The Prince and the Nun

by Jacqueline George

  THE PRINCE

  AND

  THE NUN

  Jacqueline George

  HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  THE PRINCE AND THE NUN

  3rd edition copyright © 2013 by J.E. George

  ISBN: 978-0-9922984-0-1

  Cover design by Jacqueline George

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2010 by J.E. George

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Jacqueline George

  DEDICATION

  For the friends who made my time

  in Central Europe so memorable

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  About the Author

  Other Jacqueline George titles you may enjoy

  THE PRINCE AND THE NUN

  Chapter 1

  The castle of Montebello basked in the August sun like a cat on a garden wall. In the still, heavy air, Therese could hear the murmur of life from the village below and the chatter of haymakers in the summer meadows up against the forest edge. The hay was nearly cut now, and the weather remained kind. Following the men with their scythes, the women in colourful headscarves raked up the coarse grass and pitched it onto the drying stands. The shaggy hummocks dotted the sloping ground. Soon the horses and wagons would begin hauling it down to the village barns. The season’s wheel was turning as it had done for hundreds of years.

  The sun fell slowly in the afternoon sky and shone into Therese’s face. She moved out of its glare and, resting her elbows on the railing, looked out over Krasna Dolina.

  The tower gallery in which she sat was new. The Egerhazys valued tradition and their ownership of the castle. When the tower roof had begun to look seriously decayed, they had stretched their budget to replace the tiled cone and had included the gallery tucked under the eaves. The work had taken more than five years. First cutting and hauling the massive oak logs in the hardness of winter, sawing and stacking them to season and then carefully cutting them to size in the wagon yard below the castle hill. Then, over the space of a summer, estate workers had stripped off the old bonnet of the tower and carefully saved the tiles.

  With the summit of the tower bare, the carpenters had opened the door to the gallery for the first time in many years and started to remove the old supports one by one and replace them with new oak. Therese had visited at that time. Standing in the doorway - she had not dared to pass through onto the loose planks beyond - her heart died as she looked down between her toes at the roofs of the family apartments below. The intricate timber web that would support the new gallery was taking shape and the carpenters stepped without fear from beam to beam, with nothing to hold them if they missed their footing. She nearly vomited, and the men had laughed kindly at her white face. She hurried below, and the Convent prayed for the men’s safety at every mass until the job was completed.

  Now she was safe. The solid walls and floor of the gallery, the heavy beams of the roof above, all closed her in. In summer, when the wind was not too strong, the servants pulled up the shutters. Then she could sit with her forearms resting flat on the rail, her chin on her knuckles, and watch the world below.

  It was not a large world. No matter where on the circular deck she sat, she looked out over Krasna Dolina, the Beautiful Valley, tucked into its forested walls that were not quite mountains but were too large for mere hills. Far to the southwest, maybe thirty kilometres as the crow flies, she could see the Trnava Gates. The Gates were a sharp gorge through which the sluggish Trnava River left the valley, and the highway and the railway came in. The railway soon crossed the river and wound along the southern wall of the valley, where great stone quarries gouged the hills away.

  As a concession to the Egerhazys, who had allowed the steel monster into their valley, the line had been continued to end in the village below the castle. From the little station it was possible to ride out into the world beyond, out onto the Danube plains, to Bucharest, to Pressburg, to Budapest, Vienna and beyond.

  Apart from the railway or foot trails through the forests, the only way out of the valley was to use the highway. Either through the Trnava Gates beside the river and the railway, or to the east over the Tergov Saddle. Looking east, Therese could see where the white road wound up from the village and disappeared into the forest shadow. Higher up the slope, it could be glimpsed in pools of light where it doubled back on itself, to and fro, tighter and tighter until it flattened out and headed for the notch in the hills called Tergov Saddle.

  The tower gallery had become a favourite summer place for Therese. Whenever the pressures of her office allowed, she would tell Maria that she was not to be disturbed, and she would climb the tower to meditate. Sometimes she would bring some work, some papers or reading, as a sop to her conscience. Mostly the papers stayed unsigned and the reading unread. She just needed to draw strength to get the Convent through these difficult times.

  For the moment, the valley was peaceful but she did not expect it to remain so for much longer. The Egerhazys had cut short their summer a month ago and moved on to America. Whatever was coming to the valley, they did not want to be swept up in it.

  For with the harvest gathered all over Europe, it was the time for armies to march. The radio brought confusing news. Statesmen rushed between capitals by night train and even flew by aeroplane in the worst of weather. While the owners and controllers of society were out in the country attending to their estates, the chancelleries hummed with activity. Day by day, war moved from a possibility to solid reality.

