The Proud Princess Read online

  “I am sure,” he said quietly in a voice that was quite expressionless, “that you would like to rest. The Housekeeper will show you the way to your apartments.”

  Ilona hesitated.

  She wanted to ask him if they could be alone for a few minutes, but she knew that anything she said would be overheard and she felt it would be embarrassing.

  She curtsied and then, with the train of her gown falling gracefully behind her, walked up the staircase.

  Only as she reached the top where the Housekeeper was waiting did she hear laughter and voices from below and realise that the Prince was surrounded by his Officers and that they were congratulating him.

  The Housekeeper carrying a large bunch of keys dangling from her waist to show her status, welcomed Ilona to the Castle, and led her to a large room where three windows overlooked the valley.

  “This, Your Royal Highness,” she said, “is the room used by all the Princesses of Sáros for many centuries and of course His Highness’s apartments are next door.”

  It was a beautiful room and the furniture was, Ilona knew, of Dabrozkan craftsmanship.

  The wood cut from special trees in the forests was inlaid with other woods forming patterns of flowers and birds, and sometimes animals.

  The posts of the large bed were exquisitely carved and painted, for there was no-one to equal the Dabrozkan carvers and their work made every Church and every important building a riot of beauty and colour.

  There were fat cupids flying over towards the ceiling holding aloft the Sáros coronet, and the alpine flowers of the valley were depicted in their glorious blues and pinks, yellows and greens.

  She could also see carvings of the fox, the wild cat, the lizard and the bearded eagle, besides the leaping salmon which filled the waters of the lakes.

  “I have never seen anything so lovely!” Ilona exclaimed.

  The Housekeeper looked pleased.

  “It is very old, Your Royal Highness, but like most things in the Castle, it was made and is tended by loving hands.”

  “That is what makes a home,” Ilona said involuntarily.

  “That is true, Your Royal Highness, and we are all praying that you will be very happy here.”

  “I – want to be,” Ilona said almost beneath her breath.

  When Magda joined her there was the unpacking to do not only in the bedroom but also in the sitting-room which opened out of it.

  The Prince had suggested to Ilona that she should rest, but although she felt tired and her back was stiff and aching from the whipping her father had given her the previous day, she refused to lie down.

  Instead she moved from room to room, often going to the windows to look out over the valley at the Palace on the far side of it.

  She wondered what her father had done after they had left.

  She was afraid he might have gone into the Throne Room and berated or insulted the guests.

  Even to think of the manner in which he had spoken to the Prince made her feel physically sick.

  “How could any man,” she asked, “forgive such an insult?”

  She realised that if any other Dabrozkan had been spoken to in such terms he would have felt that his honour could only be avenged in blood.

  But instead they had come away without the Prince saying one word in reply.

  His self-control had been admirable, but she was well aware that it constituted a disastrous start to her marriage.

  She wondered if he believed she was in league with her father against him.

  Could anything have been more unfortunate than his being sent away from the Palace yesterday morning?

  If only she had known he was there . . if only she could have met him, as he had intended, before the wedding. Then she remembered how he had kissed her in the woods and the mocking note in his voice when he had said:

  “Go home, pretty Lady, and flirt with your Beaux.”

  What had he meant by that?

  Had he thought that because she was unaccompanied she was someone of no importance, or perhaps - a more frightening idea - she was like the ladies in Paris who rode or drove alone in the Bois to show off their attractions?

  “Surely he could not – think that?” Ilona asked herself in horror.

  Then common sense told her that the mere fact that he had kissed her in that cavalier manner made it seem very probable.

  She felt as if she was caught in the centre of some terrible whirlpool and that everything she did, every move she made, sucked her deeper and deeper into the vortex from which there was no escape.

  “I will explain,” she told herself bravely, “when we meet this evening, I will explain everything to him from the very beginning.”

  She was talking to Magda about two hours later when there was a knock on the door of the sitting-room.

  Magda went to open it.

  She spoke to whoever was outside for a moment, then returned to Ilona’s side to say,

  “There is a gentleman, M’mselle, who says he is His Highness’s secretary and desires to speak to you.”

