“Tadeusz is the son of dear friends, so I am most concerned, Grand Master.”
“And I can assure you that the school has the boy under good security.”
“Good. That’s important.—Grand Master, only you know every Brother’s identity. Can you tell me the identity of Brother Fabian?”
“I wish I could. But he wouldn’t have been much of a spy then, would he? He came to us as a young count, one of the newly landless szlachta from Opole. When he disappeared after the saddlebag discovery, we sent someone to Opole, hoping to locate him. But it seems that particular young count whose identity he provided me with wasn’t so young. In fact, he had died two years ago at eighty-three.”
“You saw his face when he applied, did you not?”
“Of course, I did, Brother Piotr, but I’m not good at remembering faces of people I’ve seen only once.”
Paweł sighed. “Ah, all we have to identify him is a voice.”
“A voice?”
Paweł nodded. “Yes, that irritatingly raspy voice of his.”
“You’re right there, my friend. Brother Fabian sounded as if he spoke with a mouthful of stones.”
While riding back to Warsaw, Paweł debated whether to tell Anna of this occurrence. Was there any real need? Why raise fears in her if there was not? The Grand Master was probably correct: any danger to Tadeusz was unlikely. Napoléon had negated the Prussian interest in Poland. And the spy may have followed in the wake of Kalkreuth and the Prussians as they abandoned Warsaw to the French.
And yet, Paweł thought, with his true identity still unknown, the spy could have remained behind and still be of service to the Prussian crown. Brother Fabian could be anywhere. Suddenly, he recalled an incident at the lodge years before. When the Grand Master was questioning Paweł about the Stelnickis, Brother Fabian had interrupted the conversation, seeming unduly interested. What had he asked? Paweł could no longer remember, but he did recall being taken aback by the man’s interest. It had seemed so odd. Best to err on the safe side, Paweł thought. He would warn Anna.
22
January 1807
January became a crush of receptions, parties, and concerts. The first significant ball for the French emperor was held at Monsieur de Talleyrand’s. Napoléon’s orchestra was already assembled and playing Italian songs when Anna arrived. Anusia waved her over. “I want you to meet a friend of mine, Anna. This is Lady Maria Walewska.”
“I am pleased to meet you.” Anna thought the young girl a vision, so very pretty in her white muslin gown and demure in manner.
“Anusia has said so many good things about you, Lady Stelnicka.”
“I’m glad to have arrived before she came around to the bad,” Anna joked.
Lady Walewska’s laugh, like her voice, was musical. The woman’s blonde hair, falling in a mass of curls, and her alabaster complexion provided perfect foils for her sparkling eyes, blue like cornflowers. “You are not from Warsaw, are you?” Anna asked.
“No, my husband and I live at Walewice in Bronie, a rural province not far. But we do have a home on Bednarska Street here in the city.”
“I see,” Anna said. “Tell me, have I missed much?”
“You missed Talleyrand’s delivering Napoléon a lemonade upon a gilt tray,” Anusia said. “He’s playing quite the servant when everyone knows he thinks the Corsican an upstart. My father-in-law says in his youth Talleyrand was quite successful among the ladies and that he’s become embittered and jealous.”
“Oh? Where is your father-in-law?”
“Both Lord Potocki and my husband are at a meeting.” A knowing nod to Anna confirmed that it was a meeting of the Masonic Brotherhood. Anusia had only the week before confided in Anna that the two were members of the secret group.
In a little while their conversation stopped when Napoléon approached Anna. “Ah, one of my favorite whist partners! Would you honor me with a dance, Lady Stelnicka? I’ve ordered up a quadrille. It’s what I do best.”
Anna curtsied and accepted. As he led her out onto the floor, the fact that she was a bit taller than he seemed to her all the more conspicuous. Knowing many eyes were upon her, Anna smiled, while at the same time trying to keep up the small talk he insisted upon as they danced. Napoléon danced with a mechanical precision but a minimum of grace. It was as if he thought the music should, like his soldiers, follow him.
After the dance, they returned to where Anusia and Maria stood. “Were you watching?” he asked Anusia. “How do you think I dance?”