  Over the centuries, war had done little damage to the valley. It was isolated and possible to bypass, and armies were reluctant to enter for fear of being trapped. The same stood for raiding parties; only overwhelming strength could guarantee a safe exit with their booty.

  The history of Montebello Castle was a history of allegiances changed. A new king, a new social order, and the current owner had only to decide whether to cooperate or go into exile. The Egerhazys proved particularly adept at this and no doubt they would return again in a year or two, after the current unpleasantness, and again life would go on.

  The chapel bell rang out a mellow angelus, and the haymakers started to gather their tools and make for the shr
ine on the boundary between the meadow and the wagon yard. Therese sighed and picked up her chair. No doubt matters would take their course with or without her worrying.

  Chapter 2

  They came late in the morning. There was no resistance from the village. The people lived lives so far removed from the government that they had no personal interest in the movements of any army, even their own. Therese heard the rumble of the convoys on the highway through the village and waited for the first troops to arrive at the castle. Eventually they came.

  Through the window came confused noises, but she assumed that some vehicles had come up to the wagon park. It was a much sharper, brassy roar that climbed up the final hill and became muffled in the gateway. It would have stopped there, inside the open castle gates, and its occupants would now have to walk up through the stony wards just like all the castle residents.

  Sister Maria tapped at the door and rushed in, flustered and nervous. “Mother Therese, a motor bike has come, with three soldiers on it.”

  “Thank you, Maria. Show them in when they get here.” She was surprised that it took no effort to control herself. “Stop worrying and arrange for some coffee for our guests. If they are all soldiers, they will take coffee and sandwiches in the refectory. If there is an officer, you had better bring his coffee here and take care of the soldiers in your office. Go now!”

  Ten minutes later, she was back. “Mother Therese, Sergeant Grossner wishes to see you. He has left one soldier with the motorbike.”

  The sergeant strode into the room and stood at attention. He was a large man with short hair and a black moustache. He wore a thick and bulky uniform. A pistol hung on his belt in a closed brown holster. Therese sat back in her chair but did not rise to greet him. For a moment, she let him suffer in silence.

  “Sergeant Grossner, you are welcome. As this is a convent, I think you may remove your hat.”

  The social antennae that are part of every old soldier heard her accent, understood her rank and adjusted his demeanour. He whipped off his hat, clicked his heels and bowed his head.

  “Sergeant Grossner, Your Honour, reporting as ordered!”

  “ Very good, Sergeant. You bring orders for me?”

  “ Er, no, Your Honour. Er, Captain Prince Mefist just sent us, sent me to take charge of the castle and, er, report back.”

  “Very good, Sergeant. Excellent. The castle is yours. Now if you report to Sister Maria outside, I think she has ordered some coffee and a small snack for you and your men. I shall write a quick note for Prince Mefist, and if you would be kind enough to come back in ten minutes, it will be ready for you.”

  Grossner clicked his heels again and left. Campaigning soldiers soon learn to take meals whenever they are offered.

  How should she write to Mefist? She recognized the name. The Mefists were not part of her family’s circle but had a respectable reputation. She thought they came from somewhere to the north, a tiny principality that existed in spirit only. The Mefists had not been sovereign for many years now and had never sought to establish a grand name in the Empire. Well-bred, rich enough, they represented the class from which Therese had come herself.

  What was Mefist now? Clearly not the leader of any considerable force, or he would be more than a mere captain. She decided to write to him as the Prince and not the captain.

  Dear Prince,

  I am taking advantage of your sergeant to send a quick invitation. We dine at the unfashionable hour of six o’clock. Perhaps you could join me for dinner and we could discuss how best we at Montebello can serve you and the Imperial Army,

  Your servant,

  Mother Therese von Falberg

  Mother Superior of the Sisters of Magdalene at Montebello & Castle Chatelaine

  She sealed the note in an envelope and gave it to Maria. “I will be praying,” she said and shut her office door. She heard the sergeant come and go before she called for a sandwich and took it up the tower, together with a book of prayers newly translated from Italian.

  She could not escape the Imperial Army even at the top of Montebello Tower. Trucks were passing through the village and grinding up the long climb to Tergov Saddle. They must have been unloading there, because an equal stream of trucks was sliding back down the road and heading out of the valley.

  In the wagon yard below, the castle soldiers lounged around two trucks, smoking and chattering quietly. Their rifles stood resting against each other in stacks of three. They were cooking over two fires on the grass verge. She watched them and tried to decide what, if anything, made these men different from the farmers she normally saw from her tower.

