A World to Win Read online

  Lajos said, “I thought I’d better come and wash down that damned horse. I’m afraid I got as much filth on him as I possibly could.”

  Mark grinned. “Good thing too. Put the little...”

  “Yes, well, where is the brute?” Lajos interrupted.

  “Forget it, he’s clean already. The lads would do it twenty times over for a trick like that.”

  “More fool them. I could have broken the beast’s neck.” There was a trace of bitterness in his voice now. His arm lifted, holding out the coins Acsády had paid him. “Here, give the lads these — it’s all right — I washed them in the stream, though not to get rid of the manure...” Mark hesitated, looking at him, then took the coins wordlessly and went out.

  Lajos shivered. “I washed myself in the stream too,” he said to me, pulling his wet shirt away from his skin and looking for the first time quite touchingly like a little boy. I had never seen him as vulnerable before. It was as if memories of the hurts inflicted in childhood were haunting him again, making today’s unpleasant little episode somehow harder for him to bear. He wasn’t shaking, as I was, but he was shaken. And István’s behaviour must have been hardest of all, for though I knew he didn’t need István’s friendship now, I thought he had once, quite badly, all those years ago... With the new understanding, my heart began to ache for him.

  He shivered again. “You’ll catch your death,” I said, low. “You should go home and change.” He nodded, looking down at me a little dreamily. “I’ll come with you,” I offered, and at last his lips curved into a genuine smile.

  For a moment he gazed at me silently, then his freshly washed hand came up and gently touched my cheek. “Your sympathy is very sweet,” he said, and I felt my face begin to burn under his fingers. “But don’t waste it on me. I deserve everything I get; I work damned hard for it.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Acsády?” Father Ránoczy repeated, without pausing from his soup to look. “I hold him up as an example to my flock when they complain about conditions at Szelényi.”

  Slightly taken aback, I lowered my voice. “Do they complain a lot?”

  “Of course they do. So would you. They live as slaves, in abject poverty, completely at the mercy of the lord to whom they lose more than half their working week through robot. And robot — forced, unpaid labour in the lord’s fields, to the inevitable neglect of their own — is not the only feudal due, just the most hated.”

  “I didn’t realize you were so... “ I broke off, a little confused.

  The priest smiled. “Radical?” he suggested. “Oh I’m not. I merely dislike suffering. If it’s real radicalism you wish to hear, you could do worse than listen to our local celeb...” Without warning, he broke off, and I realized with resignation that he was listening to the conversation at the head of the table, which, naturally, was all about the afternoon’s incident with Lajos.

  Seeing the priest’s unexpected frown of distress, I said quickly, “Don’t worry. He really came off best, you know.”

  He glanced at me in surprise. “You know about this already?”

  “I saw it,” I answered unguardedly, but he was already saying urgently, “Is Lajos all right?”

  “In body, yes.”

  The priest relaxed, smiling faintly. “Don’t waste your anxiety on his spirit, “ he advised. “He will come about. I think you’ll find he has already realized that this incident is quite unimportant in the grand scheme of things.”

  I met his sardonic gaze. “And is it?”

  Father Ránoczy hesitated, then he laid down his spoon. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “it shows that Lajos has gone too far: the landowners are rattled.”

  “He’ll like that,” I murmured, amused in spite of myself.

  “But will anyone else? Does anyone — even Lajos — really want the sort of slaughter which occurred in Galicia last year when the peasants rose up?”

  I stared. “But surely such a thing could never happen here?”

  He shrugged. “I pray it will not. For all our sakes.”

  * * * *

  It was a beautiful evening, with the light and the warmth of day just beginning to fade, and the mingling scents of wild flowers and new-mown hay hanging in the air. I needed no other excuse to be wandering outdoors, away from the castle grounds, down the hill towards Szelényi. The village was really just one long, muddy street with a church, a tavern which called itself an inn and a scattering of peasants’ cottages, one or two of which were reasonable looking places with tidy gardens and an air of cleanliness. I found myself hoping uneasily that the Lázárs lived in one of these, for the alternative seemed to be one-roomed hovels of varying squalor.

