Dance of Redemption 1

 In which Wiridiana, who irritated Marcelina, Wolski and Basia, considers the home truths and endeavours to improve herself, which includes going to Bazyli's sczlachta farm, where we meet up with some other minor characters, and Wiridiana learns more patience the hard way when someone else's impatience causes her grief. 

Chapter 1

 

“Józia, I need your help,” said Wiridiana Syruciówna. “I need you to be honest with me.”

The dark-haired servant girl who had a similar profile to her mistress raised an eyebrow when the beautiful szlachcianka’s back was turned.

“Yes, lady,” she said, tonelessly.

“I’m not sure where to start,” said Wiridiana.

Józia may have thought much, but she said nothing, watching the beautiful girl stride back and forth in her own chamber, where she lived in solitary splendour, black curls bouncing and wafting in the breeze of her own passage.

“You have been very quiet, lady,” she ventured.

Wiridiana had been given most furiously to think for several days since the ill-fated supper party.

“What do you know about the Krasińscy?” asked Wiridiana.

“Not much, lady. They are rumoured to be as wealthy as any magnate, though they have not as many lands as any such, and live frugal lives. They never forget a kindness nor a slight,” she added. If there was a touch of malice in that last comment, assuming that her mistress had met, and irritated, one of the Raven Banner, it was well hidden.

“A girl called Basia Krasińska knocked me to the floor,” Wiridiana said. “I ... I tried to slap her, and she grabbed my wrist and suddenly, I was sprawling!  And she and Captain Wolski, and Captain Wolski’s betrothed said terrible things to me. And ...and the captain had threatened to spank me, like some of his wilder towarzysze!”

“They say Ulans are not patient,” said Józia.

“I ... I want to hate them,” said Wiridiana. “But Uncle Timofey said that the Krasińscy could have done much worse... and had me prosecuted for common assault. The little provincial who is going to marry the captain is the starosta’s sister-in-law!”

Józia gasped.

“That might have been bad, lady,” she said.

Somewhere deep down in her spoiled little soul, Wiridiana recognised that they had actually dealt relatively kindly with her for her impudence and ill temper; and that all had spoken many a home truth.

No-one likes to hear the truth about themselves when they have behaved badly; and Wiridiana was no exception. But what made her burn with shame more than the embarrassment of being told off was the thought that everyone thought her a spoiled brat – and with reason – and hated her accordingly. Or worse, laughed scornfully about her. And that she would be ugly for lines of unpleasantness. And that there were those who might ruin her family.

“Józia, they ... Marcelina and the Krasińska girl ... were friends,” said Wiridiana. “They showed affection to each other! They really like each other.”

Józia kept her mouth firmly shut, and waited patiently whilst her mistress continued to pace like a caged tiger. Normally the girl took pleasure in the fine Louis Quinze furniture, with its delicate cabriole legs, baroque scrolls and gilding. She paced, almost unseeing, however, ignoring the cherubs which were carved each side on the bed head, which was painted with roses and without any curtains at the head such as was traditional. The footboard had an arcadian scene on it, which a happy-looking shepherdess, leaning on a doting shepherd and classical ruins in the background. Wiridiana envied the shepherdess, and went to sit on the bed to avoid looking at her, smoothing the rose-coloured silk quilt which lay on top of it. Rose was very becoming to Wiridiana, whose dark curls and creamy complexion were complemented by most colours. Her eyes, more grey than blue, were large and luminous, and did not demand blue as a colour, though she could wear it readily. Wiridiana scowled at the innocent carven putti, then hastily schooled her face. She did not want scowls to give her lines!

 “Józia, am I such a bitch?” asked Wiridiana.

“Lady?” Józia asked tonelessly.

“Am I nasty to you?  So nasty that you’re almost cowering?” said Wiridiana looking at Józia for perhaps the first time. She saw a girl much her own build but a little taller, her dark brown hair tied up in a scarf with green eyes looking too large in a rather gaunt face. The eyes were lowered quickly after having looked up in surprise.

“My lady is my employer: I always try to do her bidding,” said Józia.