“In truth, for a great man, your dancing is divine.”
“Is this a compliment, I ask?” the emperor said in a nasal tone, one eyebrow arching. “Or is it a clever Polish insult?”
Anusia’s face colored immediately. “It is a compliment, Sire.”
“Good!” Now he turned to Lady Walewska. “And who is this quiet creature?”
Anusia introduced them. Napoléon bowed toward Lady Walewska. “Perhaps the silent observer would suffer me one dance?” It was Lady Walewska’s turn to blush, and she accepted silently, giving her hand over to the emperor. Napoléon led her away.
“I watched you out there, Anna—you poor thing,” Anusia said, putting her fan to her face. “Ma chère, the man is as clumsy as a corpse.”
Anna laughed. “When a woman is clumsy, she can blame the skirt. Not so with a man.” They watched the emperor and Maria dance now, as did nearly everyone.
“Anusia, I didn’t realize he had not met your friend Maria, or I would have introduced them.”
Anusia put her fan to her face again and lowered her voice. “All is not as it appears, Ania. He was making a show of the introduction. He knew who she is—and that she would be here tonight.”
“But—”
“Shush now.” Anusia hissed, closing her fan with a tap. “We’ll talk later. Ah, look! Zofia and Charlotte are arriving.” Anusia waved the two over.
Charlotte steered through the crowd—her large bosom leading—as if she were a figurehead mounted on the prow of a Spanish galleon. Zofia, dressed in a low-cut, amethyst-colored gown, followed in her wake, garnering lingering looks of the men and coldly polite glares of the women.
After the exchange of greetings, much talk was made of the ballroom, orchestra, guests, and apparel. Through it all, Anna noticed that Zofia’s dark eyes kept going back to the emperor and Maria Walewska. When their dance had ended, the two did not return, but instead repaired to the refreshment table and then to two chairs across the room.
At last, in the middle of one of Charlotte’s sentences, Zofia’s patience expired. “Who is that woman?”
“What woman?” Anusia asked.
“That woman with Napoléon—the one in Vestal Virgin white! Who is she?”
“Maria Walewska, a countess from Bronie,” Anusia offered. “My father-in-law arranged for me to bring her.” At that moment Talleyrand himself asked Anusia to dance, leading her away before she could further explain. Anna and Charlotte were left to attempt conversation, both knowing that Zofia was seething over the emperor’s attention to the girl. And she was just that, Anna thought, a girl.
In a while Anusia returned, having endured two dances with Talleyrand. “His bad dancing is exceeded only by his breath, I can tell you.”
Only Zofia did not laugh, her attention still diverted by the seated couple across the length of the room. Anna caught Charlotte’s eye. Like her, Charlotte had been watching Zofia. In a wordless exchange, Anna and Charlotte—who had so seldom experienced a like thought—shared now an unspoken foreboding. Neither could imagine the evening’s outcome, but each saw Zofia as moving toward some unseen precipice.
Zofia’s heart beat with a fury. She had come with such high expectations. Lady Fortuna had smiled when Paweł had told her of his meeting, and that he would be unable to attend the ball. And so she had prepared for the ball the whole day, rehearsing how she would continue—and solidify—her affair with Napoléon. But she had taken too long with her preparations,
it seemed. She had wanted to make a late entrance—perhaps make Napoléon wonder doubt she was coming at all. She stared at the French emperor now as he went through his endless litany of questions for this woman she had never seen before. Emperor or not, he was so damn predictable.
Anna, Charlotte, and Anusia continued chatting, but their words had no meaning for Zofia. She could concentrate on nothing else but the little vignette across the way.
At last, Napoléon stood, bowed before Lady Walewska, and excused himself. He moved off to the left and became lost in the crowd. Zofia felt some of her anger and frustration go out of her. Her pulse beat more slowly. It had been a mere flirtation, that was all. Lady Walewska continued to sit, alone and unattended.
A servant came by with glasses of champagne. Zofia turned back to her group and joined in a toast followed by comments about those now dancing a mazurka.
