Valentina (20 page)

‘No.' Alexandra sprang to the door. ‘I'm coming with you. I want to bring my sister home myself.'

‘Fanchon!' he ordered. ‘Keep her in the coach!'

Valentina woke early that morning; the sound of hammering had kept her awake, and when she slept it was a restless sleep, broken by bad dreams and the insistent thudding blows as the scaffold was built for her execution. She had made her preparations, written a letter to her sister which the prison chaplain had promised to send to Czartatz, made her confession and received the last Sacraments. Her conscience was clear indeed, everything purged from it but her love for a man who was not her husband, and she would never believe that this was sinful. Even her hatred of Theodore was dulled, and seemed a distant thing, though he was called back to her mind that morning when the steps that came to her door were not the militia and the hangman, but a sheepish young officer with a message that she was not to die until later. There was another execution first, by Count Grunowski's order. One of his servants was to be hanged for trying to help her escape on the journey to Warsaw. He was being flogged first, and this was causing the delay. Valentina turned away, trembling and nauseated. Theodore had not been deceived that morning when he surprised the servant creeping among the horses; he had known all the time what they had planned, and waited to inflict this frightful punishment. Truly the Jewish innkeeper and his wife were revenged. Her jailor brought her a bowl of soup and a little black bread; she sent it back untouched.

‘How long must I wait?'

‘Not long now, lady,' the man muttered. ‘The other one's being hanged now. They'll be coming for you soon.'

As Valentina knelt for a last moment's prayer, Major de Lamballe was being shown into the Governor's office. He met the escort of militia with Valentina walking between them when they were only fifty yards from the court and the scaffold, with Potocki's order of release. He came up to the beautiful woman in her plain blue dress, her hair tied up in a gauze scarf to leave the neck bare for the noose, bowed, and took her by the hand.

‘You are free, Countess. Come with me please; your sister is waiting.'

She let him lead her back the way she had come; the soldiers had fallen in behind them and the Major walked beside her, holding her ice-cold hand in his, and said no more.

When they came to the entrance and stepped out into the street, she paused and looked round her. She seemed quite dazed.

‘Who are you? Where are you taking me?'

‘I am Major de Lamballe of His Imperial Majesty's Army. 5th Corps of Grenadiers, Madame. I am taking you to that carriage over there where your sister is waiting. I beg of you, don't faint, or she will think I'm bringing her your corpse. It's only a few yards more. Fanchon!' He raised his voice and the Lieutenant came running round the street corner with two men. ‘Bring the Princess here—tell her her sister is safe!'

The Lieutenant was a hostile observer of the extraordinary scene which took place a moment later. The Russian lady picked up her skirts and ran; she threw herself into the arms of the very pretty woman his Major had brought out of that stinking Polish jail, and the three of them came back to the coach, the Major and the Russian supporting the other woman, whose strength had given out. He heard the Princess snap at him: ‘Hold on to her, you damned fool! Can't you see she's fainted!' He did not see her turn from her unconscious sister in the coach and suddenly throw her arms round Major de Lamballe's neck and kiss him.

‘How do you feel, little one?'

Alexandra leant across and patted Valentina's hand and asked the question for the tenth time since they sat down to dinner. The Major's quarters were not luxurious, but they were princely by comparison with the place where Alexandra had been lodging when she had to keep her identity a secret, and the food he provided was as excellent as the champagne. He had invited them to celebrate and they had eaten the Chicken Marengo made famous by Napoleon's chef after the battle of that name, and Valentina had drunk champagne until her head felt light and she heard herself laughing for the first time in weeks. The dour French Major sat opposite to them, drinking in silent competition with her sister as if she were a man. Valentina noticed that he never took his eyes off Alexandra.

‘I feel wonderful,' she said, as she had said already many times. ‘I can't believe it. If it weren't for that poor brute who tried to help me, I should be dead.'

‘Poor brute!' Alexandra said. ‘I saw what he did to that old couple at the inn. I hope they hanged him very slowly! I'd give a thousand roubles to see Potocki's face tonight!'

Valentina smiled. ‘I'd give more to see Theodore's,' she said, and they began to laugh.

