Anna had to consider her future. Zofia’s behavior had not changed. She often stayed out the whole evening and occasionally held wild entertainments at the townhome. Aunt Stella, reduced to a dowager countess, was powerless over her daughter, her objections giving way to a brooding silence. The countess moved upstairs, into Antoni’s old room, in order to keep distance from her daughter and her goings-on.
While Anna tried not to be judgmental about Zofia, she knew she must leave soon. Her father had once told her that if an animal is born in the forest, and not tamed, it may kill a man. Who, then, could hold this animal fully responsible?
So it was with Zofia. If she were somehow tamed, she wouldn’t be as she is, nor would her friends. Neither would the robber steal, nor the killer kill. But for some inexplicable reason, her parents had been unable to tame her.
Once the spring rains and flooding, which had come late this year, subsided and the roads were dried by the summer sunshine, Anna would take Jan Michał to her home at Sochaczew, where he would grow up unaffected by the kind of life found in the city.
Anna wondered if perhaps Aunt Stella would accompany her.
In the interim an invitation arrived from Duke Józef Lubicki, the family friend who managed the Berezowski finances. A Mass and reception was being held to celebrate his mother’s eightieth name day.
On the day of the celebration, Anna squeezed herself into an ill-fitting mourning gown of black taffeta and lace, thinking it was itself a coffin for anyone living. Clarice had arranged her hair in a pleasing upswept style, held by amber barrettes, but once the black veil was in place the maid’s handiwork was hidden.
Lutisha knocked and entered. “Madame, Lady Helena Lubicka has arrived.”
“Show her up, Lutisha. Does Marta have Jan Michał ready?”
“She does.”
Helena had been only too willing to pick up her childhood friend. Anna had not wanted to ask Zofia for the use of her carriage; doing so would have meant having to extend the invitation to her, something she wanted to avoid at all costs. It was a safe wager that her cousin would refuse going to Mass, but she was unpredictable.
Helena swept into the room.
At Jan Michał’s christening, Anna had been taken by surprise with the appearance of the duke’s daughter. It had been two Christmases since she had seen her, and the transformation was profound. Even if Helena were a bit too large of bone to be considered classically beautiful, Anna thought her stunning, with her shimmering black curls that framed a face with sculpted features. Her complexion was as white as porcelain, her cheeks pink roses. A tiny maid dogged her footsteps, tending the train of a gown of ivory lace.
“You look lovely, Anna, even in black.”
Anna stiffened slightly. “Thank you, but look at you, Helena, you’re so beautiful!”
Downstairs, another maid of the Lubicki family already held Jan Michał, who was dressed in blue. The stout maid waddled off to a carriage that would take her and Jan Michał directly to the Lubicki mansion, rather than to the Cathedral.
Anna and Helena sat alone in the two-seat carriage headed to the Cathedral.
“Your child is beautiful, Anna,” Helena said. “Such an alert baby.”
“Thank you.”
“These days must be hard for you. For so much to happen in such a short time.” Helena pursued the subject of Anna’s unexpected marriage and the untimely death of her husband.
Anna’s responses were evasively minimal, and she steered the subject toward Helena and the two suitors she was keeping at bay.
Presently, the carriage came to an abrupt halt amidst the din of a crowd.
“Help!” a muffled voice called out. “Help me!”
Helena lifted her window shade and the two friends peered out at the street scene. A little bridge just ahead was crowded with animated people.
“What is it?” Helena called to her driver.
“Someone has fallen into the gutter, milady, and they’re trying to fish him out.”
The refuse-strewn trench was filled to overflowing because of the spring flooding, and the luckless man had fallen in at a deep point. His blackened face was scarcely visible above the fast-moving mucky stream, but his terrified voice made his presence known.
The victim was holding onto a rope held by several men on the bridge. Slowly, they pulled the man up the several feet to the bridge, laying hold of him then, and lifting him to safety.
When he stood shakily on the little bridge, his head a sheep’s wool muff of black ringlets, he tried to free the grime from his eyes with his fists.
The tension of the crowd lifted. One woman called out in a shrill voice: “The fool was dancing across the bridge,” she screamed, punctuating her words with robust howls, “and danced himself—right into the gutter!”
The crowd roared with laughter.
“To cleanse himself,” someone shouted, “maybe he should dance himself into the Vistula!”
In contrast to his blackened face, his white teeth were revealed now in a silly smile bearing witness to his own comedy.
The happy throng slowly started to disperse, as if hesitant to go about the drudgery of their daily lives. While the bridge was being cleared, Anna thought how splendid it was to witness the good nature of the Polish people. Could these same simple souls take part in anything as bloody as what was occurring in France? No. This little episode made her realize that people in Warsaw were like those in Sochaczew, or Halicz. The disposition of the peasants, even in hard times, was uniquely peaceful.