  “Ask him to come in,” Ilona said getting to her feet.

  It was a relief that anyone wished to speak to her. She had begun to think she had been forgotten.

  An elderly man with grey hair came into the room, bowed respectfully and said,

  “His Highness has asked me to supply you, Ma’am, with a list of your engagements for to-morrow so that you should be prepared for them, and to inform you that there will be a dinner-party tonight at which you will meet His Highness’s relatives who live in the vicinity.”

  “Thank you,” Ilona replied. “May I know your name?”

  “It is Duźsa, Ma’am. Count Duźsa.”

  “And you are secretary to my husband?”

  Count Duźsa smiled.

  “That is one of my jobs, Ma’am. I am in fact Comptroller, Supervisor of the Castle and general factotum!”

  Ilona gave a little laugh.

  “I can see you are very busy!”

  “Not too busy to be of service to you, Ma’am, whenever you may require me.”

  “Thank you, Count. I hope you will help me not to make too many mistakes. As I expect you know, I have not been in Dabrozka for many years and am very out of touch with all the problems that have arisen recently.”

  “We are all praying, Ma’am, that they will now disappear.”

  “I hope so.”

  Count Duźsa would have left the room, but as he reached the door Ilona gave a little cry.

  “Please – please do not go,” she pleaded. “Tell me about my husband’s relatives and who I shall be meeting this evening. As you will appreciate, it is all rather alarming for me.”

  She thought there was a kindness and understanding in the elderly man’s eyes that had not been there before.

  “Of course,” he replied. “I have a list of who will be here at dinner, and I will try to explain not only who they are, but also the very interwoven and complex relationships of the Sáros.”

  He sat down at Ilona’s invitation and they talked for nearly an hour.

  She learnt for the first time that the Princes of Sáros were actually a far older family than the Radáks.

  But because they were not in the least ambitious and had been content to live the lives of country gentlemen, or travel abroad, the head of the Radáks had without opposition become the reigning Monarch.

  There were the Count explained, an enormous number of Sáros, many of whom were married or related to the Crowned Heads of Europe, and yet were still content to play a comparatively minor role in the management of their own country.

  What she learnt made it even worse, Ilona thought, when she remembered the manner in which her father had insulted the Prince.

  After Count Duźsa had left her she told herself over and over again that she must apologise to the Prince and beg him to forget what her father had said.

  “This is a happy place, M’mselle,” Magda said as she helped Ilona into her eve
ning-gown.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I know when people are happy,” Magda replied, “and it is not just because there has been a wedding in the Castle today. Everyone is smiling and singing!”

  “I want to hear them sing,” Ilona murmured.

  She moved across the beautiful bedroom to look at herself in the long mirror which was framed with carved cupids, painted and gilded.

  The gown she had chosen tonight was white which she felt was correct for a bride, but there was the glimmer of silver beneath the gauze of which it was made.

  There were also bunches of white flowers among the draperies, caught with silver ribbons and glittering with diamante.

  It was a gown such as only Paris could design and as she fastened the glittering rose-buds in Ilona’s red hair which fell from the back of her head in small curls, Magda cried,

  “You look lovely, M’mselle. I only wish your dear mother could see you now.”

  “Perhaps she – can,” Ilona replied.

  The thought of her mother was always with her.

  A little earlier when she was taking her bath Magda had given a shrill cry as for the first time she saw the deep purple weals on her back which had been left by her father’s whip.

  “M’mselle, what has happened? Who can have done this to you?” she asked.

  Ilona had stepped quickly from the bath and wrapped a large towel around her.

  “I had a fall out riding, Magda,” she replied. “It is not important. I did not hurt myself.”

  They both knew it was a lie. Magda was well aware whose whip had marked Ilona’s white skin and that she was ruled by the same pride which prevented the Queen from complaining. Magda had understood as she said,

  “Of course, M’mselle, but tonight when you undress I will treat it with some cream which will help to make the bruises fade quickly.”

  ‘Whatever happens now, however difficult it may be,’ Ilona thought to herself irrepressibly, ‘I am free of Papa and he will no longer be able to beat me.’