Alexandra raised her glass. ‘Let's drink a toast. To Theodore Grunowski! May he be damned for all eternity!'

‘I'll drink to that,' the Major said, ‘even though I am an atheist. To hell with him. To hell with Count Potocki!'

‘To hell with everyone,' Alexandra said suddenly, and smiled her slow, taunting smile, ‘except ourselves. To you, my dear, half-witted sister, nearly dead for love—and to you, Major, who brought her back to me! It seems,' she said, ‘that I've said this before. You have a way of being rescued by French officers, Valentina. Let's hope this isn't going to prove a habit!' She drained her glass and set it down. It occurred to Valentina that for the first time in her life Alexandra was a little drunk. And she was drunk with more than champagne and liberal helpings of the Major's brandy.

‘I hope, Countess, that you will take my advice and go back to your estates and stay there,' de Lamballe said. ‘The next few months are going to be very difficult; probably the whole of Poland will be at war with one side or the other. You and the Princess will be safe at Czartatz; it's the best-situated place I can think of.'

‘It's good advice,' Valentina smiled at him; he thought dispassionately that she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, ‘but I can't take it. I left Czartatz with a purpose. I haven't achieved it yet. I've got to find out what's happened to Colonel De Chavel.'

‘God give me patience!' Alexandra exclaimed. ‘You're insane! Haven't you had enough?'

‘I hate to say this to you,' de Lamballe said, ‘but I think there's a very good chance that he is dead. Our casualties have been enormous, so enormous that there is no attempt at listing them. Go home. You are wasting your time.'

‘I'm going to find him,' Valentina said quietly. ‘I've made up my mind what I must do. I'm going to follow the army's route into Russia; if they're on the way back, I'll meet up with them.'

Alexandra turned to de Lamballe. ‘She is mad, you see? Quite mad. Be so kind as to pass the brandy, Major. I need it. You needn't shake your head, she means it. I know my sister. If she says she's going to Russia to look for him, she'll go to Russia.'

‘Have you any idea what you're proposing?' he asked Valentina. ‘Have you any idea of the conditions which are killing off hundreds of men a day? Do you know there are bands of Cossacks raiding and pillaging along the route—apart from our own deserters? Can I suggest that you won't get very far?'

‘Other women travelled with them,' Valentina said. ‘Thousands of them; why shouldn't I? My dear Major, I know you're trying to frighten me for my own good, but I'm just not afraid. I don't care about anything but finding Colonel De Chavel, and if he's still alive, bringing him safely back to Poland. And I'm going out to look for him.'

‘You see?' Alexandra said. ‘I told you—she's going to Russia. She'll be frozen to death if she isn't eaten by wolves or raped by Cossacks or French. But she's going. To look for a corpse! And of course, I shall have to go with her!'

‘No!' Valentina said quickly. ‘I wouldn't let you take the risk—'

‘Be quiet,' her sister said angrily. ‘You can't stop me. You can't speak a word of Russian—you're incapable of looking after yourself a few miles from your own home—you damned nearly got hanged this morning, you're so incompetent! I'm coming with you. We won't find him, and we won't get back alive, but at least we'll get part of the way.'

De Lamballe watched her, his dark eyes almost closed. ‘Neither of you will survive a week,' he remarked.

‘Oh?' Alexandra demanded, ‘and why not? My sister is a fool, Sir, I'm not denying that, but don't take me for one. When I make this damned journey I'll make it properly. We'll travel when we're prepared for the conditions. It may take a week or two, but it'll be worth it. And if you argue about that,' she said suddenly to Valentina, ‘you really are a fool. We'll start on horseback. We'll need a sledge, supplies, servants as escort, plenty of furs and enough money to bribe our way.'

‘Very practical,' de Lamballe said. ‘I salute you, Princess. You're a woman of decision. Why don't we talk about this in the morning? Perhaps your sister will have come to her senses by then?'

‘Ha,' Alexandra mocked, ‘she's as obstinate as she's foolish. Aren't you, little one? Come, we should go back to that palatial lodging of mine. You look tired out.'