There was even so a touch of resentment in the voice. Wiridiana stamped her foot impatiently.

“Józia, tell me what you really think of me!  I order you to!  And I promise I shall not punish you for speaking the truth,” she added hastily.

Józia kept her face wooden; she was a year or two older than Wiridiana and had been her personal maid since she, Józia, had been orphaned at thirteen years old and must take employment as she could not work her mother’s small tenancy herself.

“Lady, I do my work for you as best I may. I am not paid to have opinions,” the girl decided that this was the easiest way out of a dilemma. To promise not to punish?  Why, if she told the little brat what she truly thought she’d surely find ways to punish, even if she didn’t give a whipping straight away; or would at least remember and punish more horribly for real or imagined slights at a later date.

Wiridiana caught the flash of angry contempt in her maid’s eyes as she spoke her colourless piece; and burst into tears.

“It’s true then!  Everyone does hate me because I’m so horrid!” she sobbed. She threw herself down on the bed and howled as if her heart was breaking. And in some ways it was!

Józia hesitated; then sat down beside her mistress and put a tentative arm around her shoulders. She had never seen Wiridiana like this!  Crying for effect, yes; tears of frustrated anger, frequently; but never such desolation!  Józia had suffered much at Wiridiana’s quick hands – but this was scarcely the Wiridiana she knew!

The younger girl turned into the embrace and clung desperately to Józia.

“Oh Józia, I’ve slapped you and had you whipped and – and I’m not even sure why, and oh-oh-oh!” she howled again.

“My lady has a hot temper and my lady’s father has never seen fit to teach my lady to curb it,” Józia ventured.

“C...Captain Wolski s-said I had a voice that could cut paper and break glass,” said Wiridiana  “And that I richly deserved walloping, and that if I couldn’t learn to contain my anger terrible things could happen….and other things too.”

“Sounds like you don’t need me to tell you then, lady,” said Józia.

“I – I hoped it was only because I – I had a – a tantrum at his betrothed’s friend,” said Wiridiana in a small voice “That made him madder at me….. Józia, I – I don’t know how to measure up, how to be nice!  Oh teach me!”

“Do you really want to learn?  Or is it going to wear off when you’ve recovered from being reproved by a handsome captain of Ulans and his well-connected friends?” asked Józia cautiously.

“I want to learn!  I want to have friends!  I want to be likeable!” cried Wiridiana.

Józia smiled cynically.

“Then, my lady might start by adding a couple of things; and losing another,” she said.

“What’s that?  Tell me quick!”

“Well, lady, if you add the odd ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ the courtesy oils many a bad moment; and if you remove ‘I want’ from your speech you’ll find people less inclined to see you for a spoilt little brat. And as you stop thinking about what you want, and start thinking about courtesies to other people’s feelings you’ll find that you’re not such a spoilt little brat.”

It was the longest speech Józia had ever made to her mistress; and Wiridiana flushed. Anger ran across her face at being so spoken to; but she swallowed it, especially seeing Józia flinch and tense for a blow.

“I – I see. Thank you Józia,” she said “I – I appreciate you being blunt. Someone has to be; and Papa thinks me perfect.”

Józia pulled a face.

“Your father has never had a kind word for anyone one but you, lady, and too many in your case. He’s not universally popular himself. Though at least he doesn’t like you too much the way your uncle did; reckon the substarosta’s lady did you a favour.”

Wiridiana was startled.

The idea that a szlachcic’s people should hold opinions about their overlord had never entered her rather empty little head. But visions of her father snarling at people, slashing casually with his riding crop, kicking at peasants suddenly rose before her eyes.

“How would my lady like to be a servant in this dwór, scrubbing floors when the szlachcic comes in, in a bad mood?” asked Józia shrewdly.

The thought was horrifying.

“I – I can’t imagine!” said Wiridiana “I – I can’t even imagine scrubbing floors, let alone……they said I was lazy too,” she added.

“You’ve not exactly been encouraged to stir yourself, have you?” asked Józia. Wiridiana was holding her hand tightly, as though she were drowning and was grasping at the one thing that could keep her above water. It hurt; but Józia did not mind that pain. It was the hand of a desperate child clinging to someone who could rescue her.

