They Were Counted (31 page)

Balint’s mother, Roza Abady, was a short, chubby little woman who dressed always in black and whose snow-white hair and
old-fashioned
clothes made her seem years older than the mere fifty she really was. Since the early death of her husband, which had been a terrible blow to her after barely ten years of marriage, she had braced herself to accept the unwelcome role of a widow and had dressed as such ever since. Though their marriage had been planned by their families, the union of the handsome, talented and charming Tamas Abady with his rich little cousin Roza had been a love-match from the start. Even so, their early years together had been stormy and fraught with tension because their characters had been so different.

The young Roza, an only child whose arrival after her parents had been married for more than twelve years was hailed as some kind of miracle, had been wilful, capricious and spoilt. She
tyrannized
her parents’ house and she had been treated so much like a princess in a fairy tale that, in time, this is what she believed herself to be. The grandeur of her surroundings, the huge castle of Denestornya with its countless servants and seemingly
limitless
parklands, over which the only child was allowed to believe she had absolute power, all contributed to inflate Roza’s sense of her own importance, and made her arrogant and, at times, uncontrollable.

When she first married this had led to terrible quarrels between husband and wife, though, as she had fallen deeply in love with her handsome, understanding husband, these scenes invariably ended with Roza giving in. Soon she was to change and for the
later
years of their marriage she saw everything through her
husband
’s eyes and his every wish was as faithfully carried out as if it had been an Imperial decree. These had been happy years, and, as it turned out, her only happy years, for suddenly, after barely a decade together, Tamas was struck down by an incurable cancer and died only a few months later.

Tamas Abady, a sensible man blessed with the gift of clear sight, had known what was the matter and how long he had to live. In the few months left to him he had concentrated all his time and declining energies to preparing Roza for their parting and for the tasks she would inherit when he died. Knowing his wife so well he took care that his wishes were expressed as definite instructions to be followed to the letter. Young Balint, as soon as he reached the age of ten, was to be sent to school in Vienna at the Theresianum; he was then to study law and, upon obtaining his degree, was to enter the Diplomatic Service. Tamas, conscious of the dangers to an only child brought up in a household of
women
, wanted to be sure that his son would grow up independent, travelled and experienced, and so be well equipped, when the time came, to decide his own future.

After discussing his ideas with his father, old Count Peter whose knowledge of the world was of immense help to him, Tamas wrote down in a large notebook everything that his wife was to do for their son and also exactly how she was to run the Abady estates. He had made a great point of Roza promising that she would run the property herself and not put it in the hands of estate managers. He wanted her to make her own decisions. He also wanted to give her something useful to do which would occupy so much of her time that it would help lighten the burden of sorrow after his death.

Count Tamas’s instinct had been right. After the first few months of deep mourning the Countess Roza set about her new responsibilities with heroic dedication. She began by reading
closely
the book of instructions and very soon she had it by heart. This book became her bible, the holy writ which her beloved
husband
had ordered from the World Beyond. And if her adoration of his memory at times bordered on the morbid, the
responsibilities
he had imposed upon her saved her reason.

In her great house she led the life of a hermit. At first she would not see even her own close relations. She wanted no guests. She would live only to carry out her husband’s sacred orders.
Gradually
she lost touch with all her friends; and neighbours, knowing they were not welcome, stopped calling. While her father-in-law lived he would bring his guests up to see her at the castle, but after his death she saw no one. This was something which her husband, in all his wisdom had not foreseen, and it had its ill effects. The countess by nature was generous and good-hearted, but she needed the company of people with she could talk and who would, in return, talk to her. She needed, too, people whom she could help and to whom she could be of service and play Lady Bountiful. Soon there appeared those who recognized not only this but also the fact that Countess Roza was susceptible to
flattery
, and who gradually began to insinuate themselves into the castle’s service so that they could take advantage of the solitary countess’s weaknesses.

The first was an unscrupulous lawyer, Kristof Azbej, with whom Countess Roza had made contact when she had been to Torda for some trivial lawsuit. He soon discovered how she could best be manipulated. He started by praising her late husband, and went on, apparently reluctantly, to allow the countess to force him to admit that he was poor because he only accepted briefs from the righteous, even if they could not afford to pay him. The widowed countess, impressed, used his services, without
noticing
that lawyer Azbej gave them even though she could afford to pay. She felt sorry for him and little by little allowed him more and more power and responsibility in the management of her
affairs
, until in the end, in all but name, the simple Mr Azbej
became
Agent for the Abady estates – a title he was careful never to use in her presence.

Gradually he made himself indispensable – principally by dint of revealing to her abuses she would never have discovered for herself (‘The noble Countess will understand that I would never have mentioned it were it not that …’) to the point at which she suggested he should always be near at hand to devote himself to her service. After her father-in-law died, she offered him rooms in the house at Denestornya where Count Peter had lived.

