A World to Win Page 3

  “Indeed?”

  Their unconventional new companion turned his face up to me and smiled, a slightly upward quirk of the lips that was both peculiarly charming and immediately recognizable.

  My breath caught. I knew a moment of pure panic, because of what he was and where I had first seen him, but then, ruthlessly, I squashed the upheaval and tried to look as staid as possible — I do that rather well.

  He came to his feet with the same easy, casual movements I remembered. “Mademoiselle.”

  Now I was looking up at him. Of little more than medium height, he was still considerably taller than I, slight in build and dressed carelessly enough to be called shabby with some justice. His eyes, I realized with surprise, were a warm, dark brown, contrasting oddly, though not unattractively, with his light hair.

  “Lajos lives near us in Transylvania,” Miklós informed me. I blinked behind my spectacles, but could think of no suitable comment. Lajos Lázár was still looking down at me.

  “You were at the meeting,” he remarked, “on Tuesday.”

  “No,” I said coldly, regarding him with considerable suspicion. People do not remember me from crowds without very good reason. “I was not at the meeting. I merely stumbled across it in ignorance.”

  “Do you know Miss Katie then?” Anna asked with interest.

  “No,” said Lajos Lázár gravely, “but I would like to.”

  “She’s our governess,” Miklós said, with an air of pride that would have touched a less stony heart than mine. “From England — well, Scotland.”

  Lajos Lázár held out his hand. It was brown and sinewy and rough. Primly, I put mine in to it.

  “Lázár Lajos,” he said. Hungarians, I should point out, put their surnames first.

  “Katherine Kettles,” I responded politely, and slid my hand free. In fairness, he showed no signs of wishing to retain it. Men don’t, as a rule.

  “Are you going to Buda-Pest, Lajos?” Anna asked.

  “Yes. Are you?”

  “Oh yes. Will you come and see us there?”

  At this point, Anna’s amiable if impractical plans were interrupted quite unexpectedly by her father.

  “Miss Kettles!” his voice thundered behind me. I think we all jumped, except Lajos Lázár. I certainly did.

  “Sir?” I said neutrally, turning to face him. I would only once see him more furious than he was that afternoon. He was rigid with anger, his cheeks livid, his normally cool eyes flashing dangerously.

  “A word, if you please,” he ground out.

  I took the silent children’s hands and went to meet him.

  “Take the children below,” he ordered, “and then you may explain yourself.”

  I have never relished being spoken to in such a way, but in truth I was then too curious to be angry. Obediently, I took the children to an amazingly revived Zsuzsa, and rejoined the Count where he stood on deck, leaning against the rail farthest from Lajos Lázár.

  He did not look at me as I approached, but began to speak immediately. “What do you mean by allowing my children to consort with that man?”

  “I beg your pardon. I didn’t know you would object, and they did appear to know him.”

  “Unfortunately, in the freedom of Szelényi, these things sometimes happen,” he said bitterly. “But I will not have it, Miss Kettles! They are to have nothing to do with him — do you understand?”

  “Perfectly,” I said equably and he glanced at me with quick surprise, as if he had thought I would object. “They are your children, sir. “I am only the paid governess.” Despite my tone this seemed to calm him a little. He almost smiled, so I ventured, “May I know why you object to him?”

  “He is — unsuitable.” The Count was tight-lipped again. “He is a peasant, rude, loud-mouthed, immoral and extremely stupid.”

  It was, I reflected, a fairly comprehensive denouncement, though I doubted if one could be a lawyer, however poor one’s clients, if one were merely a stupid peasant. But then, since I knew Lázár to be, on the contrary, quite dangerously clever, I had already discounted the Count’s opinion in its entirety, only wondering exactly what had provoked it. However, I simply nodded and was already leaving him when another thought occurred.

  “Do the children know he is out of bounds to them?” I asked, and when he looked at me uncomprehendingly, added, “I was wondering if they acted out of disobedience or misguided friendliness when they spoke to him?”