  Far below, a motorbike and sidecar disengaged itself from the village traffic and tore up the narrow ramp towards the castle. She recognized Sergeant Grossner getting out of the sidecar and giving orders. Immediately, the men were busy. The trucks reversed to the other side of the yard to unload tents and equipment. Within half an hour, three large tents had been erected and a smaller one set off to one side. Over towards the forest, four men were digging a latrine. She hoped they would erect a shield around it.

  Therese sat thinking for a long time. Before the angelus could call her to her duty, a small staff car started on the climb up from the village. It pulled into the wagon yard, and an officer got out. Would this be Mefist? His insignia were covered by a black leather coat thrown over his shoulders. He looked young and relaxed; he wore his cap fashionably tilted towards one ear, and he was smoking a cigarette.

  The officer inspected the tents, with Grossner following a metre behind him. Grossner called the men together and barked them to attention. Roll call, and the men’s shouted names carried across the meadow. Mefist was already walking away.

  He started on the sharp climb up to the castle gate but suddenly stopped and looked up at Therese. She threw herself back into the shadows too late; their eyes had met. Embarrassed, she collected her things and returned to her office to wait for him.

  She waited a long time, and her tray of papers was nearly empty before Maria knocked. “Mother Superior, Captain Prince Mefist is here to see you.”

  He was a handsome man with dark curly hair and fine features. He came straight to her desk and held out his hand. “Mother Therese, how good to meet you! I have come to impose on your hospitality.”

  Therese was shocked at herself. How thoughtless! She should have realized he would need a room. She looked at Maria standing at the door. “A visitor’s room has been prepared, Mother Superior.” Bless her heart, thought Therese. I wonder if it has been, or whether it will be just now?

  “Prince, you are early for dinner. Can I offer you coffee?”

  “Please, call me Mefist. If it is no trouble to you, perhaps we could delay the coffee? I need to see a little more of your empire. Sister Brigitta has shown me around the Convent and the chapel, but I really need to see more of the castle and the family apartments before we can sit and talk sensibly. If you would send someone with me...”

  “Of course. I shall come with you myself, and then we can carry on to dinner.”

  They strolled through the dark family rooms. They had been closed since the Egerhazys had left and had a musty smell. The furniture sat covered with dustsheets, and the smaller paintings removed to the basement. Mefist paused in the dining room and lifted the dustsheet from the polished oak table. “Old Egerhazy lives well. I wish I had come in happier times.”

  “Do you know the Count?”

  “An acquaintance only. Everyone knows the Count. And I believe I also know your brother? Otto von Falberg?”

  “You know Otto? Do you have any news of him?”

  “He joined the Artillery, but I should imagine you know that. No, I can’t say I’ve seen him recently. We were at the Academy together. Have you heard from him?”

  “He wrote from Vienna, but that must have been two months ago. Perhaps now you are occupying us…”

  “Yes, that should make it easier. The first thing I need to do is to get the telepho
nes working. Some fool in the village has locked up the switchboard and gone home. We should be able to get at least a partial service running soon.

  “If these are the living rooms, where are the bedrooms?”

  Therese took him through the empty portrait gallery and on to the bedrooms. He showed more interest in the number of toilets and bathrooms.

  “Prince, what are your plans for us? Will you be staying long?”

  He laughed. “I am sure we will be staying here for as long as it is possible. Once the General gets his feet under the table here, you won’t pry him out easily. It’s a fine house, most desirable. Comfortable, spacious, beautiful views, and then there is the hunting.” He turned to look at her. “Of course, there is also the company.”

  “But I must keep the Convent totally separate. I am afraid we will be no company at all.”

  “Mother Therese, you cannot imagine how refreshing it is for soldiers to have civilized ladies around. Even if they are nuns. Although I will have trouble calling such a beautiful young lady ‘Mother.’ Could I call you Sister?” He smiled, but she cut him off.

  “That would be incorrect. While I am in charge of the Sisters, I must be called ‘Mother Superior,’ whether I approve of it or not.”

  “Very well, Mother,” he said with a grin. “What is upstairs from here?”

  “The servants’ quarters. Shall we go up?” The stairs emerged in the servants’ hall, a large loft with sloping ceilings divided by heavy roof beams. A long dining board took up much of the space, and the rest was filled with comfortable benches and settles around the fire space. The Egerhazys believed in basic comforts for their servants.

  “This could be ideal,” said Mefist. “Perfect. Where are the bedrooms?”

  Therese had never seen the servants’ quarters before. A corridor led off the hall with rooms on either side. Each contained one or two small beds, a skylight, a cupboard and a washbasin and mirror. The servants lived in more comfort than the nuns, for they had washbasins. She saw that each room had a radiator, a remarkable luxury for a servant’s bedroom. She remembered being told that the Count had hired an American engineer to modernize the plumbing and heating of Montebello. She wished he had come to the nuns’ cells as well.