A World to Win

by Mary Lancaster

  The Count shrugged again. “The peasants grow bold, refuse their dues, make trouble for our steward, fight over the east field which they say is common ground but never has been in my day — of course, Lajos Lázár put them up to that last year! But no one has offered me violence. At least, not yet.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “He has come to see you,” Katalin whispered in my ear with glee, while Colonel von Avenheim paused to confer with Mark on the care of his horse. We had come upon the Colonel’s unexpected arrival just as we had been preparing to ride out ourselves, and had cheerfully turned back with him.

  “István, more likely,” I returned calmly, though it was not an unpleasing thought that I still had an admirer: it soothed my bruised vanity.

  Everyone was delighted to see the Colonel. He seemed to have the lucky knack of being valued by all, from the crusty old Count to the children, without regard to nationality or politics. Silently, I wondered how he had managed to avoid the dreadful conflicts of loyalty which tormented Alex, but after dinner that evening, I discovered that even he was troubled.

  It was another sunny evening, the coolness in the air just beginning to make itself felt. As we strolled in the formal garden, the Colonel carefully draped my shawl around my shoulders, his fingers lingering just long enough to be solicitous. We were talking of various things.

  Once I asked, “Have your troops been involved in — in dealing with peasant unrest?”

  “Occasionally.”

  I looked at him curiously. “It can’t be very pleasant work.”

  “It’s not; but the troops are there to keep the peace, and that is what we must do. At the moment.” Some inflection in his pleasant voice made me frown.

  “At the moment?” I repeated. “Are you expecting the situation to change?”

  “I hope not,” he said heavily. I continued to watch his averted face as we walked, and when he said nothing further, I felt again that prickle of alarm.

  “You are thinking of war,” I said bluntly.

  At that, he turned his head and met my gaze rather gravely. “Believe me, I pray daily that it will not come to that.”

  My hand crept to my throat. “Then you are afraid it might. As the radicals are.”

  He stopped then, taking my hand reassuringly in his. “There is no fear of it at the moment.” He hesitated, then went on almost reluctantly. “But sooner or later the Emperor will realize he has the military power to take back what he has lost.”

  My frown deepened. “Italy?” I suggested, without much hope.

  “The Dynasty’s right to absolute power,” Avenheim said quietly. “In all its realms. And Hungary will have to bow to that, or fight.”

  The prickle in my heart became an unpleasant thud. “I don’t see Hungary bowing now.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Then war with Austria is inevitable?”

  “I fear so. And it is a war which Hungary cannot win.”

  “Oh, I hope you’re wrong,” I said intensely. He was still holding my hand in a warm, firm clasp. Now he raised it to his lips and lightly kissed it.

  “So do I,” he said softly.

  Primly, I withdrew my hand, but curiosity made me ask, “And you, Colonel? Where will you stand in all this, if there is war?”

  “There is only one place I can stand. It is many years since I took my oath of allegiance to His Majesty, but I could not renege on it, even if I wanted to.”

  “Then you are prepared to fight a Hungarian army?” I think I meant to be cruel, as cruel as the men willing to spill each other’s blood over opposing ideals, but his face did not change, and when he answered, it was still calmly, though with an edge of sadness in his voice.

  “If I am commanded to do so, I will.”

  I stared at him. “And if Mattias, or even István, stood against you?”

  He looked away, and now here was a tightness around his mouth. “I would not wish to know. I could only do my duty, to my Emperor and to my country — and that would be the tragedy, for the Hungarians would believe they were doing the same. It would be old comrades of the one, Imperial army, split into two and killing each other without conviction. If there is a war, it will be the hardest any of us have ever fought.”

  * * * *

  Those first weeks at Szelényi were an interlude of peace, a period of healing for me. I drifted through the days almost in a vacuum: I taught the children, played with them, took them on expeditions in the summer sunshine; I spent hours talking with Margit or quarrelling with my grandfather who seemed to take a perverse delight in hearing me abuse him; I visited the Lázárs occasionally too, but not so often that they would notice my neglect if Lajos came home.