  The Count laughed, a harsh, short sound. “Oh, misguided, certainly.”

  “Then you wish me to explain to them that he is — unsuitable?”

  “Of course,” said the Count coldly.

  Of course. The Szelényis had very fixed ideas of suitability — not all of them correct, as I well knew. For the first time I felt a hint of sympathy for the young radical. And then, was I not myself guilty of dismissing him in much the same way as the Count, simply from one half-understood speech? A man who helped the poor could not be all bad.

  As evening approached, the unexciting, flat landscape on either side of us gave way to a low range of hills and later, more spectacularly, to mountains so close to the river’s edge that they seemed to rise up out of it.

  I abandoned the children to Zsuzsa — she was not the only one who could be diplomatically unwell — and settled myself in a quiet corner of the deck to drink in the beauty around me.

  It was a wonderfully clear, balmy evening, causing the mountains to stand out magnificently against the darkening sky. I did not see how I could possibly sleep that night. There were few people on deck now, but somehow I was not surprised when someone came and stood beside me at the rail.

  “Good evening,” said Lajos Lázár, in English, oddly enough. “May I join you, or have you been forbidden to speak to me?”

  I glanced at him uneasily. “I haven’t, but the children have.” All the same, my daring in talking to him at all was causing a distinct flutter in my stomach.

  “A pity.”

  I was still determinedly watching the mountains, waiting for the next spectacular view as we rounded the river bend, but I felt his eyes on me. I suppose I was an odd sight in my drab dress and frivolous hat and spectacles — though I have to say I had never valued my glasses as much as then.

  I knew I should make a civil excuse to abandon him — after all, I didn’t want to lose my post just yet, and the Count’s unequivocal view had been made quite plain to me. Anyone could see us here.

  Yet when he said idly, “Have you been a governess for long?” I found myself answering promptly, “For nearly one month.”

  “Do you like it?” There was a note of genuine curiosity in his voice.

  I shrugged. “They are good children in their own way.”

  “Is István a very demanding employer?”

  His English was excellent, I reflected, and unlike the Count’s almost without accent. On the other hand his manners appeared to be informal to a fault: I was sure Count Szelényi would not relish being referred to by his Christian name, not by this ‘unsuitable’ personage. My curiosity concerning his connection with the Szelényis grew apace. I glanced at him again. He leaned one arm on the rail, half-turned towards me, watching me with his disconcertingly direct gaze.

  I found myself answering him truthfully, “No, not at all. My friends led me to believe that if I took a post as governess I would also be unpaid seamstress, secretary and general slave, so I suppose my life is actually remarkably idle.”

  “I think you’ll find István’s household already has plenty of seamstresses, secretaries and slaves, without recruiting you.”

  “Obviously I have taken an excellent post.”

  “Why did you take it?”

  “Badness,” I said on a sudden choke of laughter, quickly suppressed. “Curiosity. Necessity.”

  His lips curved slightly in the characteristic half-smile I remembered. Turning my gaze quickly back to the mountains, I pulled myself together and instinctively went on the offensive.r />
  “And yourself, Mr. Lázár. Is there much demand for lawyers in Transylvania?”

  Too late, I realized my mistake: without questioning others, I could not have known his profession. I bit my lip, but he answered easily, “Oh, plenty. Every landowner needs a legal adviser. Unfortunately, most of them do not value my advice.”

  “Why is that?” I asked lightly. “Aren’t you a good lawyer?”

  “It’s not my legal skills they question. They object to my politics. They are afraid I shall incite the peasants to rise up in revolution against them.”

  I curled my lip. “So they forbid you to come within a hundred miles of their property?” I suggested rather insolently.

  “Something like that.”

  “And Count Szelényi — does he feel the same way?”

  “I’m sure he does, but he has a problem in keeping me away. My parents live on his property.”

  I looked at him in surprise. Stupidly, I asked, “What do they do?”

  “My father works the land,” Lázár said frankly. “He is a farmer.”