Wiridiana suddenly also had visions of how she felt about her uncle’s disturbingly familiar caresses.

“Did my uncle touch you inappropriately?” she asked, sharply.

“No, lady, thank you; I made sure to be dirty enough to put him off.”

“....and I beat you for appearing dirty to my presence. I ... but I suppose you could not tell me.”

“No, lady. And you have little idea how to make a choice between being clean, and being late, or coming when called and being dirty from work.”

 “Wolski said I would be flabby and ugly from being lazy and pulling nasty faces, but ... but they all said I could learn,” said Wiridiana.

“And are you sweet on this Lord Wolski?” asked Józia.

Wiridiana blinked.

“No…..no, he’s handsome and…..and merry when he’s not so angry…..he…..he acted like I was a child who needed scolding and chastising I guess….. I think I rather admire him, and I’m a bit scared of him…. I had intended to fascinate him because I thought he was Regina’s. Because I could. I thought. But he’s already betrothed and ... and I think he loves his Marcelina.”

“Then it strikes me, lady, you were dead lucky to be advised by him, and no worse,” said Józia bluntly.

“I suppose so. Oh Józia, please call me Wiridiana when we’re alone!  I – I need a friend and you’re being such a good one so far – especially as I’ve been such a bitch to you!”

Józia allowed herself a smile.

“It hasn’t always been easy – Wiridiana. But if you really want to change I will stand your friend.”

Wiridiana looked into the girl’s steady green eyes.

“You look like me,” she blurted out, suddenly.

Józia’s lips twisted.

“Hardly surprising, when your father sired me,” she said.

“You are my sister? But ... but as your father is a szlachcic, that makes you a szlachcianka! Why are you my maid?”

“Because our sire never cared,” said Józia.

“Why ... this is wrong! I should speak to my father ....”

“Queen of Poland, no!” said Józia, in lively alarm. “He doesn’t want to acknowledge a bastard, and the easiest way not to acknowledge me would be for me to be dead!”

Wiridiana stared in consternation.

“I want to make it right,” she said.

Józia saw the sincerity in her mistress’s smoky eyes and embraced her warmly.

“You just put someone else first, Wiridiana,” she whispered “And that’s a big step!” She went on, “I ... I wonder if it would help you to see the work that goes on that you never notice, in a big dwór? To work with the other maids?”

“I don’t see why I should not be able to,” said Wiridiana.

Józia smiled cynically.

“It will be harder than you think,” she said.

 “I know. I – I have an idea. If – if I can persuade Czapla,” she named her personal groom, “to play along, I could ride off, and come back each morning dressed as a maid, and learn?”

Józia laughed.

“It won’t work. By the time you ride, much of the work is done!  If you want to know how to drudge, better to get up early – long before your father rises – and I’ll introduce you as a girl come to help for a couple of hours. Because you won’t last longer than that at first.”

“How…er how long do servants work each day?” Wiridiana wanted to know.

 “Between twelve and sixteen hours,” shrugged Józia “Not always at hard work. I rise at five to see water is hot for your bath; and wash and hang up the clothes you’ve discarded the previous night, and if they dry I iron them in case you decide to wear the same gown. It’s a skilled job; brocades are the very devil to launder you know; and velvets too. I hope to have time to take some breakfast then; but that depends. Then I do any mending that’s urgent and then I bring you your tea in bed; and then I bring you breakfast if you require it in bed, and lay out what you have chosen to wear. Next I bring hot water for your bath and stand by in case you need me. I usually snatch the chance to sit down then,” she added “Then I dry you and assist you with dressing and hope that you’re in a good mood and not about to find me clumsy when you’re not helping yourself with dressing,” – here Wiridiana flushed. Józia went on,

“Anyway, once you’re up and go down to play music or go riding or embroider, I often have time to snatch breakfast if I have not done so before, so long as I am within call to pick up your skein of thread if you are embroidering should you drop it. It is easiest on me if you choose to ride,” she added dryly.

“I make myself ride; one has to. Horses scare me so,” confessed Wiridiana.

