the substarosta's case book 2

 

 I'm sorry - I really am having trouble adapting to the new times. 

 

Chapter 2 Without Pity

 

The youth was dressed in such mismatched garments that Stefania Młocka thought for a moment that he was a gypsy; but his voice, when he spoke, was cultured, and addressed her in Latin as accurate as any szlachcic might use.

“Oh, please, to whom do I report a crime?” he asked.

“To me, initially, as I am the clerk of the court of record,” said Stefania. “My husband is the Starosta, so I do know what I am doing.”

“Oh! I... I do not doubt you, but I did not know they let ladies be clerks,” said the youth.

“We didn’t ask,” said Stefania. “I replaced an idiot, who, out of jealousy and ill nature almost let my husband be killed, and I, being there, stepped in, and then I married him. And as nobody in Warszawa has complained about our record keeping, we are leaving them in blissful ignorance as to my female state. So, what can I do for you?”

“I need to report a crime, but I’m not sure how, and I don’t really have any evidence, but I know my uncle is somehow defrauding me... I mean my mistress...”

“Little girl, shall we dispense with the subterfuge and acknowledge that you have dressed in a regular gallimaufry of male clothing, half western and half Sarmatian, in order, I assume, to escape and give testimony?” said Stefania.

The youngster gave a gasp which was more than half relief.

“Oh! And you are not angry?”

“Not in the least. My own sister passed as a boy to be page to Captain Wolski. It’s a White Raven banner thing and we’re sort of associated with them. So, do not fear that you will be looked at askance for dressing as a boy.” She smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Ludwika Galińska,” said the girl.

“Oh, banner of the black bear,” said Stefania.  “We must introduce you at some point to Towarzysz Ursyn Kudła, the regimental bear.”

“I’ve seen him in town, he’s a nice tempered chap,” said Ludwika.

“Oh, you won’t have any trouble getting on with the Ulans, then,” said Stefania. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” said Ludwika.

“Well! It won’t do you any harm to have a year of education and learn sabre drill from the best,” said Stefania. “And if you disappear, it gives my husband every excuse to investigate your household, your uncle, and your finances from Adam to Zebedeusz, as you might say.”

“And then, too, I wouldn’t be afraid of any accidents,” said Ludwika.

“Well! You had better come through and tell all your story; it sounds as if it’s a long one,” said Stefania.

 

Ludwika sat in a fairly comfortable chair in the starosta’s office, with a cup of tea and a large slice of cake, reflecting that this was not how she envisioned telling her story.  They had been joined by the well-known figure of the auburn-haired substarosta, his page, or wife, a dark, curly-haired assistant and his page... or possibly wife. The keen-eyed starosta sat behind his desk, with a small boy beside him on a high stool, who appeared to be reading from a story book, forming the words silently with his mouth as he read a home-made book, and then took up coloured chalks to draw a picture to go with what was written opposite.

“Papa, did the dragon of Krakow have wings?” he asked.

“Assuredly,” said Młocki. He looked at Ludwika. “My stepson had a nurse who told him stories which gave him nightmares, and a father who would not let him have a light in his room. He is still a little fragile, so we keep him with us until he is ready for a better nanny.”

“I see,” said Ludwika. “A man so tender of his stepson must also be a good official for his people, for he must be stepfather to the whole city.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” said Młocki, startled. “But it’s a good analogy.” He went on, “So, tell me about your problem and why you believe you are being defrauded.”

“I am an orphan with a trust fund,” said Ludwika. “I live with Lady Ursula Sroka, who is my governess and duenna; she has ties with the White Raven banner, but when she was widowed she chose to become a governess rather than live on her late husband’s relatives; it was a little awkward, you understand, for he went to fight for the Bar Confederation, and the Ravens have always stood outside of politics and do not join any Rokosz, feeling that any uprising is bad for the country, because even bad kings die eventually. So, there was some strained relations, and she felt more comfortable out of it.”

“So, she’s been your governess for some ten years?” asked Młocki.

“Yes, that sounds about right,” said Ludwika. “Papa thought I needed more of an education than a nursemaid and mama could give me; and what I did not know then was that mama was dying, and he wanted me to have someone else as a mother figure. I think he might have married her, eventually, but he died in a freak accident... if it was an accident... when a stone urn from the parapet fell on him. My Uncle Czcibor is now my guardian, whom I call Uncle Szczypior, Uncle Chives, because it annoys him, and because I misheard his name and really thought he was called for chives or scallions. I was very little,” she added. “Now, without Papa to protect me, he boxes my ears for it, but he doesn’t dare do more as Lady Ursula said she would have me made a ward of court. And he can’t fire her, for she has it written into her contract that she is a member of the family, and cannot be thrown out, even if she becomes too old to care for me. I am sorry to worry her, but I think she has an inkling of what I planned, for she told me stories of how Lady Małgorzata was a page to Lord Mikołaj, and how before them, Lady Janina was page to Lord Lew, and how it is a Raven tradition. I think she intended to give me ideas.”

“What a wise woman,” said Stefania. “And you think your uncle killed your father?”

