Lost love Historical romance

by Adele B.

  While they neared the forest, Livia was studying her mother, amazed by her silence. She always used to talk endlessly – about cake recipes, about the jam, about what she was going to cook. She was well-known in the neighbouring villages both for her hysteria and for the wonderful cakes and jams she made, and which sometimes finished on the needy peasants' tables.

  Livia ceased to think about her mother, letting her mind dwell on Edward, on his letter, on the dried wild flower crown.

  Puf seemed suddenly scared, quietened by the approach of the forest. They soon reached the meadow, her meadow.

  Catrina stopped and turning in her tracks gazed intensely at Livia, with a death-pale face; then she said; “Livia, forgive me, please don't hate me!”

  Livia didn't understand anything. She looked puzzled, wondering whether her mother had lost her mind for good.

  But the neighing of a horse made her jump. From behind a clump of trees a horseman appeared; a horseman she recognized with horror. It was Petros, and he was hurriedly drawing near, with contorted face, cold eyes and drawn mouth. He dismounted, and with firm impetuous gestures he took hold of her and threw her in the saddle, jumping after her. He reined in the horse and touched it with his whip.

  Finally understanding what was happening, Livia turned towards her mother, and all Catrina could see was the horror on her daughter's face as the rider disappeared through the trees. She listlessly headed for home, forgetting all about the wild berries and about Puf, who had tried to follow his mistress and had ended up smashed under the horse's hooves, a small white stain on the grass.

  # # #

  Seated in front of Petros on the galloping horse, Livia could feel his hot rhythmical breath warming the nape of her neck; she could see his thick arm squeezing her waist, keeping her from falling, his coarse hands adorned with rich rings, the smell of his sweat mingling with the horse's tang. Thinking about Edward, lost forever now, thinking about a whole life with Petros, she fainted.

  She awoke in an elegant carriage slowly making its way over a mountain road. She didn't know their destination, she found no clues about their whereabouts in the surrounding forests. Here and there, lonely sheep-pens were hidden in the wild.

  Seated at her left, Petros was looking out the window. He had seen her awaken from her fainting spell, and they both avoided each other's eyes. She, from sheer despair, and he from a sort of strange guilt.

  Livia closed her eyes, trying to find a solution of escaping from this trap. Painfully she understood there was none. They lived in troubled times, revolts and wars were concocted, people suffered, no one would have cared about a young woman who had been kidnapped – and especially by a rich person!

  And even had she managed to escape from the carriage, where could she go, with no money? Furthermore, the simple act of kidnapping had already dishonoured her; no one would have ever wanted her for a bride now; she could not possibly return to her parents' house, to her feeble father and her treacherous mother. Once in Petros' house, her destiny was set.

  She didn't open her eyes or her mouth for a few hours. From time to time, tears flowed on her pale cheeks. She found Fate's blow hard to take. It had risen her to the heights of happiness only to throw her now at the bottom of an endless ravine of despair. She was alone and helpless.

  She opened her eyes as the carriage entered a cobbled street. Richly-adorned buildings, cathedral towers, elegant bridges followed each other in quick succession. A little scared, she watched the imposing Saxon houses with their attic- windows gazing at her like open, threatening eyes inquisitorially spying upon all passers-by.

  The coachman stopped in front of a prosperous house, with marble stairs and massive wooden gate. Intrepid roses climbed the walls, and red flowers in pots embellished the rose-tinted balconies. The street was deserted, all the houses with drawn blinds, the old lime trees unmoving, drenched in their own fragrance.

  Petros opened the carriage door, helped her get down and accompanied her up the stairs keeping a tight grip on her arm. He opened the door to a large living room. It looked like a library, there were so many bookshelves; but it also looked like a bazaar, with a profusion of objects seemingly gathered from all corners of the world. China vases, black African wooden carvings, fine Italian gauze, thick Persian carpets, elegant French books bound in fine leather, precious English tobacco- boxes; it all was scattered around, in a strange mixture of East and West. Livia felt even more confused, amongst so many objects. She fixed her eyes on a Buddha who, with his beatific peaceful smile and joined hands, seemed to pay no attention to her predicament.