“Well if you only told Czapla that and let him show you how to master them properly they’d become less scary I guess!” suggested Józia. “That would not have gone down well with an Ulan; you must tell Czapla.”

“But he’ll despise me!” wailed Wiridiana.

“For ill treating the animals he already does,” said Józia “What else do you expect?  Now are you losing your resolve, for you’ve that temper look coming, Wiridiana..”

Wiridiana swallowed.

“It’s not easy to hear,” she said.

“But better from someone who thinks you can change the way you’re seen surely?  Shall I continue with the description of my day’s work?” said Józia.

Wiridiana nodded almost meekly.

Józia went on,

“It’s the table staff who have the caring for you at the noon meal; I have a couple of hours lighter duties – mending, and ironing what I’ve not been able to do before, as well as eating my own noon meal,” she said “Then I must be on hand for you in the afternoon should you call; for you like to please yourself without interruption walking in the garden and receiving swains sometimes; and I must be invisible but on hand. Then I must lay out what you plan to wear for the evening, and heat you another bath, and help you with it and with dressing; and clear up your dressing table if you have used makeup. And your hair must be braided again – I did not mention that for the morning ablutions – and then it is supper and the evening entertainments. I often take a nap after I have eaten; I’m pretty tired by then,” she confessed. “Then I must undress you and get you to bed, and pick up your discarded clothes to wash on the morrow, and sit up a while in case you do not sleep straight away but call for me. It is then eleven in the evening.”

Wiridiana was aghast.

“How do you cope on so little sleep?” she demanded.

Józia shrugged.

“Accustomed to it I suppose,” she said “Sometimes I’m so tired I want to cry; especially when you’ve been …..a little fractious.”

Wiridiana flushed.

“That makes it sound so childish!” she snapped.

“And is it not?”

Wiridiana buried her face in her hands.

“I had no idea!” she said “I – I’m sorry I’ve been so trying to add to all that!”

“That is the biggest thing you ever said,” said Józia “I never heard you ever apologise before!”

“It – I find it so difficult!”

“It is. Wiridiana, I’m really starting to like you – is that not a victory for you?” said Józia.

“Truly?” Wiridiana sounded hungry.

“Truly!”

“Then – then I can do it!  With your help!  Józia, I – I can’t start tomorrow; I’m exhausted with all that’s happened!  But please go straight to bed yourself; if I want anything I can get it myself!”

“Let me get you a glass of water first,” said Józia “If you have it ready at night, you won’t have to disturb yourself to get one; and that’ll make you sweeter natured about your resolve not to call me.”

Wiridiana managed a weak smile.

“That’s awfully practical,” she said.

“Servants have to be,” said Józia dryly.

 “Tomorrow you take the day off!” Wiridiana said “I – I’m sure I can make shift for myself!”

Józia gave her a twisted smile.

“No you can’t. not until you’re taught. Perhaps you’ll choose to wear a different gown though so I don’t have to hurry as much?”

“I will,” said Wiridiana “And – and you can show me how to do my own mending too, perhaps?”

“I think you’d find it more enjoyable than you realise to work together,” said Józia. “Good night, Wiridiana.”

“Good night Józia!” said Wiridiana.

It was a happier girl who went to bed than for a long time, had she but realised it; and if Józia cried herself to sleep those tears too were healing.

She too was no longer alone with a burden of grief to carry!

 

A brief foray into a sequel

 

Chapter 1

 

“I have the honour to report, my lord, that Towarzysz Ursyn Kudła, aided by sundry towarzysze at and staying at the haberdashery in Ulica Sw. Stefan, whom you know, have indeed caught three very fine burglars,” said Jaracz Rzędzian, saluting Starosta Młocki.

“Jaracz, did you just misquote Pliny deliberately?” asked Młocki.

“Of course,” said Jaracz.

“So, I assume you had ‘not forsaken your laziness and had beside you a stylus and tablet?’” Młocki added to the passage often used to the sighs of schoolchildren everywhere as an exercise in translation.

