I stared at him, unreasonably indignant at this light-hearted reaction. His eyes were on the two men, watchful but quite unafraid, and slowly I felt my own fears begin to subside. Perhaps, tonight, there was nothing there to incriminate him...
The empty satchel was flung impatiently on the floor. Lajos looked from it back to the policemen — if such they were.
“It might help if you told me what you were looking for,” he observed lazily.
“This,” said the first man curtly, taking something from his pocket and tossing it contemptuously on to Lázár’s knee. Involuntarily, we both looked. The street lamp was shining obligingly down upon it, an eye-catching little pamphlet entitled “In Defence of Work” by L.L.
My breath caught. My eyes flew instinctively to Lázár’s face, and then, though no one seemed to be aware of my existence, I was suddenly afraid that my behaviour would give him away.
“Ever seen this before?” the large man sneered.
Lajos glanced up at him and smiled. “I forget,” he said with such blatant untruth that I cringed.
“You forget,” the first man repeated, and caused fresh alarm by turning his glinting spectacles upon mine. For the first time, I considered my own compromising position in all this, and cravenly wished that I had never agreed to come. “Perhaps the lady remembers?”
“The lady,” said Lajos, before I could speak, “is of much too high a rank to bother with such trifles. Besides, her friends would really hate her to be harassed.”
To my amazement, the policeman turned away from me, apparently content to leave it there, as if he had expected to find a lady of rank with him — in disguise, I could only assume. I wondered who in the world he thought I was.
The larger policeman leaned towards Lajos. “You’re not as clever as all that,” he said softly. “Sooner or later you’ll make a mistake — and we’ll be there, Lázár, we’ll be there.”
The tone of his voice as much as the warning made me shiver, but Lajos only sounded amused. “I don’t doubt it.”
They left as quickly as they had come, and my breath escaped in a quite audible rush.
“Sorry,” Lajos said casually, and I glared at him.
“No you’re not.”
“Well, I’m sorry they chose tonight when you are with me.”
“On the contrary, it’s as well they did choose tonight!” I exclaimed. “What if it had been the last time I was here, when you were loaded with those wretched pamphlets!”
Too late, I remembered the driver, who was no doubt fascinated by the whole scene, and bit my lip with mortification; but Lajos Lázár only smiled lazily, beginning to gather his things back into the bag, half-eaten bread and all.
“They don’t move so quickly. Come, shall we go inside? I think you need a drink!”
I didn’t deny it. I only wondered if I was actually insane going anywhere with him after what had occurred. Standing in the street, I shivered in the warm evening and watched him pay the driver, who grinned and winked with unexpected approval before he whipped his horses into plunging motion.
“Does this happen to you often?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“Hardly ever.” He shrugged. “A couple of times in Vienna, but never here before.”
He took my arm, moving towards the café door.
“Then why now?” I demanded. It seemed to my shaken, law-abiding British soul that he wasn’t taking this nearly seriously enough.
“I expect because I annoyed the Vice-Regal Council,” he said carelessly. He glanced at me and his lips quirked. “Don’t look so worried — they were only trying to frighten me, probably so that I’ll stop agitating for the Opposition before the elections. If they had really wanted to arrest me, they wouldn’t have waited all these weeks. Still,” he added thoughtfully as he ushered me into the coffee-house, “I wonder who set them on to me?”
Someone on the Vice-Regal Council who had particular cause to hate him.
“Count István?” I suggested.
“I shouldn’t think so. He doesn’t like me, but we did grow up together.”
He sounded certain, even indifferent, and yet the thought crossed my mind that he didn’t want it to be István. However, before I could dwell on this new curiosity, I became distracted by the many long glances being cast in our direction.
As I had rather fearfully suspected, entering the coffee-house this time was quite different to the last. For one thing, I had felt anonymous then, and Katalin, for all her beauty, was not important here. Lajos Lázár quite obviously was. The same sort of people who had ignored us on that occasion now looked at me quite hard, which was just what I didn’t want, not only for the sake of my reputation, I should say, but because I felt dowdy. My bonnet might have been pretty enough, but my workaday cloak and dress — never things of beauty — were now frankly drab.
This time too, Lajos chose not to stop to speak to his acquaintances, though he raised a casual hand in acknowledgement of the many greetings called to him. Nor did he sit with his friends, but guided me to a quiet, empty table, and even held the chair for me to sit.
The waiter brought wine and a light supper, leaving Lajos to serve them. I decided to have one glass of wine. I felt I needed it. Then, nervous in front of all those inquisitive eyes, I reverted hastily to the subject of nationalism.
Lajos picked up his fork. “Well, Hungary consists of far more peoples than just Magyars. We have Romanians, Slavs, Croats, Serbs, Slovenes, Germans... If we quarrel among ourselves over which race deserves what, then we all lose; but united, we could scare the wits out of Metternich and his cohorts in Vienna. I’d say out of the King-Emperor as well, but I believe he has none.”
“We can’t all be geniuses,” I said drily.
“No, but if we wish to rule an Empire that spans half of Europe, I believe we should have at least common sense.”
He had a point. “Go on.”
