The winter was proving to be the harshest in years. The house was drafty. Though Anna was starting to swell, her condition was not apparent to the unsuspecting. Over four months along now, Anna wondered when she would feel her child stirring within her body. She wanted this baby, her baby. What a miracle is life, she thought.
Her cousin Walter had been correct in his prediction months before—it seemed like years ago, that meal in the Grawlinski home at Halicz—that the Russian campaign against the Turks would take only a few months. Victory was now a realization and much of Warsaw was celebrating.
Anna had been corresponding with Baron Michał Kolbi since the Szraber wedding. At his urging, she decided to hold a reception that would celebrate the Russian triumph over the Turks, as well as bolster support for the February 14th general election that would accept or reject the Constitution the Sejm had passed the previous May.
Attending were some Russian acquaintances of the baron and those friends whom he had wished Anna to meet—members of the political pressure group he had asked her to join. Anna’s own political philosophy, one influenced by her father, uncle, Michał, and Jan, was being forged into something with shape and strength. She even found herself reading her aunt’s issues of the Monitor. Poland was coming to a crossroads the likes of which history had never seen, notwithstanding the treacherous crises the country had weathered to date, century after century.
Both the countess and Zofia agreed to allow Anna the use of the reception room and adjoining music room. Antoni had gone to his estate at Opole for a week and so had no say in the matter. Aunt Stella’s protracted mourning relieved Anna of asking her to attend; she was certain that the number of commoners invited would upset her aunt. Anna invited Zofia merely as a courtesy, for she was routinely gone from the house at night, and it was unlikely she would make an appearance.
Anna studied the roomful of people. There were bankers, men of business, a priest, shopkeepers, and even a few country folk. No, neither her aunt nor cousin would mix well with this group of patriots.
“The party is a success,” Baron Kolbi said. “And you are radiant tonight, Anna Maria.”
Anna felt a pulsing excitement. This was the first entertainment of any kind she had ever attempted and it was going beautifully. She wore a gown of silvery gray satin with lace trim at the shoulders. Babette had fashioned for her a coiffure that swept up all of her reddish brown hair high upon her head, holding it there with amber barrettes that Babette insisted amplified the amber flecks in Anna’s green eyes.
The baron’s group of friends was buoyant over Russia’s victory. Anna thought they seemed such a diverse and convivial lot that it was odd to think an unseen and unsettling political thread bound them together.
Lutisha and Marta, dressed in their finest, served Anna’s new acquaintances mulled wine, tiny meat pies, cheeses, and an assortment of delectable French desserts Babette and Clarice had engineered.
Anna was chatting with a banker and his wife when she became aware that the group of thirty or so was suddenly astir. She caught the banker’s line of vision and turned around.
There, in the arched doorway, across the length of the reception room, stood Zofia, her dark eyes scanning the guests.
Anna suppressed a gasp.
Zofia glowed hotly in her gown of vivid red velvet, perilously low-cut. Black wiglets had been worked into her own hair and the high mound was set off by tiny red ribbons and diamond barrettes. Catching sight of Anna, she flashed a wide smile. “Anna, darling!”
As Zofia moved across the room, Anna held her breath in fear that the scant material covering her cousin’s bosom would fall away.
Zofia walked with her back erect, her head poised, confident that every eye was upon her.
A hush fell on the room. The staring faces could be easily read: there were some who thought her beauty incredible; some who thought her appearance scandalous; and others who thought her both beautiful and scandalous.
Anna stepped forward to greet her.
“Anna!” she cried. “I could not leave without at least looking in on your little soirée. I had promised Charlotte ages ago that I would help hostess one of her affairs. Some two hundred people and she is a helpless soul. You will forgive me, won’t you?”
Anna smiled, knowing a reply was not expected. She detected the scent of rose.
Zofia was surveying the group. “Oh my, I should say that I am a bit overdressed for your friends.”
Anna chuckled. “Zofia, you are hardly that.”
Zofia ignored the chiding. “Why, I don’t know a soul here, darling. Who are these people? Are there no nobles present?”
Anna cringed. “There are a few here,” she whispered, “but mostly they are commoners, friends of Lord Kolbi. . . . Don’t you remember that when I told you of the reception I mentioned the baron and his little group of patriots?”
“No—oh, yes, something of the kind. But I had just come in after a long evening, and I’m afraid I didn’t concentrate.”
“Well, these good people are united in their common concern for Poland and the Third of May Constitution. They are artisans, men of business, a priest—even a few Russians.”
“It looks to be a motley collection, indeed!” Zofia announced, making no effort to lower her voice.
Anna flushed.
“Now,” Zofia intoned, the black eyes sparkling, “here is something of more immediate interest! I demand an introduction, Anna.”
Anna turned to see the baron approaching. She introduced him to her cousin.
“Ah, Baron Kolbi,” Zofia sang, “you are the one of whom Anna has been speaking so much! I am very pleased to meet you. I’ve listened to my cousin go on at great length about your little group. I find it fascinating.”
Anna stared in amazement at her cousin.
The baron smiled. “Then you hold opinions similar to those of your cousin?”
“Opinions?”
