The Proud Princess Page 3

  She almost felt as if the little house in Paris had become a tomb from which her mother had escaped, leaving her inside.

  Her only contact with the world was with the old aristocrats whom her mother had loved but who in fact were a generation older.

  Two of them had died already in the Siege of Paris, which had been responsible for her mother’s death also, and those who were left were old and very frail, and not likely to live long.

  “What shall I do? Where shall I go?” Ilona had asked herself frequently night after night.

  Then fate had answered the question for her.

  She was alone in the house because Magda had gone out shopping, when a knock had come at the front door.

  She wondered who it could be at such an early hour of the morning, then told herself it could be none of their friends and must therefore be a tradesman.

  But it was unlike Magda to have anything sent to the house.

  She always insisted on going herself to market to choose the best food they could afford and to bargain fiercely over every centime.

  Ilona had gone to the door to find outside two elderly gentlemen, one of whom said,

  “We wish to speak with Her Royal Highness, the Princess Ilona of Dabrozka!”

  For a moment it was difficult for Ilona to realise they spoke of herself.

  She had not been a Royal Princess for the eight years that she had been abroad with her mother.

  Mademoiselle Ilona Radák was of no importance in Paris and the high-sounding title not only surprised her, but also made her feel a little quiver of apprehension.

  “Why do you wish to see the Princess?” she asked evasively.

  “She is at home?” the gentleman asked.

  She knew by the expression on his face and the note in his voice that he had been worried in case they had come to the wrong address.

  With difficulty Ilona remembered her manners.

  “Will you please come in, Messieurs?”

  She led them into the small Salon where her mother’s few treasures which she had inherited from her parents, were arranged against the grey panelled walls and the Louis XVI furniture was covered in a faded blue brocade.

  Despite the fact that she had opened the door herself there was something in her bearing which told the gentlemen who she was.

  “You are Her Royal Highness?” one of them asked.

  “I am!” Ilona had replied and knew as she spoke that a new chapter in her life was beginning.

  *

  Now as she rode up the last incline towards the front door of the Palace she remembered clearly the look of satisfaction in the gentlemen’s eyes.

  They were, she learnt, both Ministers of State in her father’s Government in Dabrozka.

  They had been sent to find her, having had no idea her mother was not still alive.

  “Your brother, His Royal Highness, Prince Julius is dead!” the one who she later learnt was Foreign Secretary, informed Ilona.

  “I am – sorry,” she said automatically. “How did he – die?”

  She thought the Foreign Secretary hesitated before he replied,

  “It was - an accident. The Prince was involved in a fight that took place in an Inn.”

  He paused before he went on,

  “No-one quite knows how it started, but it was late at night and some of the gentlemen had dined rather well.”

  It seemed to Ilona a useless way for Julius who was so gay and dashing, to die.

  She remembered him as always laughing, always riding more dangerously, more wildly than any other young men of his age.

  It was impossible to think of him as still and lifeless.

  But there was nothing she could say.

  She merely waited to hear why two Statesmen from Dabrozka should call on her.

  “We have come,” the Foreign Secretary continued, “because there is now no male heir to the throne, His Majesty wishes you to take your brother’s place.”

  Ilona had stared incredulously. “My – brother’s –place?”

  “On your father’s death you will become the Ruler of Dabrozka.”

  “N – no – no, I could not ­– do that!” she cried.

  Even as Ilona spoke she thought her protestations showed a lack of self-control and knew how much her mother would have disapproved.

  With an effort she said quietly:

  “Perhaps you will explain it to me a little more fully.”

  It was just a question of words, she thought later. She really had no choice in the matter, and she was quite certain that had she refused to accompany the Statesmen they would have found other means of persuading her to do as her father wished.

  Underlying the courteous request that she should accompany them back to Dabrozka, was a Royal Command, which had to be obeyed.

  She had the feeling that they had expected her mother would refuse to return.

  But even so, she herself would have been obliged to do what they asked of her for the simple reason that her father was her natural guardian by the laws of Dabrozka, as indeed by the laws of any country.

  He could therefore insist, should he wish to do so, on having his daughter with him.

  Moreover Ilona was not certain that she wished to refuse.

  There was something fascinating in the thought of returning home after all these years.

  She was well aware how much her mother had feared her father. She could remember being terrified of him as a child and hiding from him in terror after he had beaten her.

  But now, she told herself, she was grown up.

  ‘I will return to Dabrozka,’ she thought, ‘and if I cannot bear it, then I will run away, just as Mama did.’

  She had the idea however that escape might not be so easy a second time.

  Her grandparents had been dead for some years, so she would not be able to use them as an excuse to go to Budapest.

  But with the optimism of youth she was certain that if she made up her mind to do so she would find a way to return to Paris.

  The question was, would she want to leave?

  After the recent months of misery and loneliness since her mother’s death, she was glad to have a chance to forget the horror and privations of the Siege.

