She admitted frankly to herself that was how she felt, but she knew her mother would be ashamed of her if she showed any apprehension or distress to the outside world.
Perhaps in their desire to save Dabrozka she and Prince Aladár would together find a secure foundation on which to build their married life.
What made everything so difficult was that she knew nothing about him and there was in fact no-one in the Palace she could question.
She felt it would be undignified to ask for information from Colonel Ceáky or any of the other Court Officials.
What was more, she was quite certain that if they were part of her father’s entourage they would have the same feelings about the Sáros as he had.
“I shall just have to wait and see,” Ilona told herself with a wry smile.
At the same time she was determined to discuss not only the Prince, but also the whole history of the Sáros with her father.
It might anger him, he would doubtless be abusive and denounce the Prince as violently as he had done in the Throne Room.
But it was best to be prepared, best to know the worst of what lay ahead, rather than remain in complete ignorance.
During the afternoon she walked in the gardens of the Palace and spent the rest of the day inspecting the rooms which she had not seen since she was a child.
She had forgotten what a magnificent Library her grandfather, who had been a very erudite man, had collected.
Or that her great grandfather had been interested in Greek culture and had a collection of statues, urns and vases which she was sure would have been greatly appreciated in Paris.
Her mother’s old friends would have enjoyed many of the pictures by great Masters which hung on the walls of the Salons and decorated the wide corridors.
These were also embellished with suits of armour fashioned in gold and silver, which had been worn in past centuries by the Kings of Dabrozka.
That the treasures the Palace contained were well arranged was due, Ilona knew, to her mother’s good taste.
Hungarian by birth, the Queen was well read and had an exceptional knowledge of antiques.
Because of her mother’s love of history which she had imparted to her daughter, Ilona found that her tour through the Palace was almost like turning the pages of a book.
She only wished she had someone with her to whom she could ask questions, especially with regard to the lovely old icons which had come from Russian and of which there were a great number.
There was so much to see and so much to interest her that she realised that it was growing late and she should be thinking of dressing for dinner.
There was still no sign of her father and she had gone to her bedroom expecting they would dine together at the same hour as they had the previous evening.
Magda was waiting for her.
“I thought, M’mselle, you would like to dine in your Boudoir tonight rather than go downstairs to the Dining Room.”
“Am I alone?” Ilona asked. “Can I not dine with my father?”
“No, M’mselle!”
“Why not? Is he still angry?”
Magda hesitated before she answered,
“He has made other arrangements, M’mselle.”
“Other arrangements?” Ilona queried. “You mean that he is dining with someone else?”
“Yes, M’mselle!”
There was something in the way Magda spoke which told Ilona there was something mysterious about her father’s dinner-party.
“You know something which you have not told me, Magda,” she said. “Why should there be a mystery about the person whom Papa has invited to dinner?”
Magda avoided her eyes.
“Don’t trouble your head, M’mselle. You should have no knowledge of such women. They’re a disgrace - that’s what they are!”
Ilona remembered Magda using much the same words about the brilliantly attired ladies driving in the Bois.
She was silent for a moment, then she said quietly,
“You mean that – Papa has a – a – lady-friend?”
“If that’s what you wish to call it,” Magda replied sourly. “It’s what your poor mother had to suffer year after year!”
Ilona had looked at the maid with wide eyes.
Now she began to understand some of the things her mother had said inadvertently about her life before she left Dabrozka.
It was not only that the Queen had been physically assaulted, it was something deeper which had left a scar that could never be erased.
“Women of that sort!”
Like most children, Ilona had never expected her parents to be associated with immorality.
She knew of course that the French were always writing of love and lovers, and that Louis Napoleon had a succession of mistresses who were whispered about and discussed by every Parisian high or low.
But such things had never concerned her personally, and she had never imagined that her father, however unpredictable he might be, would be attracted by any woman other than her mother.
Now she saw how naïve and foolish it was of her to expect anything else.
The Dabrozkans were a red-blooded passionate race, their songs, their music and their dancing were all as fiery and as temperamental as their horses.
But that her father .... !
Sternly she told herself that no man, certainly not a Dabrozkan, could be expected to live the life of a monk.
Also she could not imagine what sort of woman would put up with her father’s rages and capricious behaviour, even if he were a King.
It was however something she could not discuss with Magda.
“You are quite right, Magda!” she said aloud. “I would much prefer to dine in my boudoir. I have a book to read which I am finding extremely interesting.”
She found it difficult to sleep after she went to bed.
She kept thinking of her father and the woman with whom he was dining.
She suspected, although she would rather die than ask questions, that the mistress of the King would doubtless have apartments in the Palace.
It was certainly large enough to accommodate a whole Harem, if necessary. But to Ilona it was intolerable to think that she was sleeping under the same roof as an improper woman taking the place of her sweet and gentle mother.