  Two women unhurriedly entered the room. One was young, with long tresses around her head, the other blond, middle-aged and portly.

  Without so much as looking at Petros, the blond addressed herself to Livia.

  “Good day. My name is Helga, please follow me and I'll show you to your room. Your bath and your lunch are ready” she continued, in a neutral voice.

  It was obvious she had received instructions and was scrupulously carrying them out.

  “Ildiko, go and set the table”she told the younger one in Hungarian, in a commanding tone.

  “Immediately” answered the girl, casting an ironic eye upon Livia. The old clothes this one wore – the clothes she had put on for wild berry gathering – her dishevelled hair and tearful face clearly made the young Hungarian think she was some village tramp.

  Livia understood perfectly well the young woman's look, and answered with a cold haughty gaze which froze the servant girl in her tracks and made her hurry towards the kitchen.

  “Helga, I won't be here for dinner. I'll be gone a few days” Petros said.

  He saluted Livia with a bow, and without waiting for a reply from her he turned on his heel and left. He knew she wouldn't utter a word, as she hadn't said anything ever since he had grabbed her and threw her on his horse's saddle.

  He had decided to leave her alone for a while, not to frighten her with his presence, to give her time to get accustomed to the idea that this was going to be her house, and he was going to be her husband.

  Chapter 6

  The woman accompanied her into a vast, elegant room filled with intricately carved ebony furniture, antique Persian rugs and with precious paintings on the walls. In the corners, newly opened red lilies in Chinese porcelain vases imbued the air with their delicate fragrance. The magnificent midday summer sun, pouring through the opened windows, bathed the whole scene in luminous splendour.

  But Livia did not notice any of these things. She hurried to the window, a frightened little bird instinctively trying to retrieve its lost freedom. She glanced into the street below and then quickly retreated, disgusted. Her eyes had met Petros', as he studied the window from the carriage's shadows. At just that point, the same fat and silent coachman whom she had seen once in her village jumped in the front seat and with a soft mild voice guided the horses to a brisk trot.

  While the carriage's noise faded in the distance, Livia burst into tears of anger and despair at the same time.

  “ Sold!” she whispered. “Sold like any common merchandise!” Who knows how much her mother had got out of the deal – ten silk coupons, maybe – or perhaps some silverware.

  “Oh God in heaven – where could I go from here?” she murmured in a faint whisper. She had already understood: she knew no one in this city, had no money, nowhere to go and she desperately tried to think who to ask for help. These were hard times for everyone, and being kidnapped by the richest man in town in order to become his wife would have been seen as a blessing rather than a misfortune by many. In everybody's eyes she would have been considered lucky, not unfortunate.

  Her nostalgic, love-filled thoughts turned to Edward, lost forever now. Absolute and total happiness had been hers for a month, and all those sweet memories made the present seem even more unbearable.

  Lying on the bed, with tears running down her cheeks, she contemplated suicide for a moment; but then she started upright, scared
by the awfulness of such an idea. Horrible images of Hell came into her mind; ever since she was a child, listening to her father's sermons about demons and damnation, she had been scared of it. For a second, she thought of asking her father for help; but then, hope died. Even if he loved her, he was too tied up in the village's everyday problems and the fight to defend Orthodoxy. And he would not have dared contradict his wife, anyway.

  An energetic knock on the door made her jump. Without waiting for an answer, the same woman who had shown her to her room came in. Livia studied her attentively, trying to discern whether this was a servant or a gaoler. She was about forty-five years old, tall and fleshy. Expensive eyeglasses hid deep blue eyes, and the well-turned-out clothes made her seem taller and thinner than she actually was. She was too well-dressed to be a simple servant, and formal enough in her behaviour for it to be possible for her to be a gaoler.

  “I've prepared lunch and a hot bath for you” she said in a neutral voice.

