Anna lay sleepless. She could hear what seemed a hundred servants milling about in the street beneath her windows. Inside, Zofia’s guests danced and made merry. The orchestra had abandoned the processional-like polonaises and stately minuets of the early evening for rousing mazurkas and polkas. The effervescent laughter had swollen, too, to a near riotous din punctuated by high shrieks and an occasional tinkling crash of what Anna supposed must be her aunt’s crystal glassware.
The disturbance downstairs was not the only reason sleep would not come. The duel was a mere thirty-six hours away. Someone would die, and there was no calling it off. When men set such things, Anna knew, neither God nor nature can dissuade them. Antoni had been shamed into making the challenge. He had had no recourse. He had gained consciousness only to look up from the floor to Anna to Jan to Countess Gronska to the several servants in the room. He took it all in, his gaze going back inexorably to Jan, his voice croaking out, “When?”
And so it had been set. Mid-morning Thursday in a patch of forest outside Praga. Pistols. Jan and Antoni were each to have two men attending. No one else was to be present, as these things were not sanctioned, hadn’t been for decades. Jan or Antoni would likely be killed. Perhaps both.
What had made Jan strike Antoni? She remembered that he could be rash. At the pond he had let anger get the best of him when he thought she had believed Zofia’s account that he had made advances to her, tearing her blouse. Oh, yes, he had been angry enough to leave Anna there.
Where was her husband now? He had not insisted on staying at the Gronskis’, not after such a scene. Anna wondered at first if he might run away, but she suspected that his desire to be a magnate kept him in Warsaw even if his bond of honor did not.
At midnight Anna pulled herself out of bed, drawing on a blue wrap. Lutisha had cautioned her to stay in bed, but her dark thoughts and the sounds of merriment made her restless. The whole house seemed to vibrate with music and voices. She wanted to take just a quick look from the balcony.
She had seen Zofia only briefly after the duel had been set. Her cousin’s reaction had been impossible to read. Anna had been certain that she would cancel her party, that it was quite inappropriate under the circumstances. Evidently, however, such a notion had not occurred to Zofia.
Neither had it occurred to Zofia to invite Anna to her party. Anna put it down to the fact that she was now a full six months along. Expecting women were not to be seen socially, of course. Still, Zofia was not one to obey custom.
It took little more than opening her door for Anna to realize why she had not been included among the guests. As she took a half-step into the hallway, a young woman raced by, followed by an old man with great bushy whiskers of white, yet hair as black as ebony. The woman stopped at the balcony, allowing the man to catch up to her. When he did, she danced a delicate sidestep and dipped her body to escape his grasp. The woman then turned and started to race back toward the stairhead—but stopped in her tracks at the sight of Anna.
“Oops!” she blurted. “Excuse me, I hope we didn’t disturb you.” Her highly powdered wig was tilting to the side and the curls were coming undone. Her orange ball gown with its many flounces of pale green was so disheveled that one of her breasts was exposed.
“Caught you, you twit!” The old man’s arms encircled the woman’s thin waist from behind.
“Stop it, fool!” she said. “Are you as blind as you are old?”
He noticed Anna now and smiled stupidly.
“You are Zofia’s cousin, are you not?” the woman asked, nonchalantly adjusting her bodice.
Anna could only stare as the woman pattered on with one silly comment after another. A beauty patch, too large to be attractive, hung precariously on her white cheek, like a wart. Her lip paint had been so smeared that her moving mouth looked aslant, as if it would slide off her face at any moment.
The old man had come to attention with all the aplomb and charm he could muster. “Good evening, my lady,” he said, to comic effect. “It is a lovely party. Will you not join it?”
Before Anna could think of some excuse, the woman drove both of her elbows backward, into the man’s appreciable paunch. Caught off guard as he was, he released her and fell into a coughing spasm.
The woman took the opportunity to escape and disappeared down the stairway, singing some inane French parlor song as she went.
The old man straightened, collecting himself. He eyed Anna uncertainly, his black toupee askew on his head, like a dead raven. He smiled oddly and Anna sensed—horrified—that he was about to transfer his affection to her.
She immediately tucked in the folds of her wrap above her protruding stomach so that he could see her condition. The effect was not lost on the man despite his drunkenness.
His eyes enlarged slightly and he suddenly stiffened. “Madame,” he said in a slur that he no doubt thought dignified, “will you be so good as to excuse me now? I go to rejoin the divertissement.”
Seconds later Anna was watching the black hairpiece descending the stairs in quick little jolts.
Anna was not ready to retreat. She walked out onto the balcony, at first keeping her distance from the rail so as to reduce the likelihood of being seen. Only half of the candles on the huge chandelier had been lighted so that the main hall of the Gronski home was bathed in semi-darkness. Emboldened by the dimness, Anna moved to the railing. Below was a tapestry of Satan’s sprung to life. All the condemned of Warsaw were here this night, it seemed, lounging and cavorting on the steps, on the carpet, on the bare marble. Those still dancing would trip and tumble over those reclining. Anna recognized a number of these people, some half dressed, as undoubtedly noble. It seemed a paradox.
