They Were Counted (73 page)

When they reached the house even the normally sour Countess Miloth seemed pleased to see him, as well as her younger
daughters
, while Mlle Morin managed a weak smile and became almost cheerful.

Nevertheless nothing was the same as when he had last been there.

After dinner the girls went into a corner to whisper together while Countess Miloth and the French governess sat down to their needlework in silence. Only old Miloth was in his element having someone in the house to whom he could retell his stories of Garibaldi and the campaigns that unified Italy. He was so fully in his stride when Countess Miloth rose to say goodnight and left the room accompanied by the others, that he never paused or drew breath except to make sure that Balint did not leave too.

The two men remained together for a long time. The old
soldier
paced up and down the room laughing loudly at his own tales and describing with wide gestures and arms flung out the oddnesses of Italian behaviour and how he himself had got tangled up in the macaroni that had been hung out to dry, had been thrown from his mule on the slopes of Vesuvius; and, most hilarious of all, how once Garibaldi had scolded him in mistake for someone else! Old Rattle had not had such a good time for many a day.

Balint listened to it all with pleasure. He liked the old man and he liked, too, the fact that his tales were good-natured and humorous. Hearing him run on was like listening to a stream of light-hearted melody, flowing and unstoppable. All Balint had to do was occasionally to interject a word or two, such as ‘Bravo!’ or ‘How amusing – fascinating – embarrassing – amazing!’ or whatever adjective seemed most appropriate, and Rattle would at once embark on another tale, full of simple humour and good fun. For the first time Balint was able to observe the old man and so he remarked, as he never had before, that Rattle had the same golden eyes as Adrienne, a sort of glowing amber, and for some reason this came with a shock of surprise, for it had never
occurred
to him that there might be any resemblance between his Adrienne and the faintly ridiculous Akos Miloth. But the
discovery
of the likeness between them endeared old Rattle to him and so he listened once again to his much-told tales with affection and emotion.

Finally they went to their rooms.

Balint had just taken off his jacket and was unbuttoning his waistcoat when he heard a faint knock at the door of his room. He looked at the door-handle but it did not turn and Balint thought that perhaps he had been mistaken. There was another knock, so Balint opened the door and looked out.

It was Judith.

‘Can I come in for a moment?’ she asked and slipped into the dimly-lit guest-room.

The young man quickly put on his jacket again.

‘There’s nothing to be upset about!’ said the young girl
hurriedly
. ‘I just wanted to ask a favour of you. Don’t worry, it isn’t much, really it isn’t!’

‘Well, what can I do for you?’ Balint tried to look serious and conceal his amusement at what he took to be some little girl’s prank.

‘Look, AB, the thing is … well, you see, they all treat me like a child, as if I ought to be ashamed of it. But I’m watched all the time … controlled … and, well, it isn’t very much but could you just take this letter and post it, anywhere’ll do, just put it in a postbox. Will you do it? Please! It’d be a great favour. You will do it, won’t you?’

They stood facing each other near the bed. The single candle that Balint had put down on the table lit Judith’s face, passionate, determined, desperately waiting for his reply.

‘A letter? In secret so that your parents won’t know?’

‘Yes! Please take it, please!’ and she handed him a long narrow but thick envelope.

Balint’s face clouded over. It occurred to him at once that the letter could only be for that scoundrel Wickwitz. After a
moment’s
reflection he said: ‘Forgive me, Judith, but no! You’re
asking
me something I can’t do!’ And his voice was even colder than his words.

‘I see! You really won’t?’

‘No.’

Judith stepped back, hatred in her eyes, her lips pulled back from her even white teeth: ‘I understand. So you’re on their side, are you, with all the rest of them, with my mother and Adrienne? I ought to have known better than to have asked you, of all
people
. I see now that it was you who put Adrienne against him,
because
you hate him, don’t you? Oh, I’ve known that for a long time, I’ve seen it in your eyes. You’re the one who’s responsible for this horrible mess. First you persuaded Adrienne and then she got at my mother. I see it all now; you might as well admit it!’

Abady was very angry. Looking her straight in the eyes, he said icily: ‘I didn’t have to! It wasn’t necessary, but if it had been, I certainly would have!’

They looked at each other for a moment. Then Judith tossed her head and left the room.

Balint was annoyed with himself for letting his last words slip from him. If he hadn’t been so angry he would never have done so.

Why say such things, why he asked himself. He lay awake for some time thinking over what had just happened.

 

No one came to wake him in the morning, to rap on the shutters and get him out of bed. In consequence he slept late and it was nearly ten o’clock before he was dressed. He breakfasted alone on the vine-covered veranda. Everything was calm. No one bothered him and no one hurried him. It was all very different from the last time he had been there! Balint began to regret that he had come.