  I watched a few exhausted men returning from the fields, some scrawny children playing in the little square that had been formed between the tavern and the church, and a tiny woman in a brightly embroidered dress scolding two sheepish lads who towered over her. The children quietened as I passed, until I smiled, and then they grinned back and carried on with their game.

  I found him quite easily in the end. Coming to what seemed to be the largest house in the village, I glanced over its wooden gate and saw him alone in the little porch which led up to the door. Instinctively, I opened the gate and went towards him. He didn’t see me at first. Gently swinging himself in an old rocking chair, one knee was drawn up under his chin so that his foot rested on the seat. He had changed his clothes for some cleaner if shabbier ones, and he was gazing expressionlessly at nothing.

  I nearly left him then, for I was suddenly afraid of simply irritating him by my unasked for and unwanted presence. I was even turning away when his eyes moved unexpectedly and saw me. Undecided, I paused, motionless like a mesmerized rabbit, until he smiled.

  “Katie,” he said, and he didn’t sound irritated at all. With one fluid movement he unwound himself from the rocking chair and stood up. “Come and sit down.”

  I obeyed, silently since I couldn’t think of anything to say. It was a hard chair, but the gentle motion was soothing. I watched as Lajos pulled a stool up close to me, and for a time we sat there, saying nothing. Oddly enough, I found it rather peaceful.

  At last he turned his head to look at me, and when I glanced up, I saw the glimmer of a smile on his lips. “What a very restful person you are,” he observed. “I think you’re the only woman I’ve met who appreciates silence as much as talk.”

  It sounded like a compliment, so I blushed, dropping my gaze and saying tartly, “You’ve already told me how strange I am.”

  “Have I? Well, if it is strange to sit quietly exuding comfort...”

  “Do you feel the need of comfort?” I interrupted a little desperately, simply to cover my own discomfort at his words. Then I wished I had stayed silent, for I saw the smile die away from his eyes.

  “Don’t we all?” he said lightly. “Even you.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He leaned back on the stool, his head resting against the wall of the house as he examined me thoughtfully. “You’re not quite so staid and capable as you pretend, are you, Katie Kettles?”

  It was unfair of him to surprise me like that, but I managed to retort, “I believe I am not incapable. As for staid, that is a requirement for governesses!”

  “But what actually goes on behind that cool mask you hold on to so efficiently?” he asked, his voice lazy though his eyes were as keen as ever, holding mine without effort and seeing far too much for my own ease of mind.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” I resorted to stolidity, but relentlessly, he pursued his point.

  “Yes, you do. You observe us all quietly, sardonically even, but your real feelings you keep safely locked up and out of sight.”

  “Perhaps because they are no one else’s concern,” I said sharply.

  He leaned forward. “Then why are you so concerned for me, if I may not be concerned for you?”

  My eyes fell. “I do not, at the moment, need your concern.”

  “Or my pryi
ng?” he suggested, and provoked from me a reluctant laugh.

  “Am I being rude?” I asked ruefully.

  “Just — prickly!”

  “I’m sorry. The simple truth about me is that I just don’t feel passionately about things.”

  “Nonsense,” he said at once. “Everyone does, about something or someone. Haven’t you ever been in love, for instance?”

  I blinked. “Once,” I found myself answering. “When I was too young to know better.”

  His lip quirked. “I gather from your cynicism that it was not a happy experience.”

  “Not particularly.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. We discovered in time that we did not suit.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “He must have been a fool to let you slip through his fingers.”

  I felt a silly surge of pleasure to hear him say so, but honesty compelled me to confess, “I didn’t slip. I was pushed.”

  He looked startled at that, which made me smile. “He was employed at the Foreign Office,” I explained. “And in truth, I would have made a quite dreadful diplomat’s wife. I was always saying the wrong thing, forgetting the right faces. Part of it was due to my eyesight, I suppose — you’ve no idea what a blessing spectacles are.”

