It had not been a successful morning. Now he had to meet the Empress and his boots were dull.
Part Two
The Quorn
It was the first fine day of the hunting season. The snow had melted at last. The sky was blue and clear and there was no wind. The members of the Quorn expected no less. They would hunt in any conditions, of course, but it was only fitting that for the biggest meet of the year the weather should be perfect. The God they worshipped in their parish churches on Sunday was undoubtedly a Quorn man, who understood the importance of a good clear run. The railway companies, too, understood the importance of the day ahead and had laid on special trains from London, packed with men and the odd woman who looked forward to a day out with the Quorn all year. The thought of riding to hounds across the trim fields of Leicestershire, their hearts pounding, their muscles straining to be in at the kill, was the talisman they touched in dreary barristers’ chambers, or the innermost confines of the Foreign Office, or the committee organising the refreshments for the Lady Mackinnon’s tableaux vivants in aid of Bulgarian orphans. This already splendid sporting occasion was made all the more piquant by the presence of royalty. The Prince of Wales was hunting with the Quorn this season, and now the papers were full of the equestrian exploits of the Austrian Empress. The idea of a galloping queen was peculiar and splendid to the minds of the passengers on the special trains, so far removed from the image of their own queen, a tiny figure shrouded in black who had kept to the same mournful pace since her husband’s death fifteen years earlier. If some of the travellers felt the peculiarity of the wife of one of the most powerful men in Europe laying aside her duties as a wife and sovereign to chase foxes in a foreign country, they did not give the thought much room – this was the Quorn, after all.
Perhaps the only person on the hunting train that morning who did not understand that the claims of the Quorn were paramount, was the Austrian Ambassador, who received regular press reports from Vienna where journalists were less than sympathetic to an absent empress who preferred riding to hounds in a Protestant country than doing her imperial duty. But while he read these reports and in his heart agreed with them, he knew better than to mention his misgivings to the Empress. Her sense of the obligations of her position was, he had discovered, idiosyncratic. She had been in the country for some weeks now and had not yet paid a call on Queen Victoria. When he had suggested, on her arrival in London, that this visit might be politic, she had thrown nuts to that vile little monkey of hers and said that she thought that Queen Victoria did not like her and would be relieved not to have to entertain her. He had tried writing to the Emperor to impress upon him how important it was for the Empress to observe the niceties of royal etiquette, pointing out that there had been several hints dropped by Foreign Office ministers which made it clear that Victoria was ‘surprised’ that the Empress had not yet called on her. But the Emperor had reproached him for his insensitivity, writing that ‘The Empress is travelling incognito to recover her health and strength; her well-being is as you know infinitely precious to me, and I am determined that she must be left in peace until such time that she is sufficiently restored to take up her duties again. I do not wish to sacrifice the well-being of my wife on the altar of diplomacy.’ The Ambassador could not help reflecting that a woman who rode to hounds nearly every day was hardly the invalid, broken in mind and body, that the Emperor referred to in his letter.
The Ambassador was enjoying his posting to London – the sport was excellent and he was enjoying a special friendship with Lady Hertford. He did not at all want to be summoned back to Vienna in disgrace, and yet he feared that was exactly what would happen if reports appeared in the British press suggesting that the Austrian Empress was deliberately avoiding Queen Victoria. The Ambassador had been sufficiently perturbed by a conversation he had had with the editor of the Morning Post at one of Lady Hertford’s drawing rooms to make this journey up to Leicestershire today. The editor had seemed remarkably well informed about the Empress’s movements, which suggested that he had been briefed by someone either from the Foreign Office or, worse still, from the court itself. Either way it was a warning – the Queen was not happy and she was letting her displeasure be known. The Ambassador was on the train, not for the sport – although he appreciated the charms of the Quorn – but to persuade his empress to do her royal duty. He was not at all confident of success.