“Yes, I take it you approve of our cause?”
“Your cause . . . of course.” Zofia had been put off momentarily, but her recovery was quick. “Well, Baron Kolbi, it is my opinion that women are not political animals.”
“Oh?”
“No. And further, I believe that politics is merely a polite term for the business of war.”
“That is an interesting theory, Countess Gronska, and one not without its element of truth.”
“Why, it is completely true!” Zofia’s expression and voice took on a sultry forwardness. “Women are meant for other things—things much more interesting than politics.”
“I see.” The baron was not responding to her flirtation.
Zofia smiled, though her confidence was slightly rattled. Anna knew that her temperament demanded every man’s attention.
“Had I the time, Baron Kolbi,” Zofia said, “I’m certain that I could convince you of the difference between Ares and Aphrodite.”
The baron smiled deprecatingly.
Zofia’s black eyes iced over. She was not used to resistance. Her own smile was forced and liverish as she looked meaningfully from the baron to Anna.
Anna immediately realized that Zofia thought that the baron was interested in her.
“Anna, you are a sly one.” She meant to vent her frustration. “You do know, Baron Kolbi, that my cousin is a married woman. And that she is very much in a family way. I would hope for your sake that she has not been keeping secrets.” She smiled.
“I do, and she has not.”
Anna tried to cover her surprise. She had not told him of her condition, yet he had not even blinked at the news.
“Well,” Zofia said, “I should stay and discover just what politics are spoken here tonight. Perhaps I would be the one converted. But alas, I am already late in getting to the princess’ party. I must fly, Anna. Goodnight, Baron Kolbi. I trust that we shall meet again.”
“Good evening, Lady Gronska.” The baron bowed but did not attempt to kiss her hand, a courtesy she clearly expected.
Zofia’s face soured. She turned abruptly and whisked through the throng of people, many of whom were still enrapt with the vision in red.
Anna was mortified. For lack of something to say in Zofia’s wake, she mentioned that her cousin was off to a party at the home of Charlotte Sic, a French princess.
Anna spied a flicker of recognition in the baron’s eyes. “Do you know her, Michał?”
“I know of her.” The softness of his brown hair and eyes could not offset a brooding quality. “The infection that brought to ruin the French nobility is even now at work here in the capital. And Princess Charlotte Sic is a carrier.”
“I . . . I don’t understand.”
“Ah, never mind. I hope that you never need to. Enjoy yourself tonight, Anna.” He brightened. “Besides, you already think me a terrible pessimist.”
The two friends laughed.
But Anna considered his strange statement. She was certain that he had chosen not to pursue his indictment of the princess in order to spare Anna’s feelings by steering clear of an indictment—by association—of her cousin Zofia.
After the small Russian delegation to the party left, an uncertain air settled over the Poles.
“Another toast to Catherine?” The voice was sarcastic.
“No, I will not drink to that whore!”
“Nor I!”
An old man with a grizzled beard spoke up. “It is all very well that she has squelched the threat of the barbarians, but where will she send her armies next? Her scythemen do not linger long before searching out new fields to mow.”
“William is right!”
“But do we really have to worry?” the banker’s wife asked. “Our King Stanisław has promised— ”
The woman was interrupted by a chorus of tittering.
“Don’t be naive,” the priest said. “With all due respect to the King— ”
“Ah!” cried the owner of a carpet shop, “why is it that when someone starts by saying With all due respect for the King we know that the old man is being set up for a verbal drubbing?”
There was an eruption of concurring laughter.
“It is because the old man is hopeless,” a woman answered. “Was he not one of Catherine’s countless lovers? It was only through her machinations that he became king at all. He would think long before he’d step on her encroaching toes.”
“Bunions is more like it,” Baron Kolbi said, “but even so, we need the king and he needs us. We and thousands like us will provide the strength he lacks.”
Before the night was over, a chorus went up: “The King with the People, the People with the King!”
The baron was the last to take his leave. “The reception was a fine success!” he told Anna. “We are most grateful to you. You see, already you have been of service to us.”
“It is a small enough contribution.”
“Anna, the cause is made up of little people and small contributions. That’s how big things get done. I would hope you continue your association with us.”
“I will. . . . Tell me, Michał, are all the stories of Catherine’s . . . well, lustful disposition . . . true?”
The baron smiled.
Anna blushed. “What is so funny?”
“Oh, don’t be embarrassed. Women seem to have a natural curiosity about her. Some of the stories are no doubt exaggerated, but it is true that her affairs have been numerous.”
“I suppose you think curiosity in such matters is limited to women. Only tonight I observed a number of men take great relish in such gossip.”
He laughed. “You’re right, I’m sure.” Then the brooding look overtook him again. “What worries me, Anna, is that Catherine’s lust for men is matched only by her lust for land and holdings.”
“Why is that, Michał? Russia is already so huge.”
“Power, Anna.”
“And her promiscuous behavior gives her power over men?”
“Yes, or at least the illusion of power.”
Anna saw the baron to the door. “Michał,” she said, “how did you know that I am expecting?”
He smiled. “I didn’t.”
Their eyes locked for a moment, and then they laughed. They parted happily.