  “Thank you, I don't need anything” the young woman answered tiredly, in perfect German.

  “As you wish, Miss” the woman replied, surprised by the quick answer in exaggeratedly correct German. She retreated with the same icy demeanour, seeming not to notice Livia's tearful face, her frail hands desperately clutching a small handkerchief.

  Livia was all alone now. She looked through the window for a long time, studying the rich and elegant Saxon houses and the snow-covered mountain peaks in the distance. Seeing them only made the situation seem worse; she had no idea what she was doing in this foreign place where everything was unknown to her. For a moment she had the strange feeling she herself was somebody else, an alien person in a strange house in the middle of a strange town. She wondered whether all her past had not been a dream after all; maybe she had always lived here, and everything she remembered from her childhood and youth had been just a fantasy ?!

  All seemed surreal, all seemed weird; hot tears were running down her cheeks, a fit of crying suffocated her, her eyes were burning an an intense headache burrowed into her skull. Raising her hand to wipe a tear, she saw the embroidery on the sleeve; typically Romanian, typically peasant workmanship.

  No. It had not been a dream. She was Livia, she had lived in Brad, she had really met handsome Edward. Only now she was in Hell. Not the Biblical Hell, filled with smoking cauldrons, fire and brimstone - but an elegantly-furnished, Persian-rug covered one; nevertheless, her heart would suffer and bleed. She still could not understand the reason for all this pain.

  What had she ever done in her life to deserve such cruel punishment? For what sin was she paying such a price now? For an innocent stolen kiss in the secret meadow? For having fallen in love with a Catholic officer? For letting an old Gypsy tell her her fortunes ?

  She closed the heavy curtains, bathing the room in a pleasant dusk. She then lay on the soft bed; tired and overcome by all the strong emotions she had lately endured, hungry and depressed, she fell asleep – only to wake up a few moments later, with her heart pounding in her chest.

  A terrible nightmare, a scary vision which had seem preternaturally real had terrified her, sending her mind and her soul into turmoil. It had all seemed so real! She had seen herself lying on her deathbed, Edward bending over her to give her a last tearful kiss, her mother hideously laughing while she was stirring the marmalade in a huge cauldron; Petros approaching, his arms filled with silk dresses.

  She got up from the bed and turned towards the window again. The city was still asleep in midday heat, all the inhabitants probably enjoying their siesta. Not a wisp of wind moved through the slumbering lime trees, and Livia had the clear sensation that time itself had stopped. She had no ideas, no projects, no hopes anymore; she didn’t wish or wait for anything. She felt already dead and buried in the vast room with its majestic curtains and soft, multicoloured Persian rugs.

  She looked all around; richness was ostentatiously and arrogantly on display here, in the same way it had been flaunted in her college friends’ houses. Her gaze swept once more over the delicate ebony furniture and the precious brocades covering the couches - all so different from the hemp cloth she had been used to, in her modest village house.

  She suddenly remembered her small room, cold and draughty in winter but so divinely airy and light-filled in spring, summer and autumn, when all the fragrances and colours of nature would enter through the wide open windows. She was happy then, for she was free. Now she felt as if being buried alive in this room where everything was soft and comfortable, but her soul had turned to stone.

  She consciously tried to avoid thinking about Petros, about a whole lifetime spent with him. She turned and turned in the room, looking at objects but not really seeing them, searching for something she knew she would not find.

  In a Venetian glass case she saw an album. It was covered with costly leather-work and contained photographs. She took it and absent-mindedly started leafing through it. It was a strange item. Page after page of photographs of just one person – Petros - all alone, with no other living thing besides him; not even a dog. On the first pages, a few discoloured pictures from which a thin, handsome teenager smiled at the world, barefoot on the sun-scorched Athenian soil. Next, pictures of a young man maturing, the smile all but gone. On the last page was an image of Petros as she had known him, well-dressed, arrogant and full of self-importance. She forcefully slammed the album shut, as if by this gesture she would be able to somehow isolate and contain his being within the pages; she put it back on the shelf.