“Well, a wife, anyway,” said Jaracz. “Kordula and I had been partying with the other married bods,  since I’m in two minds about mustering out if I can find a steward for Kordula’s lands, she having a distaste for the place.”

“Understandable,” said Młocki. “But burglars? Who in their right mind would burgle Ulans?”

“Well, they were apparently burgling the haberdashery over and under which sundry of us live,” said Jaracz. “And it was Ursyn who heard them.”

“Inevitably; bears have good hearing,” said Młocki. Ursyn Kudłá, a sub-adult bear, lived with Sylvia  Bogacka, and her husband, Jarosław Bogacki. She had taken him from a cruel master, before she met Jaras, as Jarosław was known. They occupied the basement of the building, with Jeremi Skrzetuski and his wife, Anna Maria having lately lived on the first floor, and the rest of the building occupied by Aureliusz Stroyny and his wife, Ludwika, who was Jaras’s sister, and Paweł Kwaśniecki, and his wife, Edyta. Jeremi and Anna-Maria had not yet decided whether to move into the town property she inherited since her father had died, and had sent a steward to the country estate. Jaracz and Kordula found it uncomfortable living on the estate where Kordula’s father had killed himself, blaming Jaracz for uncovering the crimes of the late Lord Fincke, and showing Kordula’s father up as a fool.

“Well, yes, so as I understand it, Ursyn went to find out why there were unauthorised customers at an odd time of day,” said Jaracz. “That bear has a well-developed sense of duty. He’s also nosy,” he added.

“The latter I believe more,” said Młocki. The Ulans adored their bear and ascribed to him more abilities of reasoning than many outsiders believed.

Rzędzian grinned.

“Well, the first thing the rest of us know is the high-pitched, indeed, falsetto, scream of sheer terror. So we all leap out of bed and run downstairs with our sabres....”

“Stark naked?” asked Młocki.

“Why not? We’re all towarzysze together, including the girls, and just because Jeremi and I have rank, we don’t have that much more dignity.” He considered. “Anna-Maria pulled on a kontusz so she could slide down the banisters,” he added. “She said that the trivial delay in acquiring some protection was insignificant next to the singular advantage to be gained in descending with more rapidity.”

Młocki was used to the wordiness of Lady Skrzetuska.

“So Ursyn caught three very fine burglars?”

“Well, he had one treed, and one of the others told him off for screaming. It was a hoot,” said Jaracz. “The first one said, in a strangled whisper ‘there’s a bear!’ and the next said, ‘nonsense! You came upon some furs.’ And the first said, ‘with eyes, and teeth, and claws?” and the second one had come upon Ursyn by then, who was standing up, a bit puzzled, and said... the burglar said, not Ursyn... ‘it’s stuffed.’ And then Ursyn turned round, and he gave as girly a screech as I have ever heard.  And said, ‘It’s a b-b-bear!’ And then Jeremi heard stealthy noises and leaped on the maker of them, which was the third burglar, and we took Ursyn’s bag in charge, and they were willing to confess rather than be fed to the bear, which we didn’t even have to threaten.   And now Ursyn is a prime favourite with the haberdasher, who had been dubious about him before, so it was a jolly good outcome.”

“Except for the burglars, but they are doubtless glad to be safe in gaol,” said Młocki, cheerfully. “Away from bears and naked towarzysze with sabres. There’s something about a naked woman with a sabre which is almost as scary as a bear.”

“I’d take the bear any day,” agreed Jaracz. “Oh, we need a quote from the English playwright, Shakespeare here – ‘exit, pursued by a bear.’”

“Now that has to be a strange play,” said Młocki.

“I dunno; I don’t speak English,” said Jaracz. “But I heard it mentioned.”

 

 and yes, I will post chapter 1 of Dance of Redemption as well

 

Dance of suspicion, working title, novella

 this was an idea which occurred to me, so I let the words flow. It'll need something more to go with it as it's only half a novel, but I can worry about that later.  Maybe I'll send my protagonists to help out Eugeniusz where he has become starosta when Wladyslaw had a cat over the starosta's mismanagement. Uh, this is in the LWH Dance universe, following dancing about with bears and other ursines. 

