Against a Rising Tide
Page 5
Well, he’d do his duty and see what happened. Weronica might decide against marrying him, or he might find a fatal flaw in her, or Archduke Rudolph might swoop down and steal her heart away. István smiled at the mental image of Rudolph, in the costume of one of the robber-prince-outlaws of Hungarian legend, wooing Princess Weronica. And István might wake up tomorrow to find that everything since 1918 had been a bad dream and that the Entente was collapsing and suing for peace. He put the folder away, stood, stretched his back, and went to get some tea and to dress for dinner.
The next morning he walked to the office in Pest, eyes open and watching for danger. He sensed trouble, but nothing certain. The air carried a combination of despair and anger and frenetic energy, all of it rolled into a ball and seeking release. As during the war, lines of women, and some men, waited for the shops to open. Except now they surged in to buy before the prices went up, rather than clawing for what little of the meager supplies ration cards could buy. It didn’t help the shopkeepers that the Germans were using their depreciated marks to flood the export markets, hurting everyone around them, at the same time that other companies held goods back, waiting for even higher prices and driving people to desperate hoarding. At least the basic food supply in Hungary remained stable, although far too expensive in István’s opinion. It wasn’t just his view, either, if the morning’s headlines were correct, with protests and a food riot in Munich, and a police report about farmers caught triple-charging for milk and butter. Below the bridge, the ship traffic on the Danube appeared to be normal for this time of year.
Buda and Gellért Hills rose behind him, topped with the palace to the north and the Citadel and a new statue of Bishop St. Gellért to the south. Ahead of him sprawled Pest, the business and industrial half of the city. No one had lived in Pest until the medieval period, at least not after the Romans departed, and even they’d preferred the Buda side for obvious reasons. The place had been a swamp, and some days István thought the German meaning of “pest,” denoting a plague, fit the district well. Trouble in Pest usually spilled into Buda, and several times one fool or another had called for removal of the bridges. István shook his head at the folly and pulled his collar tighter. The wind up the river had an edge to it, and the grey clouds masked the sun.
He reached the office without incident, other than an oaf in a motorcar spooking some delivery horses and fouling up traffic. István gave his hat, walking stick, and coat to a secretary and went into his office. Jenö Gereb shot to his feet. “My lord Eszterházy, welcome. We were not expecting you. I apologize—”
István waved him off and sat.
“Thank you, Mr. Gereb. I had not planned to return before the next parliamentary session, but matters moved faster than anticipated. What do you have for me?”
“The preliminary harvest figures, my lord, and two orders, one of which we may lose because the Germans are undercutting us.” István smothered a growl as Gereb continued. “That said, my lord, we may find ourselves fulfilling the order even if the Germans take the contract. They are having labor difficulties, plus the company is in Brandenburg. There is difficulty obtaining some parts for the milling equipment at the facility near Dettva, my lord, because the Czech trade ministry is blocking imports even though no one in the country makes those parts yet.”
István tried to recall which mill that was. He held up one hand. “You will have to remind me, Mr. Gereb. Is that on leased land?”
“No, it is owned land, but the mill is leased, my lord. Actually, it is now sub-leased, because the owner lost the property to the new Czechoslovak government and sold long-term rights to Slovenske Timber, who continued the older contract with us, my lord.” Gereb took off his glasses and blinked at István, blew on one lens, then replaced them. “When the contract lapses, it might be wise to find another mill, my lord, if the new managers continue as they have begun.”
“Thank you, that clarifies things. Please continue with what you were doing, Mr. Gereb, and I will go through the books on my own.”
The mouse-like man nodded eagerly. “Thank you, my lord.”
It had always seemed to István that Gereb must have been born an accountant. He preferred numbers and papers to people—or at least to dealing with large, loud people. His mother came from a Jewish family, and they had run afoul of a mob when Gereb was young, or so he had told István’s late brother Mátyás. What Gereb lacked in size he made up in focus and energy, so that Mátyás had valued him more than his weight in gold or tax forms, as István now did. He had a near-perfect memory for numbers.
István rolled his chair over to the long, heavy shelf of ledgers and pulled out the general account overview. He rolled back to his desk and opened the tome, wrinkling his nose at the paste and print smell. It had been a wartime purchase, and the cheap paper stank. So much for the leisurely life of an aristocrat, he sniffed. He was supposed to be a cavalry officer and a gentleman magnate, not a business manager, but the House and fate had had other plans for him.
At least he was learning the maps now, so he didn’t have to look at the wall every time he saw an unfamiliar spelling of an old name. The Czechoslovak government had spent the first year of its existence doing nothing but remaking the nation’s map, or so it had felt as István struggled to keep track of the changes. The House owned and leased land in most of the Matra and Slovak central Mountains, from Miskloz, north to the Tareza River and the Galician-Moravian border. Their wealth came from timber, as well as some mining and quarrying. The rugged, remote lands also allowed them to rent hunting leases, or had before the new Hungarian and Czech governments decided that hunting was too aristocratic and had begun taxing the sport as well as confiscating hunting reserves. István suspected that it wouldn’t last much longer, though. The city administrators seemed to forget that if half of Hungarian stories were about robber-princes of the Alföld, the Great Plain, another quarter of the tales centered on noble poachers and mountain bandits. The mountain fastness also made the House a haven for the dispossessed True-dragons from other families, and kept the covetousness of the Socialists at one remove, at least for now.