  ‘Papa did not worry about us then,’ she thought.

  But because she wished to be fair, she told herself it had not been his fault that they had left the peace and plenty of Dabrozka for France which after the disastrous defeat at Sedan had been invaded by the Prussians.

  Even to think of those terrifying months when food became shorter and shorter, fuel was almost unobtainable, and Paris was bombarded, was enough to make Ilona shiver.

  Then she told herself that her mother had not complained, and she would be very cowardly if she trembled now over what was past history.

  Could anything, she had asked herself, be worse than the Siege?

  Dabrozka seemed in retrospect a land of light and loveliness, and she had known as she journeyed towards it with the two statesmen that she was not apprehensive of the future, merely excited at what it might bring her.

  Now Ilona could see the servants waiting for her at the door of the Palace.

  She turned to the Colonel and said quietly,

  “Thank you for taking me on a most interesting and enjoyable ride. I think it would be a mistake to mention that my horse bolted with me. If my father is apprehensive about my safety he might curtail my riding.”

  “It will not be mentioned, Your Royal Highness,” the Colonel replied.

  His eyes met hers and she gave a little smile, knowing they understood each other perfectly.

  At the same time, as the footmen helped her down she wondered what the Colonel or anyone else would say if they knew what had really happened during what should have been a sedate morning’s ride.

  She had been kissed!

  Kissed by a strange man who was obviously part of a band of discontented and dissident peasants, a man who had treated her both insolently an
d familiarly.

  A man whose lips, hard and possessive; she could still feel on hers!

  CHAPTER TWO

  Once in the Palace Ilona went up to her bed-room where she found Magda waiting for her.

  She had already been told by the servants that her father required her presence, but she wished first to bathe and change after riding, and Magda had everything ready for her.

  When they were alone in the huge bedroom which had been used by her mother when she was Queen, Ilona said,

  “Did you know, Magda, that the gypsies have been told to leave Dabrozka?”

  “I learnt of it as soon as I arrived, M’mselle,” Magda answered.

  She was an elderly woman with grey hair and a kind, understanding face.

  It was to Magda that the Queen had entrusted her daughter, when she fled from Dabrozka, and Magda had been their mainstay, their confidante, and their friend all the years they had been in exile.

  Ilona often thought that if it had not been for Magda they would have starved to death in the Siege of Paris.

  But somehow by some magic means of her own Magda managed to produce food of some sort, even though it was often nothing more than a loaf of bread.

  Now, as Magda helped Ilona out of her riding-habit the old maid went on,

  “There’s hard feelings in the Palace and I’m told over the whole land about His Majesty’s decree.”

  “How can Papa do anything so cruel and unreasonable?” Ilona cried.

  Even as she asked the question she knew the answer, her father was never anything else!

  They had talked so often of the miseries the gypsies had suffered in Rumania and how a great number of them had escaped from the bondage in which they belonged, body and soul to the great Hospodars or war-chiefs.

  Braving the snows they had somehow managed to climb the mountains into Dabrozka. Many had died on the way but those who survived had terrible tales to tell of their servitude.

  They had received no wage and the only food they were allowed was small portions of mamaliga or Indian corn, helped out with some sunflower seeds.

  When punished they were flogged naked and iron bars were fixed round their necks to prevent them from sleeping.

  The King of Dabrozka at that time had welcomed them as he had welcomed those from Hungary who were almost as cruelly treated by Queen Marie Thérèsa.

  She had prohibited them from sleeping in tents, electing their own Chiefs, using their own language, and being married if they had not the means to support a family.

  The gypsy men were pressed into Military service, the children often taken away by soldiers to places where their parents never saw them again.

  Ilona’s mother had read her a horrifying report written by a woman who had travelled through Central Europe at the time,

  “Pickets of soldiers appeared in all parts of Hungary where there were gypsies and took away their children, including those who were just weaned, and young married couples still wearing their wedding finery.

  The despair of these unfortunate people cannot be described. The parents clung to the vehicles which were carrying off their children only to be beaten off with blows from batons and rifle-butts, some immediately committed suicide.”

  But in Dabrozka the gypsies had settled down and become a part of the community. Their music, their dancing and their singing were all interwoven with the ordinary life of the Dabrozkans.

  “Why,” Ilona asked now, “has Papa turned against the gypsies? Where will they go if they have to leave here?”

  “From all I have heard,” Magda answered lowering her voice, “they have merely moved into Sáros land where the Prince has offered them his protection.”

  “No wonder Papa is incensed with him!” Ilona remarked.

  She could imagine nothing which would infuriate her father more than that the gypsies should defy him by remaining in Dabrozka under the protection of the man he considered to be his enemy.

  “The people are not happy, M’mselle,” Magda said. “We have returned to a sad place, a land of weeping.”

  Ilona did not reply. It was what she had thought herself.

  When she dried herself after her bath and started to dress, she wondered if it would be possible for her to talk to her father of such matters.

