The Veils of the Budapest Palace (Darke of Night Book 3) (9 page)

From what I could see from the carriage window, Pest was a bustling, modern city. We bowled along a street of very smart shops at one point. A little later, we travelled more slowly along wide, residential streets and broad squares surrounded by big, gracious houses. Inevitably, it was before one of those that the carriage stopped.

While Zsigmund leapt down from the coach, I gazed out the far window. Although the square was huge, one house took up nearly all of one side. Along the other side that I could see clearly, two or maybe three establishments had been built.

Turning to the carriage door, I took Zsigmund’s hand and stepped down. We stood outside double-tall wrought iron gates. Tree branches overhung them, spilling autumn leaves around my feet. Beyond seemed rather dark and gloomy. I looked up, caught a glimpse of shuttered windows and peeling paint, and then the gate creaked open, claiming my attention.

Still holding my hand on his arm, Zsigmund led me through the gate and along a winding, overgrown path. Bushes and trees had grown so tall and wild that they brushed against some of the windows in the house. I had never known such tension in Zsigmund. He seemed rigid, almost mechanical with it.

The big front door with its elaborate brass knocker also had badly peeling paint in locations and shapes that made me think of a bad-tempered face, with the knocker acting as a large, hooked nose with a ring through it, and scuff marks lower on the door as the downturned mouth.

The door opened before we reached it, and a servant all but fell out of it in tears, clutching Zsigmund by the shoulders and emitting a torrent of agonised Hungarian. Zsigmund, patted the man on the back, even gave him a surreptitious hug before pushing him away and taking my hand once more. For some reason, my breath came with difficulty, and I crossed the threshold in silence.

A
wave of sickness swept over me, like a suddenly descending illness. I gripped Zsigmund’s fingers hard, trying to force the feeling away by sheer willpower. My first meeting with his family was not a great time or place to faint—or worse.

But apart from the joyful servant, the hallway was empty. No happy family or other household members bolted out the doors on either side of the hall or ran down the curving staircase to greet him. No cries of welcome echoed around the spacious walls; no hurried footsteps tapped on the polished wood floor.

Didn’t they expect him? Didn’t they know he was here? They’d spoken to Major von Degenfeld only yesterday, so wouldn’t they be watching for the return of their exile? Zsigmund had been looking forward to this return so much that my heart went out to him; I felt outraged at his family’s carelessness.

Zsigmund, however, gave no more than a twisted smile. “János here will take your cloak and bonnet,” he said to me, handing the servant his hat and his own travelling cloak before he led the way across the hall to a room on the left. His firm, decisive footsteps echoed around the hall, as if the rest of the house was empty. At least there were no signs of decay here as there seemed to be on the outside of the house. And the room he led me into was quite luxurious. Large Persian rugs were carefully placed on the wooden floor. The walls were painted deep blue with ornamental pillars and decorative cornice picked out in gold. The furnishings were a little bare, perhaps, with only a scattering of sofas and chairs, a bookcase, and a couple of tables, with a piano in a place of honour by the row of windows. A few fine eastern vases and Venetian glass ornaments added extra colour.

Zsigmund spoke to the servant in rapid Hungarian. I was going to have to learn the language. Zsigmund had begun by teaching me some basic words. Apparently the nobility spoke mostly French among themselves, and German was also common since there was a large German population in the city as well as close connections to Austria. People here seemed to be used to speaking several languages interchangeably. My grasp of French and a little musically-based Italian was not going to help me communicate with servants and shopkeepers or the general population.

As the servant answered, I sank down onto the nearest sofa and breathed deeply. The sudden ill feeling was fading, much to my relief.

“The old gentleman’s in his study as usual,” Zsigmund said casually. “He practically lives in it. We’ll go up and beard him there once we’ve had some tea. Are you happy with tea, Karl, or do you want something stronger?”

“Oh, nothing for me. I’m supposed to be on duty.” The major still stood by the door, twisting the polished handle in his fingers. He seemed to hesitate, then said in a rush, “I’m sorry for recent events, Zsigmund, not least because they made us enemies for a time. But I never thought of you as such, and I hope you don’t think it of me.”

Zsigmund, inspecting the ornaments on the mantelpiece, rested his elbow there as he turned to his old friend. “It was never you I thought ill of.”

