Like the farmhouse, the mill had been in ruins when they first arrived, home to a colony of pipistrelle bats that hung from its rafters like a rippling fur coat. Nate had repaired the roof and reglazed all but one of its broken windows, allowing the bats to continue their tenure. He had talked of converting the mill to produce their own electricity. His sketched plans still lay in the drawer of the living-room bureau.
Le Moulin Bellerose was a place of beauty, the backdrop to a thousand precious memories, and as Hannah walked outside with Leah and smelled the familiar sweetness of the plums that had split open on the ground, the warmth of those memories – now so fragile, already so distant – made the ache of her loss flare into bright new pain.
She picked a plum from the nearest tree and handed it to Leah. ‘Here, try one of these while you can. We’re at the end of the season.’
The girl took a bite, smiled. ‘It’s sweet.’
‘I watched your dad eat so many plums one summer he had stomach-ache for two whole days.’
At the mention of her father Leah’s face tightened. ‘Where are we going?’
Hannah saw the sparkle of tears welling in the girl’s eyes. Knowing that Leah did not want her to see, she took her hand and pointed down the path. ‘This takes us to the river. Do you want to have a look?’
Leah nodded, took another bite of the plum.
They followed the trail through a patch of woodland, crunching over dead leaves. The morning sun was low and the sky was pale and clear. In the deep shade of the trees off to their left, two carrion crows pecked at something red and wet in the undergrowth. One of the birds looked up and screamed at them as they passed.
The path meandered through the trees until it arrived at the Vézère’s northern bank. The river was wide and slow at this stage of its journey, olive-coloured and speckled with the crisp carcasses of dead leaves. A swarm of midges hovered above the water, offering themselves as food to the birds that swooped from the trees.
Upstream, the river curved away from them. Downstream, it ran straight for a while before curving back behind them. The opposite bank was steep, thick with forest.
Gabriel stood at the edge of the water, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. He turned at their approach, and Hannah thought he looked older this morning. Melancholy. ‘Wish I had a fishing rod,’ he said.
‘There’s one at the house. Nate used to come down here all the time and catch our dinner. Pike, trout, all sorts.’
He nodded, and then his eyes found Leah and his face brightened. ‘Little miss! Now, I bet I can guess what you’ve been eating.’
‘Plums.’
Gabriel slapped his head. ‘How am I supposed to guess if you tell me the answer, eh? What sort of game is that?’
Leah almost found a smile for him. ‘A game I won.’
‘Oh, you did, did you?’ He laughed. ‘Do you like the river, little miss? You see that log, half submerged, over by the far bank? I saw a kingfisher perched there a minute ago. If you watch, he might come back. Beautiful bird, the kingfisher. A real treat to see one.’
Leah’s eyes moved between Gabriel and where he pointed, as if deciding whether he was teasing her. Appearing to rule in his favour, she approached the bank and crouched down. Chewing her lip, she stared intently at the log.
Hannah went to Gabriel’s side. ‘Your note said your people were coming.’
‘They want to meet you.’
‘Why?’
‘A few reasons. Not least because of what you’ve suffered at the hands of one of our own.’
‘I suppose their desire to find Jakab doesn’t rank highly in that decision.’
‘I hoped you’d consider us a more compassionate people than that, Hannah.’
‘Would you? In my shoes?’
He bowed his head. ‘I suppose not. No.’
If he had argued or rebuked her instead of accepting her words, she knew he would have provoked her to anger. Instead, his lack of defence unbalanced her and she felt a twinge of guilt.
‘We may have our own reasons for wanting to find Jakab,’ he continued, ‘but that doesn’t preclude us from agonising over the devastation he’s wrought on you.’
‘What are those reasons, Gabriel?’
‘You’ll find out very soon,’ he said. ‘From someone who can explain far better than I.’ Gabriel lifted his head and looked upstream to where the river curved into the forest.
‘Who are you meeting here?’
He smiled distractedly, his eyes fixed on the far bank.
