Polonaise (23 page)

They were taking bets in the salons of Warsaw as to how long Marie Walewska would hold out. ‘It's disgusting,' Jenny told the Princess. ‘They were even discussing it in whispers at the working party today. She looks hag-ridden, poor girl.'

‘The Emperor won't like that.'

‘The amazing thing is it doesn't make her any less beautiful. Perhaps, actually, more interesting. She's one of those lucky blondes who can even cry without looking plain. She really has the most extraordinary eyes.' And then, aware of the Princess's fulminating silence. ‘You should see her husband! Strutting about as if he'd won some great prize. It's disgusting,' she said again. ‘And people calling on her who never thought of doing so before. Men mostly, but some women too. I don't much like high society.'

‘Why should you? Or understand it? Even the Walewska's husband and her brother Benedict Lacynski feel she should yield to Napoleon for Poland's sake. What they don't see is that their tool is made of putty. She'll be clay in his hands once she's yielded to him. Forget all about Poland.'

‘Not Marie!'

There was a message from the Brotherhood next day. ‘They say she is not to think of going,' Olga told Jenny.

‘Going where?'

‘You didn't know?' Olga was delighted at this evidence of a gradual alienation from the Princess, of which Jenny herself had only been half aware. ‘She got a message to her husband, God knows how, saying she wanted to join him in Petersburg. This is the answer.'

‘His answer, or theirs?'

‘Who knows?' Olga shrugged. ‘It's the answer.'

‘Did I forget to tell you?' Isobel was casual. ‘Monsieur
Talleyrand very kindly said he'd see that a personal message got through to the Prince.'

‘Even though France and Russia are at war?'

‘You English have such absurdly absolute ideas! For you, on your island, war is war, peace, peace. Here in Europe, it's not like that. Things change … Relationships change … Napoleon longs to be friends with his brother Emperor, the Tsar of Russia.'

‘That's what Talleyrand says?'

‘Yes. When I told him I had actually entertained the Tsar, he was most interested.'

‘As well he might be. So – we stay?'

‘Of course. My husband is no fool. He and Talleyrand are old friends. Ovinski was in Paris in 1789, when Talleyrand was representing his diocese at the States General. He was still Bishop of Autun then. Lord – what a long time ago! They had the same interests, Talleyrand says, talked the same language.'

‘French,' said Jenny.

‘Naturally. The language of politics, of Europe … I've been stupid. I see it now. I thought my husband asked me to come here because of that message you insisted on sending to the Brotherhood. When you got in such a panic about the Jewess, Miriam. It's not that at all. He thought one of us should be watching Polish interests
vis à vis
France, while the other took the Russian side.'

‘And Miriam and her sons?'

‘A nothing, a nonsense! One look at the grovelling Jews here in Warsaw showed me what a fool I was to let you frighten me into giving them a second thought. Lucky for them, or I might be compelled to take some kind of action.'

‘Isobel!' But a serf was scratching at the door to announce Prince Murat, a frequent caller these days.

‘Prince Ovinski is back in Petersburg, did you know?' Jan stamped snow off his padded boots.

‘No? Is he? Have you spoken to him?' Glynde folded up his closely written letter to Granville Leveson Gower. ‘And the Princess?'

‘She's in Warsaw.'

‘Good God! In the hands of the French? And Miss Peverel?'

‘There too, I suppose. No need to look so anxious. The French aren't barbarians. She'll come to no harm.'

‘No harm! Like Pichegru, and d'Enghien and Captain Wright? Not to mention Marie Antoinette and Madame de Lamballe and God knows how many other unfortunate women.' He changed the subject. ‘What news of the Richards?'

‘He's up to his neck in work, arranging for shipments of arms from England for the Russian troops.'

‘It's an ill wind! We'll hear less then, of his grumbling about war being death to trade. And Mrs. Richards?'

‘Says he's neglecting her. That we all are.' Glynde was fascinated to see that he was blushing. ‘Now that she's …' he hesitated, ‘in an interesting condition.'

‘Oh, pregnant, is she?' Glynde was doing rapid sums, hoping he was not responsible. It had been such a brief madness, that. ‘How far gone?'