“Then we are friends?” The major tugged nervously at his luxurious moustache.

Zsigmund smiled. I knew he was about to give a distant
Of course
. But at the last moment, he seemed to change his mind. His brow dragged down, he dropped his arm, and strode across the room to embrace his friend. “We were never anything else,” he said.

I loved his impulsive warmth, the forgiving nature beneath his rather arrogant exterior. And the major’s smile was much more natural, his stride much more jaunty as he left us.

“Have your aunt and uncle moved out of the house now?” I asked, unable to curtail my curiosity.

“No, they’re still here too.” He shifted restlessly, pacing to the window.

“Perhaps they’d like to join us for tea?” I suggested.

“I shouldn’t think so,” Zsigmund said. He was gazing with disfavour at the bushes growing up the window. “They live pretty much independently—of my grandfather and each other. You’ll meet them soon enough. Oh, and there’s my cousin Gabor, who likes people to think he’s chained to my grandfather’s caprices.”

“The bishop’s friend,” I remembered.

“That’s the one. Though it seems a damned odd friendship to me.”

“And is he?” I asked curiously.

“Is he what?”

“Chained to your grandfather’s caprices.”

Zsigmund emitted a short laugh. “They’re certainly chained to each other. You must decide for yourself who has the upper hand. Ah, here’s the tea.”

It was the same servant who brought it, making me wonder if he was the only one in the house. He was a man of middle years, a little bent at the shoulders, but with a fine salt-and-pepper moustache, and his dark coat was smart enough.

Zsigmund spoke to him in Hungarian as he set down the tea tray. I heard the words wife and Countess and my own name. János straightened and gazed at me directly as he bowed.

“János has served my family forever,” Zsigmund told me. “You must ask him if you need anything at all. His wife is our cook.”

I smiled at János and said I looked forward to meeting his wife too. When Zsigmund translated, János smiled for the first time and bowed again.

“He likes you,” Zsigmund said as the man departed. “Which will make life much more comfortable.”

As I poured the tea, he came and sat beside me on the sofa.

“You’re still glad we came?” I said. “You don’t find these restrictions the major mentioned too irksome?”

“I’ll live with them, and I’ll be good,” he promised me with another of those twisted smiles. “It’s a means to an end.”

“How come your grandfather has such influence with the government?” I asked.

“Past service and connections, I suppose. His loyalty to the king and emperor has always been absolute.”

“But you have a new young emperor now.”

Zsigmund shrugged. “The old connections still seem to work, or I wouldn’t be here at all. Except on the end of a rope.”

“Don’t,” I said quickly, handing him his tea. He took it with a smile, his finger caressing my hand on the way. But I remembered I had another question. “Why do you think your grandfather didn’t tell Major von Degenfeld about our marriage?”

Zsigmund shrugged, all but gulping down his tea. “Spite, probably. I expect he thought it would embarrass me. My grandfather has a strange sense of humour. Never take it personally.”

I couldn’t help my dismay. Zsigmund’s family sounded positively vindictive.

“Before we go to my grandfather,” Zsigmund said, “I should warn you the rest of the house isn’t quite so...agreeable. It needs work. But we’ll make our room as comfortable as possible. Come on, shall we get it over with?”

It was hardly the reunion I’d expected, but I set down my half-finished tea and followed him across the room to the hall, to the great, curving staircase. We hadn’t climbed very far before I realised he was right to have warned me. As we rounded the curve, I saw the paint was faded, marked and peeling in places. The wall sconces were dusty, and there were just enough cobwebs to show neglect. Zsigmund turned left at the first landing and led me along a wide yet gloomy passage hung with dusty old portraits.

Eventually, Zsigmund paused, gave me a rueful smile for no obvious reason, and rapped the nearest door. Without waiting for a response, he flung open the door and strode in before standing aside to let me enter. Taking a deep breath, I walked past him into the room.

“Grandfather,” Zsigmund said in French. His tone was casual, as if he’d just wandered home after an hour’s stroll.

An old man sat at a cluttered desk in the middle of the room, busily writing. His frail shoulders were hunched inside a loose robe. He wore a soft cap on his head and spectacles halfway down his nose. He didn’t stop writing, let alone look up.

“Zsigmund,” he said in similar tones to his grandson’s. “You’ve arrived, then. Young Degenfeld said he would meet you.”

