“Oh Margit.” I bent and hugged her. “I was afraid for you too: you seemed so ill...” Hastily, I dashed a hand across my eyes. “Oh dear, shouldn’t we have tea or something?”
An unexpected snort of laughter was wrung from Elisabeth. “Oh, God, Katie, I’m glad you’re back! Ring the bell beside you, Anna.”
“And István and Mattias?” I asked, casting my cloak carelessly on the side of the chair which the children put me in before sitting on either arm. I could neither breathe nor see past them with any ease.
“Mattias is with Görgey’s army,” said Katalin. “He seems to have taken to soldiering like a duck to water! He thinks the world of Görgey too, for some reason.”
Relieved, I looked at Elisabeth. “And István?” I prompted.
“István,” she said carefully, “has a lot of guilt on his conscience. You know he has never been happy about this war; and then, when he realized what he had done to you in his awful temper...”
“But I am fine,” I interrupted. “Did Colonel Drényi not send you a message which said so?”
“István had a message which said that Madame Lázár desired him to know that she was safe and well; and since Eszter Lázár has never in her life sent a message to István of any description, we could only conclude — though doubtfully — that it was you.”
“Your second message confused us even more,” Katalin added, “because you never even mentioned Lajos. Did you really marry him?”
I took a deep breath. “No.”
Elisabeth’s shoulders, I noticed, sagged with relief, but Katalin was frowning.
“I don’t understand. Why all this Madame Lázár nonsense? And where in the world have you been for the last three months?”
I sighed. “It’s a long story.” I told it prosaically, explaining without fuss how the world had come to regard me as Lajos’s wife. “Which for the last three months,” I finished, primly sipping my tea, “is exactly what I have been. To all intents and purposes.”
Katalin stared at me. “What do you mean?”
“She means,” said Elisabeth drily, “that she is Lajos’s mistress, though pretending to be his wife. How lowering to admit to Teréz that she was right and I was wrong.”
I flushed and laid down my cup, meeting Elisabeth’s challenging eyes over Anna’s head.
“I would be grateful if you did not discuss me at all with Teréz. I’m sorry, since she is a friend of yours, Elisabeth, but the woman is nasty, ill-natured, malicious and vulgar. I may have loved Lajos since I first came here, but I never indulged in the sort of affair she imagines — or pretends to imagine — either with him or with anyone else. What is between us now just happened, but you had better know that I shall stay with Lajos until...” I broke off.
“Until what?” Katalin prompted, almost awed.
I gave a quick, unnatural laugh. “Until one of us dies.” Or until he tires of me...
Katalin, still a lover of romance in any form, smiled mistily at me, trying her best to come to terms with the shock. Margit looked as uncomprehending and as happy as the children. Elisabeth was gazing at me with the curiosity one accords a particularly foreign insect.
“You are a very odd girl,” she observed. “And I honestly don’t know whether István will consider it worse for you to be his wife or his mistress.”
“Oh, I think either condemns me,” I said lightly. I regarded her. “Should I stay and see him or not?”
“But of course you must stay!” Katalin exclaimed. “You don’t imagine we shall let you go again?”
The children picked up the gist of that. They stopped playing with my hands and stared at me accusingly. I avoided their eyes, glancing a little sadly at Katalin.
“But I have to go. When Lajos goes back.”
Katalin swallowed. “Can’t you wait for him here till the war is over?”
“No. I have done all the waiting I intend to. Besides,” I added, aiming for lightness, “I would embarrass you horribly among your friends.”
“Speak to István,” Elisabeth recommended. So I waited.
It was an unexpectedly jolly party which István discovered upon his return. Katalin and I were kneeling on the floor with the children, playing a boisterous game of jack-straws with them while I caught up with their news and told them something of my adventurous life since January, including an edited version of my encounter with Colonel von Avenheim.