‘As if I'd have asked! She is taking it hard, says she longs for Miss Peverel.'

‘For Jenny?' How odd to have used her Christian name. ‘Oh, of course, I'd forgotten. She saw her through the last time. Well, she'll long in vain, with Miss Peverel in the enemy camp.'

‘Unless the Princess manages to rejoin her husband.'

‘But that's impossible, surely?'

‘Not at all. Not if she wished it, and he allowed it. Because you live in such a small country with such close connections, you British forget how different things are in a large one. It's partly why we beat you, I think.'

‘Back to your famous War of Independence?' Glynde laughed and rose to his feet. ‘Don't forget we were fighting the French then, too. I must go and pay my respects to Prince Ovinski.'

All Warsaw knew that Napoleon's Master of the Household, Marshal Duroc, fetched Marie Walewska to the castle night after night in a closed carriage and the deepest secrecy, and for a while the Emperor's daytime scowls told Warsaw of her continued resistance. When his public bad temper dissolved into smiles, Warsaw drew its own conclusions.

‘I wonder if she gave in gracefully, or if he forced her,' said
the Princess. ‘It's a miracle she held out so long, with both her husband and her brother urging her on, and all this fine talk of a sacrifice for Poland. I expect she led him on to rape her in the end, and enjoyed every minute of it.'

‘Oh, poor Marie,' said Jenny.

‘Nonsense! She's going to be very rich, Marie, if she plays her cards right, even if she has no chance of being Empress of the French. And if it lasts. He's off to the front now. Absence doesn't always make the heart grow fonder. We'll miss our soldiers. Even your faithful Genet goes this time. Genet and Jenny, how droll. It means a mule, I believe.'

‘No, a Spanish horse. And he's not my Genet, Princess, as you well know.'

‘How formal we are all of a sudden! Yes, you do seem to have played the English miss to perfection. I congratulate you!' Her own affair with Prince Murat had been as flamboyant as the man himself, and Jenny could only wonder if she knew that he had first made a very direct approach indeed to Anna Potocka and been as directly repulsed. But then, Anna was six months pregnant, and closely pursued by young Flahaut.

What would Prince Ovinski think of his wife's affair with Murat? Jenny thought, sadly, that it was very likely on his advice. Sometimes, these days, she longed for the quiet of an English country vicarage, the ordered life, the regulated, respectable days. And then, smiling to herself, remembered Petworth House and its troop of illegitimate little Wyndhams. It was class, not country, that seemed to make the difference to one's moral code.

‘What's so entertaining?' The Princess's tone was sharp; she scented criticism easily these days.

‘I was thinking that Monsieur Genet never suggested I behave like anything but an English miss. Should I be affronted, do you think?' But it was surprising how much she missed those brief, chance encounters with Paul Genet on the grand stairway. Or had they been entirely chance? This was not a thought to share with the Princess. But then, she shared so few these days. Her main concern was to protect Casimir from any hint of what was going on between his mother and Murat. It was not easy and, inevitably, it meant increasing the distance between her and the Princess.

News of the bloody, indecisive battle of Eylau reached Warsaw in mid-February. As at Pultusk, both sides claimed victory, but again it was the Russians who retreated north again and east towards Königsberg. And in Warsaw, Polish families, waiting at full stretch for news of sons and brothers who had joined Napoleon's conquering army, were not cheered by his bulletin about the battle: ‘Such a sight as this should inspire rulers with love of peace and hatred of war.'

Paul Genet had brought the news of Eylau to Warsaw. After delivering Napoleon's loving letter to Marie Walewska, he went on to Honey Street, and was ushered at once into Talleyrand's study.

‘It's bad news, I gather?' Talleyrand's greeting was informal, direct.

‘Technically, a victory. A few more like it, and there will be no French army. The survivors are cold, hungry, out of temper. The Emperor wants everything. Bread, blankets, brandy …'

‘From here, of course?' Talleyrand was swiftly reading Napoleon's letter.

‘Yes. He's not pleased with his “loyal Poles”.'

‘Thinks they should have done more, does he? Well, he should have promised them more. Give them a cause, a King, they'll fight like lions.'

‘I think so, too. But, sir …'

‘Yes?'