In the crowd gathered outside Quorndon Hall, the glorified kennel that gave its name to the hunt, the Empress was unmistakeable. She sat ramrod straight on her chestnut hunter, with the rest of the hunt arranged in a respectful semicircle around her. She was talking to another rider, who the Ambassador suspected from his girth and the relaxed set of the shoulders, could only be the Prince of Wales. The Ambassador sighed. His mission had just become considerably harder. If the Empress was to ride out with the Prince of Wales today then she would undoubtedly think that she had fulfilled her obligations to the British royal family. But as the Ambassador knew, an audience, or even a day’s hunting, with the son was no substitute for a formal audience with the mother. Indeed, if, or rather when, the Queen heard of the day’s events, she would fancy herself doubly wronged. Although Victoria was still a semi-recluse, she was not entirely grateful for her son’s efforts to keep the monarchy before the public and was sensitive to the idea that his popularity might actually eclipse hers. If the Empress of Austria was seen to be hunting with the Prince of Wales before calling on the Sovereign, then what had been merely a worrying situation would turn into a full-blown diplomatic incident. He must try and talk to the Empress before the hunt set off. The Ambassador knew that as soon as the Empress was in the field he had no chance of catching her.
The Prince of Wales was in the middle of a story. The Ambassador took advantage of the laughter that always followed a royal anecdote, to put himself in the Empress’s eyeline. She saw him, frowned and pulled on the reins of her horse as if to move off, but before she could get away the Prince of Wales called out to him, ‘Good day to you, Karolyi, so you have come to try the delights of the Quorn as well? Her Majesty is quite the toast of the Shires.’
Karolyi bowed as graciously as he could on horseback. ‘I am sorry to say that I cannot hope to represent my country in the field as nobly as the Empress.’
The Empress gave him a brief nod, acknowledging that this was no more than the truth. She turned to the Prince.
‘It is such a pity that I cannot persuade the Emperor to join me. He is a magnificent horseman and I know he would enjoy the hunting here as much as I do, but he claims that the country cannot spare him.’
‘We must be thankful that he can spare you, to show us how the Austrians ride.’ The Prince stroked his moustache with one gloved hand, as if to show his appreciation of the Emperor’s gesture.
‘Well, I hope one day you will come to Gödöllő, our estate outside Budapest. That is where I like to ride when I am at home. We don’t have the ditches and fences you have here, but you can gallop for miles without stopping.’
‘What a prospect. I should like nothing better. My country might be able to spare me for an unchecked gallop across the Hungarian plains, I think.’ The Prince of Wales shrugged and then, gathering himself, he said, ‘But now, my dear Empress, I must pay my respects to the Master or I suspect we will never set off today.’
Seeing his opportunity, Karolyi brought his horse as close to the Empress as he dared.
‘I am so pleased to see Your Majesty looking so well. It seems that the English air agrees with you.’
Although Karolyi’s words were automatic, the compliments of a professional courtier, they were for once completely truthful. The Empress did look well. There were pink tones in her pale cheeks and the whites of her eyes were clear. Karolyi was used to seeing her in Vienna where her usual expression was one of simmering boredom, but here she looked as if there was nowhere else she would rather be.
‘Yes, I have to say that I am happy here.’ As if to prov
e her point she smiled, and Karolyi, who had never seen her smile before, began to wish that he had not come on this self-appointed errand. But he could see that the hounds were being brought out of the kennels and the huntsmen were beginning to assemble. He would have to say his piece.
‘Majesty, I wondered if you had given some thought as to when you might visit the Queen. I know that you are here unofficially, but I fear that she will take offence if you do not call on her soon. Especially now that you have met the Prince of Wales. It would be very unfortunate if the British press was to make some comment. The newspapers here can be quite outspoken.’
Karolyi braced himself for the reproof, but to his surprise the Empress’s smile did not waver. She looked not at him but over his shoulder, as if she were looking for someone.
‘Poor Karolyi, you worry too much. I promise I shall go and see the Queen. In fact I shall go on Sunday, as there is no hunting then. Please make the arrangements. You are quite right, I cannot put it off any longer.’