And this one has formatted itself. Why? 

Chapter 1

 

“Captain Skrzetuski assures me that you are capable of acting the peasant and are willing to do so if the work is interesting enough,” said Starosta Młocki to Quartermaster Jaracz Rzędzian.

“My stupid bucolic act is fairly famous, said Rzędzian, modestly. “And my poczet didn’t seem to think it too risible. Though I’m not sure how long I could fool other peasants. Taking in szlachta is easy enough to explain why there are so many folk takes which involve a clever peasant fooling the wicked lord.”

“I fear that many of our estate have sufficiently closed minds that it induces shutters also on the perceptions,” agreed Młocki, dryly. “I need you to become a groom in the household of a szlachcic. Can you do that?”

“For sure, my lord; the horses at least will tell me no lies and speak more wisdom than many men.”

“You are a cynic.”

“It’s why you want me in police work. What’s this fellow done?”

“If I knew that, I could use more conventional forms of surveillance. I can’t even be sure that he has done anything.  But when a man bearing the name of a convicted traitor goes out of his way to avoid conversation at social gatherings with both starosta and substarosta, one has to be... wary. And I want him watched by another szlachcic rather than set constables to watch him; a matter of etiquette. And our trainees are becoming well-known. If he has done nothing untoward, I want to be able to brush off the watching without prejudice, as you might say; and so I need a stranger.”

“I see,” said Rzędzian. “And you want me, because I am capable of using my initiative and acting independently, but you can also deny me if I do anything which causes offence.”

“More or less,” said Młocki. “You have a good career in the army, so it won’t cause you any problems if I have to fire you as acting under substarosta.”

“I can live with that, and happy to have the leeway,” said Rzędzian. “So, tell me all about this suspicious szlachcic.”

“Michał Wronowski is around forty. He owns a couple of small villages or one large sprawling village in two halves, depending on which way you look at it. Stary Mostów is where his dwór is situated, but a new bridge was built and gave rise to Nowy Mostów, which is the larger of the two villages. It boasts an inn rather than an ale-house, and the new bridge is associated with a weir, which runs a saw-mill. There’s also a windmill for grain.”

“A prosperous little lot,” said Rzędzian. “A man would be ambitious, restless, or plain greedy to risk such a nice little holding for any other games of treason or smuggling or whatever.”

“Yes, and as he seems to live quietly, beyond bringing his daughter into society now she is old enough to be ‘out’, I feel almost ashamed of my suspicions,” sighed Młocki.

“Well, I will look, and it is a matter of doing so as a favour, not an official investigation,” said Rzędzian. “Daughter? Only child? Is she much spoilt?”

“Not as far as I can see, she seems a nice child, not like the Syruciównie I’ve met,” said Młocki. “Though I understand at least one of them is getting herself sorted out.  Her name is Kordula, and she’s been out for around a year, but does not seem to have formed any tendre for any young man.  The nearest neighbour has a son a year or so younger than her, who is thinking of joining the Ulans, one Marcin Prusinowski, a younger brother to...”

“Stefan Prusinowski, the late Stefan Prusinowski, who lost his life playing a stupid prank,” filled in Rzędzian. “Well, if he does join up, he’ll be under strict surveillance from Jeremi, Captain Skrzetuski, that is, in case he’s as stupid as his brother.  I won’t mind a chance to look him over, too.”

“Well, I dare say you will have the opportunity. There’s a sister between the two boys, Agata, who is a confidante of Kordula, I believe. I believe that the older Prusinowski is dithering about letting his son go in to the military, having lost one son, and having a quiverful of girls younger than Marcin, and the youngest boy not out of leading strings. He’d rather the boy courted Kordula, to increase their lands, I suspect. The only other local szlachta are szlachetka.”

“And doubtless any young man of that kind hopeful to gain lands,” said Rzędzian. “I don’t think I’d get any closer to the family claiming to be a suitor than by posing as a groom, moreover, if I don’t like the wench, I shan’t have to pretend to be smitten.”

“No, indeed,” said Młocki.