But those lovely mountains and seemingly endless forests were not edible. And with the Germans literally undercutting everyone else, timber sales had dropped back to below war-time levels, even as wages rose in the mills and finishing factories. István frowned at the month’s income. Through careful balancing and scrimping they’d managed to stay in the black despite wage pressure from below and taxes from above, but unless something improved, the House’s business would lose money this year.
Sales to buyers in Galicia remained stable, thanks be. Since they were truly building from the ground up, they consumed timber at a voracious rate, and his Majesty’s foresters refused to strip what remained in the province. Many of the residents of the district had complained, and illegal logging remained a major problem, but István could see the governor’s logic. In time the area would be able to provide more for itself, but for now? Grain and livestock came first.
István worked through lunch. He heard the office staff coming and going, and the telephone and telegraph ringing and tapping. Cars and wagons rolled past outside but he ignored them, intent on trying to absorb all the information he could. This had been Mátyás’s job before he died in the influenza epidemic. Now István forced himself to work through the ledgers, making a few notes here and there. The pine plantation on the north slope fared poorly, and István jotted a few words for Master Gellért, asking the House’s chief forester to see if it could be salvaged or if they should cut it all and replant with something better.
Two o’clock passed before he stood, bid Mr. Gereb good day, and got his coat, stick, and hat. He found Dobroslav waiting just inside the main door, reading a small book. The older HalfDragon got to his feet, holding the door for István as they left.
“My lord, please do not go out like this without someone accompanying you.”
“This is not Germany, Dobroslav.”
Twice István had dodged mobs in Budapest. No one had tried to mug him, but Dobroslav had a point. “Hmmm,” he said, leaving the matter at that.
Dobroslav followed at his shoulder, walking up the road, then across the market square and the great indoor market, to reach the bridge back to Buda. The royal flag did not fly at the castle—not that István had expected to see it. As far as he knew, His Majesty remained in Vienna and the Palatine had business elsewhere at the moment.
“Is it supposed to rain today?”
“Not that I know of, my lord, but the sky does have that look.”
They two men remained dry as they walked back across the green bridge and up from the riverfront to the town palace.
“Am I expecting anyone?” István inquired as they came around the corner onto the street where the Eszterházy residence sat.
“Not to my knowledge, my lord. Her Grace Lady Agatha is taking the waters, or so I was told.”
Oh good. I hate her surprise visits. The pastel facades cheered István every time he saw them: pink, mint green, yellow, pale orange, and cream walls looking down on the street, each different, some with bits of Renaissance or even medieval decoration peeking out from behind the newer plaster. He was not certain about the giant St. Christopher at the corner, but the art was better than some he’d seen. A very speedy-looking motorcar rolled past, shiny and black, with its silver trim gleaming in the weak afternoon light. Then Dobroslav opened the door, letting them in.
“His Grace Archduke Rudolph suggests that I get an automobile,” István observed. “He offered to advise me on the purchase.”
The guard thought for several moments, or István assumed he was thinking at any rate. As they crossed the inner courtyard, Dobroslav stopped, eyes narrow.
“Next year, perhaps, my lord, God willing, might be time to consider one, for Budapest. But with the greatest of respect for His Grace’s excellent taste in cars, I would, if I might be so bold, recommend listening to his words and then avoiding his favorites. If rumor is correct, they will be either too fast, too sporting, or too large for the streets of the old city.”
István laughed. “Having seen His Grace drive, I agree wholeheartedly with your recommendation. Thank you.”
“My lord.” Dobroslav bowed a little, touching his forehead as István entered the house.
A week and a day later, István watched the other guests at the reception in Prince Potoki’s Vienna residence and wondered if perhaps, just perhaps, managing forests agreed with him more than society did. He sipped his sparkling wine and decided that no, he’d just been out of the social season for longer than was wise. And he wondered just who on Earth had made Princess Rozemberk’s dress, and if they could be drummed out of the country for such a horrible combination of colors.
“Admiring my fair cousin’s attire?”
István turned and bowed to Duke Arnaulf von Taxis-Este.
“I was observing the intriguing combination of shades and hues, Your Grace.”
She certainly stood out from the pale colors of the room and the dark coats of the men. The other ladies seemed to be giving her a bit of room, as if afraid her dress might be catching.
“Hues and cries, you mean,” Taxis murmured in English, then went on at a normal volume. “It is striking.”
“Indeed, your Grace.” Striking in the same way walking into a tree is striking.
“After everyone has paid their respects to our host, he and Zibulka z Kolovrat wish to meet in the billiard room for a few minutes.”
István nodded, covering mild surprise.
“Certainly, your Grace.”
Both men straightened up as Prince Potoki himself lumbered over to where they stood, a dark-haired young woman following behind. The men bowed. Potoki began without preamble.