Anna wondered where Aunt Stella might be found. How could she allow this?
She caught sight then of the plump Charlotte Sic. As on the occasion when she had met her—on the way to the Royal Castle—the French princess was bedecked in a glittering array of diamonds: a tiara set into her high golden wig, long pendant earrings, and her fabulous three-tier necklace. This time she wore nothing else above the waist.
Anna blinked in disbelief. And either she let out a little cry, or the princess merely sensed someone’s eyes on her from above because she looked up suddenly, her eyes narrowing in appraisal of Anna.
As Fate would have it, a Mazurka came to an end at that moment so that when Charlotte called out for everyone to look above, she was heard quite distinctly. “Zofia!” she exclaimed, with the seasoned air of an actress. “You didn’t tell me you had invested in statuary!”
The woman was pointing at her now. Anna’s instinct was to run, but her feet would not move.
“Why, that’s no statue,” sang some woman who had taken Charlotte literally.
“Why, then,” said the princess, “if it is no statue, it must be a vision, and all in blue. Zofia, come quickly! Damn, where is she? We are being visited by the Virgin herself and in the months before she gave birth!”
Anna would not wait to see if Zofia were one of those souls below pushing their way from other rooms to see what the commotion was about. Her heart pumped a terrible heat into her face. Then the hellish laughter at last loosened her from her spot at the railing and she raced back to her room.
What had possessed Princess Sic to speak to her like that? She had been nice to Anna previously. Perhaps Zofia had found some way to make Charlotte regret having told Anna about the liquor business Antoni wanted to set up at Sochaczew.
The party continued until dawn.
At mid-morning the next day, a man Anna had never met was shown into the upstairs sitting room.
“I am Count Paweł Potecki, Countess Grawlinska.”
Anna nodded, wondering what business he had with her. He possessed a sturdy frame, good features, black curly hair.
“Zofia has spoken so often of you,” he said. “I am so glad to finally meet you.”
“Thank you.” Anna could think of little to say. She had never heard Zofia speak of him. What was this man about?
The man glanced at Lutisha, who had stayed after ushering him in and played now at dusting the furniture. Anna immediately realized that he was hesitant to speak in front of a servant.
“Would you leave us now, Lutisha?” Anna asked. “I will ring should I need you.”
The large woman bristled at the request, her eyes momentarily daring to question. Anna’s cool stare, however, was unwavering and the servant left the room, but not without leaving the door open wide. No doubt the servant had heard much in recent weeks. Anna suspected that she hovered nearby, ready to play protectress.
Anna and the count looked at each other and laughed.
“She is a treasure,” he said.
“No doubt she thinks I should be closeted as my term goes on. But I don’t know what the household would do without her.”
The count grew serious. “Countess Grawlinska, I—”
“Countess Berezowska,” Anna corrected, “please call me by my family name, not my married one. I no longer consider myself married.”
His eyes opened a bit at the distinction, but he acceded with a nod. “As you wish. Countess, Zofia has asked me to speak with you about last night.”
“Oh?”
“She is heartbroken about how everything seemed to get out of hand.”
“I see. Tell me, Count Potecki, were you present?”
“No, I just now rode into the city.”
“Oh.” Somehow Anna could not imagine him present. She sensed him to be a man of some character.
“But I understand it got a little lively.”
“Is that how my cousin put it? She hardly does it justice.”
“Oh, she’s quite ashamed. I am to intercede on her behalf. Some comments were made about you, I take it.”
“Oh, they were silly, drunken things said by a silly, drunken woman.”
“You will forgive your cousin, then?”
Anna thought a few moments while the count patiently waited. “Count Potecki,” she said at last, with an air of resignation, “I am not in a position to excuse my cousin. Zofia is not accountable to me. I am for the time being but a guest in the Gronski home.”
“Then you bear her no ill feelings?”
“How could I? Zofia and her parents have done so much for me. And perhaps her father would be here today to discipline her if it hadn’t been for me and a day long ago when I chose not to obey my aunt and uncle. No, I can’t judge. I only wish…”
“I know,” the count said. “Zofia is at once a weak and wild creature. She’s like an untamable bird from the tropics. All the primary colors, you know? But her intentions are good, Countess, and her love for you runs deep. She would do anything for you. Sometimes we must accept those we love as they are, rather than attempt to make them over.”
“You mean rather than tame them?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you are right.” Anna instinctively knew then the Count Paweł Potecki was in love with Zofia, and that he must often have occasion to excuse her for much. Love, Anna thought, now there is a power.
The count stood to leave. “Then I may tell Zofia that nothing has changed between the two of you?”
Anna smiled. “Yes.” She could not say why she was so trusting of one of Zofia’s associates, but it was so.
The count kissed her hand. “I wish you a strong child, Countess, strong and healthy.”
“And if it is a girl?”
He laughed. “Girls, I sometimes think, need more strength than boys.”
After he left, Anna sat in thought. He was to tell Zofia that nothing had changed between Anna and her cousin. She wanted to laugh. Why, even if they were to live, God-willing, into their old age, they were worlds apart. Things most certainly had changed.