In much the same way, two women insinuated themselves into the countess’ confidence and after a while they came permanently to live with her in the castle in the summer and in the town house in Kolozsvar when she moved there in the winter. They were Mrs Tothy, widow of a Protestant sexton, and Mrs Baczo, whose origins were more obscure but who was rumoured once to have been a cook in Des. These two, whether at Denestornya or
Kolozsvar
, would sit with the countess, take their meals with her and talk to her over their needlework. They also assumed responsibility for certain household tasks – Mrs Tothy supervised the laundries and made lavender water, while Mrs Baczo took charge of the kitchens and made all the preserves; she made them very well.

However their principle function was to listen to everything their mistress said and to agree that she was right. They were also the bearers of gossip on whom their mistress relied for all information of that sort both from inside and outside the castle walls. This they did faithfully with one reservation; they never gossiped about each other or about Mr Azbej, who in turn always supported the two women. Together they formed a kind of
triumvirate
who between them shared the rule of the Abady estates. Just as the women controlled everything in the house and in the orchards and kitchen gardens, so Azbej ruled the farms and
forests
. As might be expected this alliance brought advantages to all three. The one domain over which they had no power and in whose rule the countess never consulted anyone’s opinion but her own was the stables and the stud-farm.

 

The day Balint returned home he had coffee with his mother in her sitting-room. The countess sat on a sofa behind a long table and, one at each end, sat the two ladies on upright chairs which they always chose instead of more comfortable
fauteuils
to show that they knew their place. They were so alike that Balint was never quite sure which was which. Both were thick, fleshy women with olive complexions and dark hair and tiny sharp eyes sunk in the fat of pendulous cheeks. Their appearance showed how they thrived on the rich food of Transylvania. Each time he
returned
after a long absence Balint had to relearn that the only way to be sure which was which was to remember that the widow Tothy had three double chins while the Baczo had only two. Now, as Balint came into his mother’s room he found them both doing crochet work, sitting bolt upright and working at exactly the same speed. In front of his mother, but untouched, was a large Chinese lacquer bowl which served her for a work-basket. The countess made Balint sit beside her on the long sofa. She gazed at him fondly with her slightly bulging eyes and, took his hand in her pudgy little fingers.

‘Tell me everything! Where have you been? What have you been doing?’

Balint first told her all about the shooting party at Simonvasar, who was there and who was not there. Then he recounted the
political
events in Budapest. He tried to tell her everything but she, never talking her eyes off his face and constantly pressing his hands as if to reassure herself that it was really he, never really grasped whether he was talking about his cousins or telling about the rows in the House. That this was so was made perfectly clear as her occasional interjections only concerned his health: ‘Are you sure you didn’t catch cold? Are you well?’

‘You’ll stay on a bit now, won’t you? You won’t leave us too soon. It will soon be Carnival, and there are some very pretty girls around.’

‘Very pretty, yes indeed!’ echoed the widow Tothy.

‘Yes, indeed, very pretty!’ said the widow Baczo.

The countess went on: ‘You should look around. It would be so nice if you found someone here and settled down. I should like that so much!’

Why did allusion to marriage suddenly make him think of Adrienne? For a moment he saw her face before him.

‘Don’t worry, Mama, I’m going to stay for a long, long time!’ said the young man, raising her hand to his lips as if sealing a pact. ‘Anyhow if they have new elections, which seems very likely, I’ll probably not stand again.’

‘No? Why not?’

‘I haven’t yet made up my mind, but I hated everything I saw in Budapest. It was very depressing!’

‘Far better come home and take the estate in hand. I’m an old woman now and the work and worry are getting to be too much for me. I don’t get about as much as I should any more. You’re a man, you’re young … and it’ll all be yours anyway when I die!’ She turned to the two women: ‘Aren’t I right?’

‘Yes, indeed!’ said Mrs Tothy.

‘Indeed, yes!’ echoed Mrs Baczo.

‘I’ll have a lot to learn,’ Balint said, ‘I’ve never had to deal with these things before.’ And, as he spoke, he realized how much he really would like to take the estate in hand, all the more so as for some time he had wondered why, with such enormous properties, they always seemed to have so little income. ‘I’ll need a few months to get the hang of things. Then I’ll gladly do as you wish, even if I do decide to remain a Member.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ said Countess Roza, knowing that if he did so Balint would have to spend much more time at home with her. ‘Your poor father insisted that I should take it on, me, a
woman
alone! But I know that he’d want you to take over now that you’re grown up. Wouldn’t he?’ She exacted reinforcement from the two ladies.

‘Indeed he would!’ They both answered dutifully, concealing their dismay, for though they had neither of them known the late Count Tamas, it was more than their place was worth not to agree.

‘I’ll tell Azbej to prepare all the accounts and get out the contracts. He’ll explain everything.’ And, turning again to her two companions, she asked: ‘When will he be here next?’

‘He said he would be back before Christmas, after the first pig-killing,’ replied the two well-informed ladies.