The Ambassador almost fell off his horse in surprise. The last thing he had expected to encounter was smiling acquiescence. Clearly the English air agreed with Her Majesty very much indeed.
‘Of course, the Queen does not normally receive visitors on a Sunday but I am sure she will make an exception to see you, Majesty.’
But the Empress was not listening. She had seen someone over his shoulder who clearly interested her more. Karolyi turned to see a young man approaching whose hair and moustache were about the same shade as the Ambassador’s bay gelding. The Empress raised a hand in greeting.
‘Bay Middleton, I was beginning to think you were not coming.’
She turned to Karolyi. ‘Count Karolyi, may I present Captain Middleton, my pilot. But for him I would probably be lying at the bottom of some Leicestershire ditch.’
Middleton bowed to the Ambassador. ‘Is this your first time with the Quorn, Count? Best hunting in this part of the country, but don’t try to keep up with the Empress. She rides like a woman possessed.’
Karolyi glanced at the Empress. Middleton’s remark struck him as over-familiar. In Vienna he could not imagine anyone talking about the royal family in such a way in their presence. But in England, evidently, things were done differently. This man was clearly not a groom and yet he had no title. Karolyi noted the fact that the Empress had called the man by his curious first name. That too would never have happened in Vienna. He cast about in his memory for what he knew about Captain Middleton. It was a name that had certainly been gossiped about when he had first arrived in London.
‘I have had the pleasure of seeing the Empress at the Spanish riding school in Vienna. No Austrian would ever dream of keeping up with her.’
‘Well, it is lucky for me, then, that I have an English pilot,’ said the Empress and again she smiled.
Karolyi saw that the smile was intended for Middleton and his courtier’s sensibilities told him that his presence was no longer required. But he decided to linger. He was interested in the frisson he had detected between the Empress and this young man.
‘Very fortunate indeed. I am sure that we Austrians are all grateful to Captain Middleton for keeping our finest ornament safe from harm.’
Middleton smiled. ‘I am doing my best, but the Empress is a true sportswoman. She puts the thrill of the chase before her own safety.’
There was a sudden clamour from the hounds, who had picked up the scent. The Empress pulled at her horse’s reins.
‘We must be off.’ She nodded to Karolyi, a clear dismissal.
The Ambassador again attempted a bow. ‘Your Majesty can leave all the arrangements with the Queen to me.’ The Empress flinched; she had clearly forgotten already her promise, but the bugles were sounding now and she was anxious to be gone.
‘Thank you, Karolyi, on Sunday, yes?’ Then she and Middleton were off, picking up speed as they joined the gaudy pack of riders and hounds that swarmed across the hillside opposite. He watched as the two figures, the Empress in dark blue, Bay in red, began to cleave their way through the mass of riders. As the hunt approached a hedge, the hounds began to fight their way across it – finding a hole in it and pouring through in a quivering, excited mass. The riders started to move down the field, looking for an easier place to cross, but the Empress and Middleton did not go with them. Karolyi gasped as he saw the Empress, without even breaking her horse’s stride, go straight at the hedge. For a moment he thought that she had misjudged it and he had a sudden vision of standing in the Emperor’s study in the Hofburg trying to describe to him the precise moment at which his wife had fallen from her horse and broken her neck; but then Middleton was beside her, urging her horse on with his own, and miraculously both horses cleared the hedge at the same time. The Ambassador held his breath as they disappeared from view but then he looked up and he could see them again, the blue and red figures distant specks now, charging up the hill after the hounds.
Karolyi dug his heels into his horse’s sides and prepared to join the gaggle of latecomers, mostly ‘Cits’ from London who had decided to take full advantage of the hunt breakfast. There were some ladies too, who were sitting in carriages ranged around the grounds following the progress of the hunt through their opera glasses. Karolyi was just about to join the riders when he saw that one of the ladies was Countess Festetics, who was his cousin on his mother’s side and an old dancing partner. He trotted over to her, but she was so engrossed in following the hunt through her binoculars that she did not notice him. Finally he called out to her in Hungarian and she turned immediately.