However when daylight came she told herself sharply that it was none of her business.
Her father’s private life was no concern of hers. All she must think about was the safety of Dabrozka.
Her mother would have considered it her duty to save the country to which she belonged, and if it was humanly possible, to bring peace to its people.
“I want to hear them sing and laugh again,” Ilona told herself.
She was determined before she was married that she would discuss with her father the burden of the new taxes, and also the ban on mourning and the closure of the Church-yards.
From the history books she had read with her mother she had learnt that in many countries it was often some quite small grievance which inflamed the populace and brought them to a state of revolt.
‘The people must hate Papa!’ she thought, ‘when they cannot tend the graves or hear the Priests praying that their loved ones when they die, may find eternal rest.’
She felt as if she was being given strength to fight against such injustices, and that when the time came to approach her father she would not be afraid to do so.
The difficulty was to see him at all.
She had sent a message early in the morning by Magda asking when they could meet.
This was the third time Magda had gone to the King’s apartments only to be told that His Majesty had no desire to see his daughter.
‘I wish now I had gone riding,’ Ilona thought.
Then irresistibly the memory came back to her of what had occurred yesterday.
It had been impossible, even with so many other problems on her mind, not to remember the feeling when she had been kissed and the hard posse
ssiveness of the stranger’s lips.
“I must forget it,” Ilona had told herself in the darkness. “It was an outrage! An impertinence which only happened because I was foolish enough to run away from those who were protecting me.”
She would never have contemplated riding in Paris without being accompanied by a groom, but she had imagined that in the wild Dabrozkan countryside she would be quite safe, only to find that she had been mistaken.
“Why do you not go for a walk in the garden, M’mselle?” Magda asked.
“I wish to see my father,” Ilona replied, “and I intend to make him talk to me.”
She walked out determinedly towards the door.
“Put out all the white gowns we have brought from Paris, Magda,” she ordered. “We have to decide which one I will wear tomorrow.”
“I have already done so, M’mselle. There is one which I’m sure you’ll think is the most beautiful.”
“I will see it when I return,” Ilona replied.
She walked down the Grand Staircase and along the corridors which led to the King’s Reception Room.
In the Ante-room Colonel Ceáky was on duty and Ilona was glad to see him.
“Good-morning, Colonel!” she said.
“Good-morning, Your Royal Highness.”
“I have asked three times to see my father. I consider it important that we should discuss the arrangements for tomorrow.”
“I can tell Your Royal Highness what they are,” Colonel Ceáky replied.
He walked to a desk in the room as he spoke and picked up a piece of paper.
“Is there any reason why I should not discuss them with the King?” Ilona enquired.
The Colonel hesitated and she knew that he was considering how much he should tell her.
“Has he – changed his mind about the – wedding?” she asked.
It was quite on the cards that her father would do so, regardless of the consequences.
“Not exactly,” Colonel Ceáky replied. “But His Majesty is, as you might have expected, extremely angry at having been forced to give his consent to it.”
“He must realise there is no alternative.”
“I am sure it is right that I should tell Your Royal Highness,” Colonel Ceáky said, “that the Prime Minister and Prince Aladár called here this morning and asked to see you.”
“The Prince?” Ilona exclaimed.
“It was to be expected that he should call,” Colonel Ceáky answered.
“I was not told of his arrival.”
“No, His Majesty refused to allow either the Prince or the Prime Minister to see you.”
Ilona said nothing and Colonel Ceáky went on,
“I am afraid, Princess, that the message that was given to them was not particularly polite.”
“What happened?”
“They asked for Your Royal Highness at the door and were shown into one of the Salons. The Officer on Duty was a young man who considered it his duty to inform His Majesty of the Prime Minister’s arrival.”
Ilona drew in her breath. She could understand so well what had happened.
“What was the message my father sent to the Prince?” she asked.
The Colonel hesitated before he replied:
“Her Royal Highness, the Princess Ilona of Dabrozka, has no wish to speak to or see Prince Aladár before she is forced by circumstances to do so.”
The Colonel spoke in a low voice, then said quickly,
“I deeply regret that this should have happened.”
“I insist on seeing my father,” Ilona said.
She felt a surge of rage within herself that her father should have behaved so discourteously, so insultingly, towards the man she was to marry.
Could anything be more unfortunate at this particular moment?
Colonel Ceáky did not argue with her but walked across the room and opened the door into the King’s apartments. He returned a few seconds later to say briefly,
“His Majesty will see Your Royal Highness!”
Holding her head high Ilona walked past him into her father’s room.
The King was sitting in an arm-chair, his legs sprawled out in front of him, a glass of brandy in his hand, a half empty decanter on the table by his chair.
“What do you want?” he asked harshly as Ilona advanced towards him.
Ilona curtsied dutifully.
