By seven o’clock she could wait no longer. Maybe he would be up now. She dialed the number.
“Hallo?”
He sounded half asleep. She had woken him up. “Edward?”
“Who’s this?”
“It’s Rebecca. Dr. Temple. I’m sorry to call so early, but I have to ask you something.” She heard him breathing into the phone. “Do you use goggles when you swim?”
“Goggles? What time is it?”
“It’s seven. Look, about the goggles. Does it matter if they’re upside down?”
“I don’t understand. What’re you asking me?”
“Would you ever put your goggles on upside down?”
He waited a moment. “Oh,” he said. “No.”
“Why?”
“Why? Well, they won’t work upside down. Water will get inside.”
“How?”
“There’s a tiny space along the bottom edge. The water’ll get through if they’re not worn right.” He breathed loudly. “Is this something to do with my father?”
“No. Look, I’m sorry I got you up. It was just something I was wondering about.”
She hung up, embarrassed. It had been short-sighted of her to raise the issue with him. Not unless she had something real to go on. Tiziano would probably say that Michael had been too drunk to put the goggles on right side up. But the Michael she had met was impeccable. His clothes, his manners, his language. Michael would never have put his goggles on upside down. Everything about that day was wrong.
chapter nineteen
The Go-Between
April 16, 1755
Mon cher Castelanino, (now that your father has been promoted to Castellan of Kraków)
When we were last in Warsaw I made a promise that if I ever went to Russia you would accompany me there. Your mother will be delighted to be rid of you, then, for it is my cheerful duty to tell you I have been named ambassador to St. Petersburg and I am in need of a secretary. Here is our opportunity to live in the same city for longer than a week. And imagine when that city is Petersburg! I don’t have to tell you (your cher Maman, the Countess, will cheerfully perform that office) the opportunities for education and otherwise to be found in the Russian court.
My health has unfortunately been troublesome and I have had an attack of fever, which leaves me weak and delays my departure for Russia. I hope to arrive there by June. I have written one of the British residents there asking him to look out for a house where we may be lodged.
Your humble servant,
Sir Charles H.-W.
London, May 12
Dear Sir Charles,
I hope it is understood that your first and most important duty in the Russian court is the business of the subsidy treaty. His Majesty is most anxious to finish the business once and for all, especially since storm clouds from the direction of Prussia loom on the horizon. In the event of an attack on Hanover, the King’s cherished Electorate, the Empress Elizabeth is willing to furnish 50,000 troops to invade Prussia in exchange for a subsidy of £400,000. Your advice has been incorporated into the treaty, that is, that by a secret article, four annual payments of £100,000 above the subsidy would be given on the understanding that troops would be available in position, ready and waiting to strike at a moment’s notice if England, its dominions, or allies were attacked. As you say, this would prove a valuable deterrent to the designs of Prussia and her French allies. As you know, your predecessor was unable to bring the treaty to a conclusion. It is my fervent hope that you will be more successful.
Your servant
Lord Holdernesse, Secretary of State
St. Petersburg, June 20
Dear Lord Holdernesse,
I am mindful of the pitfalls of doing business in Russia but have great hopes for the treaty because of my familiar footing with the Great Chancellor Bestuzhev. As you know, nothing can be achieved here without bribery. Thus after throwing out early hints of English gratitude for his assistance, I have offered Bestuzhev himself £10,000 if the convention with England can be brought to a successful termination. After inviting myself to his house for dinner, I am joyful to report that he has agreed to the sums in your instructions. Now the papers must be delivered to the Empress, who is, unfortunately, in the country, where she is disinclined to do any business. I fear this spells certain delay.
Your humble servant,
Sir Charles H.-W.
St. Petersburg, June 25
My dear Fox,
I am lodged in a very fine house on the river Neva, as fine a river as the Thames. It is a pity that it does not run above six months of the year. But then in winter I hear it makes the finest street in Europe. Though the situation of the mansion is delightful, facing the river opposite the Winter Palace, it is unfortunately bare from wall to wall without a chair or stool in it. Furniture and chimney-pieces are being sent from England, and Lord Chesterfield has seen fit to provide me with goldfish, though I am told they will not survive here. I am endeavouring to make it very comfortable, for there is not much society here and one is obliged to live very much at home.
I have had my first audience with the Tsarina and she is very gracious to me. She is still handsome and thinks so. However, her health is failing and she is said to suffer from dropsy and asthma and to tire easily. When I saw her, she was afflicted with a cough that would not abate. Her favourite, Ivan Shuvalov, is partial to France, as is his brother, Alexander, the head of the Secret Chancery.
I have also been presented to the Young Court, as the Grand Duke and Duchess, Peter and Catherine, are called. Never was a match more ill-suited. Peter is the Empress’s nephew, son of her sister Anne. Both his parents are dead, and she has adopted him as her heir. Yet he is sickly, as well as sullen, morose, and illiterate. He is also vicious beyond his years and shows no signs of growing up. He plays with tin soldiers half a day and the other half with dolls. Beside him, Catherine sparkles with health and the joy of living. Her parents are Prince Christian, now deceased, and Princess Johanna of Anhalt-Zerbst.