Helena was just about to draw the shade when an open carriage pulled next to theirs in a rude attempt to get to the bridge first. Seated amidst a variety of gaily-wrapped packages and in an orange dress that mushroomed up around her was Zofia. Next to the hatless countess sat a handsome young gentleman who must have been her current companion and gift-giver. Zofia held her head high and her gaze forward, her apple-red mouth moving in lively conversation.
A number of the peasants paused to gawk at the sight.
“I wonder who that vulgar woman can be,” Helena whispered.
Anna drew back from the window. “What does it matter?” she asked. “I do hope this delay hasn’t made us late for the service.” She sat very straight, her shoulder blades touching the cushioned support, which started to vibrate now with the first forward motion.
Anna and Helena were the last to arrive for the noon Mass. The Angelus bells were already tolling their final notes as the two friends hurried up the stairs of St. Jan’s Cathedral. Helena ushered Anna up to the front where the family sat.
The Cathedral was warm and stuffy, the service interminable. That Anna had to leave Warsaw was clearer than ever. She had been ashamed to witness her cousin Zofia’s boldness in dress and manner. And now she was ashamed that she had not acknowledged Zofia’s identity to Helena. What should she have said? Yes, Helena, that vulgar woman is my cousin.
She would leave Zofia to her own devices. One day, Anna was certain, Zofia’s beauty would fade, and her men and fortunes would fall away from her like leaves from a tree in winter. She would need Anna’s help then. Would Anna be so selfless as to give it? She hoped so.
The priest’s monotone was passing over Anna like steady waves on a distant seashore, until she heard mention of both her maiden and married names come from the altar. The Lubickis, it seemed, had instructed him to say prayers for the soul of her husband.
She knelt straight as a rail, sensing many eyes upon her, and wishing she were anyplace but there.
Outside, Anna drew in the cooler air. It was sunny and the brisk winds of late spring swirled around them as Helena guided Anna to her parents on the Cathedral steps. The elderly dowager countess wasn’t present, as she rarely left the family home.
Helena’s mother, Duchess Ada Lubicka, was still beautiful at fifty and a high brown wig added to a youthful effect. When she smiled, the years fell away. Always very emotional, she was now on the verge of tears. “Oh, Anna Maria,” she whispered, clasping her, “my dear, dear child.”
Duke Lubicki seemed much older, with his milk-white hair and deeply-lined face. Anna’s father had always chided him for worrying too much about business matters. Anna thought it was just such concerns that had aged him. He offered Anna his condolences on the loss of her husband.
Anna thanked him, attempting to smile. She hated the charade of mourning Antoni. It was, like the ignorance she had to assume earlier when she did not acknowledge Zofia to Helena, another mask she had to wear, more uncomfortable than the constraints of the tight, black dress.
“Who could have predicted,” the duchess was saying, “on that last Christmas together, your family and ours, that it would come to this?”
Such sympathy chafed. While Anna dearly loved the Lubickis, her mourning made her feel so duplicitous that she asked to be excused from the reception, saying she would collect Jan Michał and go directly home. The Lubickis, however, would not hear of it.
And so began the descent down the Cathedral steps with the Lubickis, Anna watching the cascades of men and women moving down and away in waves of reds, yellows, blues, and greens flowing down toward their carriages, their coachmen at attention. She had not seen such a group since the king’s supper.
Anna thought the newly built Lubicki city mansion more a palace. At the entrance her eyes were fastened to the geometric designs in the neat brick walk. Several of Warsaw’s red squirrels caught her eye as they romped on the thick grass, chasing one another from tree to tree. On every side of the house were shaded gardens—crazy quilts of lush, spring flowers—alive with chattering guests.
Helena hurried Anna upstairs, where the hostess pulled from her wardrobe a lovely dress, a gauzy creation in royal blue.
“It’s beautiful!” Anna said.
“I’m glad you like it. Put it on.”
“What?”
“Put it on. I’m uncomfortable just looking at you in that black crepe.”
Anna smiled. How had she known? Discarding the black might mean answering fewer questions about her loss. And the blue gown was so beautiful. She acquiesced.
When Anna stood facing the full-length mirror, Helena stood behind her, beaming. “You look wonderful, Anna!”
“Merci,” Anna said, turning and dropping in a mock curtsey.
Helena laughed but quickly sobered. “Anna your parents have been gone for some time now. Over a year, yes? And you may contradict me or even hate me for saying this, but I have the feeling that the loss of your husband is not so terrible. I’m speaking out of turn, I think— ”
“You are, Helena,” Anna said, “but you’ve made your point and I promise you I shall enjoy myself today!”
