The Cruel Count (Bantam Series No. 28) Read online

  If she then refused would he take his revenge? Supposing the Count was exiled from his own country, his lands confiscated, a price put on his head?

  Vesta gave herself a little shake, realising that once again her imagination was running away with her. But even so the fear remained like a canker gnawing away at her happiness.

  She remembered the hardness of the Count’s voice when by the cascade he had spoken of the Prince’s relationship with Madame Ziileyha.

  “The Prince is weak,” he had said, “a weak man who had put his own desires and his own wishes before the needs and well-being of his country.”

  She could recall so vividly the contempt in his eyes as he had continued:

  “He is a man who has deliberately for years ignored the wishes of his people, who shut his eyes to the fact that this woman was intriguing against the State and against himself.”

  ‘How could the Prince be so stupid?’ Vesta wondered.

  Yet Viscount Castlereagh had called His Royal Highness intelligent, and the Viscount, as one of the cleverest men in England, should have been a good judge.

  But Katona was a very small country and situated a long way from the great powers who planned the fate of Europe in London, Paris, Berlin and Vienna.

  ‘Meeting a young man once or twice, or even experiencing what amounted to a State Visit to Katona,’ Vesta told herself, ‘gives no clue to what his own people think about him and his infatuation for the Turkish woman.’

  Then a thought struck her!

  Had the Foreign Secretary and the Prime Minister of England perhaps been well aware of the difficulties Madame Ziileyha was causing?

  If so, had they deliberately sent her to Katona to marry the Prince believing that because she was English she might influence him to resist the intrigues which, because they came from the Turkish source, were fundamentally opposed to everything that was Katonian?

  ‘Perhaps I have just been a pawn ... a puppet made use of for political reasons!’ Vesta told herself.

  For a moment she felt afraid, and then she remembered that the problem need no longer concern her.

  The Count now stood between her and everything that was frightening or unpleasant. His love would enfold and protect her, and she knew that in his arms she felt a security she had never known before in the whole of her life.

  ‘I love him ... I love him,’ she whispered and thought that she could entrust herself and all her difficulties into his hands.

  It would not matter to her if they had to live in extreme poverty in some other country. Yet she would not wish him to suffer for her sake.

  Then she remembered the passion in his voice and the light in his eyes and told herself that just as love meant everything to her, so it must mean everything to him.

  ‘We are one! We think the same ... we feel the same!’ she thought and only wished he was there to assure her that was indeed the truth.

  It was just past noon and Vesta had come from the kitchen to wash and tidy herself before she sat down for the luncheon she had helped prepare, when she heard a carriage draw up outside.

  She heard voices and held her breath. Could the Count have returned?

  It was three hours ride to Djilas, for a man riding a well-bred horse. Was it possible for him to have seen the Prince and to have come back for her already?

  It was with difficulty that she prevented herself from running into the hall. Then the door of the Sitting-room opened and Jozef came in alone.

  In his hand he carried a silver salver on which reposed a note.

  Vesta took it from him and moved to the window to read it. For a moment when she opened it the writing seemed to swim before her eyes.

  It was strong, upright and positive, as she had expected the Count’s hand writing to be.

  ‘Just as he is himself,’ she whispered. Then she read:

  Heart of my Heart, my Life, my Soul.

  Everything is proceeding Smoothly, so I do not want You to be Worried.

  The Prince desires to see You, but unfortunately it is impossible for Me to come for You as I would wish to do. So I must ask You, my Darling, to forgive me and to journey to the Palace, in the Carriage I have sent with this Letter as soon as possible.

  The Revolution is over and there is great rejoicing in the City and I rejoice at the thought of seeing You.

  Do not talk with anyone until you see Me and hurry my sweet, Wonderful, little Goddess, because every Second without You passes like a Century of empty Time. I am at Your Feet.

  Miklos.

  Vesta read it through twice before she turned to Jozef who was waiting, with her eyes shining.

  “I am to go to Djilas, Jozef.”

  “I understand that the coachmen have their orders, Gracious Lady. But if you will permit the men to rest for only a short while, it would be better for them and the horses.”

  “Yes, of course, I understand,” Vesta said, curbing an impulse to say that she must leave immediately.

  “The Gracious Lady’s luncheon is also ready,” Jozef said.

  With an effort Vesta preceded him into the Diningroom where he served her the dishes she had helped Dorottya to cook.

  She forced herself to eat slowly and sensibly, knowing that she had a long journey in front of her.

  But as soon as she had finished she ran upstairs to her bed-room, put on the jacket of her habit and her hat with the green ribbons.

  She remembered how the last time she had worn it the Count had placed it on her head and tied the ribbons with gentle fingers. She had been touched then by his consideration for her.

  Now as she glanced at herself in the mirror she wished she had something new and more attractive in which to meet him.

  Dorottya and her daughter had cleaned and pressed the green habit and washed the white muslin blouse.