“Yes, and I have been in a carriage when the horses ran away and the nuts on the rear wheels came away, and locked – accidentally – in a room with a smoking fire and blocked chimney, and when comfrey leaves in salad were substituted with foxglove. And I was knocked out cold by tripping down stairs, and I swear there was a tripwire, but I thrust my arm between the balustrades and broke it rather than fall all the way. And when I came to, of course, there was no evidence of a trip-wire. But Lady Ursula listened to me, and there was a nasty lesion on my ankle, for she looked, and said it looked as if it was caused by fine cord. And I spoke of going to the new school, with Lady Ursula to go along and help; but Uncle Chives said there was not enough money in the trust for that; but there should have been enough there, as Papa said there would be money to go abroad and to school.”

“It’s a thinnish reason, but worth looking into,” said Młocki. “Surely he isn’t the sole trustee?”

“Oh! No, but of the two others, one fell asleep in his bath and drowned, that was my Uncle Bastek, my mother’s brother; and the other is a lawyer whom I do not like.”

“I see,” said Młocki.

“I’d like to know how you survived those so-called accidents,” said Mariola.

“I jumped out of the broken carriage into the river, for I swim like a fish,” said Ludwika. “I would have smothered the fire, but all the cushions in the room were gone, and the curtains taken down to wash;  and the windows were jammed. So, er, I urinated on it.”

“Excellent lateral thinking; born to be stolen by Ravens,” said Mariola. “Did you recognise the leaves?”

“Yes, I did, and Uncle Chives fired the cook, though she swore she had gathered the right leaves, and that someone must have substituted them whilst she spoke to a beggar at the back door,” said Ludwika. “I gave her a good reference.”

“Good girl,” nodded Mariola. “Do you know where she went?”

“Yes, I heard she went to the old Wronowski house where...oh! your house.”

“Good; I shall speak to her,” said Mariola. “Well! Klemens, one accident can be an accident; even two. But a falling urn, a drowning in the bath, a broken carriage, a suffocating fire, a poisonous lunch, and a trip downstairs all start to look like a conspiracy.”

“Hell, yes,” said Młocki. “The Mews?”

“I think so,” said Mariola. “Ludwika, how do you feel about a school where you can be a girl or a boy in dress and learn all a szlachcic learns as well as a szlachcianka?”

“It sounds idyllic,” said Ludwika.

“Fine, one of us will ride over with you, and start poking our beaks in,” said Mariola.

“Only a Raven would put it that way,” murmured Młocki.

“Why, yes,” said Mariola.

 

 

Ludwika was shortly on her way to join the school at the Mews, a miserable winter ride, but bundled up somewhat better than she had been when she entered the Starosta’s office. She was welcomed into the school, and soon settled in a class of serious students, where she made friends with a girl called Dorota.

And Młocki, with malice aforethought, sent Kazimierz and Mariola to find out why Czcibor Galiński had not reported that his niece was missing – as soon as she had been gone overnight.

And in the meantime, Mariola obtained the testimony of her cook, and that the leaves had been comfrey. Mariola was well satisfied that the cook knew the difference.

 

 

oOoOo

 

“Czcibor Galiński?” said Kazimierz. “Why did the starosta’s office have to learn from a servant, who admits to coming of his own initiative, and not sent by you, to inform us that a szlachcianka of tender years is missing?”

Galiński had reluctantly had the substarosta and his page taken into his study, where an older woman was seated, tight-faced.

“I told Pan Galiński last night that Ludwika was missing,” she said. “I am Ursula Sroka, and I have been tempted to contact the White Raven about this, as the child’s own uncle seems unconcerned.”

“It’s snowing out there,” said Mariola. “A young body could freeze to death.”

“I can’t account for where the wayward hussy might have gone, I try to keep her under control, but if she has gone off and got herself frozen, I can hardly be blamed, can I?” said Galiński.

“I don’t know. Can you?” said Kazimierz. “However, you will be delighted to know that we have a heap of constables willing to make her a priority and search every part of your house, outhouses, and so on, and I’ve borrowed Adam Brzeziński to check your accounts as well.”

Galiński paled.

“It isn’t easy, having to take care of the finances of a spendthrift creature like Ludwika.”

“That’s a lie,” said Lady Sroka. “I’m sure Adam Brzeziński will sort it out. But Ludwika is not spendthrift. Why, she mends her own gowns because Pan Galiński says her father’s money does not stretch to new fabric for gowns, even though he has a new kontusz and dines his friends well.”

“Hello, definitely sounds like the lad who spoke to Starosta Młocki was right when he said he thought Panna Galińska was being defrauded,” said Mariola. She was spending less time as the page, Lew, these days, as she had her own little Lew at home, but terrorising abusive guardians was too amusing to pass up.

“I have no intention of passing over my accounts to an outsider,” said Galiński, defiantly.

“You don’t have a choice, precious,” said Mariola. “You’re under arrest for the possible endangerment of a minor szlachcianka, and accusations from more than one person of appropriation of funds. And I am sure that Panna Sroka is well aware that the laws of slander and libel are harsh?”

