Polonaise (30 page)

‘Countess Walewska?'

Talleyrand smiled at him. ‘That's not the marriage he needs; it's the one he wants. A very different matter. But when it happens – his dynastic marriage – as I promise you it will, it would be better if it were done with England's blessing. Are you going to tell Canning you are my son?'

The sudden question took Glynde off his guard. ‘I don't know … I doubt it.'

‘A wise doubt. Let it be our secret. It is absolute, so far as I am concerned, and shall remain so. This unusual meeting happened merely because I intervened to protect two young men known to be under the Tsar's wing.'

‘Not that we are any longer,' said Glynde. ‘He don't much
like the British just now. Look at the way he's treating Granville Leveson Gower.'

Talleyrand smiled his enigmatic smile. ‘That's as much a matter of the heart as of politics. You did not know that the Tsar took one of his lightning fancies for Leveson Gower's very good friend, the Princess Galitzin? He was very far from pleased when he heard his rival was returning, my informants tell me.'

‘You seem to be better informed about Russia than I am!'

‘You should go more into society. Your young friend Warrington is a very good sort of man, I am sure, but has it not struck you that you have let him limit your activities just a little?'

‘I suppose I have.' Glynde thought about it. ‘You know too much about me! What do you want from me?'

‘I like the way you come to the point! I want to feel that when either of us knows something that will advance the cause of peace in Europe, he will share it with the other.'

‘So long as it does not prejudice his own country.'

‘That, of course. And to show that I mean it, I will give you a piece of news now, to take back with you for your next letter. The treaty of peace between France and Russia was signed yesterday and is being ratified today, at speed. It is all over, for the time being. The Tsar leaves for Petersburg tomorrow or the next day, my Emperor for the west soon after.'

‘And the terms of the treaty?'

‘Are hard on Prussia, despite Queen Louise's tears. Prussian Poland is to become a Duchy of Warsaw, with Napoleon's protégé, the newly made King of Saxony, for its Lord.'

‘Will the Poles like that?'

‘Up to a point. But when were the Poles ever satisfied with anything? More important from your British point of view is a secret article of the treaty we have made with Russia.' He stopped for a moment. ‘I would advise you to find out what it is.'

‘And how do you suggest I set about that?'

‘You could try bribing me.'

‘Bribing!'

Talleyrand laughed. ‘No need to flare up at me; it's a very respectable, old-fashioned approach as between two gatherers
of intelligence. And no need to look so shocked either. What is worth having, is worth paying for. I've taken money in my time, as I have no doubt you know, but what I want from you is information. You've been remarkably close to the Tsar now for some years. I've been studying him for two weeks, but not under ideal circumstances. He's fallen under Napoleon's spell for the time being; my master is convinced he holds him in the hollow of his hand. What I want to know is, will it last?'

Glynde thought for a moment. Then: ‘I doubt it. He's a great charmer, the Tsar; all things to all men. He bends to his company; hardly knows he's doing it. And – he's been under immense pressure here from his brother and the pro-French party. When he gets back to Petersburg, and still more to Moscow, it will be another story. The Russians don't much like you French.'

‘So. He'll change again. That is rather what I thought. That this is not a European arrangement that will last. So we have to be thinking of the next time. By then, I hope to know the Tsar better. That's where I want your help. The story of this escapade of yours, this meeting, is bound to get out. When you next meet the Tsar in one of those chance encounters on the quay, you will give him a good report of me?'

‘Without, I take it, mentioning our relationship?'

‘Quite so. Just rouse his interest in me, make him wonder a little about me, remind him that I, too, am an aristocrat, unlike those uncouth marshals of Napoleon's. But I'm insulting you with these suggestions; you will know how best to do it.'

‘Thank you!' Glynde thought for a moment. ‘I can really see no harm in doing that.'

‘There is none.'

‘And in return?'

‘If I tell you the terms of the secret article, how will you get them safely to England?'

‘I could go myself.'

‘Thus making it entirely obvious that you got them from me. Think again.'

‘I could pass them in strictest confidence to my friend Leveson Gower who, I am sure, has his own arrangements for communication with England.'

