A World to Win Read online

  “Possibly.” He was beside me now, gazing gravely down at me. “Katie Kettles,” he said softly. “What exactly do you imagine you are doing here?”

  My heart lurched, but I did not pretend to misunderstand him. My eyes fell from his. I said quietly, “If you want the truth, I don’t know any more.” I glanced up at him again. “How did she recognize me?” I asked simply.

  He shrugged. “She was Sofia Szelényi’s maid.”

  I felt my eyes widen. A memory stirred. “Eszter,” I murmured. “She talked of an Eszter when I was a child...”

  “What I want to know is why none of the Szelényis have recognized you.” He paused. “Or have they?”

  I shook my head. “No. Most of them never laid eyes on my mother, after all.”

  “I don’t know how much like your mother you are...?”

  “Not very,” I said regretfully. “And of course the Szelényis look on me only as a servant — a superior servant, I would be the first to admit, but even so, they don’t actually see me. The old Count doesn’t like my name — which means he has noticed me, but I’m sure he couldn’t ever imagine seeing me here in this guise. To his mind, Sofia’s daughter is only likely to come to him declaring herself an equal — no doubt in a suitably vulgar voice — and demanding her inheritance, preferably with threats!”

  “And is that why you are here?” he asked quietly.

  I felt the blood rise into my face. “It is not,” I said bitterly. “I would not take a penny from the old man which I had not earned.”

  “So why have you come? As the governess, of all things.”

  My flush of anger became one of shame. I dropped my gaze, then bravely met his once more. “I didn’t lie about that. I had decided to become a governess, for the reasons I told you. When I saw the Szelényis’ advertisement, I only answered it out of curiosity, to see who they were and how they were related — and yes, I wanted the opportunity to tell them just what I thought of their treatment of my mother... I knew at once that though István was too young to have known her, he was still tarred with the same arrogant, callous brush as his father. It made me — angry again. I meant to wait until he offered me the post — and I knew he would when I spoke Hungarian — and then throw it back in his face with a pithy denunciation of his family’s history, habits and morals.”

  “It sounds like a good plan,” Lajos said gravely. “What went wrong?”

  I gave a funny, unnatural laugh. “I did. I suddenly realized that if I actually accepted the post, I could come here, meet the old man himself. I thought I could cause more — damage.”

  For a moment he was silent. I looked at my hands. I could almost see him revising his opinion of me, acknowledging the bitter, twisted, vengeful woman I had revealed myself to be.

  “You must hate him very much.” Amazingly, his voice held no repulsion, just a kind of puzzled compassion. It was the last thing I needed. I felt the tears prickle against my eyelids. Furiously, I tried to blink them away. “Why?” Lajos asked softly. “Why so much hate for a man you had never seen?”

  I told him. It didn’t take many words, and I all but spat those at him as if it were all his fault instead of my grandfather’s. And then, abruptly, I broke off, angrily dashing my hand across my face. It was wet again.

  “Oh God,” I said desperately, and then I felt his hands on my shoulders, drawing me wordlessly to my feet, and I was held in his arms, my face buried in his shoulder. Curiously, it seemed the most natural place to be in my grief, so just for a moment I allowed the comfort, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart against me.

  He took off my spectacles, drying my eyes with a large, white handkerchief. Somehow I had not expected him to possess such a thing, and the thought almost made me smile.

  “I’m sorry,” I managed to say, taking the handkerchief from him and drawing myself out of his hold. I felt curiously forlorn again, but I blew my nose vigorously, almost blasphemously in that place, before drying my spectacles and replacing them firmly on my face. Resolutely, I held the crumpled handkerchief out to him. He eyed it without enthusiasm.

  “You keep it,” he said drily, “As a souvenir.” I hiccoughed on a laugh, letting my hand fall back to my side. I waited expectantly to feel the shame and embarrassment of displaying such emotion to him, but oddly enough, they didn’t come. After a moment, he said, “Why don’t you tell them now? Get it over.”

  “Not yet,” I said quickly. Please, not yet: it was too soon to lose everything, to go away...