  Then, one late afternoon in July, I sat in the library pouring over the Radical Democrat — organ of the newly formed Society for Equality — avidly reading the text of a speech Lajos had made. I felt foolishly guilty when Colonel von Avenheim strolled into the room and looked over my shoulder. I should say that he had reappeared for odd days throughout the last few weeks, but on this occasion he had taken a whole week’s leave of absence.

  “What are you reading so devotedly?” he enquired, and I smiled quickly up at him to hide my unreasonable nervousness.

  “Only an old newspaper which Mattias sent.”

  He bent more closely, so that his chin almost touched my hair. “Ah. The Society for Equality — I suppose the radicals had to join something after so few of them managed to get elected! What are they saying now?”

  “Oh, debating the rights and wrongs of aiding the Emperor against the Italians.” I folded the paper rather hastily and glanced at him again. His eyes, I noticed, were really very blue. “Would the Emperor really turn next upon the Hungarians, once the Italians are beaten?”

  “He would certainly be in a stronger position to do so.”

  “So the Assembly would be mad to grant troops for such a purpose?”

  “Not necessarily. As I understand it, it is to be — ah — quid pro quo. The Assembly will send troops to Italy if the King will deal with Baron Jelacic and his rebellious Croats, who are clamouring for autonomy in Hungary! But I didn’t come to discuss war and politics. I have just been talking to your grandfather.”

  “Always a salutary experience,” I murmured, and since he did not sit, I stood up and wandered towards the window: I didn’t care to be loomed over. “What did you talk about?” I asked when he remained silent.

  “You,” he said, following me to the window. Surprised, I turned to find him smiling at me. “I hope you will forgive the impertinence, but I felt I should at least begin according to custom and propriety.”

  “Begin what?” I asked, bewildered but prepared to be amused.

  “A formal proposal,” he answered steadily. I blinked. My hand was taken in his while I continued to regard him doubtfully.

  “I don’t suppose you mean that as it sounds...” I began.

  “I do. Since he is, at least informally, your guardian, I asked him if I might pay my addresses to you.”

  He spoke quite calmly in his usual, friendly way, which perhaps was why I did not feel in the least flustered. In spite of myself, I could not help asking curiously, “What did my grandfather say?”

  “He was pleased to grant his permission,” the Colonel said gravely, though his eyes had begun to smile down into mine.

  “And if he hadn’t?” I asked quizzically. If I had ever been taught the correct way to answer a gentleman’s proposal of marriage, I had forgotten.

  “I would still be here,” Avenheim said softly. “Miss Kettles — Katie, you must know how I feel, that I love you... Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

  Instinctively, although I had known it was coming, I tried to pull my hand free. With sudden panic I wondered what to say, how to refuse such an offer civilly after I had all but encouraged him to make it. Not for the first time, I cursed my stupid tongue. But he held on to my hand, and as I parted my lips to speak, he p
ressed one finger to my mouth.

  “No; don’t answer yet,” he said. “Not just yet...” I had a moment in which to avoid his kiss, and I did make one jerky, almost involuntary movement to be free, but then I was still, allowing the embrace.

  It was gentle; a nice balance of passion and respect. It was even pleasant. But nothing moved inside me. I did not melt. I felt no desire to prolong it. And when he raised his head and looked down into my eyes, I could only think helplessly of another face clouded with desire, and other delicious, shattering kisses.

  “Well?” he whispered. “Will you marry me?”

  Would I? Suddenly I was being offered a tempting way out. He did not stir me. I did not love him. Not yet. But I liked him very much; I respected him; I knew I could be comfortable with him. In that moment I could almost imagine our pleasant, unexciting life together, free of pain and doubt. And surely, in time, his love would ignite mine, exorcising Lajos from my mind and heart...

  My breath caught. Would I? Could I ever be content now with another man than Lajos? Yet surely I should try for this chance of happiness...?

