After a wait of about ten minutes, they were conducted inside to a sparsely furnished room, where Kirov at once recognised Caulaincourt’s travelling-desk, which went everywhere on campaign with him. It was covered with papers and maps, and behind it stood Caulaincourt himself, haggard, grim-faced, looking ten years older than when Kirov had last seen him, at Vilna.
The two men exchanged a long look in which the same awarenesses were shared. Everything Caulaincourt had warned of from the very beginning, even back in Paris, had come to pass: Russia itself, rather than the Russians, had defeated Napoleon’s grand design and destroyed his Grande Armée, the pathetic relics of which were hobbling even now on blackened, toeless feet into a city which could not feed them or clothe them. The invasion had been an abject failure; but Kirov could not rejoice. It was he who spoke first.
‘Armand,’ he said hesitantly. The big things were too big to be addressed. He said instead, ‘I heard about your brother. I’m sorry.’
Caulaincourt’s younger brother Auguste, a gallant and popular cavalry officer to whom he had been deeply attached, had been killed at Borodino.
Caulaincourt’s face registered the pain anew. He said, ‘Your son, too.’
Kirov nodded; and then he lifted his hands. ‘Old friend, we never wanted this – either of us. This isn’t even war – it’s madness.’
Caulaincourt looked down at his hands. ‘You don’t know – you haven’t seen the half of it!’
‘But Armand,’ Kirov said abruptly, ‘the horses – no winter shoes! You’re the Grand Equerry! Surely–?’
Caulaincourt turned his head away, staring towards the window. ‘I gave the orders for every horse under my command to be reshod, and for every man to have proper boots and winter clothing. But I’m only responsible for the Household. When I begged His Majesty to give orders for the rest of the army, he only laughed.’ He put a hand to his head. ‘I tried again and again to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen. “Tales to frighten children!” he said. “Caulaincourt’s losing his nerve!” he said. And the autumn was so mild, as if God Himself were on your side, lulling him, making him delay and delay…’His eyes were bleak. ‘The horses were starving to death even in Moscow; but all he would say was, “Send out for more fodder”.’
He stopped abruptly, aware that what he was saying was close to treason. He met Kirov’s eyes again, knowing that he, at least, would understand. It was above all the strain of his love and loyalty towards his Emperor, when his Emperor consistently ignored his advice and plunged them all into disaster, which had aged him; that, and the terrible things he had witnessed.
‘It isn’t war,’ he repeated Kirov’s words; then he pulled himself together. ‘What are you doing here, Nikolai? You have not come from your Emperor?’ His eye betrayed a glimmer of hope.
Kirov shook his head. ‘No, I am here on a personal matter. You know nothing of it, then? My daughter – I am looking for my daughter.’
‘Your daughter?’
‘There is a certain Colonel Duvierge, who has been maintaining a correspondence with her,’ Kirov said grimly. ‘I have reason to believe he has abducted her.’
Caulaincourt’s eyes opened very wide. He thought a moment. ‘I cannot say that I know anything of that. Many of the senior officers have women with them, as well as servants and plunder – that’s their privilege; and there are a great many civilians following the army – too many! I begged His Majesty to limit the following.’ He grimaced. ‘When we left Moscow, it looked more like an Eastern caravan than an army…’
‘Duvierge is here, in Smolensk?’ Kirov interrupted urgently.
‘Yes, he and de Lauriston have travelled with the Household all the way. I know little of Duvierge, but I always thought he was a gentleman. De Lauriston seems to think highly of him – but then he’s a soldier.’ There was a hint of the old rivalry, the old jealousy, in his words.
‘I must see him. Can you arrange it for me, old friend? If my daughter is with him–’
‘Of course. At once. If you will wait here, I will send a message to bring him here to you. It will be best, I think,’ Caulaincourt said thoughtfully, ‘if I summon him to see me, without mentioning your name. If he has abducted your daughter, it will be better not to give him time to think of excuses.’ He gestured towards the fire. ‘Make yourselves as comfortable as possible. I will have some coffee sent in to you. Oh yes,’ with a wry expression, ‘I still have a little left. I made good provision for myself and the Household. Would to God I could have done it for the whole army.’
Left alone, Kirov walked over to the fireplace, and Anne went to stand near him for comfort. They did not speak. There was nothing in their minds but the hope that Lolya was with Duvierge, and safe and well – for bad though that would be, any other possibility was infinitely worse. The wait seemed very long. The room was quiet except for the crackling of the fire, but from outside in the street came noises which by their irregularity told the grim tale of an army in disarray.
At last the door opened, and Caulaincourt came in, met Kirov’s eye warningly, and stepped aside to usher in Colonel Duvierge. He looked, Anne saw with mingled relief and anger, as immaculate as ever, smoothly handsome, unmarked by the terrible flight or the hideous scenes he must have witnessed. He stepped through the door with an expression of polite enquiry on his face, and then stopped short when he saw Kirov. A flicker of something passed through his eyes; and then he allowed his gaze to rove insolently over the three travellers, and he raised an eyebrow in ironic enquiry, as though he had come across someone improperly dressed at a drawing-room reception.
‘So! Monsieur de Kirov, what an unexpected pleasure,’ he drawled. ‘And Madame Tchaikovskova too, I see. Your servant, madame. Your presence suggests that this is a social, rather than a diplomatic visit – you should have warned me, Excellency,’ he added, with a glance at Caulaincourt which revealed a glint of anger.
‘You know why I’m here,’ Kirov snapped, his anger fanned by Duvierge’s shameless composure. ‘Where is my daughter?’ Duvierge’s eyebrow climbed again, but before he could answer, Kirov went on hotly, ‘Don’t trouble yourself to lie about it! We know that she has been writing to you, that you enticed her away from her home and family. Where is she? If you have harmed so much as one hair of her head…’
‘Calm yourself, monsieur,’ Duvierge interrupted. ‘And please, let us remember our manners. I have no intention of lying, and I find it offensive that you should suggest I would do so.’
Caulaincourt made a movement to intervene, but Kirov’s temper snapped before he could speak. ‘How dare you make a joke of it? Good God, man, have you no shame? You seduce an innocent girl, abduct her from her home, subject her to the horrors of this retreat, and then have the impertinence to bandy words with me!’
‘Nikolai,’ Caulaincourt began, seeing Duvierge’s face begin to redden. ‘Be calm.’
Kirov swung round on him. ‘Be calm? No, by God, I won’t be calm! He insults me, he insults my daughter, by his lightness! I tell you, Duvierge, you will speak to me with respect, or I shall knock you down like the puppy you are!’
‘And I tell you, Count Kirov, that I did not abduct your daughter – no, nor seduce her! It is impossible to seduce a virtuous girl!’
Anne drew a breath of shock and fear, and Kirov, with a growl like a goaded bear, stepped towards Duvierge with a raised fist. Caulaincourt placed himself swiftly between them, catching Kirov’s wrist with slender, steely fingers. There was a moment of frozen silence. The difference between the two men was so marked: Kirov, bundled in his travelling clothes, dishevelled and mud splashed, blazing with rage; and Duvierge, immaculately uniformed, his handsome face a little pale, but his expression still cool and haughty, refusing to flinch before Kirov’s anger.