The friends descended the curved staircase, their gowns sweeping across the ebony floor of the massive reception room, as silk over glass. They moved toward the clear glass doors to the gardens, Anna’s eyes lifted in distraction by the relief of painted cherubs flying against the azure of the ceiling.
Anna visited her son in the servants’ quarters and nursed him before the meal was announced.
The luncheon might have rivaled any at the Royal Palace. Anna had a place of honor at the Lubicki table, which fronted many long rows of elegantly-set tables accommodating at least two hundred guests. The tall, elegant French windows ushered in glorious light and spring scents from the garden.
The old Duchess Lubicka, with her toothlessly winning grin, seemed a delighted child as the endless parade of platters and trays began.
Later, the dowager duchess motioned Anna toward her, as if in confidence. “They think my eightieth may be my last,” she clucked, “but I shall fool the lot of them. I’ll see eighty-five yet!”
Anna laughed. “I have no doubt you’ll see ninety. Tell me, Lady Lubicki, what is the secret to your long life?”
The woman grinned. “Whimsy!”
“Whimsy?”
“Yes, Anna. Follow your heart. Indulge your whims. They are usually correct. And when they are not, do not allow the world to judge you overly much.”
“It is a good philosophy,” Anna said, watching the woman swallow a small glassful of Polish vodka. And one, she thought, Zofia had already carried to the extreme.
After the meal, when most of the guests had retired to other rooms or the gardens, Duke Lubicki presented Anna with a wooden box, its top carved with the Berezowski coat of arms, a half-moon rising above a swan. Anna blinked back her surprise; she had never seen the box before.
“It was your father’s, Anna,” the duke explained. “Now it belongs to you.”
Anna opened it to find documents with her father’s signature.
“These are the complete records of your father’s investments with us.”
“There seem to be so many—”
“It amounts to a great deal of money.… You are a wealthy young woman, Anna Maria.”
“I’m delighted. But why are you giving these to me now?”
“For your signature. I knew that you and your late husband had plans for the money these investments will bring. I assume that you still wish to divest yourself of—”
“No,” Anna said, “there are no plans. Not any longer. I would like you to continue to see to my financial affairs. You are to take, of course, whatever fees—”
“There are no fees. Your father repaid me with his friendship.” The duke smiled. “I’ll continue, if that is your wish.”
“It is.”
“You and your son should be able to live handsomely on the interest generated by your inheritance.”
Outside, groups of lively, loquacious guests stood on and near the huge dance floor, a temporary device of stone squares enameled in red. Birch trees graced two of its sides, forming a living, vaulted roof above the dancers, who were squaring off in the formation of a German cotillion. A cooling breeze lifted the leaves now and then, allowing the jewelry and rich finery of the dancers to sparkle in the mottled sunlight.
If only Zofia’s parties were like this celebration.
Leading the cotillion were a striking woman in white silk and lace and a foreign-looking gentleman whose movements were elegant, if somewhat strutting. The woman was the height of style, from her petite, bejeweled slippers to the crown of her great white pompadour. Anna thought her well into her thirties, but she certainly commanded the eyes of the men. Her smile, while serene as the Madonna’s, indicated she was aware of the stir she was creating.
When the dance ended, the woman hurried over to Helena and Anna, her partner in tow. Helena introduced her as the Marquise Wielopolska. Her dance partner was Guy Mornay, a French count.
“I’m delighted to meet you,” Anna said to the marquise. “You’re well-known in Warsaw circles.”
The Madonna smile widened slightly. “And I have heard of you, Countess Grawlinska.”
The woman’s delicate, feline features were hard to read. Anna was certain, however, there was an undercurrent in the woman’s tone.
Helena had introduced Anna using her married name. Anna chose not to correct her. It was still her legal name, after all, and that of her son.
The count stepped up to Anna. “Will the Countess Grawlinska consent to dance?”
Anna looked into the slightly pinched face. She would not use the bereavement excuse. “I… I don’t know how to move to these Germanic dances.”
The count turned back to the marquise. “The good countess says that she cannot dance to these Germanic dances!” His voice was nasal. Anna thought it an affectation.
Someone nearby snickered. Anna flushed in embarrassment.
“Nonsense, my dear,” said the marquise, her tone condescending. “It is one of the easiest. The only way to learn is to do.” The woman took Anna’s hand and gave it over to the Frenchman, who guided Anna out onto the floor before she could protest.
Anna’s first steps were uncertain and awkward. She felt as if all eyes around her were watching every faltering move.
She regretted now having put off the black mourning dress, regretted having come to the reception.
Soon, though, she fell into step and found herself dancing with the count as though they had done so a hundred times, the couple moving gracefully among the quadrilles of dancers.