  His clear, blue eyes continued to gaze into mine — honest, honourable eyes. And abruptly I was ashamed. He deserved better than a woman who would try to pretend he was another man. My eyes fell from his.

  Slowly, I shook my head. “Forgive me...”

  “For what?” he said ruefully. “Something tells me that this does not bode well for my cause.”

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot marry you.” I did not look at him. I was afraid of seeing my own pain reflected there.

  For a moment he was silent, then: “May I know why?”

  I shook my head, unable to speak.

  He said gently, “I was coxcomb enough to think you loved me.”

  My eyes flew involuntarily to his, and I forced them to stay there. “I thought we were friends...” And yet was that strictly true? Had I not soaked up what I instinctively knew to be his admiration, as a balm to my own wounds? How unfair of me...

  “Then don’t say no so quickly. We have not, after all, known each other for so very long. In time...” He broke off as I shook my head.

  “I never meant to give this pain to anyone,” I said with difficulty, “let alone to you. But I can’t give you false hopes either. I cannot love you, because... because I — I love someone else.”

  “Ah.” At last my hand was released. His eyes dropped, then lifted again to mine. “So when may I wish you happy?” There was bitterness as well as pain in his voice; it made me feel even worse

  I managed to say calmly, “If by that you mean when shall I announce my engagement, I shall not. My love is not returned. In any case, it is impossible.”

  His lips twisted. “Then we have something in common.”

  “I’m afraid we do.”

  “May I know who he is?”

  I shook my head dumbly, afraid that now the tears would start again; yet even then, I was aware of unexpected grimness behind his calm exterior, a depth of passion I had not suspected in him.

  “Is he married?” Avenheim asked bluntly, and at that a grain of saving humour passed through me, tugged at my unhappy lips.

  “No. He is not married.”

  There was another pause. I could feel a desperate, silent fight going on within him, but then he said only, “Is it not possible that your affections will change?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  He was silent. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I couldn’t bear to be inflicting on another the same pain that was in me. And yet I suppose part of me just couldn’t imagine him feeling as I did.

  I said, “For what it is worth, if I had not met him and loved him first, I believe I would have found in you everything I wanted.”

  “That does not,” he said, with sudden harshness, “make me feel better.”

  My stupid tongue again. “No,” I agreed, moving tiredly away from him, but he caught my shoulder, turning me gently back, and now there was pity as well as hurt in his eyes.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. I shook my head, speechlessly. For a moment he hesitated, then bent and pressed his lips briefly to mine. The next instant he was gone.

  I stood alone where he had left me, my eyes tightly closed, but the tears still squeezed out and rolled helplessly down my face. I didn’t know if I was weeping for him, or for me, or for the lost chance of love between us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I dreaded dinner that evening, and with cause. Colonel von Avenheim had gone. Almost as soon as we had sat down at the table, my grandfather fixed his fierce old eyes on me, and I prepared to weather the storm. It went on a long time.

  He was furious. He had fully expected to see me respectably married, and took my failure as a personal affront. According to him, I was wayward, perverse and just like my mother. I thanked him for the compliments and went to my bed-chamber.

  Here, I prepared slowly for bed. I was somewhat distractedly brushing out my hair when a knock at the door heralded Katalin. In the mirror, I met her gaze.

  “Oh, Katie, why? I thought you liked him!”

  “I do. But I don’t wish to marry him.”

  She sat down on the bed, regarding me thoughtfully. “Why not? Is it...? Katie, you are not — afraid of marriage?”

  I laid down my brush, looking at her uncomprehendingly. Her face flushed, and with sudden understanding, I laughed. “Why, Katalin,” I mocked. “You never used to be so mealy-mouthed! No, I am not afraid.”

  “Oh.” She watched me stand up and climb on to the bed, and as I slid between the crisp sheets, she said a little wistfully, “Don’t you love him?”

  I shook my head.

  She leaned forward eagerly. “But, Katie, that is no reason to turn him down! You are turned twenty-eight, after all: if you don’t love anyone else, surely in time you will learn to...?”