A little while later, Zofia caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and swivelled slightly so as to look back to where Lady Walewska sat. The crowd was thicker now, and she could only catch brief glimpses of the woman. Suddenly, she saw Napoléon again at her side. He seemed to be placing a wrap around her shoulders.
By the time the crowd cleared a bit as people made their way to the dance floor for a quadrille, the emperor had disappeared again.
Zofia stared for the longest time at Lady Walewska, her pulse once again ratcheting upward. And then she began to make her way across the room, ignoring Charlotte, who was calling out some question. She came to stand directly in front of Lady Walewska. “Pardon me, but allow me to introduce myself. I am Zofia Grońska.”
The young woman rose to her feet, smiling. “I am Maria Walewska.”
“I am Anna Stelnicka’s cousin.”
“Oh, Anusia’s friend, Anna! I am pleased to meet you.”
Zofia had an express purpose in approaching Lady Walewska, but she put that off for the moment while she asked her about her hometown and lineage.
In time, though, her questions and patience ran out. She dropped the mask of camaraderie for one of sterner stuff. “I must tell you, my dear Lady Walewska—”
“Oh, do call me Maria.”
“I must tell you, Lady Walewska, that the shawl you are wearing is mine.”
“What?” The woman was at first taken aback and confused.
When Zofia repeated herself, Lady Walewska’s face went white as porcelain. “There must be some mistake,” she said, her voice tremulous.
“I’m certain that there is, Lady Walewska, and that the mistake is not mine.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.” The woman looked faint. “It was just given to me by—”
“So—you have met Anusia’s friend, Zofia!” Charlotte chimed, inserting herself and surprising them both. “Will you introduce me?”
“I will not—but you have come in good time. Will you please vouch for me that this shawl is indeed mine?”
Charlotte looked at the woman, at the shawl, then back at Zofia, who could almost see wheels turning behind her friend’s furrowed brow. “It is indeed like yours.”
“Like mine! It is mine!”
“Will you excuse us, Lady Walewska?” Charlotte said, taking Zofia by the arm and leading her away.
“What are you doing?” Zofia said through clenched teeth.
Charlotte maintained her grip and moved them toward an unoccupied corner of the room. There she released Zofia’s arm. “I am trying to keep you from creating a scene.”
“Scene or not, it is my shawl, Charlotte!”
“Come, Zofia. You’ve worked hard these last years to overcome the reputation you had in the old says. Don’t undo it over a shawl. And Maria is a mere girl.”
“Girl!” Zofia cut short her response because the emperor and Talleyrand were moving in their direction. Both seemed in good humor. Zofia pivoted to face them and affected a curtsey and a smile as they neared. Monsieur de Talleyrand gave a slow, long-practiced nod of the head. Napoléon’s gray eyes met Zofia’s, but he did not so much as nod as the two proceeded out of the Great Assembly Hall through a nearby door.
Zofia stared in disbelief. “He cut me,” she murmured. She turned to Charlotte now. “He cut me!”
“He did at that. Our emperor is known to be rude and crude and insensitive. Not to mention fickle. I could tell you a hundred stories.”
Zofia remained silent. How could this man whose bed she shared only days before walk by as if she were a nobody? A cholera on him! No man dropped her like that. She dropped them when she was ready. But she suddenly remembered there had been one who had dropped her . . . so many years ago . . . a lifetime, it seemed. Jan Stelnicki. He had thrown her over. And then, before she could remedy the situation, Anna had happened upon the scene. So much had happened since then.
Forcing her thoughts back into focus, Zofia realized Charlotte had launched into one of the stories about the emperor. “Madame Regnault was a lovely woman,” Charlotte was saying. “Beautiful and charming. It was at a ball not unlike this one, I imagine. Hundreds of people. As the emperor came upon Madame Regnault, he paused to look her over. Her dress and hair arrangement were flawless, but he was in a foul mood and as the music came to an end he said to her: “Do you know, Madame Regnault, that you are aging terribly?”
“And was she?” Zofia asked, ready to make light of the anecdote.