Catherine is twenty-six years old and reads widely; she shows ambition and does not fear giving strong opinions. Since her coming into the country she has by every method in her power endeavoured to gain the affection of the nation. She has learned the Russian language and has a great knowledge of this empire. The Grand Duke’s one saving grace is that he has confidence in his wife. He tells people that tho’ he does not understand things himself, yet his wife understands everything.
The pair has been married for ten years and do not live together, but have their own followers. I am told Peter has affairs with the maids-of-honour and Catherine has her admirers. One of these was a handsome young gentleman in waiting with whom she fell in love. Last year she bore a son, Paul, reputed to be his. Indeed Peter is said to be unable to beget children. The little boy is looked after by the Empress and her servants, Catherine seeing him but rarely. The young couple lives chiefly at Oranienbaum, a Royal Palace overlooking the Gulf of Finland at little distance from the capital.
I must say that I am astounded at the prodigality of the Russian court, which is even more extravagant than Versailles. The Tsarina’s palaces are filled with a multitude of sweeping salons lit by the costliest crystal chandeliers. The rooms, the nobles, the Tsarina all sparkle with gold and gems the like of which I have never seen.
In the course of several long discussions I have had with the Grand Duchess Catherine (in my position I find myself seated beside her at banquets) she has remarked with some bitterness upon the debt into which she has fallen because of her high expenses at court. Would I, as the English Ambassador, she asked in all confidence, be willing to lend her money — a substantial amount — to help her alleviate that debt in exchange for information that would prove useful to our government. I have already agreed upon the loan, confident that through her agency I may learn about the goings-on in the Russian court. I am looking forward to playing a strong part in the present reign, and in the event of the Empress Eliz
abeth’s death and the accession of her niece, I feel I am assured of cementing an alliance between England and Russia.
So that I do not embarrass myself in the opulence of the court, I have had to order new clothes to be made at my own expense. Even so, my new brocades and velvets will be shabby in comparison.
My young friend, Count Poniatowski, arrives next week. I am greatly looking forward to merry conversation with him at the expense of the court.
Your humble servant,
H.-W.
St. Petersburg, August 7
My dear Fox,
The other day, young Count Poniatowski and I rode in our carriage from Petersburg to the Palace in Oranienbaum, the summer residence of the Young Court. The occasion was the fête in honour of the Grand Duke’s name day. The fresh scent of the grass, the wondrous blue sky, put me in a fine mood. The early evening sun turned the air golden. Some poetic turns of phrase sought birth in my head but were stillborn in the throes of the exhilaration that anticipated the festivities.
During the evening my young friend, the Count, distinguished himself on the dance floor. I am too old for such violent exercise but was content to exchange exaggerated pleasantries with Chancellor Bestuzhev and the various ambassadors in the court. During my diplomatic forays, from time to time I watched the young Count cut a dashing figure as he danced a minuet. I was not the only one who watched him. The Grand Duchess seemed to have him in her sights as he stepped this way and that around his partner with catlike grace. Without meaning to, I caught her eye, and she bowed her head with a look of mischief.
Later I was delighted to find myself once again seated beside her at the banquet. She is surpassingly cultivated with an enchanting manner. Between the soup and the meat we established that we had in common a predilection for the works of Montesquieu, Diderot, Racine, and above all, Voltaire.
“I saw Voltaire on stage in one of his own plays and I can report to Your Highness that he acted with great spirit. Though I must also report that in person he is a small man with uncombed hair.” I looked over the assembled courtiers. “And more poorly dressed than your lowliest servant.”
She chuckled with delight then threw a glance over the many tables around us. “You arrived with a young man,” she said. “I was quite diverted watching him dance. A very pleasant-looking young man. I believe he is seated over there.”
I saw my young friend in animated conversation with Count Naryshkin sitting next to him.
“That is young Count Poniatowski, Your Highness,” I said, happily surprised at her interest in my protégé. “His family is prominent in Polish society. His mother was Countess Czartoryska before her marriage.”
“I have heard of the family. They are reputed to be the most cultivated people in Poland.”
“The young Count has had an impressive education. I believe one day he will be an important man in his country.”
I sipped wine from my glass as Chancellor Bestuzhev approached the Grand Duchess. Tho’ I was grateful for his sympathies to the English interest (and thus to me) I saw he was an odd apparition among the perfectly groomed courtiers, with too much black curly hair, his teeth but a few brownish stumps in his mouth.
He bent to Her Highness’s other ear and whispered hoarsely, something about a Count Lehndrov who sat just beyond. A tall, dark-haired man stood and bowed in our direction. Handsome enough, but there was a shrewdness in his face. Not to compare with the blond sweetness of my young friend who looked like a lord.
She bowed her head slightly and whispered back to Bestuzhev something that included the words “too tired.” I assumed the Chancellor was doing his part to entertain the Grand Duchess. Though she didn’t mention my young friend again, her eyes repeatedly wandered in his direction right up until the serving of dessert.
