Polonaise

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  ‘I’m hopelessly compromised,’ she said cheerfully.

  ‘And now you think Marylka’s leaving us. With her, we might just have managed. As it is, you’ll just have to marry me. What in the world are you laughing at?’ Angrily.

  ‘I was wondering how long it would take you to get around to it. See my desperate plight. Behave like the perfect gentleman you are. But, thank you, and no. With a little judicious lying, I shall do very well in England. Who knows? I might write my memoirs, make some money out of this adventure.’

  ‘You’re indomitable.’ He should have been relieved to have his offer refused. ‘I’ll tell whatever lie you think best.’

  ‘As easily as you believe them?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean the Princess’s lies about Paul Genet and me.’

  ‘Lies?’

  ‘Yes. Think for a minute: about her, about me. Decide which to believe.’

  He thought. It did not take long. ‘Forgive me. But I still don’t understand …’

  ‘Anything!’

  ‘You don’t love him?’

  ‘Paul Genet? No, it’s a pity. He’ll make a good husband, but not for me. I finally convinced him of that, dear Paul.’

  He was looking back, now, all the way along the years. ‘Have I been the world’s most absolute idiot?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It depends, rather.’

  ‘I love you!’ He reached out a hand in the thick dark, feeling for her. ‘How long have I loved you? Where are you?’

  ‘Here.’ The firm little hand found his.

  ‘Jenny!’ It was an earthquake, a heartquake, an explosion. ‘Jenny!’ he said again. He burned to pull her close, but must not yet. ‘How long? You’re not laughing again?’

  ‘Well, a little. Happiness, maybe? As to how long. For ever, in my case. Love at first sight like Marylka just now. No wonder you didn’t notice, beglamoured by the Princess as you were. No, not yet –’ He was trying to pull her to him.

  ‘No.’ He slipped off the stool, down on one knee on the ice-hard ground. ‘Jenny, I love you dearly. Marry me?’

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Now that is something like a proposal. Yes, my darling, I’ll marry you. Today, if you like; tomorrow if you’d rather; any time you care to choose.’

  ‘Jenny!’

  ‘Glynde!’

  It could have been hours or minutes later that they heard the cask rolled away from above the trapdoor. ‘Pani!’ Marylka’s voice.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s bad. The Russians managed to burn the bridge. The French are casting about for other ways to cross. It may take days, Pan Genet says. You must stay there. Don’t fear; we are here; we’ve dealt with the landlord; it’s just to stay, to endure and you’ll be safe.’

  ‘Don’t fret for us, Marylka,’ said Glynde. ‘We’re very happy where we are.’

  ‘Happy?’ He had amazed her.

  ‘Rejoice with us,’ he said. ‘Congratulate me! We’re on our honeymoon, Marylka.’

  ‘Honey?’ There was a quick giggle as she took in the Polish phrase. ‘I’m so happy, pan and pani.’ Then, soberly, ‘You’re better off down there. Things are terrible up here.’ She closed the trapdoor.

  They heard just how terrible when they emerged three days later, dirty, dishevelled and immensely happy. The French were gone, except for the thousands who lay dead and dying in the snow. Baulked of the crossing at Borisov, Napoleon had fooled the Russians by a feint to the north, and managed to throw two jury-built bridges across the Beresina to the south. The bridge builders had died as they worked in the ice-cold water, but they had done the job and the bulk of the tattered Grand Army had struggled across. Only the rearguard and the stragglers, who had sat, exhausted, by their campfires when they could have got across on the last night, were horribly cut down by Wittgenstein’s guns. Now Kutusov was pausing, like the tired old man he was, to regroup his forces and let his Cossacks go ahead to harry the French as they struggled through blinding cold towards Vilno.