‘I don’t like surprises, Gabriel,’ she murmured.
Hannah didn’t have to wait long. She heard the quiet chugging of an outboard engine, and soon the bow of an open-topped wooden boat slid into view around the bend, cutting the water before it. As more of the vessel emerged, she was reminded of the sleek lines of a Venetian gondola. The boat motored towards them, its varnished woodwork glimmering in the sunlight.
Hannah counted four figures within. At the bow knelt a tall man with pale skin, and auburn hair scraped into a ponytail. Dark glasses hid his eyes, and he wore a black zippered gilet over a cream polo neck. His mouth was a tight line; Hannah felt his eyes behind their glasses measuring her as she stood on the bank.
Two other men sat at the stern. They wore the same guarded expressions, and studied her just as stonily. One rested his hand on the tiller while the other had his fingers steepled together. All three looked solemn, strong, alert. But it was the tall presence in the centre of the boat, dressed in a loose ivory suit, that captured and held Hannah’s attention.
A silk cowl, the fabric flowing like liquid copper, covered its head and obscured its face in shadow. Hannah felt her heart begin to thump in her chest, and she wondered what prompted such a rush of expectation. She clenched her fists, fingernails cutting into her palms. Her leg muscles twitched.
The stranger sat motionless, hands folded beneath the trailing fabric of the cowl. Hannah felt a hand slide into hers, and she glanced down to see that Leah had moved to her side.
As the grim-faced skipper swung the craft towards them and killed the engine, the man in the bow tossed a coil of rope to Gabriel. He caught the end of it and reeled in the boat. When its gunwales bumped against the bank, he secured the line around a tree root. ‘Welcome,’ he said.
The figure in the middle of the boat raised its hands and lifted the cowl away from its face. Hannah felt as if the breath had been sucked from her lungs. Seated before her was the most coldly beautiful woman she had ever seen. Slender-limbed, with fair hair that fell to her shoulders and a face carved from the sharpest contours of bone, the woman’s skin was as pale and smooth as a magnolia petal. Her years were impossible to guess. Lavender eyes, clear and sharp like a predator’s, studied Hannah with such intensity that she retreated from the bank. A frightening power radiated from the woman. Hannah felt Leah’s hand tighten around her own.
‘Greetings, Hannah Wilde,’ the woman said. When her lips lifted into a smile, that cold countenance melted into an expression of empathy so pure and so genuine that it closed Hannah’s throat. Not knowing what to do or say, she bowed her head, pulling Leah even closer to her side.
Assisted by the sombre man with the ponytail, the stranger stepped on to the bank. She went first to Gabriel. After kissing him on both cheeks, she embraced him. ‘How do you fare?’
‘Better for seeing you.’
‘You still have that brogue.’
‘You’re the one who sent me to Ireland.’
‘It’s a beautiful accent.’
‘I think it’s here to stay.’
She smiled and turned to her companion. ‘You can leave me now, Illes. Thank you for getting me here safely.’
The man frowned. ‘I’d prefer to stay at your side.’
‘You ca
n see I am in safe hands.’
‘But Főnök—’
‘Illes, do you question me?’
He dropped his head, dismayed. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Oh, Illes, I did not intend that as a slight.’ Her face softened. ‘You bruise so easily. Go on. You know where I am. You know that I’m safe. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to leave.’
Illes cast Hannah a distrustful look, then muttered his acquiescence. He climbed back into the boat and Gabriel cast them off. The craft turned in a lazy circle before heading back upstream,
Taking Hannah’s arm, the Főnök steered her up the path that led to the house. ‘I want you to know how sorry I was when Gabriel told me what happened. No woman your age should have to suffer the loss of her spouse. No woman of any age should suffer that loss because of another.’
Hannah feared her composure would dissolve if she acknowledged the woman’s words. Conscious of Leah at her side, mindful of her vow to show strength in front of the girl, she forced the conversation into a new direction. ‘You’re the Örökös Főnök?’
The woman smiled. ‘Such an ancient old title.’