“Well, I might as well retain my own name; it doesn’t scream nobility,” said Rzędzian. “I don’t guarantee anything, but I’ll do my best.”

“I can’t ask any more than that,” said Młocki.

 

***

 

Kordula Wronowska reflected that the new groom was more obliging than the former chief groom. He was also more decorative when riding out, and did not exude an air of distinct disapproval over females not being kept in a box to be brought out for church on Sunday. Janoczek had sat with his arms folded properly when she drove herself but with an air of outrage that she should be doing what he saw as his job, and doing it well enough not to justify his deep disapproval by overturning the gig into a ditch. He was not inclined to help her into the saddle either, and had always grunted that the mounting block was just outside.

The new man, Rzędzian, was much younger than Janoczek, a well-built, even burly figure, who looked shorter than he was for the width of his shoulders. His waist, however, was relatively slender, and he looked like the painting of Mars on the ceiling of her father’s study, with a thatch of golden curls above a clean-shaven face. Seemingly guileless blue eyes gazed on the world, giving him the look of a simpleton, but those same eyes were chips of ice where he noted that some of the stable hands had neglected their duty, which boded ill for someone.

“They say you were a military man, thrown out for stealing,” ventured Kordula, as he fettled her horse for her. “But I cannot see my father tolerating a thief in his employ, so were you falsely accused?”

“Well, now, my lady, it’s this road,” said Rzędzian, who had told the same story to Lord Wronowski to cover his military bearing. The man had been happy to accept it, having lost his former chief groom to being bribed into the service of another. “It’s by way of having an excess of loyalty, as you might say, to my quartermaster. See, he’s a man to whom you might say I have a tenuous familial connection.”

“That’s a roundabout way of suggesting that you are his unacknowledged son or brother, on the wrong side of the blanket,” said Kordula.

“I rather liked it as a way of putting things myself; such a nebulous descriptor,” said Rzędzian. “And you might very well put it that way; I couldn’t possibly comment.  Suffice it to say, that you won’t find many quartermasters ready to concede that stealing from the king, through creative book-work, really constitutes theft as such, but the army even so takes a dim view of such... redistribution of materiel. In short, I took the blame for the depredations, and my  quartermaster reprimanded for covering up the peculations of a dependent. So here I am, promised a pension, but in the meantime, needing to make my own way.”

“You’re a bit of a rogue, in other words, but loyal,” said Kordula. “You have a very wide vocabulary for a groom.”

“I like to better myself. The infantry would have it that a cavalry man can only add up to four, being the number of legs of his horse; we contend that we can manage six, for being our own legs too, and eight for the captain who also counts his magnificent fox-coloured moustaches. He also fires vocabulary in barrages, and a wise man surrounds himself with the armour of lexicology,” said Rzędzian.

“You are droll,” said Kordula. “It is certainly a change from the dour air of disobliging discouragement which were common to Jan Janoczek.”

“I’m naturally happy,” said Rzędzian. “Do you need aid to mount, my lady?”

“If you would be so good,” said Kordula. “Janoczek made me use the block.”

“If he’s as dour as he sounds, he was probably afraid that touching a lady’s foot would bring too much pleasure to him, and rock his world with sinful delight,” said Rzędzian.

“Possibly true, but you are not supposed to admit to any pleasure,” said Kordula.

“I shall keep it to confess to the priest so I have a sin for Sunday,” said Rzędzian, gravely, tossing her up. “You go up lightly enough, I am surprised you need help.”

“I have never been taught or expected to mount alone,” said Kordula. “Oh my!” as Rzędzian sprang into his saddle in the light leap which was the Ulan way. “And I would not know how to start to do that.”

“I could teach you, lady, so long as you trusted me to catch you if you fell,” said Rzędzian. “But it would help if you did a week of Cossack bends beforehand, to strengthen your legs and make them more supple.”

“If you will show me how, I will do so,” said Kordula.

They rode out into the autumnal air, and Kordula happily breathed in the rich smell of the turned earth.

“Did you wish to ride anywhere in particular, lady?” asked Rzędzian.

“No, just out and about. Do you get jumpy if I leap over hedges, or go by the old bridge and leap the hole in the middle of it?”