  She then headed towards the window. Slowly the city was waking from its afternoon slumbers. Noisy children were filling the streets with their games and laughter; women – some of them dressed simply and carrying baskets or packages under their arms, some of them elegantly turned out, were heading either towards the marketplace or to visit friends, exchange secrets and share confidences around a coffee-cup. A drunkard, who had probably spent his afternoon in an ale-house, was stumbling along, talking to himself and moving his hands aimlessly, oblivious to the childrens’ mockery.

  The noise was deafening; everyone tried to make the most out of the few hours of sunlight left. Young people prepared for romantic assignations; women were starting to cook dinner; children played. Soon, the fall of darkness would send them all to sleep.

  Sadly, Livia thought about her position here; she had nothing to do, nothing to occupy her time with. She dejectedly fell back into bed. Later, when Helga knocked on the door, she didn’t answer, pretending she was asleep. She did not wish to see anyone, she did not wish to speak to anyone belonging to that household. But Helga opened the door nevertheless, and slowly came near the bed.

  “I have prepared a warm fragrant bath and a set of clean clothes for you, Miss. I will wait in the drawing-room” she said, in the same neutral voice she had used before.

  “I don’t need anything” Livia answered, without looking at her.

  The woman left the room discreetly, closing the door after her. It was a magnificent evening. The streets had become quiet once more, the full moon drew strange bluish shapes on the deserted pavement and from the distant mountain peaks came a fresh cool breeze, filled with the scent of jasmine, roses and cool untrodden snow.

  In this much-too-large room, in this unknown city, finally Livia fell into a troubled sleep.

  # # #

  A soft knock awoke her. Startled, she looked towards the windows. She had fallen asleep without closing them and the cold mountain air had chilled her to the bone, making her shiver slightly. And what if she were to die of pneumonia? she asked herself, but quickly changed her mind. She had always been strong and healthy, despite her apparent frailty.

  After a few moments the timid knocking on the door sounded again; and this time, without waiting for an answer, a small, unfortunate-looking girl entered, carrying a tray on which a golden jar of honey balanced precariously beside a milk-filled steaming pot. There was also a flower vase, making the girl’s thin arms tremble under the weigh
t.

  As soon as she had set her burden on the table, the girl headed for the windows, firmly closing them while saying “Oh, Miss, you are all trembling with cold ! You should close the windows if you don’t want to fall ill !”

  “My name is Lina, I come here twice a week when Ildiko is out in town doing the shopping and she doesn’t have time to clean the house. And the rest of the week I go to the lady across the street” she went on while she was dusting the furniture and straightening the curtains.

  As she was gathering the wilted lilies she continued “ The flower woman came today, as Master sent lots and lots of rose bouquets; there are so many of them we could fill up the whole house!” And with this, she opened the door and brought in two large rose bunches.

  Livia watched her delicately set them in the precious China vases; she noticed her sincere smile and her simple clothes. Even if she was just a servant, she seemed at peace with her fate and with the world. Feeling the young woman’s gaze, she lifted her head and smiled again, and Livia felt compelled to answer with a smile of her own.

  The room had filled up with delicious smells of freshly boiled milk and toasted bread, and now she felt her stomach churning, she hadn’t eaten anything since that accursed hour, one day before, when she had been lured into going to harvest those accursed blackberries. But instead of the blackberries, she had been the harvested fruit; she had been taken, thrown on a horse as a bale of hay or a piece of wood, abducted and brought here. Reliving those moments in her mind only made her feel all the more the desperation of her present situation. What was she doing in this huge foreign house, attended to by this thin unknown girl, who was just now struggling with a carpet much too heavy for her feeble powers ?

  Livia rose and helped her drag it towards the hall.

  “Thank you, Miss“ the girl said with a grateful smile. “I’m sorry for my intrusion, I’ll hurry now, I have a lot to do before the heat starts”