  But skilful though they were, they could not eradicate completely the stains and creases of a habit which had been slept in for two nights, and which had been worn riding over mountains and moving about in dirty caves.

  Vesta thought a little wistfully of all the lovely gowns that were in her boxes at Jeno.

  ‘I will be able to send for them,’ she thought, ‘and I will wear the very prettiest of them and watch for the admiration in Miklos’ eyes.’

  She drew in her breath at the thought and thrilled, because she knew he would take her in his arms and kiss her.

  She was ready, downstairs and waiting in the Sitting-room for what seemed to her like a long time, before Jozef came from the kitchen quarters to say that the coachmen were now ready for the return journey. Vesta thanked Dorottya and her daughter for their kindness, and then with Jozef she walked to the front door.

  The closed carriage that the Count had sent for her was lightly built, and Vesta saw that it had especially large wheels for travelling swiftly over rough roads.

  It was drawn by four magnificent horses which she looked at with pleasure. The two coachmen doffed their hats at the sight of her, as did the two out-riders who were also mounted on superb horseflesh.

  She had known that the Count with his Hungarian blood would appreciate good horses!

  ‘One day very soon,’ she thought, ‘we will ride together.’

  Once she had imagined herself riding with the Prince. Now she knew nothing could be more wonderful than to ride with the Count, gallop with the wind in their faces, and explore his beautiful country.

  She turned to thank Jozef for all he had done for her and wished she had some money to give him. But he did not seem to expect it and bowed low as the footman helped Vesta into the carriage and the cavalcade set off.

  As they reached the end of the drive they were joined by the four soldiers on horse-back who had been guarding the house all night.

  The soldiers rode in the rear and were wise enough to avoid the dust from the carriage by keeping on the grass verges which bordered the narrow track.

  Vesta thought uneasily that the Count was taking every possible precaution against her
being ambushed or shot at. Then she knew he would not have said that the Revolution was over unless that were true, and there was no reason for her to be afraid.

  They travelled downhill for some way, passing the lake where the trout they had eaten the night before had been caught. It was shining in the sunlight and a gaggle of wild geese rose into the air at their approach.

  After several miles of winding between high fir trees, they joined another wider road.

  Vesta was sure this was the one she would originally have taken from Jeno had she been met as she had expected by Baron Milovan and the welcoming party.

  Now the carriage which had been moving fairly slowly along what was little more than a track by the Hunting Lodge, proceeded at a pace which Vesta knew would have been watched admiringly in England.

  At the same time, like the Count, she felt every second was slow and long drawn out because they were not together.

  She sat forward to look out of the windows.

  ‘This is his country,’ she told herself. ‘This is where Miklo belongs and I must love it and understand its people for his sake.’

  There were small white houses with red roofs. There were farms, many of them picturesquely fashioned of wood and situated among lush fields of com or verdant grass where fat cattle were grazing.

  Above the valley on either side loomed the mountains, their sides covered thickly with trees.

  ‘It is all so beautiful!’ Vesta told herself. ‘How could people not be happy in a country like this? Why should they want Revolutions, how can they wish to rebel against anything or anybody?’

  Again she asked herself how the Prince could have allowed Madame Ziileyha to endanger the peace and prosperity of this lovely country?

  Despite her interest in seeing the countryside, her impatience to see the Count again made the hours pass slowly.

  And despite her resolution not to worry but to trust him to do what was best for both of them, she could not help, as they neared Djilas, feeling apprehensive.

  It was quite a large city, exquisitely situated on a broad silver river in a wide and fertile valley flanked by mountains.

  Vesta saw it at a distance from higher ground, and it was somehow as she had expected it to look with its spires and high steeples, its towers and red-roofed houses.

  The valley through which she had been passing had been mainly green except for colourful flowers growing on either side of the road. But now as they came into the outskirts of the town she saw, just as she had done in Jeno, that there were flowers everywhere.

  In the orange and lemon groves which grew just outside the city there were flowers of every size and colour, the houses were decorated with bougainvillia and clematis growing up the walls, and the balconies were filled with variegated blossoms.

  The people too, Vesta noticed, had hung out flags from their windows, and she knew that this was part of the rejoicing of which the Count had spoken because the Revolution was over.

  ‘Now they will have peace,’ Vesta told herself.

  She wondered if the Prince would soon find a wife to reign with him, who would work for his people and try to understand them.

  Just for a moment she had the uncomfortable feeling that it should have been her task. Perhaps in refusing to many the Prince she was forcing him back into the arms of Madame Ziileyha or someone like her.

  Then she told herself the Prince had no personal need of her help while the Count, she was convinced, could not do without her.

  ‘That is what all women desire,’ she thought. ‘To be wanted, to know one is indispensable.’

  Looking out of the window she realised the carriage was not taking her in through the centre of the city but along quiet side streets where there were few people about.

  Perhaps after all, she thought, the Prince had refused to release her from their legal marriage and she would, therefore, have to go away secretly into obscurity with the Count.

  ‘It does not matter so long as he loves me,’ she told herself reassuringly.