  Napoleon’s headquarters had been briefly in Borisov. Now Kutusov’s were. Glynde and Jenny found Sir Robert Wilson there, so gobbling with rage and frustration that he hardly listened to their story. ‘Kutusov won’t act!’ he repeated. ‘He could have had them all, just for a little hurrying! And all he does is smile, and talk about “General Winter”.’ And then, focusing on them for a moment, ‘You’re from Poland, you say? Amazing! You have to give it them, the Poles fought well. If all Napoleon’s allies had served him as they did, he’d not be in this case now. Poor things.’ He thought about it. ‘It won’t help them when the Russians invade. Damned unlucky, those Poles. Yes, I’m sure I can arrange for you to take despatches for me to Petersburg. Anything to oblige an old friend. Lord Ringmer and –’ He looked a question at Jenny, now a very shabby Polish boy indeed.

  ‘Lady Ringmer,’ said Glynde.

  Chapter 36

  The scavengers had finished their work on the bloodsoaked field of Waterloo. The Allied armies were far away now, encamped in Paris, which had welcomed its exiled King back to the Tuiieries with relief, if without enthusiasm. And in Talleyrand’s house in the Rue St. Florentin two unexpected guests were awaiting his coming.

  Paul Genet arrived first, dusty from the road. ‘Lord and Lady Ringmer by all that’s wonderful!’ He shook Glynde’s hand warmly. ‘You permit?’ He kissed Jenny on both cheeks. ‘It’s good to see you in such looks.’

  ‘Happiness.’ She smiled at him. ‘And you, dear Paul?’

  ‘I’ve survived. And mean to. I’ll find myself a second best one day, never fret for me. And in the meantime my amazing master keeps me busy. He’s Louis XVIII’s right-hand man again, you know. And what he did for France at Vienna!’

  ‘Astonishing,’ agreed Glynde. ‘I longed to be there, to see the Congress dance and scheme, but could not leave Jenny.’

  ‘You have a son, I hear.’ Formally. ‘My congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you. But Paul, the Congress. I’ve come to hear everything. How your master contrived to turn enemies into friends, to put France back at the diplomatic table.’

  ‘He’ll tell you,’ said Paul. ‘He’ll enjoy that. You’ve brought the boy, I hope. He’ll want to see him.’

  ‘We have indeed.’ So Genet knew of the relationship, though Jenny still did not. ‘Jenny won’t part with him. But you, Paul –’ Smiling. ‘We cannot be formal after that hell-hole in Borisov. We were so happy to hear that you survived that desperate retreat.’

  ‘Thanks to you and Jenny! We’re lucky, we three survivors. Have you heard about the Princess?’

  ‘Isobel?’ Jenny asked. ‘Nothing for so long … Tell us, Paul?’

  ‘A sad story. She seems to have lost everything with her son. Prince Ovinski’s heir claimed the ruins of Vinsk and the Warsaw house. Rendomierz was destroyed by the Russians … She came to Vienna, hoping, I think, that the Tsar would do something for her, but he had just forsworn the fair sex, plunged into this religious mania of his. He’s hand in glove with that charlatan Madame Kriidener now. No time for old friends. And another old friend, Murat, has troubles of his own …’

  ‘And a passion for our deplorable Princess of Wales, I believe,’ said Glynde drily.

  ‘Oh, poor Isobel.’ Jenny changed the subject. ‘Tell me, Paul, what of Marie Walewska?’

  ‘There’s a great lady! You didn’t know? She went to join Napoleon in his exile on Elba. Took their little Alexander. Napoleon huddled her off into the mountains somewhere; kept her visit secret even from his mother. Worse still, when he heard that the islanders thought it was Marie Louise and the little Prince of Rome who had come to him, he sent Madame Walewska packing. In the teeth of a storm. And Marie Louise snug in the arms of her lover, Neipperg, all the time. Marie Walewska must have known about that. All Europe does. And never said a word to Napoleon. I said: a great lady.’ He smiled. ‘And I believe with a happy future after all. There’s a Count Ornano lovingly wai
ting. She cried when she said goodbye to Napoleon at Malmaison the other day, but it was goodbye. He wouldn’t take her with him, you know. Ah, here’s my master.’