“Ah there you are. Count Eszterházy, my youngest sister, Lady Weronica.” The large, dark man reached behind him and pulled her forward. “Weronica, Count István Eszterházy.”
She paled, if that were possible, and gulped. “Eszterházy, my lord?” István had to strain to hear her.
“The mountain branch, my lady, not Prince Eszterházy’s branch. It is a pleasure to meet you.” István bowed and kissed her hand. It shook, and felt cold even though her glove.
“Th—thank you, my lord.”
Weronica had very dark hair and eyes, and pale skin, although that could have been nerves as much as coloring, István guessed. She wore a light brown dress with pale pink trim—which did not flatter her coloring—in a style that had been popular the year before the war, as István recalled.
“Since Count Eszterházy will be escorting you to supper, I thought it best to introduce you,” her brother continued. “Taxis, a word.”
The two men departed, leaving István and Weronica to study each other.
“Would you like a drink, my lady?”
A servant appeared, offering a tray of sparkling wines, juices, and sparkling cider. She took a cider.
“Thank you.” After a few sips she visibly gathered her nerve, then took a deep breath. “You are the man my brother wants me to marry?”
István felt a bit of anger on her behalf—at her brother, among others. “His Highness your brother has mentioned that you expressed interest in marriage, but he has not suggested anything specific, my lady.”
A touch of color returned to her cheeks. “Oh. I was told, that is,” she looked down. “I was told that arrangements had already been made.”
“No, my lady, unless it was catering arrangements for this evening’s fine gathering.” No wonder the poor woman acted terrified. “I have His Majesty’s assurance that if you do not wish to marry me, or anyone else, you do not have to.”
She looked up again, startled, eyes wide and very dark. “I don’t?”
He shook his head. “No, my lady. He told me himself, in person.”
Weronica closed her eyes and exhaled, shoulders drooping for a moment.
“Thanks be,” she murmured. “I apologize for my earlier words, Count Eszterházy. It seems I was under a false apprehension.”
Right. I am going to have words with some people if this continues. Firm words.
“No apology is required, my lady. It is very easy for ideas to be misunderstood as they pass from one person to another.”
How old was she? She couldn’t be more than twenty, he thought. He heard loud laughter and glanced past Weronica to see an older woman under an enormous black-and-blue hat, wearing a dress covered in jet trim that trembled and danced as she put one hand to her high collar. For an instant he thought Duchess Agatha was under the hat, until he saw the small, deep-set eyes and over-large mouth. The woman laughed again and he saw Weronica glance over her shoulder and wince.
“Aunt Maria Kosciusko.”
The name meant nothing to István. He nodded and drained the last drops of his wine. Weronica finished her cider. She started to speak when the hat bore down on them, gushing.
“Little Weronica! How good it is to see you in society!” Ouch. István bowed a little to the woman, who fluttered a fan at him in a gesture from the previous century, at least. “There you are, so quiet that I didn’t see you’d gone. And who is this handsome gentleman?”
Poor Weronica licked her small, pink lips. “Count István Eszterházy, Lady Maria. From the senior branch of the family.”
Lady Kosciusko’s eyes went wide, or at least wide enough that István could see them glittering in the light from the gas lamps.
“Oh, indeed? You look too old to be the Palatine’s son.”
She studied him the same way he studied horseflesh. Weronica flinched and István gritted his teeth. Lady Kosciusko was exactly the kind of woman he detested. If this was what came with the Potoki family,
he would not marry Weronica, no matter what political and economic disaster might ensue.
“Count Eszterházy,” came another voice. “Or, I should say, Colonel Count Eszterházy, leads the senior branch of the family. The Palatine leads the younger, lowland branch.” A tall, broad-shouldered man whom István barely remembered stepped into the conversation. “Lady Kosciusko. And how is your husband?”
“He is well. If you will excuse me, I believe I hear my name being called.”
She sniffed, turned, and disappeared in a trail of lace and satin, the feathers on her hat trembling with their owner’s indignation.
“You have my undying gratitude, Count Drachenburg,” István said. He gestured to Weronica. “Lady Weronica Potoki, Count Johann von Hohen-Drachenburg.”
Drachenburg clicked his heels and bowed, kissing the extended hand. “My lady, the pleasure is truly mine.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Drachenberg smiled a little. “Lady Marie, hmm, has been known to let her enthusiasms carry her away.”
He gave István a look. He got the message.
“Ah. I will certainly keep that in mind, thank you.”
Before he could say more, a different dowager drifted up to the three.
“Lady Weronica, my lords, I apologize for disturbing you, but Duchess Zibulka z Kolovrat would like to meet you, Lady Weronica.”
The young woman made apologies and left. As she did, István caught sight of the duke disappearing into a side room.
“I think we have a meeting,” he said under his breath, nodding that way.
“Hmm?” Johann looked in time to see a dark navy tail disappear. “Ah yes, indeed.” The two men crossed the room, and Johann said, “What are you getting for prime timber, good pine and white oak?”