Upon turning around, Anna paused, her eyes taking in the marble hallway with its fine rugs and glittering sconces, the graceful staircase, the priceless tapestries that represented years out of the lives of a hundred French nuns. All this was just a small part of what was now Zofia’s. It was part of her power.
Anna thought that she had come to understand her cousin just a little bit better. It was all of this that Zofia was after, all of this—and more.
21
ONE DAY IN THE EARLY afternoon, Anna sat reading in the reception room downstairs, where the many windows gave the best light. The countess was cloistered in her room, as she so often was of late. Zofia had gone off in a carriage earlier.
There came a forceful rapping at the door, and within a few minutes a flustered Lutisha stood before Anna. “Madame . . . there are three of the King’s Guard at the door seeking admittance.”
“The King’s Guard?” Anna’s heart raced with foreboding.
“Yes, Madame.”
“For whom did they ask?”
“For Lady Zofia, Madame.” The servant shifted her weight. “Shall I tell the Countess Stella?”
“No, Lutisha. I will handle it. Show them in.”
A bearded officer and two guards entered and bowed formally. “Good afternoon, Countess,” the officer said. He was dark and stout. The two younger, clean-shaven men didn’t speak.
Anna started to rise from her chair. “Good afternoon. What may I do for you gentlemen?”
“No need to get up, Countess.” The officer was cheerful. “We have brought royal favors which we are to install in the Countess Zofia Gronska’s bedchamber.”
Anna inhaled deeply. Would the king himself send gifts to Zofia? “I see,” she said. It was all she could manage.
Her amazement was suddenly eclipsed by the thought of the diary and its entries dealing with the Monarch. Dear God! It was almost certainly in plain sight. Zofia never made a point of hiding it because the servants could not read and she would not expect her mother or Anna to violate her privacy.
Anna thought that whether or not the officer read it, he might—out of service or hope of reward—confiscate it and present it to the king. Zofia’s references to him would be viewed as nothing less than treasonous. And what if the guards’ real reason for being there was to search the room? For what? The very idea that the King’s Guard wanted access to her cousin’s room seemed preposterous. But just as she knew that she could not deny them, she knew instinctively that the diary had to be protected at all costs.
Smiling, Anna struggled for composure. She had to think of something. “Gentlemen, won’t you be seated?”
“No, thank you, Countess,” the officer said. “We must be about our business.”
“But you needn’t rush so. I insist that you take some wine with me.” Anna displayed what she hoped was a coquettish smile. “Why, I should be most offended if you decline. This is an occasion. It is not every day that we receive the King’s Guard.”
A smile threatened at the corners of the officer’s mouth, but came to nothing.
Anna didn’t give him a chance to reply. She turned to Lutisha, who stood at attendance in the doorway. “Bring some of our best wine for these very special guests.”
Lutisha blinked back her surprise and disappeared. Anna tried to stay calm. She grasped now for a plan to get Zofia’s diary out of harm’s way.
“What are your names?” Anna asked. She knew that she was crossing the boundaries of class, but she had to do something to play for time.
“My name is Aleksy, Countess,” the officer said, as if he were the only one there, the only one who mattered.
Anna chattered on, drawing out the minutes, speaking of the Russian campaign against the Turks.
Th
e officer seemed to have no opinion. A queer smile, at first understated, then full and brash, unfurled itself beneath the officer’s thick black moustache. He had moved closer to where she was sitting and stood eyeing her with a familiarity that raised goose flesh on her arms.
At last, Anna could think of nothing more to say. She felt weak, too. She leaned forward in her chair and put her hand to her head.
“The Countess is ill? May I do something?”
Kneeling, the officer brought his face near Anna’s. The moustache had wilted at the corners, but Anna observed a gleam in his otherwise dull black eyes, a lurid light that seemed to denote some private humor.
“I’m feeling a bit faint.”
“Here, Countess, lean forward a moment.”
The officer placed his arm around Anna’s shoulders, applying a light pressure. “Now, breathe deeply.”
To Anna’s surprise, he now ordered his men to wait in the hall. She looked up to catch odd, knowing glances pass between the two young guards.
“Now lean back in your chair,” he said to Anna when the others were gone.
He lifted Anna’s feet onto a footstool but did not withdraw his hands. As he knelt, his fingers moved caressingly over the ankles, then played dangerously higher along her calves. You swine, she silently cursed.
“I believe,” he was saying, “that the feet and legs are the keys to true relaxation.” The smile had returned, brasher than before.
Anna realized that the officer had interpreted her faintness as a device to encourage his advances. She longed to call him an insolent, stupid ass, but she held her tongue in check, knowing that an objection would prompt him to go directly to Zofia’s room. What is keeping Lutisha? she brooded.
Anna wished now that her dress revealed her condition. She considered telling him that she was expecting. What would Zofia do?
Suddenly it came to her: He thinks that I am Zofia! Thought of the diary had made her forget to introduce herself.
That accounted for his boldness and his eagerness to believe that she would invite his attention. Anna caught her breath. Had Zofia’s reputation spread so far as to the lower echelons of the King’s Guard?
Push Not the River Page 18