  I took this in slowly, eventually connecting it with Count István’s contemptuous denunciation: “He is a peasant.”

  It seemed I was correct in my initial opinion of Lajos Lázár. He was indeed remarkable. He smiled slightly, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was reading my thoughts. I looked away, downwards at the river flowing past us.

  More seriously now, I asked him, “Is it hard for you to find work?”

  “I find more work than I can handle, but I suppose none of it is very lucrative, if that is what you mean. I have a permanent position as assistant to a lawyer in Pest. Kecskés is — sympathetic to my cause, so providing all my work is done in the end, he gives me leave to do more or less as I please.” He shifted his position, turning more fully towards me. Unexpectedly, he added, “I wish you didn’t disapprove of me quite so much.”

  “Mr Lázár,” I said drily, “we are both well aware that my approval or disapproval makes absolutely no difference to you whatsoever.”

  He smiled slightly, his eyes unblinkingly on mine. “You’re wrong,” he said after a moment. “Besides, I want everyone on my side.”

  “I suspect you have a long way to go.”

  “True.”

  “And anyway, what makes you think that you are right, and all the people who oppose you are wrong?”

  “Observation,” he said promptly. I shouldn’t have asked. “Come, Miss Katie, you are an intelligent woman — you cannot pretend that poverty and injustice do not exist, or that they are acceptable?”

  “Of course not,” I said coldly, even while I flushed at his unexpected use of the children’s name for me.

  “Well, it is equally obvious that they cannot be eradicated by perpetuating the same old political system we have now.”

  “I think more is likely to be achieved through existing systems than by agitating the people!”

  “In Britain, perhaps,” he allowed, straightening his back and placing both brown, working man’s hands on the rail, “but here there is never any progress; in Transylvania even last century’s land reforms were never implemented! Meanwhile, the Hungarian Diet meets every few years and achieves absolutely nothing because it opposes the King-Emperor’s schemes on principle. The Lower House traditionally opposes every reform proposed by the Upper, and vice-versa, even when their proposals are exactly the same! Why? Simply to maintain their own power! Even when they finally agree on a principle, it is rarely, if ever, put into practice because the nobility runs the administration. In effect the nobles own the peasants as their subjects, and have so many privileges that for the most part they are reluctant either to abandon them or to extend them to others less fortunate.”

  He paused, then disarmed me totally by adding apologetically, “I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to preach to you.”

  I smiled involuntarily. “I’m sure you can’t help it! Besides, I didn’t know about the Diet.”

  “Hungary is a backward country. We need political and social modernization, economic progress, land improvements; yet we only stagnate because the wealthy — that is, the nobility — are afraid to change things that have always provided well for them in the past.”

  “All of the nobility?” I asked, thinking of Count István and his father.

  “Not quite. A few see the need for reform — even your employer on his better days. Some, like Miklós Wesselényi — who went to prison for his beliefs — and Count Széchenyi, have been arguing the case for years.”

  By now I had forgotten the unwisdom of speaking to him, of being seen in his company. Frowning, I asked, “But what exactly do you mean by reform?”

  “Ah,” he said ruefully. “What I mean is not the same as what Count Széchenyi means. His ideas — capitalism, the ending of serfdom, a wider franchise — are only the beginning of what I believe to be necessary.”

  This was dangerous ground. I didn’t really want to know the extent of his radicalism.

  “It’s your country,” I said hastily, “but even so, stirring up the people as you did on Tuesday can only lead to violence, and in the end I believe it would change nothing.”

  “I wasn’t trying to stir up the people, only to wake them up.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “On the contrary. I don’t want to hurt, Miss Katie, only to educate.”

  “Educate?” I scoffed. “You were haranguing!”

  He smiled faintly. “Surely not. No, I really mean ‘educate’. Some friends and I teach classes for workers, for poor people and the illiterate...”

  “That’s not ‘education’,” I interrupted indignantly, “it’s ‘indoctrination’. That I do find despicable. To take poor, uneducated people and fill their gullible heads with your nonsense...”

