Irina by Philip Warren

Author:Philip Warren [Warren, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PineLands Company, The
Published: 2021-05-31T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter X

1410

Giverny, France

“I have seen so much death in my life. I caused it to others. Now,” she whispered to no one, “now, it comes for me.”

That death had found Big Franciszek caused her little guilt. That it eventually found Tomasz Wodowicz—after all the murders she had learned he committed in his pursuit of vengeance—caused her none at all.

Irina’s mood shifted with the charcoal clouds crowding out the spring sun. The past month had become a pageant of bitter memories come to haunt her. She shivered. It seems I must live those days again! But not for long, nie? For some time, she stared into the chateau’s shading meadow, where she knew other life would soon do the work of the night world.

Finally, the well-padded chaise enveloped her into a fitful state, neither awake nor asleep. Though wrapped in the folds of a long nightgown, she could not shake the chill. She reached for the cape lying across the nearby chair where Velka often sat to keep her company. Forcing her lips into a smile, she thought about the cape made of farmer’s wool, yet handsomely sewn and dyed a brilliant blue. She pulled it over herself, clutching tightly the last relic of her youth, and awaited the warmth she hoped would soon caress her. But the wool’s feel against her cheek drew her further into the past.

Pain brought her back to the present as it grabbed her once more, then left, leaving her to await its return. The ache in her belly wasn’t from bad food or impure water, and neither was it from despair over a long-ago loss. It was something else. But will I have long enough?

For herself, another kind of death would be her visitor one day, but not before, she hoped, there might be an answer to her most ardent prayer. What has become of you, my son?

Velka’s soft whisper stirred her. “My Lady, is there something I can do for you?”

“Where did the sun go?” Irina asked drowsily, as if the day’s earlier warmth might still caress her, ease her discomfort, and shield her from her own memories.

“You needed your rest, so I didn’t wake you. Would you like some broth?”

Irina shook her head. “You are thoughtful to ask. Later, perhaps?”

“Just call out, My Lady. I will come.” Velka backed away, her felt slippers shushing on the polished wood floor.

Cold rain began to pelt away the day’s remainder. Soon, its tattoo upon the chateau’s wavy windowglass seemed to insist she not brush aside all that had happened in her life. It had all started in Poznan, a place so far from where she rested, yet the images of what happened seemed to surround her—like the clouds hovering outside her window.

Irina clutched the cape, and as her eyelids fluttered in surrender, she turned her mind’s eye to another time and place. Over the years, she had become less certain of her memories, and some, she supposed, were the recollections of others she had woven into her own.

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