“So long as the structure is firm enough where you take off and land,” said Rzędzian. “And I have to rely on you to tell me that, without surveying it myself. You are the resident, and I am a stranger here.”

“Would you stop me if it were dangerous?”

“Certainly; escorting you is worth a good third of my pay, and if you broke your neck, I’d be out of pocket,” said Rzędzian.

“What, not a desire to save a pretty szlachcianka?” Kordula pouted.

Rzędzian laughed.

“Don’t overdo that one, it went beyond pretty affront and into trout,” he said. “Oh, a desire to save a pretty girl is always at the heart of any Ulan’s thoughts.”

“You were mercenary to take the wind out of my sails,” said Kordula.

“Yes,” said Rzędzian.

“You are too familiar,” said Kordula, sternly.

“Do you prefer dour disapproval?”

“No.”

 

She had a good seat and rode well, and took the obstacles she jumped with skill and grace. She seemed surprised and gratified that Rzędzian was able to keep up with her, and jumped with an ease she had not expected in so big a man. She was light in the saddle, being slightly built, with soft dark hair contrasting with a pale complexion so that she looked delicate, like a piece of thistledown which might almost be expected to be blown right off her horse’s back. This was enhanced by her puce redingote, a colour few could wear well, but which suited her well. The waistcoat under it was a lighter rose colour, and the skirt the same colour as the jacket. The colour was so dark it appeared black in some lights, but where the light caught it, it was undoubtedly that fashionable colour so disastrous to so many complexions. Rzędzian admired the boldness of wearing it so dark. It was almost the colour of the leaves of the copper beech, which stood as a dark counterpoint to the bright yellows and tans of the autumn foliage.

He rode over the old bridge ahead of her, making the jump with ease, and swung backwards in his saddle to watch her accomplish it. Her gasp of amazement almost saw her fumble the leap, but she made it.

“And that was my fault for startling you with Ulan tricks, I am sorry, lady,” said Rzędzian.

She looked surprised.

“Why, thank you for that acknowledgement. I should not have let it surprise me,” she said.

Rzędzian laughed and swung back the other way.

“I may not do the Cossack death drag, but I can handle most of the tricks,” he said. “You need Cossack dancing for most of them.”

“I think I need to learn.”

“Your father might not be best pleased... well, I will be working out most mornings and if you choose to copy me, I can’t be held responsible for that, now, can I?” said Rzędzian.

“Casuistry,” said Kordula.

“And haven’t I trained at Raven’s Knoll, to learn casuistry along with tackling The Wall?” said Rzędzian.

“The Wall?”

“Why, the White Ravens have a hill with eight faces, each one different to practice different skills. The Wall is a sheer cliff. And not for taking any horse up,” he added.

“It seems a shame that you should have had to take the blame for your relative. It’s plain that you love and miss the life of a soldier,” said Kordula.

“I do, but perhaps they’ll let me join up again one day, when they’ve recovered from the Rooster... the former captain. A man who crowed a lot and thought he laid golden eggs,” Rzędzian explained. “He caused us a lot of trouble, but my current... well, that’s former most recent captain devised a way to show him up. It was... unpleasant,” he added. “And a long story, which involves me borrowing a herd of cows with pennants on their horns to fool some gullible fellows into thinking that the winged hussars had arrived. How they scattered!” he grinned in remembering the rout at the ford.

“You are a rogue,” said Kordula, severely.

“Aye, lady, but I have my bad points as well,” said Rzędzian. “Why, we are back. When you have rubbed down your horse I will show you the Cossack squats to practise.”

“The other hands....”

“The other hands have taken advantage of me being busy to go see a cockfight at the ale house. So, I shall show you the moves after our horses are fed and watered, and then I will go down to the Cockspur Inn, and take some exercise tanning the jackets of my lazy underlings. I gave them due warning, after all.”

His eyes were chips of flint, and Kordula was glad she was not in his bad books, even if she could, in theory, order him punished.

“I do not think they disobeyed Janoczek,” she said.

“No, but they do not yet know me,” said Rzędzian.