  She had the impression, although she was not certain where she had learnt it, that the Palace was in the very centre of Djilas.

  She was sure of this when having travelled some way along the river they seemed to turn almost in a circle, still keeping to the side-streets but now obviously moving towards the middle of the city.

  Then she saw a high brick wall, and having driven beside this for a short distance they came to an entrance with gates carrying the Royal Coat-of-Arms but which was manned only by two soldiers.

  The gates were opened for the carriage and now Vesta saw green lawns, sparkling fountains and a profusion of flowers.

  It was only a quick glimpse, for they were driving along what she was sure was a back drive, flanked with flowering trees.

  The carriage drew up at what was obviously a side-door of the Palace.

  A footman resplendent in gold lace opened the carriage door, and Vesta stepped out looking anxiously into the doorway ahead because she hoped she might see the Count waiting for her.

  There was however only a Major-domo who presented her with a note on a silver salver.

  The hall into which she had walked was small and not very impressive. She took the note and turning to the light of the window read it quickly.

  You are here, my Beloved, and I am waiting to see You more Impatiently than I have ever waited in my whole Life. But because you are a woman, and the most beautiful and adorable woman in the World, I know You will wish to wash and change before We meet. Hurry, my Precious One, because I need You so Desperately. I am waiting and My arms are aching for You.

  Miklos.

  Vesta closed the letter and resisted an impulse to kiss it. Only the Count, she thought, could be so considerate, so understanding!

  It was as if their minds worked in unison, so that he knew that she longed to look her best for him, to discard her travel-stained clothes and change into something in which he would admire her.

  It was true also that the journey had been dusty.

  There could not have been any rain in Katona for some time and when the carriage windows were open the dust from the horses’ hooves had blown in to cover everything, even her face, with a thin grey film.

  The Major-domo preceded her up the stairs. Then there was a long corridor, at the end of which he opened a door.

  Vesta passed by him into an attractive, but not an unusually resplendent bed-room. There was however a bath waiting for her and two smiling maids wearing the same native dress as Dorottya, but their blouses were elaborate and there was more lace on their aprons.

  Vesta took off her hat and they helped her remove the green riding-habit.

  Even though she was in a hurry to reach the Count, it was delightful to sink into the warm scented water of the bath and wash herself clean from the dust and the heat of the journey.

  It was only when she had finished drying herself with a big bath towel on which was embroidered the Royal crown that she wondered if the Count had a dress for her to wear.

  Then one of the maids brought from the wardrobe a gown she recognised.

  It was one of her own, and she knew now that the Count must have managed by some magic means of his own to have her luggage brought from Jeno to Djilas.

  There was no sign of her other clothes.

  There was only the gown, fresh petticoats and underclothes, and a pair of white slippers besides the cobweb-thin silk stockings which had cost an exorbitant sum in Bond Street.

  Vesta was just about to inquire where the rest of her luggage was, when she remembered the Count had told her not to talk to anyone, in any case she thought she knew the answer.

  Once she had met the Prince, she and the Count would be going away together, perhaps to his house if he had one in Djilas, perhaps into the countryside. There would have been no point in unpacking at the Palace.

  She could not help however being amused at the gown he had chosen for her, because it was the grandest of all the gowns she had in her
trousseau.

  It was one her mother had bought her to wear if a State ball or a Banquet was held in honour of her marriage.

  Of white lace it sparkled with tiny dewdrops of diamante and had cost what had seemed to Vesta almost an astronomical sum.

  “It is far too expensive, Mama!” she had protested.

  “I should not like them to think in Katona that in England we are not as smart as, if not smarter than, the Parisiennes or those over-decorated aristocrats in Rome,” the Duchess had replied almost tartly.

  And Vesta had liked the gown more than any of the others which had been specially designed for her.

  ‘Will Miklos think I look beautiful?’ she asked herself, and was sure he would.

  One of the maids arranged her hair skilfully in the very latest fashion. Then her dress was pulled in to show her tiny waist and the little white satin slippers were placed on her feet.

  Vesta glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and realised it was getting late in the afternoon.

  She had been as quick as she could in bathing and changing, but even so it had taken time.

  She thought of the Count waiting impatiently and could hardly keep still while the finishing touches were put to her hair and the flounces of her dress were pulled into place by the attentive maids.

  She thanked them prettily in Katonian, then moved towards the door, which they opened for her.

  Outside she found the same gold-bedecked Major-domo who had escorted her upstairs. He bowed when she appeared and preceded her down the corridor.

  They walked for a long way.

  It seemed to Vesta as corridor succeeded corridor that the Palace must be very big and now she realised that they were in the part of the building which contained the State Apartments.

  The pictures were magnificent, as were the chandeliers. The carved gilt tables and the mirrors which decorated the walls would at any other time have evoked her admiration.

  On they walked, and now at last after they had passed a crystal and gold stair-case curving magnificently into a huge marble Hall below, the Major-domo stopped and opened a door.