‘I thought the position was always taken by a man.’
‘Sometimes I wish that were true.’
‘You didn’t want to be Főnök?’
‘I didn’t want to be the last,’ the woman replied, as they emerged from the woodland that bordered the plum orchard. Arriving at a bench, its slats silvered and warped by the suns of past summers, she slowed and glanced up at the house. For the first time since her arrival, she looked uncertain. ‘Is he inside?’ she asked, turning to Gabriel.
‘He went out for supplies. He’ll be back soon.’
She appeared to consider this for a moment, and then said, ‘You know, I think Hannah and I need to talk a while. Perhaps, Gabriel, you’d be good enough to bring us some tea.’
Hannah found that she enjoyed the airy way the Főnök commanded him. She met Gabriel’s eyes and when he shrugged helplessly at her she grinned. As he returned her smile, Hannah noticed a troubled look cross the Főnök’s face.
‘Perhaps you could find yourself a little helper, too,’ the woman added.
‘Yes, mother,’ he replied, bowing low. Gabriel turned to Leah. ‘Come on, little miss. I’ll show you how the Irish make tea.’
Hannah watched them go, and turned back to the Főnök. ‘Gabriel’s your son?’
‘That boy is a number of things, not all of them useful and several of them irksome,’ the woman replied. ‘But, yes, I’m proud to call him my son. Come, let’s sit.’
Hannah settled on the bench beside her. Together, they listened to the laughing call of a woodpecker somewhere in the forest. For a while, neither of them spoke, yet the lack of words did not feel uncomfortable. Eventually, Hannah said, ‘You mentioned something just now. About being Főnök.’
‘About being the last?’
‘What did you mean by that?’
A fine delta of lines appeared at the edges of the woman’s eyes. ‘It’s a difficult thing to offer leadership to a people who have lost control over their future. But offer it I must. And when I look around me and see the dignity displayed by our last generation, see their elegance and their grace, it fills me with pride even as it tears at my heart.’ The Főnök’s chest rose and fell, and she turned her lavender eyes upon Hannah. ‘We’re dying, you see. As a people.’
‘Dying?’ Hannah frowned. ‘How can that be?’
‘What do you know of our history?’
‘More than you might think. Nowhere near as much as I’d like.’
‘You’ve heard, I suppose, of the hosszú életek . . . cull.’ She grimaced as she spoke the word.
‘A little.’
The Főnök’s eyes unfocused and she began to talk. In the nineteenth century, although they had begun to spread out across the world, the largest population of hosszú életek remained concentrated in Hungary – the majority of those in Budapest. For centuries they had lived in virtual anonymity among the populace. But as the towns and cities filled, and as records of births and deaths became more stringent, it became harder for them to keep their secrets. The nobility had always been aware of them and, perhaps due to their dynastic nature, had forged many cross-generational trading relationships with hosszú élet families over the years.
Perhaps it was inevitable, but some of the Budapest nobility began to covet their longevity, and envied their ability to disguise themselves. To the peasantry and common folk, the hosszú életek were still little more than an entertaining yarn, but as envy among the nobility developed into jealousy, and jealousy bred mistrust, those entertaining fireside yarns developed a more sinister note.
It was, the Főnök explained, a mountain of powder kegs waiting for someone to light the fuse. ‘And then,’ she said, ‘Balázs Jakab attended his first végzet at the palace of Buda, and was rejected in cruel and callous fashion by his peers.’
Hannah straightened. ‘Jakab? Jakab had something to with the cull?’
‘Jakab was that fuse, Hannah. The végzet did not go well for him. He stormed out of the palace, ending up in the company of a couple of young rascals down at the riverfront. The young man’s name was Márkus Thúry. The girl was called Krisztina. Jakab went drinking with them and they developed a relationship of sorts. It’s unclear exactly what happened next, but it seems that Jakab became interested in the girl. Perhaps she spurned his advances. We’ll probably never know. What we do know is that he kidnapped the young man, supplanted him, and took the girl up into the hills, where he raped her. The truth emerged eventually, but not before Thúry was hanged for the crime.