Eventually old Rattle came in from the fields. He was an
assiduou
s
farmer who every day from dawn until midday made the rounds of his property. He went everywhere and, as he used to say, he would put everything in order, a process which consisted mainly of scolding everyone he met. Today he returned to the house so soaked in sweat that the back of his homespun jacket was wet to the touch. He was in the high good humour that sprung from consciousness of a job well done. He shook hands with Balint and greeted him effusively: ‘How are you, my dear chap? Did those idiots give you breakfast? Did they bring you any bacon? It wasn’t ‘off’, was it? Janos, where the devil are you hiding?’ he called out suddenly.

Balint assured him that everything had been done just as it should be and that his breakfast had been excellent. He asked if they could go to see the mares and their foals and then have a look at the Miloth breeding stables.

Rattle agreed, much pleased to be asked. His horses were all large, handsome and strong, big-boned animals showing all the best signs of the old Transylvanian breed though with a special touch of class, for Rattle’s father, Ferenc Miloth, had been one of the first of his compatriots to bring in thoroughbred stallions from England. The first one that he had imported was called Jason and his portrait hung in the drawing-room.

When they returned from the paddocks they went to the stables where Rattle explained everything passionately. Balint noticed that the boxes were none too clean and that the horses they
contained
, though beautiful, had been carelessly groomed. None of this seemed to be noticed by Rattle, but then he lived surrounded by disorder, perhaps because he never ceased to shout and scold whether or not there was any reason.

As they strolled back to the house they met the two girls. Margit, as always, was bright and smiling, but Judith looked cold and withdrawn. The two men walked on and Balint, glancing back, saw that the girls had turned into the stableyard.

 

After lunch Balint started for home. Once again they climbed up to the grassy prairies to the crest of the ridge that led to the south. It was a cloudy day and it was perhaps as a result of this that Balint felt strangely depressed.

When they reached Maros-Ludas and were walking their horses side by side the groom suddenly broke his silence and spoke to his master:

‘If your Lordship has no objection I’d like to stop for a moment at the post office.’

‘Why?’ asked Balint.

‘One of the young ladies asked me to post a letter at the first post box we came to!’ replied the young man as he took from an inner pocket the same thick envelope that Judith had tried to give Balint the night before.

‘There’s no point in stopping now,’ said Balint. ‘Give it to me and I’ll post it myself at Maros-Szilvas.’

He took the letter from the lad and put it in his own pocket, thinking that it was insufferably cheeky of Judith to use his
servant
to smuggle out her clandestine correspondence. He was
extremely
angry, and became even angrier when he reflected that if Judith’s parents came to hear about the letter they would think that he had been the girl’s accomplice.

Balint broke into a smart trot, though he knew that this could only be kept up until they came to the next steep climb up to the plateau again. By the time they had to reduce their speed to a walk Balint’s anger had subsided and he began to wonder why he had so abruptly and eagerly taken charge of the letter. It was nothing to do with him and it was always far better not to meddle in other people’s affairs. He wondered what he should do with it. Burn it? Hardly that, for he had no right. If he sent it back to Judith it would probably fall into her mother’s hands and then the girl would get into trouble. Post it? Not that either, because then he would be guilty of helping that loathsome Wickwitz with whatever he was now up to. He pondered the matter all the time they were climbing upwards. As they reached the top the solution came to him; he would pass the letter on to Adrienne and then she could decide the best course. He would go to Almasko as soon as he could and get rid of this embarrassing burden. That would be the best, indeed the only solution. Balint was immensely pleased with himself at the thought that he had found a way out of this latest predicament. It was always satisfying to find a
suitable
answer to a difficult question and Balint now felt such a sense of happiness that he whistled cheerfully as he rode along the next stretch of the way. The tune was Toselli’s ‘Serenade’, then very much in fashion.

 

The garden of Dinora Malhuysen, Countess Abonyi, was hidden behind the long wall that bordered the road. Inside the gates a winding avenue of thickly planted bay trees led to the house, which was a high one-storey building built in the Biedermeier style. At the front was a long covered veranda whose roof was supported by brick pillars. Here cane garden chairs had been placed, and, from one of those, Dinora jumped up, obviously pleased, indeed delighted, that Balint had arrived.

‘How nice that you’ve come!’ she cried, running down the steps to greet him and holding out both hands joyously. They went back up the steps hand in hand and sat down next to each other in the comfortable, white-painted chairs.

‘I didn’t think you’d come! You rode past the other day, didn’t you – the day before yesterday it was, surely? But you didn’t stop. I saw you from the summer house.’

‘I was in a great hurry. I was already late.’ lied Balint.