“I have been waiting to speak to you all the morning, Papa.”
“I have no wish to see you,” the King remarked in a surly tone.
“I have been told,” Ilona said, “that you dismissed Prince Aladár and the Prime Minister in my name. That was not only extremely offensive, Papa, it was also very unwise!”
“What do you mean - unwise?” the King asked, glowering at her.
“If I am to marry Prince Aladár in an effort to save this country and to create an atmosphere of peace amongst our people, it is extremely unfortunate that he should think of me as rude and unto-operative.”
“Are you daring to question my action in this matter?” the King asked.
He put down his glass and rose to his feet as he spoke. He looked very tall and aggressive with his dark eye-brows almost meeting across his forehead.
“We have to create a new spirit in the land, Papa,” Ilona answered. “We have to put an end to enmity and hatred and make the Radáks and the Sáros meet in friendship.”
The King threw back his head and laughed. It was a sound without mirth and it was also contemptuous.
“Do you really think you can change the feeling in the country? You - a creature of no importance save that you are my daughter, dragged up in obscurity by that sanctimonious mother of yours?”
He spoke so violently that for a moment it was difficult for Ilona to find words with which to answer him.
Because she was silent he laughed again.
“If you imagine this farcical wedding will change anything, you are very much mistaken. I do not believe all that hysterical nonsense about the Russians wishing to take over the country.”
His voice was louder as he went on,
“But of one thing I am quite certain - that my people, the Radáks, loathe and detest the Sáros to their very guts, and the sacrifice of a milk-faced virgin on the altar of matrimony will not change their minds!”
“I think you are wrong, Papa,” Ilona replied. “I think too that there are many injustices in Dabrozka today that should be changed.”
It required a great effort to defy him, but she spoke quietly and her eyes were on his face as she spoke.
Suddenly and so unexpectedly that she was taken completely by surprise, he stepped forward and hit her with his open hand on the side of her face.
The blow made her stagger and fall to her knees on the ground.
“How dare you question my laws and my decrees!” the King shouted. “How dare you answer me back in the same way as your mother did!”
There was a ringing in her ears which for the moment made Ilona feel dizzy. Then she suddenly felt the sharp sting of a whip across her shoulders.
Because it was so unexpected, because she had not realised he had picked up a riding-whip, she screamed. Then as the whip fell again and again on her back she bit her lip until it bled.
The agony of the whip was like a knife cutting into her skin. Then she heard her father say roughly,
“Get out of here and stay out of my sight! When you become a Sáros you will soon learn what I think of you!”
It was difficult to move, almost impossible to get to her feet. Ilona felt as if the room was swimming around her. Then pride came to her aid and her feet carried her towards the door.
As she reached out to touch the handle the door opened and she saw Colonel Ceáky was outside.
She passed him without a word and leaving the Antechamber walked slowly back the way she had come and up the Grand Staircase to her bed-room.
Only when she was alone and had shut herself in did she put up her hand to her cheek and fe
el as if she must faint from the horror of what she had undergone.
She could hardly believe it possible that her father had struck her as he had done when she was a child! The terror he had evoked then flooded over her now like a dark cloud.
“I hate him! I hate him!” Ilona told herself.
The intensity of her feelings swept away the weakness which threatened to overcome her and the tears of pain which pricked her eyes.
She was determined not to be subservient to him or acknowledge that his strength had defeated her.
She only vowed that because of the manner in which he had behaved she would fight him and his injustice to the last breath in her body.
*
The bells of a dozen churches were peeling, and the sound mingled with the cheers of the people and the music of the Bands.
In the short time they had been given to prepare for the wedding, the citizens of Vitózi had worked miracles.
There were arches of flowers and the street lamps were garlanded with them.
There were flags and bunting hanging from every house and every balcony.
The streets were lined with men, women and children, all dressed in their colourful costumes and waving handkerchiefs, bunches of flowers and flags.
It was a day of brilliant sunshine, warm but with a faint breeze.
Ilona, seated beside her father in an open carriage, was aware that to the populace she must look the ideal bride, radiant and happy at the prospect of being married.
The gown that she and Magda had chosen from those she had brought from Paris was a ball-gown of white silk and tulle. It had a long train flowing from the bustle which, when she walked, moved behind her like a white-crested wave.
She had thought when she purchased it that perhaps there might be a ball at the Palace or she would wear it on some public occasion at which she had to make a spectacular appearance.
She never dreamt that it would be her wedding-gown, and yet it was a perfect choice for such an occasion.
Her veil was of shadow lace so fine that it might have been made by fairy spiders and had been worn by the Queens of Dabrozka for centuries.
It did not cover her face, but was held in place by a magnificent diamond tiara fashioned like a wreath of flowers. It was so delicately contrived that each flower was flexible and trembled with every movement Ilona made.
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