‘By then, that mountain of powder kegs had been lit. It was a long fuse but, facing increasing pressure, the palace finally signed our death warrant. The following summer, after biding their time and planning their strategy, the newly formed Eleni murdered our entire tanács with their first strike. It happened the same night as the first végzet. That particular végzet wasn’t held at the palace that year. Franz Joseph would not allow it. But he did allow it at a specially built timber-framed building two miles further down the river. With our children inside, and our elders already dead, the Eleni boarded up the doors and burned it to the ground.’
‘My God.’
‘Végzets in other cities were attacked and destroyed in similar ways. They didn’t find all of us. Many escaped. But the damage had been done. Too many of us had died.’
‘I don’t understand. If there were survivors . . .’
‘Hannah, maybe it’s something you’ve yet to learn about us, but we don’t bear children easily. Much study has gone into why that’s the case, but no one really knows the answer. We have few children, and we’re fertile for only a very brief period in our lives. A few hundred years ago, an annual végzet was held in every major city more than two days’ journey from Budapest: Debrecen, Vienna, Bucharest, Lviv. In the north too: Moscow, Minsk, Warsaw, Berlin. The year after the cull, no végzet was held anywhere in Eastern Europe, or, indeed, the world. Two years later, in the most paranoid secrecy, we managed to hold a single event. In total, twenty youngsters attended, and some of those were siblings, limiting the possibilities even further. I can’t remember the last time a végzet was convened.’
The Főnök laid her hands on her lap and studied her smooth skin. ‘It’s painful to bring a child into the world and watch him grow, knowing that he will never have the chance to enjoy children of his own.’
‘Gabriel . . . you mean there’s no one?’
‘There are no more available hosszú életek his age, Hannah. None.’
She reeled at the woman’s words. Losing Nate had brought her pain almost beyond endurance, but the thought of never even meeting him, of never meeting anyone, was too bleak to imagine. She recalled the expression on Gabrie
l’s face as he recounted the Eleni’s involvement in a young hosszú élet woman’s death. ‘But there are alternatives, surely? Why must he restrict himself to a hosszú élet girl?’
‘Can you imagine the special agony of watching someone you love age and die, all within what seemed to you like a matter of years? Would you want anyone to experience that horror?’
‘No. I wouldn’t. But we’re not just talking about a life partner for Gabriel here, are we? We’re talking about your survival. If he has children . . .’
‘It can’t be.’
‘But—’
The Főnök’s eyes darkened in anger. ‘Do you think if it were that easy we wouldn’t have considered it? Do you think I’d sit back and watch us fade away if there were any chance of what you’ve just described? It’s been tried before and the results were . . . you wouldn’t have wished to see the results. The only mercy was that they did not live long.’ She sighed, and reached out her hands to Hannah as the lavender hue returned to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. This is difficult and you were right to ask. But it’s outlawed, Hannah. Our blood just doesn’t mix.’
‘You don’t need to apologise. It’s tragic. All of this is a tragedy. I had no idea about Gabriel, about what he’s lost. It’s hard to think that he’ll never even share the lélekfeltárás with someone who can reciprocate it.’
‘He told you about that?’
‘He showed me.’
‘He showed you?’ Alarm crossed the Főnök’s face, and then it dissipated into weary resignation. ‘He should never have done that. It wasn’t right.’
‘Maybe not. But I asked.’ Hannah shrugged, and then she laughed, a brittle sound. ‘Let’s face it, inside that house we’re a collection of broken people.’
The woman rose to her feet. ‘Speaking of Gabriel, he never brought us that tea. Another thing to have words with him about. Come on, it’s time we went to see the others. It’s been a long time since I enjoyed the company of a child.’
By the time Sebastien returned, the four of them were gathered around the table, drinking tea. Hannah heard the front door slam and the skittering of paws on wood as Moses scampered along the hall into the kitchen.
The String Diaries Page 33