“He did.”

Without pause in his labours, the old man held out his left hand. Zsigmund went forward, and knelt at his grandfather’s feet. He took the proffered hand and kissed it. Only then did the faintest smile flicker across the old count’s lips.

Zsigmund rose. “I brought my wife to meet you.”

The old man stopped writing and glanced up, although he didn’t lay down his pen. His sharp blue eyes stared over the top of the spectacles until he found me.

I smiled and curtseyed, but before I could speak, he did, through twisted lips.

“Your wife, eh? Is she a whore?”

The blood drained from my face in a rush. Again I felt that flood of sickness, as if the old man had punched me in the stomach. For once in my life, I had no idea what to say or do. The bright, malicious old eyes stared at me an instant longer, and then Zsigmund, in one shocking movement, lunged and swept all the papers, pens, and books off the desk. Everything landed in a noisy, messy heap on the floor. Ink glugged gently out of a bottle over the rug, but no one paid it any attention.

Zsigmund’s face was white with fury. “You will treat my wife with every respect, every courtesy, as is her due, or there is no deal between us. Ever.”

To my surprise, a faint hint of colour tinged the old man’s cheeks. He dropped his gaze, and I wondered if he was actually ashamed. He didn’t sound it. “Forgive me, my dear,” he said. “I merely wondered what sort of woman my grandson can have induced to marry him.”

“A better one than he deserves,” Zsigmund retorted. “So if you’ve forgotten how to be the gentleman you claim to be, you might care to hire a tutor. Urgently.”

“Oh, get off your high horse,” snapped the old man. “You never used to be such a prig. Come here, girl, you may kiss my hand.”

“Thank you, no,” I said. “I’ll save that honour for another day. What are you working on, Count?”

The old man blinked owlishly at me. After a moment, he gave a wheezy bark of laughter and laid down his pen at last. It was about the only thing left on his desk. “Spirited, I see. I suppose that will be good for him. If you actually care, I’m working on a complete history of the Magyar people.” He pushed himself back and stood up, snatching the cap off his head. “Gabor! Clear up this mess and sort it out—I can’t work from the floor.”

A movement by a second desk by the curtains made me look up in astonishment. I hadn’t even realised someone else was in the room. A tall, thin man walked towards us, slightly hunched like someone who spent too long bent over books in poor light. He had sleek black hair, iron grey at the temples and a neat moustache and beard. As he came closer, I had the impression his eyes glittered like distant lamps. I couldn’t make out their colour—light brown, perhaps, with a hint of amber...or just hazel.

“My cousin, Andrassy Gabor,” Zsigmund told me, announcing the names in traditional Hungarian order, surname first. “Gabor, my wife, Caroline.”

Gabor bowed to me. “Countess.” Then he embraced Zsigmund and without a word began picking up the mess Zsigmund had made. Zsigmund helped him. Less than ever could I see this Gabor as a contemporary friend of the vague old bishop who’d married us. Despite his bent shoulders, Gabor seemed much younger, although I’d have found it hard to place his age. Perhaps he was just healthier.

The count beckoned me and stamped over to the empty fireplace. “So, Countess,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Please call me Caroline,” I said as pleasantly as I could.

The count grunted and waved me to one of the winged armchairs set on either side of the fireplace. “I’d rather hear about your other names. You’re English, aren’t you? Who are your family?”

“My father’s name was Grey,” I said calmly, settling myself in the chair as the old man all but threw himself into his own. “We have land in Yorkshire.”

“Still?”

“My young brother inherited it.”

“And so you have nothing?”

I couldn’t make out if he was amused, malicious, or angry.

“I have a little unentailed land inherited from my first husband—”

“Who was?”

“Sir Neil Jordan,” I replied, patiently hiding my annoyance at this interrogation.

“Hmm. I suppose you thought Zsigmund had huge riches compared with yours,” the old man sneered.

I had had enough. “On the contrary, I thought he had nothing at all. Sir, if you are imagining I have arrived in your house destitute, merely another drain on your resources, you are mistaken. I have considerable financial independence, and I will pay my way. As to lineage, my family is as old as yours. If you prefer titles, my stepbrother is an earl and two of my stepsisters are duchesses. I can supply you with a full genealogy, if you wish.”