He shrugged and took another mouthful of wine. “To be honest, I’m not sure how far to push the nationalist issue. For myself, I don’t find race in the least important, but most people do.”
I swallowed the blatant calculation in this statement as well as his surprising uncertainty, watching him gaze into his glass for a moment. Then he drank some more wine, and I asked carefully, “What does Mr Kossuth think?”
“Kossuth? He has sympathy with all nationalism, I suppose, but only up to a point. As far as he is concerned, the races historically subject to the Magyars must remain so. And I’m not convinced they’ll put up with that for any social or political benefits.” He paused, regarding me. “What do you know of Kossuth?”
“I know you support his candidacy for Pest in the Election.”
“I don’t recall telling you that.”
“You didn’t. Baroness Meleki” — I couldn’t help adopting that lady’s languid, slightly affected pose and tone of voice as I spoke her name — “Baroness Meleki is of the opinion that he can’t lose with the support of you and your friends.”
“I’m sure she’s right,” he said, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.
“Count Batthyány on the other hand, believes you would only hamper him, on account of repelling moderates.”
“When did you move into such exalted company?” he enquired.
“Oh, I haven’t. I’m allowed to watchit from time to time. So what do you think of Kossuth?”
“That he’ll go further in my direction than most of his colleagues, and could be pushed further yet.”
His single-mindedness took my breath away. I leaned forward curiously. “Exactly what influence do you have, Lajos? Apart from holding sway with the common people. Do you have the vote?”
“By birth, certainly not; only nobles can vote. But it could be argued that I am by education one of the Honoratiores — an honorary noble, if you like.”
“So you can vote?”
“I certainly will vote. We all will, and use all the influence we can muster.”
I smiled, hal
f-sardonic, but half-admiring. “And as you said, you can make an awful lot of noise.”
“I intend to.”
For some reason his words sent a shiver through me. I found myself avoiding his clear, direct gaze, looking instead around the room at the other patrons who seemed, fortunately, to have lost interest in us. In the distance I recognized the youth Vasvári and one or two other faces from my previous visit. Then there had been an atmosphere of boyish recklessness in the café which I had found curiously beguiling, but now it was the earnestness in so many of these young faces which most struck me. They were as serious and as determined as Lajos; and with a jolt I realized that already they had power enough to frighten the authorities — why else would the police be trying to intimidate Lajos? Suddenly it seemed to me that the revolution they dreamed of might not be so far away after all. It could happen at any time, and surely with the autumn elections and the new Diet, they would find their opportunity...?
Suddenly fearful, I turned back to him, saying urgently, almost breathlessly, “How far are you prepared to go, Lajos? To achieve your revolution? Would you really be prepared to die for it? To let others die for it?”
He looked at me in surprise, but his eyes were clear and honest. “Yes. There comes a time when you have to make a stand, whatever the consequences.”
“And that time has truly come?” I asked, staring.
“The time has long passed, but when the opportunity comes, we’ll be ready to seize it.” His face relaxed, and he touched my hand. “Don’t look like that. I told you on the steam-ship I believed it could be done without violence. I still believe that, but you asked how far I’d be prepared to go, and that is my answer: as far as necessary.”
“Katalin’s right,” I said slowly. “You are frightening.”
* * * *
I hadn’t planned to be in Vaci Street the following morning. It was Katalin, inspired by news of Captain Zarescu’s imminent return, who decided that his birthday present — a rather beautiful watch which she had left in the jeweller’s shop to be engraved — must be collected immediately. And it was I who, in an effort to contain her indiscretion over this gift, volunteered to fetch it.
The shop’s proprietor was a middle-aged Jew with romantic tendencies. I almost blushed at his arch comments as I admired the engraving and handed over a horrendous amount of Katalin’s money. Vaguely, I wondered if anyone bothered to keep a check on her spending.
I was positively relieved to escape into the street, the watch carefully stowed away in my reticule, but as I moved through the elegant shoppers, I suddenly saw a figure so familiar and so unexpected that it caused my heart to lift.
Lajos Lázár stood by the kerb, talking to someone in an open carriage, his foot resting casually on the step. Involuntary pleasure that he had not yet gone — a pleasure oddly confused with the warm, disturbing kiss of farewell he had most improperly pressed into my palm on parting last night — gave way to curiosity as I went instinctively towards him. Surely the crest on that carriage was familiar? It was. It had stood outside the Szelényi palace on a number of occasions. Its owner turned her beautiful head and laughed, and I recognized Baroness Meleki.
“Au revoir,” he had said to me, the lamplight glinting on his fair hair, shadowing his smiling face. “I’ll miss you.”
My steps faltered, and even as I wondered why it should surprise me that they were acquainted, I saw her reach out and touch his cheek in a tender, unimaginably intimate gesture.
Abruptly, I whirled away from the unbearable sight, crossing almost blindly among the passing traffic. I found I was holding my breath, fighting with an emotion of quite frightening strength, an emotion I was eventually astonished and appalled to recognize as jealousy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“My God, what a miserable, Gothic pile!”