  Surely he could not wish to rule over land from which the laughter had gone?

  She had the feeling however that she would not be brave enough to say anything which would anger him.

  He had been unusually pleasant in the short time since she had returned to the Palace, even though he had grumbled at the Statesmen who had escorted her from Paris, saying they had taken too long on the journey.

  The delay was due to the fact that Ilona could not leave Paris until she had bought herself some new clothes.

  When she had realised that she had no alternative but to return to her own country she had said to the Foreign Secretary,

  “When would you wish us to leave, Monsieur?”

  She found it difficult to address him in any other way. She had grown so used in the last eight years to saying Madam or Monsieur to everyone to whom she spoke that it came automatically to her lips.

  It was just the same with Magda who she was certain would never remember to call her anything but ‘M’mselle Ilona’.

  “We wish to leave immediately, Your Royal Highness,” the Foreign Secretary had replied, “but there is one thing I must mention.”

  “What is that?” Ilona asked.

  “His Majesty would not expect you to be wearing black!”

  “But that is because His Majesty did not know that my mother was dead, and I am in mourning,” Ilona replied.

  “You have my deepest condolences,” the Foreign Secretary replied, “but nevertheless I would not be doing my duty if I did not impress upon you that it would be impossible for you to arrive in Dabrozka wearing the gown you have on.”

  “But why, Monsieur? Will you not explain your reason for making such a statement?” Ilona enquired curiously.

  “His Majesty has decided that too much time is wasted on funerals and the tending of graves,” the Foreign Secretary replied.

  “Too much time?” Ilona exclaimed.

  “Yes, Your Royal Highness. He has therefore closed the Church-yards, and once people have been buried they may no longer be visited by their relatives.”

  “I have never heard anything so absurd!” Ilona declared.

  “It is His Majesty’s decree, no Dabrozkan is allowed to show any sign of mourning by wearing black, and the Prayers for the Dead have been deleted from the Church services.”

  Ilona sat very still.

  She was horrified at what she had heard. At the same time to express her feelings too forcibly would, she knew, be considered by her mother to be over-emotional.

  After all, she reasoned with herself, although she missed her mother unbearably, she was certain that she was not dead.

  More than once when she had been alone she had felt that her mother was near her and knew that her love still encompassed her.

  “I have few clothes,” she said aloud, “and the only new ones I possess are black. What little money my mother and I had during the Siege of Paris was required to buy food.”

  “I was empowered by His Majesty before we left to pur- chase anything you require,” the Foreign Secretary replied. “I therefore suggest that Your Royal Highness furnishes yourself with everything you need.”

  Ilona thanked him politely but there was an irrepressible little gleam of excitement in her eyes.

  What woman could resist after years of pinching and saving to be able to buy without any restrictions the delectable, smart, elaborate gowns for which Paris was famous?

  She started out early the next morning with Magda and they visited all the great Couturiers who until now had only been names to her.

  During the years she had been in Paris it would have been impossible for Ilona not to know of the extravagance, the luxury and the exotic splendour w
hich had flourished during the reign of Louis-Napoleon.

  The Empress Eugénie had set the fashion in a dozen different ways by wearing the first crinoline which had astounded and beguiled the male population, by ordering velvet from Lyons, lace from Normandy.

  She created employment for thousands of workers in the silk, cotton and feather trades, besides encouraging Jewellers, Hatters, Silversmiths and tradesmen, of every sort.

  Even at the Convent the girls had talked of the huge parties given at the Tuilleries Palace: and in every great mansion in Paris.

  What is more, Ilona would have been blind when she rode in the Bois if she had not noticed Ladies who were certainly not aristocrats but who drove behind the finest and most expensive horses, and whose costumes and jewellery made them look like glittering birds of Paradise!

  “Such women area disgrace!” Maagda had declared.

  But Ilona had thought them very pretty and colourful.

  Because she felt that her father owed her something for all the years of obscurity, for the privation and suffering she and her mother had endured during the Siege, Ilona bought herself an entire trousseau.

  There were gowns for the evening, gowns for the afternoon, for morning and for every other possible occasion.

  There were wraps edged with swansdown or fur, embroidered with sequins and gold thread.

  There were hats trimmed with feathers, flowers and ribbons to perch on top of her head and small sunshades decorated to match, edged with real lace.

  She bought shoes, gloves and reticules, silk stockings and underclothes that were of such fine silk that they would easily pass through a ring.

  It was all a delight -and an excitement she had never expected and when finally she looked in the mirror she found it hard to recognise herself.

  Never before had she recognised the beauty of her dark red-gold hair which she had inherited from her mother.

  Never before had she been aware that her skin was so white or that her eyes in certain lights were a definite shade of green.

  Her small waist, her curved breasts had never been seen to advantage in the gowns or cheap materials which were all her mother could afford.

  She had seen the admiration in the Foreign Secretary’s eyes and the gentleman with him when they had called as arranged to escort her to the Railway Station.