“She was twenty-eight,” Charlotte said.
Zofia fixed her eyes on her friend. “And what is your message in this?”
“It is only that the emperor’s temperament is more volatile than any woman’s I know—and that he has no social skills.”
“How did I then perceive a different message?”
“What do you mean, Zofia?”
“What I mean, Charlotte, is that you tell me this aging Madame Regnault was twenty-eight. And you know that I am all of thirty-three and that Lady Walewska is, as you said, a girl. You are alerting me to the contrast.”
“That was not my intent. You are still so very beautiful, Zofia.”
“Am I? It’s time for me to go home, I think. Will you be so good as to make my excuses to Anna and Anusia?” Zofia turned and made an exit before Charlotte could reply.
At home, Zofia went immediately to the wardrobe in her room. She was hanging up her cape when something caught her attention—the dowry chest she had not thought about in some time. It had sat unopened in recent years, her carving for the most part put aside when she realized she was not suited to a domestic life. She opened the chest. Inside it were the several carved figures Jerzy had gifted her with—including the one of her—as well as a few she had created herself. Withdrawing the tools and a piece of linden wood, she sat—still in her ball gown—and began carving. She would make one of Napoléon, she decided, already visualizing the wooden representation of a soldier with wide eyes under a bicorne, a rounded paunch, and short legs.
She set to work. Her aptitude had not diminished. In time her pulse slowed and a certain serenity she had not felt in a long while settled over her. Here, at least, she thought, were figures she could create and control without interference. She laughed aloud at the notion. Only later did thoughts of the shawl come back to her. She had left the shawl at the Royal Castle the night she had won over Napoléon. How had it come to be at Monsieur de Talleyrand’s residence? And why? It was a mystery.
In the early hours of the morning, she heard Paweł come in from his meeting. She returned the tools and work-in-progress to the chest. “Hello, Paweł,” she said, as he entered the bedchamber. That she was glad to see him caught her by surprise.
Anna’s appointment at the academy had been set for noon. Even though she appeared early, the headmaster received her at once. Captain Spinek seemed more obese than ever, but his manner was less officious. Anna tried to determine whether his friendlier attitude was genuine.
“I can assure you, Lady Stelnicka, that Tadeusz—that both your boys—are quite safe here. I am well aware of the security breach regarding
Brother Fabian that you mentioned, and actions have been taken.” He smiled now.
“What actions?”
“Please, accept me at my word that we will do all we can. May I ask, how did you come by your information?”
“You may ask, but I cannot say.” Anna could be as evasive as the captain. “Have you no way of finding this Prussian spy?”
The captain shrugged. “That’s where the Brotherhood’s code of secrecy works against us. We’re doing our best. Truthfully, Lady Stelnicka, not many of the group’s members put much store in the notion of cultivating a child to be king. I doubt that our Prussian fellow did, either.”
“And you, Captain Spinek?”
“Me?”
Anna knew his question was a stall for time while he sorted his thoughts for an answer. “Yes, do you not put much store by such a plan?”
His bulky form twisted slightly in his chair. “I suppose stranger things have happened in our history, Lady Stelnicka. But I doubt that this design will come to pass.” His small, hooded eyes seemed to look past his guest. “Tadeusz is being groomed as a leader, and I trust he will be one day. In what way that will come to fruition, I can’t say.”
Anna could tell he was deliberately discounting the Brotherhood’s scheme. She pressed the matter: “But even if the Prussians, who have long wished the end of Poland, think you are cultivating, as you say, a future King of Poland, wouldn’t they wish to put an end to such a hope?”
The captain’s face colored. “We will protect Tadeusz,”
“Whatever measures you have taken to protect both of my boys, Captain, I want you to increase them.”
“Done.”
Anna had to keep from blinking at the immediate and positive response. “I will check with them upon my next visit.”
“And if they complain to you they are a bit less free, you’ll know we are conforming to your wishes. Tadeusz will be the unhappier, I think, because he enjoys going beyond the confines of the academy and exploring nature. Jan Michał is quite at home inside a fencing hall.”
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