He saw me as soon as he opened the door. I glanced up, still laughing at Miklós’s antics, and slowly, the laughter died on my lips. I saw the awful guilt written clearly in his eyes, a guilt he could barely live with; and I knew instinctively that if there was to be any reconciliation with him, I would have to begin it.
I rose quietly to my feet and went towards him.
“István,” I said, holding out my hand. He took it mechanically, almost blindly, and I reached up, briefly kissing his cheek. Abruptly, his strong face crumpled, his arms closed round me like a vice.
“Katie, Katie, I didn’t mean it, I’m so sorry...”
“I know,” I said, swallowing the tightness in my own throat. “I know. It doesn’t matter; it’s all forgotten. István, I forgive you — I have the same temper!” Smiling, I drew back a little, watching the beginnings of hope gradually lighten his tortured eyes just a little. “But wait — you still have to forgive me. Teréz Meleki was telling lies that night, but I do love Lajos Lázár and I always have. And though it began as a fiction to protect me, I now live with him as his wife.”
Even at the time, I thought it a remarkably concise and neat confession. Of course, it needed time to sink in. As his arms fell back to his side, I stepped away, and Elisabeth led him to the sofa, sitting down close beside him. I sat opposite and waited. Somewhere, I was surprised by the importance I was according his reaction. Two years ago, this family had meant nothing to me; now I wanted their friendship very badly.
Istvan’s eyes looked blank with incomprehension. No one spoke, and the silence went on and on.
Then: “Why?” said István unexpectedly, and we began to talk. Oddly enough, he seemed to think his own bad behaviour had pushed me into this situation against my will, but I soon disabused him of this notion.
It was, on the whole, a surprisingly peaceful discussion, though it was not without its moments of anger on both sides. He didn’t like it — none of them did — but he was still very conscious of the unforgivable injury he had done me, and this, perhaps, helped him to keep the peace. His arrogant self-assurance had suffered badly recently, over the war and over me, so that he seemed now somehow diminished. He was no longer the same István who had employed me, and he was no longer sure of his ground about anything. Pity welled up inside me, yet even so, I knew that the old István would never have forgiven me for what I had done; now, there was a chance.
The other factor that calmed him was that the world believed we were married: despite Lajos’s birth, and despite István’s hatred, it seemed wife was still preferable to mistress, and I spent a long time emphasising the honourable nature of Lajos’s conduct throughout. He could appreciate the dilemmas which had led to our pretence, even if he could not understand why I now clung to it. In the end, we called a truce, and I saw with relief that I had not yet managed to lose this new family of mine.
I even stayed for dinner. As a treat, the children ate with us, but afterwards they were reluctant to go to bed in case I disappeared again. I was touched by the strength of their affection; I even felt guilty about leaving them, but, I reminded myself, they were not my children.
When I said that I should go, Katalin tried again to persuade me not to, and István frowned rather ferociously; but eventually he said, “Where are you staying? I’ll take you.”
I smiled with surprised gratitude, but before I could answer, the sour-faced servant came in and announced that Captain Lázár was here to collect me. I saw a spasm cross István’s face. I saw Elisabeth hesitate helplessly.
“Don’t worry,” I said
lightly. “I am ready to leave. Thank you for your offer, István, it was appreciated. May — may I come again?”
“Of course,” he said, a little stiffly and then, as I smiled farewell at the others, already moving towards the door: “Katie? Do you have money?”
“Yes,” I said gently. “I have money. Thank you.”
Lajos was waiting for me in the hall, pacing idly up and down. He smiled when he saw me, and took my cloak from the servant, advising that morose individual to cheer up before he soured the milk; and I was swept out of the house.
I felt his eyes on me as we walked away, but for a long time he was silent. Then, as if he could bear it no longer, he said lightly, “Well? I presume everything is fine?”
“Almost.” My voice was unexpectedly small, and at once he put his arm around my shoulders, still gazing down at me. There was another pause.
Then he said, “I wondered if they would persuade you to stay.”
I smiled. “They tried, which is very flattering in the circumstances.”