  I dropped my eyes quickly, but obviously not quickly enough, for Katalin had seen something there which made her break off in mid-sentence. “Katie?”

  “I’m tired, Katalin. I would like to go to sleep now.”

  “You do love someone else! Oh, Katie, who is it?”

  “No one. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters! Why haven’t you told me before, you sly old thing!”

  “Because I knew you would behave exactly like this! And because he doesn’t love me. Now, will you go away?”

  I heaved the sheet over my ears and flung myself down upon the pillow. There was a pause. Then I felt her fingers gently drawing the covers down from my face. I closed my eyes tightly in a parody of sleep.

  “I found that it made me feel much better,” she said softly, “when I could speak about Alex to you.”

  At that, something touched a chord in me. It might have been just that I heard genuine sympathy as well as curiosity in her voice. I opened one eye and regarded her helplessly.

  “Katalin, I’m not like you,” I pleaded. “I can only live with this if no one knows!”

  “Does he know?”

  “Oh yes,” I sighed. “He knows.”

  “But what makes you think he does not care? Has he ever kissed you?”

  A wild hysteria sprang up at that, threatening to overcome me. I swallowed it back so that my faint “Yes” came out as a choke.

  “Well, surely that is a good sign?” she said bracingly.

  I sighed for her innocence and sat up. “You don’t understand.”

  “No,” she admitted, “but I’m trying. It would help if I knew who the devil he was. Am I acquainted with him?”

  I hesitated. Then: “Yes, but don’t press me any more, Katalin — truly, it’s not kind.”

  Still, inevitably, I could see her mentally reviewing her many male acquaintances while she said thoughtfully, “Then it is someone we both know quite well?”

  “Katalin!” I said exasperated.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I can’t think of anyone!”

  “Can’t you?” I meant it to be dr
y, mocking even, but it came out just a little wistfully. Somehow there was pain too in everyone but me seeing our total incompatibility for what it was.

  “No,” she said, frowning. Then, abruptly, her eyes widened again. “That is, unless it is ... no.” I said nothing. I watched my fingers twisting the coverlet. “Katie, it’s not — Lajos?” she said apologetically.

  I closed my eyes, waiting for the world to fall in upon me now that someone else knew. But nothing happened. The pain was no better and no worse.

  “It is.” Katalin’s voice was awed. I took a moment to order my expression, then opened my eyes again, feeling almost defiant. But Katalin was gazing past me, hazily, dreamily.

  “Now, what is it?” I demanded impatiently, and with a jolt her eyes refocused on me.

  “I was just wondering,” she said apologetically, “what it would be like to be kissed by Lajos.”

  I regarded her with a fascinated eye. “I thought,” I said severely, “that you were in love with Alex?”

  “Oh I am,” she assured me, “But one can wonder.”

  I suppose she had always considered him so far beneath her that she had never thought — perhaps had never allowed herself to think — of him in such a way before my shocking revelation. As I watched her uncertainly, her gaze grew speculative. For an awful moment I thought she was going to ask me for details, and wildly regretted letting her worm even this much out of me.

  However, she pulled herself together, observing only, “It seems to be a failing among the women of our family — falling in love with unsuitable men. And he is unsuitable, Katie, much more so than your father or Alex, or just about anyone else I can think of!”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said simply, then with a little more of my usual spirit I added mockingly, “After all, I am only half Szelényi.”

  But her mind had already bounced past his unsuitability and back to the previous subject. “I still don’t see how you can be so sure that he does not love you. I have noticed that he is — different with you. And Alex too once said...”

  “Oh Katalin don’t,” I said in sudden anguish. “Of course he cares for me as a friend. He simply does not love me, as — as Alex loves you. Now, please, let us never speak of this again — I couldn’t bear it to become a subject of girlish gossip. And Katalin, promise me you will never tell anyone about this — not Ilse, or Mattias, or even Alex.”