“You’re doing wonderfully,” the count said. “It’s almost time to change partners.”
“What?” But before fear overtook her, she found herself partnered with another. And then another. Surprisingly, she lost not a step and continued to enjoy herself.
Anna passed near to where Helena and the marquise stood watching. Helena waved. The marquise’s smile seemed unchanged, but her eyes betrayed her surprise.
Anna was reunited with Count Mornay before the dance ended. His arm went around her waist as they moved off the dance floor. “You are very beautiful, Countess. May I call you Anna?”
“Let me go,” Anna whispered.
He didn’t remove his arm. “Zofia is not as lovely as you. Why have you kept yourself out of society for so long?”
“You know my cousin?” Anna asked, turning to him.
He smiled wickedly. “Of course.”
Anna pushed him away and hurried over to Helena.
“I must leave at once,” Anna announced. “Thank you for your kindnesses. Give my best to your parents and grandmother.”
“What is it, Anna? What happened?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I’m not well.”
“That’s too bad,” Helena said. “Don’t you wish to say goodbye to my father yourself? He may have some last caution—”
“Yes, I should. Where is he?”
“Duke Lubicki,” Marquise Wielopolska said, “retired to the library not long ago with my husband and some other men.”
Anna hated the woman’s arrogance. The count was rejoining them now, two glasses of wine in hand. She ignored him, quickly making her move toward the house.
Inside, Anna heard hastening steps behind her.
“Anna,” Helena said, “ill or not, that was rude of you to so abruptly leave the marquise and the count.”
“I’m sorry,” Anna replied without missing a step, “but I don’t care much for the Marquise Wielopolska, nor the French count without manners.”
“What happened? Did he say something, do something?”
“It’s nothing,” Anna sighed, stopping before great double doors. “Forgive me, Helena. Perhaps I’m oversensitive today, but I must go home. Is this the library?”
“Yes.”
Absently, she knocked and the two hurried in.
The ten or twelve men in the room were caught in the midst of a heated discussion. The names of several men were being roundly scorned. Anna’s interest was immediately piqued, her irritation with the count and marquise forgotten.
As the two young women advanced, slowly, uncertainly, the men’s voices died in their throats. The impatient looks in their eyes made Anna feel an intruder.
Duke Lubicki, seated at a large desk, noticed them now. “What is it, Helena?” He, too, had little patience.
“I’m sorry, Father,” she said. “We didn’t know—”
“It’s my fault, your grace,” Anna said. “I merely wanted to say goodbye.”
The duke smiled. “Then it is no interruption.”
Anna just wanted out of the room, but the duke insisted on protocol and introduced her and his daughter to everyone present.
The last man to be named was a frail, elderly gentleman sitting near the desk. Anna had to disguise her reaction when she found out that this was the Marquis Wielopolski, husband to the woman with the Madonna smile—and decades older. If Anna showed her surprise, the Marquis seemed not to notice. His manner was serious, his mind clearly on other things.
Anna addressed herself to the duke. “Adieu, adieu,” she said, turning to leave. On impulse, she turned back. “Forgive me, Lord Lubicki, but when we entered, I thought I heard the names of several magnates. Has something happened?”
The old marquis came suddenly to life now. “The names you heard, Countess Grawlinska were Feliks Potocki, Seweryn Rzewuski, and Ksawery Branicki. You will hear of them again.”
“I see.” Anna nodded, thinking that he spoke with the weight of the mythical Greek seer Tiresias. A chill came over her.
“They are nobles,” the marquis continued, “that lack even the crudest peasant sense.”
Anna committed the names to memory as she and Helena made their retreat. Something of the greatest importance was occurring in the Commonwealth, and it had to do with these men. No doubt her patriot friends would know something.
“What has happened, do you suppose?” Anna asked, once the library doors closed behind them.
“I haven’t a clue,” Helena said, “but it isn’t good. I’m going to make short work of finding out. Won’t you stay now, until this meeting is over?”
Anna declined.
“Friendship is like wine,” Helena called out to Anna as the carriage began to roll down the driveway, “the older it is, the better it is!”
Anna waved. Helena’s words were ironic. She looked at little Jan Michał, already asleep in her arms. His origin was a secret she had not confided to Helena. Zofia’s behavior was another. No longer did she feel close enough to her friend to unlock her secrets at a moment’s notice. Time and circumstance had come between them.
Anna realized now that the music had ceased and that the voices from the gardens nearby were charged with excited talk and a sense of alarm. Guests were already streaming out into the driveway toward their carriages. She recognized a few of the men that had been present at the meeting.
What kind of disclosures had gone on in the Lubicki library?