  Talleyrand had aged, but his manners as he greeted his unexpected guests were elegant as ever. ‘Lord and Lady Ringmer, what a delightful surprise.’ He held both their hands, looking from one to the other. ‘You are happy.’ It was not in the least a question. ‘And you have a son?’

  ‘He’s at our lodgings.’ Jenny was looking from Talleyrand to Glynde, recognising at last the likeness that had always eluded her. ‘You’re very discreet.’ She turned to her husband.

  ‘You’re very acute, madame.’ Talleyrand’s charming smile was so like Glynde’s that she could not imagine how she had missed it. ‘So now you will understand why you must stay with me. Paul, give the orders? I long to see my grandson.’

  ‘Your British grandson,’ said Glynde.

  ‘A citizen of the world, if you please. Or of Europe, if maybe we find our American friends too difficult to understand. And they us! Tell me, what do you hear of that engaging young Mr. Warrington?’

  ‘With whom you conspired against me?’ But Glynde’s tone to his father was entirely friendly.

  ‘On the contrary. For you!’ With a smile for Jenny. ‘If it had only worked! My grandson. King of Poland. And my son the power behind the throne.’

  ‘Could you have done it?’ Glynde decided to leave aside the question of Casimir’s parentage.

  ‘With that delightful child as symbol? I really think so. Spilt milk, alas. What a tragedy that was! Even so, I still thought I was on my way to achieving an independent Kingdom of Poland when that disastrous Napoleon escaped from Elba. After that it was all haste, confusion, desperation at Vienna. No hope for Poland. The Tsar got his kingdom there. All very fine for the time being; he’s given it a constitution, but what next?’

  ‘He’ll swallow it?’ asked Glynde.

  ‘I’m afraid so. It will all be to do again. For, believe me, son and daughter, Europe needs Poland. Our young eagle may be dead, but the white eagle will fly again some day.’ He smiled his enigmatic smile. ‘Forgive me! I sound for all the world like that visionary Baroness Krüdener who has the Tsar in her thrall. And you never did tell me the news of Jan Warrington.’

  ‘Happy,’ said Glynde. ‘He and Miriam have settled in Savannah; he’s a member of their Congress now.’

  ‘And a useful one, I am sure.’ He turned to Jenny with that smile again. ‘Do you think his wife is homesick for Poland, Lady Ringmer?’

  ‘I am sure she is,’ said Jenny. ‘I lived there long enough, Prince, to know that Poland lives for ever in the hearts of her children.’

  ‘And grandchildren,’ said Talleyrand. ‘I drink to them.’

  A Note on the Author

  Jane Aiken Hodge was born in Massachusetts to Pulitzer prize-winning poet, Conrad Aiken, and his first wife, writer Jessie McDonald. Hodge was 3 years old when her family moved to Great Britain, settling in Rye, East Sussex, where her younger sister, Joan, who would become a novelist and a children’s writer, was born.

  From 1935, Jane Hodge read English at Somerville College, Oxford University, and in 1938 she took a second degree in English at Radcliffe College. She was a civil servant, and also worked for Time magazine, before returning to the UK in 1947. Her works of fiction include historical novels and contemporary detective novels. In 1972 she renounced her United States citizenship and became a British subject.

  Discover books by Jane Aiken Hodge published by Bloomsbury Reader at

  www.bloomsbury.com/JaneAikenHodge

  A Death in Two Parts

  Leading Lady

  Polonaise

  Rebel Heiress

  Strangers in Company

  Wide Is the Water

  For copyright reasons, any images not belonging to the original author have been removed from this book. The text has not been changed, and may still contain references to missing images.

  This electronic edition published in 2013 by Bloomsbury Reader

  Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP

  First published in 1987 by Hodder and Stoughton

  Copyright © 1987 by Jane Aiken Hodge

  All rights reserved You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise

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  may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  The moral right of the author is asserted.

  eISBN: 9781448210985

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