szlangbaum, for instance.'

Izabela embraced her father cordially: ‘Yes,' she said, ‘you are right, papa. I didn't realise to the full what it all meant. This putting up of Jews at the sale clearly proves that this man, while playing at friendship, is doing business.'

‘Of course!' Tomasz agreed, ‘surely you have the sense to understand such a simple thing? Perhaps he isn't a bad man, but he's a tradesman always, a tradesman …'

A loud ringing came from the vestibule: ‘That must be he. I'll go, papa, and leave the two of you together.'

She left her father's bedroom, but instead of Wokulski in the vestibule she saw a total of three Jews, loudly arguing with Mikołaj and Flora. She rushed from the vestibule and the phrase: ‘My God! Why doesn't he come?' passed through her mind.

A storm of emotion was boiling in her heart. While agreeing with her father's views, Izabela had nevertheless guessed it was not true what he said. Wokulski had made no profit from the house, but had lost, merely in order to extricate them from a most fatal situation.

But while admitting this, she hated him: ‘Scoundrel! Scoundrel!' she whispered, ‘how dare he?'

Meanwhile, the Jews in the vestibule had started an angry scene with Flora. They declared they would not go until they got their money, that the young lady had given her word the previous day … And when Mikołaj opened the front door, they began abusing him: ‘This is robbery! This is cheating! You know how to get money and then you say “My dear David …” but when the time comes …'

‘What is the meaning of this?' said a new voice at that moment.

The Jews fell silent: ‘What is the meaning of this? What are you doing here, Mr Spigelman?'

Izabela recognized Wokulski's voice.

‘Me? Nothing … My respects, honoured sir … We are here on business, to see His Excellency …' Spigelman explained in a tone completely different from his previous noisy one.

‘The gentleman told us to come for our money today …' put in another Jew, ‘the young lady gave her word yesterday that we should all be paid off today, to the last penny …'

‘And so you shall,' Wokulski interrupted, ‘I am Mr Łęcki's plenipotentiary and will deal with your accounts in my office at six today.'

‘No hurry … Why in such a hurry, honoured sir?' Spigelman replied.

‘Pray come to my office at six, and you, Mikołaj, do not admit anyone on business while your master is ill.'

‘Very good, sir! My master is waiting in his bedroom,' Mikołaj replied.

But when Wokulski had gone in, he pushed and tumbled the Jews out, with ‘Begone, Yids! Begone!'

‘Ah! Ah! Why so angry, sir?' the Jews muttered, very embarrassed. Tomasz greeted Wokulski with emotion; his hands were trembling slightly, so was his head. ‘Well, look here,' he said, ‘what these Jews get up to! They besiege our house … they alarm my daughter …'

‘I have told them to come to my office at six and, with your permission, will then settle their bills. Is it a large sum?' Wokulski asked.

‘Almost nothing … a matter of some five or six thousand roubles …'

‘Five or six thousand?' Wokulski echoed, ‘do you owe so much to those three?'

‘No. I owe them some two thousand, perhaps a trifle more. But I must tell you, Stanisław (for this is the whole point) that last March someone bought my promissory notes. Who was it? That I don't know: however, I should like to be ready for all eventualities.'