‘Which have not proved very reliable. And, besides, he's not here. But you know Mr. Mackenzie?'

‘Of course. A friend of Dr. Wylie's.'

‘Among other things. When you leave here tomorrow, you and Mr. Warrington, I shall give you a pass to see more of Tilsit before you recross the river. You will make as many visits to as many ladies as you can scrape acquaintance with. I am sure the two of you will be able to contrive that. And, having crossed the Niemen at last, you will do the same thing on the other side, with the additional pretext of being able to describe your captivity in my formidable hands. And you will make a point of separating from Mr. Warrington in all these houses. I cannot make it too clear to you that my confidence is for you alone. Mr. Warrington is a good enough sort of young man, I have no doubt, but you yourself must be aware of how unfit he is for any diplomatic business.'

‘Yes. You're right.' He remembered all the times he had had to bridle Jan's unruly tongue.

‘Good. So, by tomorrow night you will have visited as many ladies as possible, on both sides of the Niemen. Then you will seek out Mr. Mackenzie, very much the eager young innocent, and ask him how, in the absence of your friend Leveson Gower, you should set about sending an urgent message to England. Pressed, you will let him get it out of you what the message is, letting him understand that you picked it up, under dubious circumstances, in the house of a lady you refuse to name. He will think you an honest innocent and pass on your message with the scrupulous efficiency for which we professionals respect him.'

‘Thank you,' said Glynde drily. ‘I take it an honest innocent is how you rate me, too?'

‘On the contrary. I rather hope you are growing, as I watch, both in duplicity and in wisdom.'

‘And in all this time, you have still not told me the terms of this famous secret article.'

‘I have your promise? Of a word to the Tsar?'

‘As many as you like.'

‘And total silence.' Glynde nodded. ‘Yes. Well then, my master has sweet-talked the Tsar into a naval alliance against Great Britain. It is to include France and Russia, of course,
and Denmark and Portugal whether they like it or not. All their harbours to be closed to British shipping.'

‘Good God!' Glynde took it in. ‘It makes Napoleon's Berlin Decrees seem like child's play! It would be death to trade; mean unemployment; starvation; maybe even revolution. And not only in England!'

‘Just what I think. And we have had enough of revolution in Europe. I hope your new government has the good sense to take action without delay. And now, it is very late. I think you should join Mr. Warrington, who must, of course, know nothing of this talk. I have been entertaining you with improper stories about Napoleon's marshals.' He proceeded to tell him two. ‘And now, bed.' He pulled a rope behind his chair. ‘But first, I wish you to meet a young protégé of mine in whom I place absolute trust.'

‘Another son?'

‘No.' Talleyrand's smile was genial. ‘You will doubtless meet my son Flahaut one of these days, and my nephew, young Talleyrand Périgord, for whom I am doing my best to arrange a good marriage here at Tilsit, but Paul Genet is a trusted friend, whom I would like you to trust, too.' He turned as the door opened. ‘Ah, Genet, let me introduce Mr. Rendel, with whom I have come to an amicable understanding.' He smiled from one to the other. ‘Each of you knows enough to hang me; I do beg you not to compare notes. You have, by the way, friends in common, the Princess Ovinska and her friend Miss Peverel. What is it, Paul?'

‘The Prince is dead, sir. Left a letter commending the Poles to the Tsar's benevolence. And leaving all his property to his beloved son, Prince Casimir, the hope of Poland.'

‘Good God,' said Glynde. ‘I must go to her!'

‘Let an older man advise you to do no such thing,' said Talleyrand. ‘A house of mourning. And so recent. Is the news out this side of the river?' he asked Genet.

‘Not yet.'

‘Good.' He glanced at the buhl clock on the chimney-piece. ‘Too late for visiting tonight. This piece of news will be your entrée anywhere in the morning. Oh, one more thing, Mr. Rendel. If I should ever be moved to write to you, I shall sign myself merely your friend from Tilsit.'