  He met my humorous gaze, but his own, too-clever eyes were not laughing. For a moment I wondered in panic if he could see the hurt I had felt all those years ago, if it was somehow seeping out of me like blood from a wound. But I was fairly sure he could not, for ever since that time I had worked very hard to hide my feelings.

  He said quietly, “You’ll have to trust someone else in the end, you know.”

  Shaken, I could only stare at him. My mask had definitely slipped.

  But now excited voices in the street had grown suddenly louder in my ears, and three men were coming through the gate, all talking at once. Two of them were young and burly with black curly hair; the other was old but vigorous, and frowning so ferociously that I was reminded unpleasantly of the old Count.

  “My father and my brothers,” Lajos observed, and then the trio had caught sight of us.

  “Lajos!” cried the youngest man, his face splitting into an open grin of delight. “Is it true what Gábor says—? Oh.” Realizing my presence, he broke off in confusion. I didn’t blame him. I was confused myself. Though intensely curious to meet the parents who had spawned so remarkable a child as Lajos, I had been conscious for some time of a fear of doing so, of seeing him with rough, vulgar people, as if it would somehow diminish him. And now these three men looked so little like him that it was hard to believe they were his family.

  However, instinctive manners made me stand up to meet his father.

  “This is Miss Katie from Scotland,” Lajos said calmly. “The new governess at the castle. Katie, my father, Lázár Lázár.”

  An economic name, I reflected, if an unimaginative one. I smiled, inclining my head, wondering a little wildly if I should shake hands with the fierce old man. However, he solved the problem for me. He gave me a bow that may not have been elegant by drawing-room standards, but still held its own, rough dignity.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said, adding sardonically, as if he couldn’t help it, “But if you hope to keep your job, I wouldn’t make a friend of my son!” He swung round on Lajos. “Where have you been, anyway? I’m just telling your brothers they’ve no excuse to slacken off just because you deign to turn up!”

  “Quite right,” said Lajos amiably, though I was shocked by the unexpected bitterness in the old man’s voice. “These are my idle brothers,” he added wryly to me. “Zoltán and Károly.”

  Károly, the younger one who had spoken so impetuously as he came up the path, bobbed a half-respectful, half-nervous bow; Zoltán merely nodded, much as Lajos did. He looked very like Károly, but his brow was lower, his mouth discontented and unfriendly, and he was obviously impatient to speak to Lajos.

  However, old Lázár had things to say himself, and he would not be deterred even by my presence. As I sat down again, he demanded, “What’s this you’ve been up to now? Gábor has been telling us some unlikely tale of heroics...!”

  “There were no heroes,” Lajos said lazily, dropping back on to his stool, “unless you count the horse.”

  “It sounds pretty brave to me!” Károly said indignantly.

  “Pretty stupid,” Lajos corrected. “Why don’t you bring out a jug of that wine...”

  “Don’t change the subject,” barked Lázár. “Did you do what Gábor is saying?”

  Lajos sighed. “Yes, I did it, but it’s not important...”

  “Why?” interrupted his father. “Just for a bet? What in God’s name were you trying to prove?”

  I could feel the discomfort, the tension, in Lajos as if they were my own feelings. He shifted impatiently on the stool. “Nothing. I was proving nothing. I didn’t do it for the bet, I did it in a fit of temper, purely and unforgivably because I dislike being made to look a fool by a pair of dandified nincompoops with little but gold-plated sawdust between their ears! Of course, I made an even bigger fool of myself, but that’s my privilege — I have to live with it.”

  “What, did you fall off?” Zoltán demanded, sounding disappointed, almost outraged.

  “No, I didn’t fall off,” said Lajos tiredly, but his father had latched on to the salient point.

  “How were you made a fool of?” he asked distinctly.

  “What, was Gábor sparing my reputation? Didn’t he tell you about me being tripped into a good, fresh pile of horse-manure?”