‘Forgive me … I think we made a mistake.'

‘We've made many. Which one? Don't be afraid; out with it, man.'

‘Madame Walewska … It should have been the Princess. She'd not have fallen in love and forgotten her country.'

Talleyrand laughed and poured wine for them both. ‘I expect you're right. Your health! But you know as well as I do that he'd never have looked at her. Your Princess.'

‘Not mine, thank God.'

‘Like that, is it? Pity. I was hoping to persuade you to be a little in love with her.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘She's beautiful enough; you've lived in her house; it would be a great convenience to me … Genet!'

‘Sir?'

‘You've served me a long time.'

‘You made me what I am. I was nothing, starving in the streets of Bayonne, when you found me.'

‘So … Tell me, is it me you serve, or Napoleon, or France?'

Paul Genet thought for a moment, then: ‘France, I think. You taught me to.'

‘Good. So do I. Tell me, does Napoleon?'

Once again, Genet paused to think. ‘He did, sir.'

‘Yes. He's changed. He should have made peace with England, when Fox proposed it last year. For France, he should have done that. But, for Napoleon, it's different now. Do you think he would have dealt so savagely with the Prussians – a great mistake, in my opinion – if he had not found those papers of the King's and Queen's, when he reached Berlin last autumn? Papers that affronted him personally? Napoleon, not France?'

‘I don't know, sir.'

‘I do. He's beginning to think as Napoleon, not as France. And turning his enemies into those of France. He's not had the training to think like a monarch. Well, how should he have?' He drained his glass. ‘I've just put my neck in your noose, Genet.'

‘It's safe there.'

‘I thought so.' He got up to warm his hands for a moment at the huge stove in the corner of the room. ‘A pity you can't find it in you to love the Princess. But there's a young Englishwoman in her train, a Miss Peverel, a serious young woman, I understand. You'll be staying there this time again?'

‘I had thought so. But …'

‘One moment. You're going to say something rash, like the Gascon I thought I'd trained out of you. Pray don't. It would disappoint me. From everything I have learned, and, as you know, I learn a great deal, Miss Peverel is as good an English-woman as you and I are French. I believe you have used my influence to protect her from the possible results of her – shall we call it British obstinacy.'

‘You know that, sir?'

‘My dear Paul – may I call you Paul? – do pray remember that you are by no means my only confidential agent. I have not parted company with the omniscient Monsieur Fouché
yet. Reports he receives are passed on to me. Of course. He often takes my advice. You should, perhaps, be grateful, but I am very far from expecting you to be.' He laughed. ‘Precisely. Pour us some more wine, would you? An admirably steady hand.'

‘Thank you, sir.'

‘And so, come to that, should Miss Peverel. Be grateful. She is not, quiet creature though she seems to be, without enemies, here in Warsaw. So – you will go there; you will reopen your pleasant acquaintance with her –'

‘And?'

‘You will be a little indiscreet. You will let slip a casual remark about Napoleon's disgust with his Poles. In the Princess's hearing, if possible, but I don't ask miracles. I think we can count on Miss Peverel's passing it on. And, one other small indiscretion? A word about how Prince Murat's career depends on his wife's influence with her brother? He's not written her, by the way.'

‘His wife?'

‘Don't pretend to be stupid. No, the Princess. I think she will have recognised that affair, by now, as the mistake it was. And be worrying about consequences? Maybe a delicate reminder that Rendomierz remains neutral territory, so long as Austria stays on the sidelines in this war.'

‘You want them to go back there?'

‘Yes. And I want you to correspond with Miss Peverel. You'll be relieved to hear that I don't even insist on her answering, so long as she consents to receive your letters. News from Warsaw? Or from the front? She'll be superhuman if she refuses. Don't let her, Genet. Don't let her.'

It was good to be back at Rendomierz. Life in Warsaw had been gloomy after Eylau, with society missing its young men, and hunger obvious in the streets, as Napoleon demanded more and more supplies for his troops. And Jenny had another reason to be glad when the Princess suddenly announced that they were leaving. Something had changed, disconcertingly, in her friendship with Paul Genet. Impossible to tell just what, but something was missing from their old easy exchange.