Three rather grumpy young men set off from Talleyrand's house next morning. Jan had the predicted sore head, and was in no mood for paying calls, and Glynde longed to be across the river, condoling with the Princess on her husband's death. He had not been best pleased to learn that Genet was to accompany them, though it was true that this made their entree much easier, with Genet suavely lying for all three of them. He appeared to be on the best of terms with the French ladies who had followed their Emperor into the wilds, and Glynde was sometimes hard put to it to follow their rapid, idiomatic French. But, more and more, he was aware of something odd, something not quite right in the tone of the inevitable exclamations over Prince Ovinski's death. And why did Prince Murat's name seem to crop up so often among the breathless little sentences?

After the fifth call, Glynde could stand no more, and turned to Genet. ‘Many thanks for your company, sir, but I think it is time my friend and I crossed the river and paid our respects to the Princess Ovinska.'

‘I was going to suggest the same thing myself,' said Genet. ‘I am charged with Monsieur Talleyrand's condolences, and shall look for your good offices on the other side.'

‘In fair exchange.' But Glynde, who had counted on leaving Genet behind, was hard put to it to control his irritation. They found the river-crossing busier than ever, and had to wait some time for a boat, which did not improve anybody's temper. The reason was obvious when they reached the Russian side. Everyone was in the throes of packing up. ‘The Tsar leaves today,' explained an officer acquaintance of Glynde's. ‘The rest of us as soon as we can get horses.'

‘Does Dr. Wylie go with the Tsar?'

‘Well, of course. He has the Empress Mother's instructions never to leave him. You're not ill, I hope?'

‘Lord, no. I was just thinking about Princess Ovinska.' But his mind was quickly registering that Mackenzie would go with Wylie. He must lose no time.

Luckily for him, they found most of the ladies of the court assembled in Princess Ovinska's exiguous parlour making their official calls of condolence before they set off for Petersburg, and she, as he learned from Jenny Peverel, for Vinsk. ‘The Prince is to be buried there,' Jenny explained. ‘It was his wish. The embalmers are at work now. I shall be glad when it's over.' She was looking exhausted and plainer than ever, her hair severely braided round her head, the scar standing out in her pale face. ‘I think the Princess is ready for you now. It must be brief, I am afraid. She intends to speak to everyone.' She led him towards the big chair where the Princess sat enthroned. She was talking fast and seriously with Paul Genet, he noticed with surprise.

‘Paul,' Jenny touched his arm. ‘Here is Mr. Rendel to speak to the Princess.'

Paul? Glynde looked at the young Frenchman speculatively. Jenny had never used his first name. But now, Paul Genet was kissing the Princess's hand, promising her his master's services if she ever needed them, turning to offer his arm to Jenny, the glow in his eyes telling its own story. No time for that now: ‘Princess!' Glynde bent to her hand. ‘At last!' So much to say. How to begin? How to say it, here among this crowd of acquaintances? But it was his only chance, and the babble of the crowd gave a kind of privacy.

‘At last, Mr. Rendel? You are not, I imagine, referring to the sad death of my husband, the Prince.'

Her tone, and her deep black should have warned him, but he had played this scene so often in his imagination that it went on almost without his own volition. ‘At last you are free.' He tried to keep hold of her hand, lost it just the same. ‘I have waited all these years, Princess, with burning love, with constant devotion, for this moment when I can say: “Be mine. Be my wife.”'

‘Your father and brother are dead perhaps, Mr. Rendel?'

‘I do not understand you.' He stared at her with amazement and a kind of horror.

‘Yes you do. I am asking what you have to offer me, what
help in the hard years to come, that I should give up my freedom, my absolute authority. And with my husband scarce cold in his bed. You shock me, Mr. Rendel. But I forgive you as an old friend … I am left a great charge, you know. My son, the hope of Poland. His father called him that on his deathbed. You did not know? He has made him his absolute heir. And I am his guardian.'

‘And when he grows up –'

‘Miss Peverel.' The Princess's cool, autocratic voice drowned his. ‘Mr. Rendel is asking to see Casimir before he leaves. Perhaps Lech or Marylka could take him? But pray do not speak to the child of his father's death, Mr. Rendel. He was there, held close in his arm, when it happened. He needs to begin to forget.' She looked past him, held out her hand: ‘Mr. Warrington, how good of you to come. You find me mourning among my friends.'