Against a Rising Tide
Page 9
“Yes, Lord István, I will marry you.”
He kissed her hand once more, and led her onto the floor, joining the dancers spinning in a waltz. The whole room glittered and they spun back a hundred years, into a time that might never come again.
Five months later, Judit announced, “I want to remarry.”
István blinked at his sister.
“Certainly. Do you have a candidate, or shall I send out a call for bachelors of a certain age?”
She swatted him with her napkin. Weronica looked confused, but that was to be expected. Judit had been the wild child—if one considered a passion for plants and herbology wild, which a number of the old guard had and still did. She resembled both her brothers, but with a round face like their mother.
“Yes, I do have a gentleman in mind, although he has not spoken of the subject yet and I intend to wait for him. He’s a widower, but not as old and stuffy as you are.”
She put her napkin back in her lap, picked up her fork, and took a bite of fish.
“My husband is not old. Or stuffy,” Weronica protested before tucking away more of the carp cake.
“Yes, you are free to remarry or not. I’d like to meet the gentleman before the banns are posted, and if he’s French we are going to have a long and serious discussion about your sanity, but otherwise I have no objections.”
Unless it is Tisza, in which case I am carrying you and your daughter up to Nagymatra and locking you in a cave until you come to your senses.
“My lord husband, is it true that all French are atheists?”
István and Judit shared identical shrugs.
“No,” Judit said. “Many are still Catholic, but the politicians and so-called intellectuals claim not to believe.” She sounded skeptical. “A number of German intellectuals also pretend not to have faith, so I would not be too hasty.”
“Ah.” Weronica finished her fish course. Catherine whisked away the empty plate, returning with the first salad of spring. “Oh, lovely.” Weronica’s eyes shone and she ate with a will. Brother and sister exchanged glances, and she tapped on his shields.
«Oh honored brother, your wife seems rather eager for luncheon. Did she miss breakfast?»
«Let us say that breakfast disagreed with her.»
He caught Judit’s look and nodded a little. He had not said anything or asked any questions, but he had a suspicion. He’d been very careful, in case Weronica proved to be even more sheltered than he’d been told, but apparently her sisters had explained the ways of man and maid to her, and after the initial awkwardness, she’d welcomed his attentions. He’d been very relieved, to put it mildly. Now they sat on the verandah at Nagymatra, enjoying the first truly fine day of late April. Judit had brought Margaret Barbara, and the two little girls had gone into the woods with Jirina looking for ferns and flowers, giving the adults an hour or two of peace.
“The university has decided that I can stay, thanks be, so I will be working in the botany library,” Judit explained over the custard course. “Dr. Professor Nowak doesn’t seem to believe that anyone else can manage his collection.”
“From what I’ve read and heard, it is handling Dr. Professor Nowak that is the challenge.”
Judit nodded. “He is very traditional. Very, very traditional. Exceedingly traditional, and probably believes deep in his heart that Emperor Franz Josef was a radical breaker of precedent and custom.”
István sympathized with the professor. He also knew better than to say so. “I am glad you have the position. Have you heard anything more from Munich?”
Judit shook her head and he did not inquire further.
“Judit, what do you think of those new dresses from Paris and the United States?” Weronica asked.
Judit hesitated, spoon halfway between the plate and her mouth.
“The flat styles with the bell-shaped hats? I suppose they are attractive on some women, but I don’t care for them.”
“I thought they seemed rather daring, even the formal versions.” Weronica shook her head. “Some French girls are cutting all their hair off. It is more modern.”
István’s horror must have shown on his face. Both ladies raised eyebrows.
“You do not approve?” Judit inquired.
He swallowed. “No, I do not. For some of us, a woman without hair means that she is—” he stopped himself before saying whore. “Suggests that she is ill and unable to care for herself.”
Which was also true, since the women in the madhouses had their heads shaved as well.
“Hmm, that is something to think about,” Judit said, and the topic changed.
By late May, Weronica’s condition became official. Magda agreed to stay on as chief nurse for the little one, despite her age.
“But just the first one, my lord, my lady,” the old woman warned them.
“I’m certain once I’ve had a child, I’ll be ready for the next one,” Weronica assured her. “But everyone says the first is the hardest.”
Magda shook her head. “I’d say the fifth, my lady, but that’s just because you no longer have a free hand. Four distract the nurses and the fifth gets into mischief. Can happen with the third one as well, my lady, but not as often.”
István did not care to contemplate how old he would be by the time they had a fifth child and made a mental note to see about acquiring the necessary items to prevent it from coming to that. Weronica stared at the nurse, eyes wide, her red lips a little “O” of—what? Surprise? Shock? Dismay? A bit of all three, István guessed.
“My dear, they don’t come all at once.”
She blinked and shook her head a little.
“I know, I just—well, that many children . . . I see why Mater had seven children and five nurses and governesses.”
After Magda left, Weronica rested her cool, white hand on his.
“My lord, you said you were going to the races at Kincsem, the new park?”