“Were you tempted?”
“No,” I said truthfully. “I’m so glad to have seen them, and I realize now how much I have been missing them — especially the children — but no. I don’t want to lose them, that’s all.” I nestled into his arm more comfortably. “And you? What did Kossuth say?”
“Something very interesting. He asked if I was still in communication with Avram Iancu.”
I blinked. “How did he know you ever were?”
“Madarász told him, apparently. Certainly I never mentioned any names when I spoke to him before about the Romanians. Anyhow, I told him — again! — the gist of our meetings last summer and this time he began to look quite animated. The upshot is, he wants me to make contact with Iancu to try and win him over to our side.”
“But that is wonderful!” I exclaimed. “It’s just what you always wanted — a gesture from our government to them.”
“Yes, but I am the only gesture,” Lajos said wryly. “I can’t pin him down to any concrete concessions, and without those, Iancu just won’t play. He has been shut up in the Apuseni mountains, surrounded and unassailable, for months now! He won’t give in for nothing.”
“Did you tell Kossuth this?”
“Yes.” Lajos’s lip twitched. “He told me I could promise them anything that did not compromise Hungary’s political or territorial integrity.”
“Does that leave you much scope?”
“No. I warned him he could lose all of Hungary, when all he needs to do is give up a little piece over to the autonomy of the Romanians; but he thinks it will encourage all the nationalities to demand autonomous areas and he won’t hear of it.”
“So what will you do?”
“Go and see him again tomorrow to receive my final orders.”
“Then you have agreed to do it?”
“I don’t have any choice. Besides, we should never have stopped trying in the first place.”
“You didn’t,” I said, and he hugged me to his side.
“Wonderful creature. Would you care to get drunk tonight with Jókai and me?”
“That is not a very proper suggestion. I couldn’t possibly accept.”
“Then perhaps I can entice you to join us in a glass of wine?”
“One glass,” I said graciously, “and then you and Jókai may get as drunk as you please without me.”
They did.
* * * *
After Lajos had seen Kossuth in the morning, he came back to the inn with a parcel under his arm.
“Are these Hungary’s concessions?” I asked humorously.
“No, these are Lázár’s clothes.” He tore the paper off and revealed shirt, trousers and coat. “I’m to travel as a civilian. I suggested a couple would be beyond suspicion, and he agreed to that quite happily. He even congratulated me upon my marriage.”
I smiled doubtfully. “How kind. I suppose a civilian would be safer in Romanian territory than a Hungarian officer... Or is he making sure your visit is unofficial? Lajos, is this dangerous?”
“No, I don’t see why it should be. I know Iancu, and his word will be good enough for the others.”
I sat down on the bed, fingering the material of his new coat. “Do you still think Alex is with Iancu?”
“It’s possible.”
“Would a letter from Katalin to him compromise us? Always supposing she still wishes to contact him, of course.”
He shrugged. “So long as it is personal.”
I regarded him with disfavour. “Like your passionate letters to me?”
He smiled faintly. “I was protecting your reputation — and István’s for what it’s worth.”
“What a selfless, heroic fellow you are,” I marvelled. “When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow. Do you want to go to the Szelényis’ again today? I’ll walk with you, if you like — there are some old friends I want to see in that direction.”
* * * *
The Szelényis had visitors when I arrived, so I crept cravenly up to the nursery to see the children and to renew my acquaintance with Zsuzsa, who positively grinned at me when I came in.
“I knew there was something between you and Lajos!” she cried gleefully. “I’m so glad you married him!”
I only laughed, feeling ridiculously touched as well as uncomfortable. An hour later, Katalin came to find me, with the news that the visitors had gone.
“I was afraid Teréz would be one of them,” I said bluntly.
“Oh, she and Elisabeth don’t visit any more. To be frank, even Elisabeth could not stomach her deliberate malice in using you and István to satisfy her own spite. Do you really have to leave tomorrow, Katie?”