  “Your grandfather’s not a fool, you know, however much he may behave like one.”

  “I can’t think why my mother wanted his forgiveness,” I said contemptuously. “He is a thoroughly unpleasant old man. You should hear the way he speaks to Margit.”

  “I have heard. She’s afraid of him, and he can’t abide that.”

  I looked at him without kindness. “That’s no excuse.”

  “But she allows it.”

  “What else can she do? She is dependent on him!”

  “No one is dependant. She could have left years ago.”

  “If she was as strong as you!”

  “Or you,” he said quietly. I stared at him, but before I could retort, the chapel door swung suddenly open again and Father Ránoczy came in, halting in surprise at the sight of us. I whisked myself away from Lajos, muttering, “I have to go...!”

  “Wait.” He caught my wrist. “Will you go and see my mother?”

  For a second I hesitated, then, realizing I owed her at least that much, I simply nodded and fled from him, brushing past the curious priest with an incoherent apology.

  * * * *

  As the summer days sweltered on and I still kept the secret which had become such an unexpected embarrassment to me, talk in the castle became fixed upon dancing. Apparently there was to be a grand ball — to which, naturally, every noble family in the district was invited — while the servants were looking forward to their own dance in the village, held every year to celebrate bringing in the harvest, however poor.

  Katalin in particular grew increasingly excited about the ball, and I soon discovered why. Captain Zarescu had arrived at Szelényi, inspiring her with quite impractical hopes.

  “If only Papa could meet him,” she exclaimed to me in the school room, when the children had been dragged away by Zsuzsa. “Then he would realize what a fine man Alex is, and surely not oppose us?”

  “I don’t think character is the problem, do you?” I said quietly.

  Occasionally, when my duties permitted it, I went to visit Eszter Lázár, and began to see more clearly why my mother had missed her. In her own, much quieter way, she was as remarkable as Lajos. She had his intelligence, his enquiring mind, without, perhaps, his drive, his will to make things happen.

  “I should tell you,” she said once, a little hesitantly, “that it was I who helped her to elope. I’ve often wondered if I did the right thing, and if she was happy...”

  “It was only the Szelényis who made her unhappy,” I said quietly.

  Eszter shrugged. “The Count was devastated when she left, but as usual he looked around for someone to blame for his pain — and since it couldn’t be himself, it had to be your parents.”

  This was a new way of looking at it for me, but I still could not forgive. There was no excuse for such selfish, stony-hearted silence. “But what of Margit?” I asked. “Surely such a — a kind woman would have made some contact with her own sister?”

  Eszter hesitated. For a moment, she looked away, then, “She missed her sister dreadfully, I know that, and I know she read all the letters your mother sent.”

  My eyes widened. “I thought he — the Count — would have burned them!”

  She smiled slightly, suddenly so like Lajos that it took my breath away. “No, he never burned them. He kept them locked in his desk — probably still does. But Margit had the keys even then.”

  I said wistfully, “Did she not try to write?”

  “She
was forbidden by the Count. Everyone was. I see you think that a feeble reason, but in fairness, the Count’s anger is a thing to be feared. Then, Margit was a funny child — only fifteen when the lady Sofia left — obedient to a fault, and in quite terrible awe of her father.”

  Slowly, I shook my head. “She should have got away from him.”

  “She never had much chance. She took on all the duties of a chatelaine, making herself too indispensable to the old Count’s comfort. When he married again she should have taken the chance to marry herself; there was someone, I believe, but when the new Countess died too, they say lady Margit turned her suitor away in order to care for her father... again...”

  Towards the end of this speech, I realized that her attention was wandering, and rather impatiently I stood up, following her gaze to the window. In the garden I could see old Lázár, his face red and furious as he gesticulated and shouted. We could not hear the words, but they were certainly aimed at Lajos who crouched before him, his fingers pulling mechanically at some weeds while he looked up at his father. Behind him stood Károly, miserably twisting his hat between his hands as Lázár verbally belaboured his brother. And Lajos did not retaliate. His face was carefully expressionless.