‘Ah Bela, how lovely to see you. Have you come for the hunting?’
Karolyi jumped down from his horse and went to kiss the Countess, twice on both cheeks as was the Hungarian custom.
‘I came to talk to the Empress. It seemed to be the only way to see her. Your vague little notes never actually contained an invitation.’
Festy shook her head. ‘I know, Bela, and I am sorry. But you know how she is when she doesn’t want to do something. She just shakes her head and says, put him off. I have tried to make her listen but she only hears me when she wants to.’
‘Poor Festy, Her Majesty is very lucky to have you at her side.’
‘No, Bela, I feel privileged to serve her in whatever way I can.’ The little countess gave him a fierce look. ‘I know that sometimes to other people she can seem … difficult. But I know her kindness and her nobility of spirit.’
She tilted her chin at him as if daring him to defy her.
Karolyi laughed.
‘As I said before, Cousin, she is very lucky to have you at her side. But today she has not been difficult at all. I came to ask when she would visit the English Queen, and she said very sweetly that she would go on Sunday and please could I arrange it. I was surprised, to find her so amenable.’
Looking closely at the Countess’s face to gauge her reaction he continued, ‘Her visit to England seems to be agreeing with her. In fact I have not seen her look so well and in such fine spirits for a long time. Not since the coronation in Budapest, I think. I wonder what it is about England that suits her so well?’
The Countess shook her head. ‘Bela, Bela, you know me better than that. I will not gossip about the Empress to you or anyone else. You should rejoice as I do that she is in such good spirits.’
Karolyi took her reproof with a smile. ‘Indeed I do. But I have to say that I worry about the hunting. She is perhaps too fearless. I thought just now that she must break her neck at that first hedge.’
‘Oh, I know. Every time she goes out I am sick with worry. Today I had to come and see for myself; somehow that is better than imagining all kinds of accidents at home.’ She sighed. ‘Sometimes I think that she is really trying to kill herself.’
Karolyi shrugged. ‘Yet she has everything to live for. Her husband adores her and lets her do anything she wants. She is still beautiful; in fact I would say she is as lovely now as she has ever been, lovelier even.’
&
nbsp; The Countess sighed again. ‘It’s true. She is still beautiful, but she can’t see it. All she sees when she looks in the mirror are the lines and the wrinkles.’ She picked up her field glasses and scanned the horizon, but by now the Empress and her escort had vanished from view. She turned back to the Count.
‘It is such a waste. She has all the gifts – she speaks six languages fluently, she writes poetry. I sometimes think her mind is like a museum full of great treasures, unseen and unused. If only she had some great cause, some purpose that would occupy her completely – she could do great things.’
‘She is an empress, there is no greater position. And she has every opportunity to do good at home, but instead she chooses to come to England and hunt,’ Karolyi said.
‘I don’t mean opening hospitals and giving alms to orphans, Bela, I mean a cause – something for her to believe in. Look how much she did for Hungary. Do you think that Franz Joseph would ever have been crowned King in Budapest without her? I will always be grateful to her for that. But now that time has passed and she has no cause to fight for.’
Karolyi smiled. ‘She has the Quorn…’
‘Exactly. But I wish there was something else.’ There was a pause.
‘And how are the Empress’s cavalieri serventi, Castor and Pollux?’ Karolyi asked. ‘I don’t think I have seen them this morning.’
‘They are … they are indisposed. The Empress made it clear that she wanted to hunt alone.’
‘Apart from the gallant Captain Middleton, of course.’
‘Apart from him.’ The Countess pressed her lips together.
‘Her Majesty was kind enough to present him to me. I am glad that she has such an –’ Karolyi paused for a moment, ostentatiously looking for the right word, ‘such an able escort. Captain Middleton is famous for his horsemanship, I believe.’
The Fortune Hunter Page 20