  “Why are you so determined to quarrel with me? We teach people to read, Katie.”

  I dropped my eyes. “Oh.”

  “It’s the first step,” he said. “A basic right. Only when people can read can they learn properly for themselves. Until then, they must believe those who can, whether that is you or I or Prince Metternich. If I had not been able to read, I would never have known the existence of other forms of government, like Britain’s or America’s, never have heard of the Great Revolution in France.”

  “I suspect your country would have been better off if you hadn’t,” I said, rallying briefly.

  “Touché,” he acknowledged. “Am I preaching again?”

  “Yes!” But still I couldn’t leave it there. I glanced at him sideways. “So, revolution by education — is that your aim?”

  “Yes. I believe it can be managed without violence.”

  “You are sanguine. And will you manage this revolution?”

  “Oh no. I don’t think I’m the right man for such a job.”

  “No? But I’m sure you know one who is.”

  He smiled and shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  Sometimes my own perception surprises me. I laughed. He watched me for a moment, still smiling a little in response, then asked, “Have I convinced you?”

  “Of the righteousness of your cause? I reserve judgement. I am a newcomer here, after all, and a foreigner. But I’m afraid I very much doubt your bloodless revolution, however noble your motives or intentions.”

  He nodded. “It’s a start.”

  I blinked. “Mr Lázár, I’m only an impoverished governess. Why are you trying so hard to convert me? Do you wish me to murder the Szelényis in their beds? For I give you notice — I won’t!”

  “I’m relieved to hear it.”

  I regarded him. “Am I to convert the Count’s heir to egalitarian principles?”

  “You are free to try, of course, but it might cost you your position.”

  “I should think it would.”

  I turned away at last from his humorous gaze, and for the first time in nearly an hour noticed the scenery. The mountains were further back from the shore now and we were coming
close to a town with elegant towers and domes.

  “Waitzen,” said Lajos Lázár.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, meaning everything.

  I felt him nod beside me, but he was silent, and that too suited my mood. Together we watched the town go by. The mountains, still some distance away, were more beautiful without it. I was almost afraid to move and disperse the dream. The man beside me stirred. I felt his hand touch mine lightly, briefly, yet the unexpected shock broke into my peace.

  “Look,” he said, and I turned quickly, following his gaze to the other side of the ship. I was amazed, for on this east bank of the river everything was flat, a dark, vast plain as far as the eye could see.

  “How extraordinary!” I exclaimed.

  He did not respond, so I looked at him, my mouth already open to speak again, but I closed it, for he was watching me with an odd intensity that made me only too aware that he was in fact utterly unknown to me. His rough, angular face was strangely attractive in the moonlight, and that made it worse.

  I caught my breath. The flutter of panic I had felt when he first approached me returned now with a vengeance. I knew an instant of confusion, a dangerous tug of attraction.

  “I must bid you good night,” I said, a little too abruptly.

  “Of course.” He straightened his body from its relaxed pose against the rail. “Thank you for your company.”

  It seemed a peculiar civility in him, but I almost believed he meant it. I smiled a little uncertainly and began to walk away, but his voice stayed me. “Miss Katie?”

  I glanced back over my shoulder.

  He said, “I hope we meet again in Buda-Pest.”

  “I don’t see any reason why we should,” I said, and knew that already I was regretting it. Lajos Lázár was a little too remarkable for my peace of mind. For anyone’s.

  “You can usually find me at the Café Pilvax,” he offered.

  I smiled over my shoulder. “Thank you,” I said sweetly, “for the warning.” And I walked resolutely away. I was pleased to hear his soft, surprised laughter following me on the breeze.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I knew to expect something wonderful of Buda-Pest, because my mother had told me — and I was not disappointed. As if I was coming home, I drank in the ancient, brooding splendour of Buda, with its great fortress on one side of the river and the new, bustling beauty of Pest on the other; and between them, the Danube itself, wide and majestic with tiny green islands scattered picturesquely into the distance.