  “Oh God, not again,” Eszter whispered despairingly. And then Lajos stood up. Spreading his hands as if accepting guilt, he turned away from his father. Lázár took a hasty step nearer, and then Károly stood between them. Lajos paused, glancing back at his father, not angry, I saw, but not smiling either. I saw his lips move as he spoke. And Lázár, with a last gesture of scorn, turned and stamped off.

  Károly looked anxiously at his brother. With an effort, Lajos managed to smile at him, saying something light as he walked away.

  “One day,” Eszter said, her voice low and intense, as if she could not prevent the words, “one day he will go too far and Lajos will not come back. And I shall never forgive him for that. Never.”

  Then, much as Lajos had done a moment before, she tried to smile. I felt a rush of pity, for all of them. “I’m sorry. It’s always like this when he first comes home. The boys don’t know how to treat him... And Lázár is so fearfully proud of him, yet he doesn’t understand him. In truth, he wants him here all the time and is hurt by his absence. He can’t see that Lajos has outgrown Szelényi.”

  “Perhaps he can,” I said quietly. “He is afraid Lajos has outgrown you.”

  I suppose it was impertinent, but Eszter only said sadly, “Perhaps he has. I never know what goes on in his head any more.”

  “Schemes and plans and revolutions,” I said lightly, and she smiled tiredly. I hesitated, unsure of my place, then added, “I know it’s not only duty which brings him home.”

  She met my gaze and her face softened. “I believe you’re right...” Her look became speculative. “Do you know what he gets up to in Pest and Vienna?”

  “No,” I said apologetically, “not really. I know he works for a lawyer, teaches...”

  “Does he break the law?” she interrupted.

  I shifted uncomfortably, remembering the police outside the Pilvax. “I’m not sure exactly what your laws are. To be frank, I think he sails very close to the wind, but he is very sure of his ground, very calculating about what he can get away with.”

  She took that in and I wondered if I had said too much. For a moment, I thought she was going to ask me something else — I wondered in panic if the rumours about Baroness Meleki had reached her. But she said only, “We seem to have wandered from your problem to mine, my lady. Have you decided what to do?”

  “I’ll have to tell them, I suppose,” I said ruefully. “But to be honest, I’m too comfortable to wish to be sent away in a hurry.”

  “Perhaps that won’t happen,” she suggested, but I could see that neither of us believed it.

  * * * *

  Of Lajos himself, I saw very little. From Father Ránoczy, I knew he was conducting a legal battle with the steward over common ownership of some of the Count’s land. And of course, he was busy in the fields — we saw him at work there once or twice, stripped to the waist like his companions, the sweat glistening warmly on his brown, naked back, but he only raised his hand to us and carried on working. I was glad, because these encounters made me oddly uncomfortable. For the first time I was made aware of the hard strength in his deceptively slight body, and the knowledge confused me; I wanted to look away, offended by this invasion of his privacy, and yet I found I couldn’t, for there was a strange, new, almost frightening pleasure in watching him so.

  In fact, I had the lowering suspicion that Teréz Meleki was taking up all his free time — a suspicion which was soon reinforced in a very odd manner.

  Late one afternoon, after Zsuzsa had taken the children away and I was tidying up the schoolroom, I became aware that I was being watched. I looked round quickly, but if I had hoped to find Lajos again, I was disappointed. It was Baroness Meleki. She was standing in the doorway, dressed for dinner, elegant, richly gowned, beautiful, her eyes full of mockery which I couldn’t recall earning.

  “Madame?” I said at once. “Can I help you?”

  “Oh I doubt it,” she said in her languid, amused voice as she strolled into the schoolroom. “You seem to be a very respectable person, Miss...?”

  “Kettles. Thank you for your notice.”

  “I’ve certainly never noticed you before,” she said frankly, “but it seems other people have.”

  “What other people?” I asked without much interest, laying my pile of books down on the desk.