Your humble servant,
H.-W.
St. Petersburg, September 30
My dear Fox,
You will be proud of me when I tell you I have become matchmaker between Russia and Poland. If I can only be of service to my country (and my friends) I am happy. Unfortunately for me, Poland is overwhelming shy and will not believe in Russian interest. I make it my job to whisper each day in Poland’s ear in the hope that he will finally see the light. Would that it were my only job in this cauldron of intrigue and perchance these many months would not have passed by with so little development.
Perhaps nothing will come of it after all, but the personalities in question have everything in common, including intellect and taste, but they also complement each other, one being vivacious and daring, the other labouring under a tendency toward moroseness. I fear I too have become prey to this tendency and sometimes am overwhelmed by a great dullness that overtakes me. At such times every reasonable thought is pushed from my head and a weight descends upon my chest.
For example in the matter of the subsidy treaty, where nothing has proceeded apace. The Tsarina, induced by the faction favourable to France, asked for more money from our King’s treasury for her troops’ assistance against Prussia and France. I held out no hope for any increase but suggested certain rearrangements of the dates of payment and a few other minor points of difference and lo and behold, it was settled! I must tell you I feared lest it should be buried in oblivion and entirely forgot in a corner of the Empress’s closet. But at long last she signed and the papers have been sent off to the King. There have been so many delays in this matter that the vast distance the messenger must ride between Russia and England is but a minor obstacle.
A new danger has appeared in the person of a Scottish gentleman, Mackenzie Douglas, who has come to Russia claiming to study the working of mines. As an English subject arriving in St. Petersburg, he has come to me in order to pay his respects to the British Ambassador. But I have not forgotten making the acquaintance in Dresden of his cousin, a rank Jacobite who had not the sense to conceal it. Therefore I am ready for this Mr. Douglas, a Jacobite spy whom I have been warned is in the secret service of the French, dispatched here to win over concessions from the Tsarina, thereby pushing out the English influence at court. I have no doubt he was sent by the Bonnie Prince himself, who is still enjoying the hospitality of King Louis at Versailles, both of them dreaming of the day when they might overthrow King George.
But I am too old for this business. My stomach troubles continue, I have a weakness on my left side and a giddiness in my head. No Alderman of London has less of wit, humour, invention, or verses than I.
Your humble servant,
H.-W.
December 2
My dear Fox,
I have had a letter from Holdernesse that sets off alarm bells in my head. Is there any truth to the intimation that there is a treaty in the works between England and Prussia? Such a thing would be impossible to explain to the Empress after my strenuous efforts to persuade her to sign the treaty with us against Prussia. Is that why it has taken nearly a month for the messenger to arrive back from England with the subsidy treaty papers signed by King George? I fear I will be caught in the middle of such an arrangement, with the Empress loath to trust me with much of anything again.
My rising anxiety in this direction may explain the unsettling incident of the other day. One afternoon last week the young Count and I became lost while exploring an unfamiliar part of the city. The confusion brought on a sudden attack of giddiness and no one was more surprised than I when I fell down in the street. My young friend implored the crowd that had gathered around us for a physician. Dear Fox, I was carried by five men like a side of pork down some distant and narrow alley and into a small house. I lay there unable to move, thinking perhaps I was already dead, it was so dark and the air filled with smoke. I have finally gone to the devil, I thought, and to prove it, there he was — an old man with a long, grey beard dressed entirely in black, both robe and peculiar hat. Not the picture of Satan I expected. No horns, no tail.
He turned out to be not the devil but a magician of sorts (I do believe he may have been a Jew) for
after inquiring about my afflictions and examining my body, he brewed over a fire a potion of some exotic concoction that he placed in front of my nose for me to imbibe. I thought to refuse, but then concluded I could feel no worse and it could but kill me, so I sipped the brew down.
As you can tell, my dear Fox, I still live and breathe. And I can truly say that I have never had such a deep sleep. When I awoke, the young Count peered at me with much anxiety and became calm only when I sat up and remarked that I felt like a new man. I was willing to give the old healer anything he wanted in payment. But all he asked for was this: to remember him when the time came.
What time was that, I inquired. I would know, he said, and would say no more. I left him some pounds and marked well in my mind the alley where stood the little house so that if the need arose I might return.
Dear friend, England seems very far away indeed. My duties have become onerous to me and I long for the peaceful happy hours I spent with you and Lady Caroline at Holland House.
Your humble servant,
H.-W.
It is long after dinner. The servants have retired. The December winds howl outside and my bones ache from the cold as I search the house for the young Count. I find him in the study, reading by the fire.
“You’re still here!” I say, approaching with purpose. I will not let him stay snugly in the warmth of the house tonight. I have been thinking how to broach the subject and have decided on attack.
He looks up from his book. “I beg your pardon.”
“You haven’t left for Naryshkin’s house yet.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I heard him invite you to one of his soirées. ’Tis an honour you ought not refuse.”
My young friend waves the suggestion away and pretends to continue reading. I have gone too easy on him. This time I will press him without mercy.
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