“Yes. Duke Szécsényi invited me, and I do not think it would be wise to decline the invitation.”
Zoltan controlled a respectable voting bloc in parliament, and leaned toward supporting Crown and Land’s efforts to encourage agriculture and forestry without further damaging property rights, although he’d backed several Social Democrat items in the budget. Zoltan means well, but he has no grasp of numbers. Those benefits have to come from somewhere, and that somewhere is taxes. The Germans learned that the hard way, the Austrians the same.
“Who else will be there?”
István thought for a minute as he watched dew dripping off a pine bough. “The usual crowd, plus everyone who wants to be seen with the magnates. Your cousin is bringing two horses, I’m told, for the harness races.”
“Which cousin?” She gave him a patient look. He had not realized how enormous the entire Potoki clan was once all three major branches came into play.
“Ah,” István blinked. “Wladislav Karol . . . Karol Tadeus’s son.”
She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “I believe I will stay here, if I am not needed in Budapest. I do not think the excitement would be good for me.”
“I yield to your judgment, my lady. And if the races are anything like those I’ve seen on the Plain, there will be excitement sufficient for all of Hungary, Poland, and the Americas.” And that was just in the stands, not on the course.
“Thank you. The cool and quiet agree with me. Can I stay here during the summer?”
A sense of foreboding swept over István and he wanted to ask her what was wrong. But that might just scare her if all she felt was normal pregnancy. Instead he took her hand and kissed it.
“Of course you can, especially since we would be returning in late summer because of the heat. If you are comfortable, then I am glad, my lady of the mountains.”
She blushed and clucked her tongue. He thought her dark blue morning dress suited her well and brought the color out in her high cheeks. He kissed her hand again, and she gave him a shy peck on the cheek in return. She was not Barbara, b
ut she was lovely and loveable in her own way. István smiled and gave silent thanks.
Thank you Lord that I had more sense than to race when I was young.
István loved horses, loved fast riding, loved being a cavalry officer. But he had never raced for money or wagered on races outside the regiment. The dejected faces and angry protests of those who had lost money on the latest heat reminded him of why. And now he had no money that he cared to lose. Plus, racing cavalry chargers over hedges and ditches bore no resemblance to the formalities and risks of the track: risks to the bettors, not the riders or horses.
Countess Irene Teleki de Szek rested a stubby hand on István’s arm. “Who do you favor?” She fluttered her long eyelashes at him, but she flirted with every man in the Szécsényi box so he did not take it amiss.
“I fear I favor no one in this race, my lady. In the past few years I have not paid as much attention to track racing as I should have.”
She clicked her tongue and tutted. “For shame, and you call yourself a Magyar? How could you ignore our greatest treasure?”
István caught Count Teleki de Szek’s eye and winked. “But my lady, I am currently paying very close attention to one of Hungary’s greatest treasures.”
She laughed, as he’d hoped, and released his arm. From behind, he heard Zoltan Szécsényi mutter, “You are a courtier, not a politician, Eszterházy.”
“As you well know, Your Grace.”
He stepped away from the countess, making room for their host, who sported a very large pair of field glasses resting on his enormous chest. Duke Szécsényi’s deep voice, barrel-shaped body, and blond hair inspired rumors that a roaming Russian had visited one of the family’s properties several generations before, and István inclined toward believing it. Szécsényi wore English tweeds and looked as if he should be in Scotland, not Budapest. He lifted the glasses and swept the field, then stopped. He lowered the glasses, peered, and raised the binoculars again.
“Here, look at the end of the far turn, where the jockeys are waiting.”
István accepted the glasses, adjusted them for his narrower face, and looked. He saw small men in bright colors, and someone who appeared out-of-place. That’s odd. He dropped his human seeming so he could focus better and looked closely at the man in tailored but non-descript clothes who was speaking with one of the jockeys.
“The man talking to the jockey in green and blue. He does not have a track arm-band.”
As István kept watching, the man turned and walked to a different part of the fence, as if to speak with another racer. The jockey in green and blue put his hand to his brow for a moment, shook his head, then returned to watching the current heat. No. That can’t be him. He wouldn’t dare.
“I trust someone is going to notify the race steward?” István returned the glasses.
“I suspect someone has. Especially if he reappears at the bettors window.” Szécsényi sounded very unhappy. “Perhaps he thinks this is the States and he can bribe the jockeys.”
István snorted. “He’ll more likely get a riding whip across the face for his pains, Your Grace, especially doing it so brazenly, if that is what he is trying to do.”
Several minutes later, as the mare race finished, there was a murmur and a flurry of activity behind him.
“Welcome, Your Grace, this is a signal honor.”
The voice caused István to turn. Oh no. A slender man with light brown hair kissed Duchess Szécsényi’s hand. The newcomer straightened up and glanced toward the track. István caught sight of pale brown, almost tan, eyes and raised his shields as hard as he could make them.