“Yes,” I said, taking her arm and leading her away from the children who were currently quite happy with each other. “Which is why I want to speak to you. I didn’t have the chance yesterday to ask you about Alex.”
Immediately, she looked dismal. “I have not heard a word from him since Buda-Pest.”
“Lajos thinks he knows where he is. It’s just possible, even, that we might see him.”
“Oh, Katie...!”
“Do you want to give me a message for him, just in case?”
“Yes, oh yes! Oh, Katie, you angel!”
Katalin’s love, it appeared, was not yet dead from lack of nourishment. Before I left, she slipped a letter into my hands.
This time, I did not stay to dinner, for we planned an early start in the morning, and there were things I had still to do. Again, István offered to drive me to the inn, and this time I took up his offer.
The carriage was quite a luxury to me now. I settled back to enjoy the short drive, while we discussed impersonal things, such as the latest news of a Hungarian victory, which had just reached István.
“Now it seems retaking Buda-Pest may soon be a possibility. I won’t deny I didn’t believe we could win this war, but it seems I was wrong — thank God.”
When we arrived at the inn, István insisted on conducting me inside. Lajos was sitting there in the coffee-room with Jókai who, I had discovered last night, was now a journalist in Debrecen, and a few other men who looked faintly familiar to me. They were obviously entertaining each other.
István stopped dead, just as Lajos looked up and saw us. He came to his feet at once.
“István was kind enough to bring me back,” I said lightly.
“Thank you,” Lajos said to him, and I saw a spasm cross István’s hard mouth. Their eyes were locked like the horns of warring bulls, but Lajos at least was prepared to be friendly. “Will you join us?”
István’s lip curled. He didn’t even bother to answer, just turned to me, saying, “Good-bye, Katie — keep in touch,” and left the inn.
“Rude fellow,” said one of Lajos’s friends.
“No, not normally. He just doesn’t like me.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Spring had come to the western mountains. The snows had melted, the trees were
budding into new, green life, and the wild hill flowers were beginning to scatter their bright colours all around the slopes.
As Lajos and I walked hand in hand in the hills around the town of Abrud, I could imagine that the war had never been, that he and I were just two lovers enjoying the peace and incomparable beauty of the mountains — except, of course, that the whole area was ringed by Hungarian soldiers whom we had been able to pass only with Kossuth’s written authority, while in his high mountain fastness, Avram Iancu led his men in the most stubborn resistance of the Transylvanian war.
In those early April days, Transylvania was quiet. Bem was trying to win lasting peace through clemency to the rebels, and now it seemed that Kossuth and the Hungarian government were prepared to stretch the hand of friendship to their former enemies, and I was glad, for without at least Romanian neutrality, I was sure the country would not stay quiet for long.
In fact, I had high hopes for Transylvania and for Hungary, which did not seem so very far-fetched, for we had just heard that Hungarian armies had won two major victories over the Austrians and were advancing upon Buda-Pest.
But I did not want to think about the war. I didn’t even want to think about the stubborn warlike youth whom Lajos had come to win over. I wanted to concentrate only on the sweet smells of spring, the cheerful singing of the birds, and the man striding silently along at my side.
For a while, I managed it, but we were not the only people in the hills — that was why we were here — and Lajos was heading steadily in the direction of the path which led eventually to Iancu’s stronghold. Not that he intended to knock on the door: he was simply looking for a man to carry a message to Iancu. As yet, Kossuth did not want Lajos’s visit to seem official.
Foolishly, my heart sank when I saw the two dots appear on the hill and grow ever closer. I wanted the day for us, not for the business of war and politics and negotiation. I tried to slip my hand free but Lajos held on to it, though I was under no illusions as to why. Simply, the sight of two lovers was quite unthreatening.
The men were Romanian peasants, thin, malnourished. They couldn’t be anything but malnourished, for no food but what was grown there had come to this area for months. They looked at us suspiciously, exchanging low-voiced mutters in their own language which I was rather glad then not to understand.
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