  Lázár stared, his lips thinning. “Who? Who did that?”

  Lajos shrugged. “István, if it matters.”

  “Oh Lajos, couldn’t you have let it go?” To my surprise, there was a touch of bewildered pleading in the old man’s voice. He understood. “Let him have his petty satisfaction?”

  “I could have,” Lajos admitted. “And I could have hit him — I thought about that too.”

  “Christ, Lajos, you’re a peasant! You don’t need to be so fastidious about dirt!” Lázár’s anger was back.

  “It wasn’t the dirt,” Lajos said frankly, “it was the deliberate attempt to humiliate. I didn’t see — I have never seen — why they should be allowed to do that to us.”

  “Oh God.” Lázár cast his eyes to heaven. “Who in hell taught you to fight over every little wrong? To risk your neck against every petty injustice?”

  In the face of his father’s anger, I suddenly saw Lajos’s face soften. His lips quirked upwards. “You did,” he said simply.

  For a moment, Lázár stared at him, bereft of words, and I began to understand. The clever, restless, different boy who had wanted so much more from life than Szelényi could give, had nevertheless begun his crusade for his own family, his own village. It was only later, I thought, that it had grown with his knowledge of the world...

  A calm voice behind me said, “What are you all doing out here? Quarrelling again?” And I turned to find a neat, fresh-looking woman in the doorway. She wore the colourful dress of the peasant women of the district, but I barely noticed that at the time, for here at last I could see a resemblance to Lajos. She had his unusual colouring, the dark blond hair, though now tinged with grey, and the direct, dark brown eyes. There was something too in the smile on her faded lips, and the whole shape of her tired, once beautiful face.

  Involuntarily, I smiled at her, and this time it seemed quite natural to hold out my hand and to introduce myself without waiting for Lajos.

  “She’s governess at the castle,” old Lázár added by way of explanation, for there was an odd, puzzled expression on his wife’s face as she looked at me, and at some point — surely it was when I had spoken my name? — her grip on my hand had tightened. Her eyes widened and now she was definitely staring at me.

  My heart jolted. I stepped back from her in silly panic, for here at last was what I had looked for since I had first entered that hotel room in London and met
István Szelényi. It was recognition.

  She knew who I was.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I was aware that the family held a private service in the castle chapel, but when I found my way there like some clumsy wraith, only a little after dawn, it was silent, deserted. My misplaced contentment of the last two days had utterly vanished, squashed under a much more substantial dollop of reality; my head was full of yesterday’s events and the significance of Eszter Lázár’s recognition.

  Somehow I had gone through the motions with the Lázárs, making conversation, smiling politely while I waited for her revelation. It hadn’t come. She had watched me. She had watched me a lot, with puzzlement and doubt, but she had said nothing, and as soon as I civilly could, I had left.

  The chapel was surprisingly beautiful, a little dark perhaps, but the antique stained glass and woodcarvings were wonderful. I sat for a time in the front pew, letting the silence enfold me while my eyes fixed on the cross before me and I thought of my father’s strong, simple faith.

  For once, I let the tears roll unchecked down my face. What in God’s name was I doing here? This pilgrimage of mine was not for them, my parents. It changed nothing for them. It was only hurting me. And I was wronging too many people who might in other circumstances have been friends...

  I didn’t hear him come in. It was only gradually I became aware of that feeling of being observed, and even then, I only looked up to reassure myself. It was something of a shock to see Lajos Lázár standing still among the shadows by the door. Gasping, I brushed my hand quickly across my eyes, and was almost surprised when the image did not disappear. How long had he been there? My fingers crept to my throat. I swallowed.

  “Are you quite at liberty to wander the castle as you choose?” I enquired at last, with something closely resembling my usual sardonic manner.

  He moved out of the shadows towards me. “I don’t believe I have ever been forbidden.”

  “Merely an oversight on the Count’s part, I’m sure,” I said sweetly.