“The pleasure is mine,” Archduke Rudolph replied. “Especially to be invited to share a box with so many of Hungary’s most beautiful young ladies.”
He nodded to Countess Teleki de Szek, who blushed a little and simpered.
Maybe the stories about him having a mistress in every castle really are true. And maybe the next race will feature winged horses pulling golden chariots. István bowed and eased his way between the other guests, away from Archduke Rudolph. He did not care to deal with either Rudolph or the presences that hid behind his façade.
Instead István watched the races and found himself so fascinated that he forgot about Rudolph until a voice came at his elbow.
“That horse seems nervous.”
“Nervous, Your Grace? Or is he fighting the rider?”
The jockey checked the horse again, holding him back as the others surged ahead, then letting him run. István thought he saw the rider checking the bay gelding again as he passed two horses in the far turn.
“He’s fighting the rider, Your Grace.” Szécsényi had his glasses up and was focused on the bay. “Fighting so hard there’s blood on his mouth. I think the jockey is trying to throw the race.”
He’s doing a damn poor job of it, István thought.
“If so, why be so obvious?” Rudolph inquired. He’d gone on point, like a sight hound, intent on the scene.
“Because the bay isn’t cooperating? That’s—” István pulled the race program out of his jacket pocket and looked. “That’s Red Hot Poker, belongs to Tisza Georg, ridden by John Winslow.”
The other men gave him odd looks, and he handed them the program.
“How curious,” Rudolph purred. “Most curious. I believe the steward will be looking at Mr. Winslow.”
He ought to be looking at Tisza as well.
«Oh?» István did not jump, this time, when Rudolph spoke into his mind.
«Yes, Your Grace. There may have been some words exchanged between Tisza and—»
He broke off the thought as Countess Erödy spoke. “Mr. Tisza, I’m so glad you came.”
Rudolph’s eyebrows rose and István locked his shields in place before turning away from the track. Mr. Colonel Georg Tisza kissed Marie-Irene Erödy’s hand.
“Thank you for inviting me. I apologize for not coming sooner, but business . . .” He sighed.
“You are always welcome, no matter when you come,” she gushed. “Allow me to introduce . . .”
Tisza managed to avoid, or choose to avoid, Archduke Rudolph and István, along with Duke Szécsényi. Which was damned odd, given that he was a guest in the duke’s box. Tisza’s nondescript, round face, medium brown hair, and average figure remained nearly unchanged, as did his odd colored eyes and plain—but very well-made and perfectly tailored—clothes. Tisza appeared almost the same as he had the first time István had seen him in 1915, if a good bit thicker around the middle. Tisza had put on weight over the years, but so did most middle-aged men. With his shields up, István couldn’t tell if Tisza was up to his old tricks, but he did not care to lower them and reveal himself.
That evening before supper, Rudolph cornered him in the garden of the Frankopan palace on the west slope of Buda Hill.
“Your odd-eyed associate. What do you know of him?”
“Your Grace, I know very little, and then only what I have observed. He has the strongest Gift I’ve felt outside a House and is self-trained. He uses it for personal gain, and I suspect he uses it without proper care for those he persuades. And he asked Prince Potoki for permission to court Weronica.”
Rudolph removed a silver cigarette case and lighter from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket and lit a cigarette. He took a puff.
“And?”
“And he may have been trying to manipulate the jockeys this afternoon, Your Grace, although I can’t be certain it was him.” And he destroyed my Army career, though I can’t prove it.
“Hmm. Do you have solid proof of any of this? I believe you, but other House leaders might not,” Rudolph warned. “Especially if a young lady’s affections are involved,”
“Nothing on paper, Your Grace, and nothing I can explain without showing memories. And those are ten years old.”
“I see.” Rudolph smoked a little more. “And that . . . inscription . . . is in exceedingly poor taste. I’m tempted to take offense. Perhaps I shall.”
Trouble came looking for István that evening, between supper and drinks in the billiard room. He stepped into the washroom after escorting one of the dowagers into the sitting room where the ladies were gathering. As he emerged from the small space, he heard Tisza’s too-smooth voice.
“Of course, Your Highness, a woman has every right to choose. And my offer still stands, should your son be interested in entering business.”
István lowered his shields enough to feel that all-too familiar push, this time directed at his own brother-in-law.
“He is not, and I suspect will not be, Col. Tisza,” Alojyz said, sounding annoyed.
“No doubt, Your Highness, but he could do so much to preserve the family legacy when policies concerning land and asset ownership change.”
“I fail to understand what you are saying.” But Alojyz’s shields had begun to waver, allowing Tisza to push through. “My son is not interested in business.”
“Perhaps if you gave him the opportunity to see, Your Highness. Given the current situation, a son familiar with business could be very helpful, and I would be more than happy to provide him with references, Your Highness, or even guidance, should he change his mind.”
The mental pressure increased to the point that István worried about Potoki’s defenses failing. Potoki’s shields, never the strongest, seemed to be wavering.