‘I am,' Valentina admitted. She turned to de Lamballe and held out her hand. ‘I thank you for everything. You and my sister.' She moved away quickly because the tears were filling her eyes. She was so over-tired that she was trembling. De Lamballe bowed to both of them.

‘There is a room prepared for each of you,' he said. ‘Everything is ready, if you'll spend the night as my guests.'

‘Indeed we will,' Alexandra said. ‘You're very kind; we accept with pleasure.'

‘I'll show you the way,' he said, and he led them up a narrow staircase to two adjoining rooms; they were clean and comfortably furnished, with large wood fires burning in the open stoves that heated all Polish houses in the winter. He kissed Valentina's hand.

‘Good night, Countess. Sleep well, and dream pleasantly.'

‘Good night,' she said. She turned to her sister and they embraced silently for a moment. Alexandra's hand came up and stroked the soft black hair as if she were caressing a child.

‘Good night, little one. I'll look at you later to see if you're asleep.' The door closed after Valentina and she and de Lamballe were alone. Alexandra went to her room and stood in the open doorway.

‘Major, I don't believe in wasting time and I'm sure you don't either. Come in.'

He moved up to her and then stopped.

‘You're a very independent woman,' he said quietly. He took her by the shoulder and pressed her hard back against the door-post, and kissed her; his complete possession of her mouth was so abrupt and forceful that her whole body quickened. He stepped back from her and smiled.

‘Very independent. But so am I. When the time comes, I'll take you as my mistress; you won't take me as your lover. I prefer to keep the initiative.'

‘You've lost it for ever,' she said. ‘We'll never meet again.'

He took her hand and, turning it, forced the palm against his lips and kissed it. ‘If you're fool enough to go to Russia, then I'm fool enough to go with you. Believe me, my dear Princess Suvarov, two things are certain. We will go together on this journey, and we will be lovers. Nothing can stop it. Good night.'

Chapter 7

The snow was falling over Russia; it had begun on November 5th when the temperature suddenly dropped to freezing, and the huddled mass of the French army awoke to find the snow pouring in a solid curtain from the lead-coloured sky, and the agony of extreme cold was added to what they already suffered from hunger and disease and the unremitting night attacks of Cossack raiders. Their goal was Smolensk, where reserve troops had been left in charge of supplies; the name of Smolensk was like a talisman, holding out the troops' only hope of food, rest and shelter. The conditions were unbelievable, and the proud cavalry who had crossed the Niemen a little over four months before, now trudged through the deepening snow on foot, their horses dead of cold and injury through lack of proper shoeing. Only the Emperor's entourage could ride, for their horses had been shod for ice, and this was done without Napoleon's knowledge. He had refused to accept that such precautions would be justified. They had nothing to fear from the winter; they would be safe in Moscow, while the enemy sued for peace. Now, on the road of retreat, his armies floundered and died. They had retraced their route through Borodino, before the snows came and covered everything, and the horror of the battlefield, with its carpeting of unburied, putrefying corpses, had destroyed what remained of the soldiers' morale. The smell was so terrible that hardened veterans fell out, vomiting by the way, and hundreds deserted that night, unmanned by what they had seen. Still the fighting went on, but for De Chavel and the rest of the walking wounded, travelling with the rearguard, it was no more than the sound of cannon in the distance, and a bloody influx of more casualties, until the Russians suddenly attacked them from behind at Viazma. De Chavel was walking by then, his place in the wagon had been taken some weeks earlier by a succession of badly wounded men; he walked with the lame and the enfeebled in a long straggling column that left men behind on every day's march, like dying leaves. He carried arms, and so did most of his companions; men on crutches, men like himself with one arm, those like the half-blind Beaufois, all carried a rifle or a pistol or a sabre, and slept with them to hand. By night the Cossacks came, riding down the sleeping groups, shooting and slashing, but worse still were the partisan peasants, whom no one heard when they approached. The only sign of their presence the next morning were corpses, their throats cut and their arms and clothing stolen, lying obscenely where they had been struck down. Marshal Davoust was in command of the rearguard, and fearless soldier that he was, he had to summon help at Viazma, because his exhausted, dispirited troops could not withstand the Russian onslaught.