The thought came unbidden out of the daze of pain and weariness as the coach thundered through the huge, iron gates. It was my first view of Szelényi Castle, and I was seeing it in the dark of a new moon. The children had been asleep on either side of me for some time, and even Zsuzsa’s head was nodding; my own head throbbed alarmingly, so I was in no condition to appreciate properly the splendour of the black, imposing castle on the hill, towering and stark against the night sky.
The journey had been a nightmare in almost every way, for the roads outside Buda-Pest are more dreadful than you can imagine, and they grow gradually worse the further away you go. Jolting and bumping our muddy way eastward, I had developed an almost permanent headache which constantly threatened to turn into something far worse. I felt I was living on my nerves, for I knew that at last I was about to meet the old Count; I was about to face the outcome of my foolish behaviour in London.
The only joy in it all had been the scenery, which grew increasingly spectacular as we went on. My mother had told me of Transylvania’s beauty, but I still wasn’t prepared for the wonder of it. I had my first glimpse of the country from the top of the mountain pass which forms its border with Hungary. Standing by the coach with the children, my hand had reached involuntarily for the support of the cross which marked the official boundary, for the view simply took my breath away. Behind us were the cold, bare-looking mountains of Hungary, disappearing into a vast plain. Before us lay Transylvania: a wonderfully deep mountain gorge, hung with vibrant, green and yellow woods, giving way to a spectacular succession of hills and valleys, each more lovely than the last.
I suppose Transylvania lacks the wild grandeur of the Scottish Highlands, but in the next few days I came to realize that I would not swap my present location for any. Its gentle, almost fairy-tale beauty, its innumerable wandering streams and picturesque castles, held a far stronger appeal to me. For hours at a time, I could forget my headache and my plans, and just glory in my surroundings.
Occasionally, of course, my peace was interrupted by Zsuzsa’s cheerful chatter or by her disparaging remarks about the natives.
“Look at him!” she uttered once, with quite startling contempt, pointing out a raven-haired Romanian peasant to me. “The stupid Vlach with his dirty shirt hanging out!”
It was true he wore his shirt over his trousers, rather than tucked neatly in, but it was obviously a deliberate custom and I could see no more dirt on his shirt than might be merited by a day’s work. Zsuzsa was very much a child of her people, and accordingly she despised Romanians. Of course, she was of peasant stock, but it still gave me some clearer idea of what Katalin and Zarescu were up against.
Captain Zarescu had returned to Buda-Pest only days before Count István had informed me of his decision to leave as soon as possible for Transylvania. I had managed to hide the confusion of feeling this news aroused in me, but Katalin, needless to say, was openly furious: no sooner was her lover restored to her than her family conspired to drag her off to obscurity. I wondered if the Countess had had any part in this sudden decision, in order to remove Katalin from the source of her danger. If so, she had stirred up a hornet’s nest, for Katalin simply refused point blank to move.
“How can you stay here without your family?” I had asked reasonably.
“I have friends who will be glad to have me stay with them. I have certainly no intention of giving up Alexandru’s company for that of my ill-natured father and my dotty sister! To say nothing of Teréz Meleki who contrives always to make me feel like a gauche schoolgirl!”
My fingers had grown very still on the needlework I was attempting. I looked at her. “Baroness Meleki is going too?”
“Oh yes, haven’t you heard? It’s to be quite a party. Colonel von Avenheim, István’s crony, is there already for a visit before he takes over the garrison at Vanora. And Teréz is to come with us — or with you, since I won’t be there — though for the life of me I can’t think why she wants to!”
I could.
Apparently, so could Maria, for I was privileged to be present with the children when the Countess had informed her of the extended party. “That woman,” she had sai
d disgustedly. “I don’t know why you associate with her, Elisabeth.”
“She amuses me,” said the Countess, patently bored.
“It won’t be you she’s seeking to amuse at Szelényi,” said Maria with grim humour. “It will be that jumped up peasant boy from the village.”
I looked carefully at my hands. So it was not only true, but well known. I had begun to hope I had leapt to the wrong conclusions from my brief glimpse of them in Vaci Street. No wonder, I thought, that the police had so easily believed in my “rank” that night. They had thought I was Baroness Meleki. Lajos had protected me with her name, as clearly as if he had spoken it. And I had actually mimicked her in front of him...!
“Lajos Lázár?” said the Countess. “Oh no, I think that’s quite over, don’t you? Besides, doesn’t he spend all his time here or in Vienna these days? Being a thorn in István’s side.”
“No,” said Maria uncompromisingly. “He’s always there in the summer when we are. Curious really: I should have thought he’d have left all that behind him...”
Katalin had held out for several days, during which the Szelényi palace was in turmoil from the flaming rows she conducted with her brother. The house had been full of loud voices and slamming doors, until the servants took to creeping around with nervous expressions on their faces, and even the children became reluctant to leave the schoolroom.
And then, suddenly, the fighting had ended. Katalin gave in gracefully; her family was all smiles again and the household breathed a collective sigh of relief. Even Mattias, who had taken to eating and sleeping elsewhere, returned to the palace.
However, none of them would have been so pleased if they had known the reason for Katalin’s abrupt capitulation, which was simply that Captain Zarescu had been granted leave and would be in Transylvania barely a week after ourselves.
* * * *
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