“I stand by my statement that my charge was being fed scraps, dressed like a szlachiura, and denied the usual sort of social meetings a young szlachcianka of her age should have.”

“You bitch,” said Galiński.

“I was employed by Ludwika’s father to be a mother to her and look out for her interests, and you cannot fire me. It’s in my contract.”

Galiński snarled. Mariola nodded to the constables, two of whom took him away.

“She’s safe,” said Mariola, to Panna Sroka. “We took her to the school run by Sokołowski, so she would be safe. If you want to join her, they are always happy to have more teachers.”

“Thank you; I think I might,” said Panna Sroka.

Mariola went back to the town hall with the constables and their prisoner. They left him to stew in a cell, and Mariola organised a bunch of Ulans to put on a lurid play involving the torture of prisoners in the judicial torture chamber. It usually worked wonders on the minds of any prisoners awaiting interrogation, and when Młocki sent for Galiński, he would be an extraordinary man if he did not break.

 

Panna Sroka packed clothes for herself and her charge, and Marek, Kazimierz’s man, gave her his escort to follow her charge as soon as she had signed a deposition. Marek was hoping to arrive in time for an evening meal and the famed mead from the hives of Olek Zaklika. In this, he was in luck, and pleased to see the emotional reunion of the governess and her charge.

Marek had a letter for Władysław Sokołowski, who read it through.

“I hope you won’t mind fitting in where there’s need for extra aid, Panna Sroka,” he said. “Our classes are sorted out but we do have an all-age remove class for those who need a little extra. But being available if any of the teachers feels a need for help would be appreciated.”

“I am quite happy with that, so long as I may see Ludwika,” said Panna Sroka.

“Oh! You will socialise with her as much as you wish, and if she needs help, she will be one you might bring on if she has missed any of the lessons we do, as we make no difference between girls and boys,” said Władysław.

“Ah, then she may need some extra coaching,” said Panna Sroka, calmly. “Her uncle was not inclined to see such subjects as necessary.”

“Ah, and doubtless there were unkind comments about artillery?” said Władysław.

“Even so,” said Ursula Sroka.

 

Meanwhile, Kazimierz winnowed through any document he could find belonging to Czcibor Galiński, handing over anything to do with accounting to Adam Brzeziński, who glanced through, chuckled, and asked, “When is it being performed as a comedy in Warszawa?”

“It could be part of a comedic melodrama,” said Kazimierz. “Really, he kept a notebook of plausible accidents?”

“He might claim he was writing a melodrama,” warned Adam. Adam was well known to Kazimierz, as he administered the extensive property of Lady Milena Jędrowska and her stepson, illegitimate son of her first husband, Filek Dobczyk, since between them they owned a considerable portion of Większy-Bydlin and the other town in the jurisdiction of the starostowie, Bydlin-Stary. 

“He might, if he hadn’t dated it, and animadverted about the ‘wretched girl’ surviving all his best traps,” said Kazimierz, dryly.  “And yesterday’s entry about hoping she had run away and would end up freezing to death.  I have some older ones, which I suspect will detail doing away with his brother and his sister-in-law’s brother. And that makes it a capital crime.”

“I am sure Mariola will manage to mess with his head so you don’t have to torture him; or can you claim that the journal constitutes a written confession?”

Kazimierz brightened.

“I could argue that; and he has set his name to it, ‘It is intolerable that the wretched brat survives when I, Czcibor Galiński deserves the family money more.’ Which I take to be a signature.”

“If he has a good lawyer, he might wriggle,” said Adam. “Well, the girl is clever enough to figure out what is going on, and to decide to make a run for it; I wonder if she’d like to be a page to my son, Scypion.”

“You Ravens!” said Kazimierz.

“Everyone always says that,” said Adam, plaintively. “I don’t notice you complaining about your page.”

“I did at first,” laughed Kazimierz.

 

oOoOo

 

“Czcibor Galiński, I have sent a message to the senior legislative body to ask whether your journals in your own hand constitute a signed confession of your murder of your brother and his brother-in-law,” said Młocki. “I have here a fair copy for you to sign; if you do not, you will be subject to judicial torture as we have enough evidence to make it acceptable.”

Galiński snarled.

“If the brat had not run away, and some busy-body had not reported it, I would have got away with it, too,” he said. “Who was it? Who told you she was missing?”

“Oh, a non-descript boy who said he was her page,” said Młocki.

“But she has no page!” said Galiński.

“I saw the youth escorted to safety to Lord Sokołowski’s school, and if he turns into a girl called ‘Ludwika’ I would not be surprised; but I had to act on information given,” said Młocki.

“Damn her! I’ll sign. I heard enough of your enthusiastic constables torturing some poor soul,” said Galiński. “What a waste, for a female to inherit fourteen shops, and a smithy!”

“You are a piece of work,” said Młocki.

The confession also implicated the lawyer who was the other trustee, because Galiński did not intend to be executed alone.

The lawyer took longer to break, but a good session of amateur dramatics led him to giving in on being shown the equipment.

And that was always a win.