  “Oh, servants, mere peasants, but word spreads, my dear — and mud sticks. I should know.” I frowned. I hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about and told her so, not bothering to hide my impatience. “Why, haven’t you heard what’s being said about you?” she asked, mocking concern in her eyes. “They’re saying that you are Lajos Lázár’s latest mistress.”

  She had my attention now. I stared at her while the angry colour flooded into my face. “They’re saying what? Who is saying such a thing?”

  “Who knows where rumours start? I didn’t enquire. I just thought I’d come and take a look at you, and see if I believed it.”

  I flushed at her insulting tone. “You don’t need to look, only listen,” I said flatly. “I am not and never have been Lajos Lázár’s mistress, and you do neither of us any service by repeating such a thing.”

  She sat down at Anna’s desk, stretching out one slim foot. “You seem rather flustered,” she observed.

  “If I am, it’s because I am unused to back-stairs gossip,” I retorted.

  For a second, I saw an angry flash in her eyes, quickly veiled. Then she said in her usual manner, “Myself, I am more concerned with why, not where, this rumour started.”

  “I see no reason for you to be concerned at all.”

  “Oh but I am,” she said softly. “Don’t misunderstand me, dear — I could see the truth of your denial before you ever made it, just by looking at you. A man such as Lajos could never be interested in you. It’s laughable.”

  She was only saying what I already knew. Yet it was unutterably painful, not to say humiliating, to hear it from her callous lips. I am not easily crushed, but at that moment I came very close to it. I looked down at my hands resting on the books before me, waiting for her next onslaught. It wasn’t slow in coming.

  “On the other hand,” she drawled, “he has all the attractions of a strong man of the soil, all the thrills, if you like, without any of the inconvenient rough edges — again, I should know. A man with ideals, and a desire to change the world into one where your life, for instance, might just be a little better.”

  “And yours a little worse,” I said sweetly. I refused to be crushed for long, not by her.

  She stood abruptly, forgetting her habitual languor. “But make no mistake, little governess,” she almost spat, “he is not doing it for you.”

  “I never imagined he was.” I was pleased to hear that I sounded amused.
I even drawled, much in her own manner. Her eyes narrowed; I had the satisfaction of seeing that I had confused her. I did not conform to her idea of a poor, love-sick governess. Which was just as well. One has one’s pride.

  “Good,” she said, with commendable lightness. “For I came as one woman to another, to warn you not to misunderstand him. You are a stranger, a foreigner, friendless — perhaps liable through loneliness to read the wrong message from a man’s kindness.”

  She was wrong there. I had never misunderstood Lajos’s friendship, but her words were nevertheless insulting, not least because she was right about the loneliness. She came close up to me, confident, sophisticated, undeniably attractive, and, smiling faintly, she said, “I know you will find it shocking, but the truth is that Lajos is mine. He has been mine since we first met, and he will remain mine for as long as I choose to have him. So you see, in different ways, both our reputations are suffering from this silly rumour!”

  She gave a tinkling laugh, and brushed past me. I wanted her away from me, so that I could sort out the jumble of pain and humiliation and conjecture which she had so kindly brought me. But I was not to be spared yet. Half way to the door, she paused, and I could have screamed with vexation.

  “By the way,” she said languidly. “Have you ever been to a coffee-house in Pest called the Pilvax?”

  My breath caught. With thoughts chasing wildly through my head, I kept my face calm and expressionless — I am good at that: in my teens I had practised in front of a looking glass.

  “I don’t believe,” I said gently, “that my movements are any of your business.”

  Her eyes narrowed again, this time with anger. “Perhaps not, but your insolence is, if I choose to make it so! One word from me, girl, and you’ll be out on the street without a character.”

  With which threat, she swept out of the room in an impressive rustle of silk. When I was sure she had gone, I let myself sink into the nearest chair, trying to calm my hammering heart. I thought I had handled the situation quite creditably, but the truth is that I hate such confrontations. They leave my nerves jangling for hours afterwards, and in this case I had the added complication of Lajos to think about. I felt as if my friendship with him had been invaded, soiled. And now, more than ever and simply for his own sake, I wished that his affair with the Baroness was over.