  As if the very idea gave her a feeling of freedom she walked down the staircase to dinner with a smile on her lips.

  She knew she looked attractive and that, however angry the Prince might be, he would not be ashamed to introduce her to his relatives.

  She remembered the feeling of his lips on hers and she felt a little tremor of excitement go through her as she thought that perhaps tonight after everyone had left, he would kiss her again.

  The servants showed Ilona into a big Salon that was fragrant with the scent of flowers which stood on every table.

  At the far end of the room about twenty people were talking and laughing.

  In the centre of them she could see the Prince, looking, she thought, smarter and more handsome than ever in his evening-dress.

  He walked towards her and she looked up at him, hoping he would understand a little of what she was feeling when he met her eyes.

  Although he raised her hand perfunctorily to his lips he did not look at her directly, but led her forward to introduce her to the assembled company.

  To Ilona dinner was a very gay and amusing meal.

  She had never before attended a big dinner-party or eaten off gold plate, and certainly she had never before been tempted by such delicious dishes which succeeded each other until it was impossible to eat any more.

  The Prince’s relatives not only looked attractive, they were also charming, gay and witty.

  It was not the quiet, erudite conversation of her mother’s elderly friends to which Ilona now listened, but the sparkling repartee of people with agile minds who could throw the conversational ball backwards and forwards between them as if playing an intriguing game.

  Ilona was not able to take much part in what was being said, but for the first time in her life she received fulsome but, nevertheless, sincere compliments both from the ladies and the gentlemen.

  The dining-table was a long one.

  While she sat at one end with the Prince’s Uncle on one side and a young and extremely handsome cousin on the other, he was at the far end.

  It was difficult to see him clearly because of the gold candelabra, the great bowls of peaches and grapes, and the intricately arranged table-decorations which were all white.

  When the meal was finished the ladies moved back into the Salon and soon the gentlemen joined them. Several of the older members of the family sat down to play cards.

  The rest, and they were mostly the Prince’s younger relatives, gathered around Ilona and one of them said to the Prince,

  “This is a rather dull evening, I should have thought, for someone as young and beautiful as your bride.”

  “I am afraid my wife will find Dabrozka very dull and staid after the gaieties and frivolities of France,” the Prince replied coldly.

  Ilona looked at him in surprise.

  Did he really think she had been able to enjoy such amusements in Paris?

  Then she told herself that he was just as ignorant of her previous life as she was of his.

  ‘There is so much we have to tell each other,’ she thought with a little sigh.

  The party did not continue for very long.

  The older people wished to return home, and although it was obvious the others would have liked to linger, they tact fully assumed that the bride and bridegroom would wish to be alone.

  Without ceremony Ilona and the Prince said good-bye to their guests in the hall, and his aunt, an elderly woman who had once been a great beauty, expressed the feelings of the rest as she said to Ilona,

  “We are so happy, my dear, to welcome you as one of the family. You are very lovely and I feel that you and Aladár will make each other happy.”

  She kissed Ilona as she spoke, and one of the Prince’s cousins, when he kissed her hand, said,

  “I only wish I had met you first. Aladár always did have all the luck!”

  Laughing and still paying Ilona compliments they drove away.

  As the servants shut the big door behind them, Ilona realised that the Prince was waiting for her to go upstairs.

  He did not speak and feeling shy now that they were alone she merely did as he expected, moving up the staircase with her hand on the bannister.

  Magda was waiting for her in the big bedroom. There were candelabra lit on either side of the cupid-decorated bed, and large thick candles in gold stands to light the room.

  There was one of Ilona’s new and entrancing nightgowns which she had bought in Paris, lying over a velvet covered chair.

  She undressed almost in silence. As she got into bed, she was rehearsing in her mind what she could say to the Prince when he came to her.

  “Good-night, my little M’mselle,” Magda said from the doorway. “God bless you.”

  “Good-night Magda.”

  The door shut behind the old maid and Ilona was alone.

  She lay back against the pillows realising that her heart was beating tumultuously and her mouth was dry.

  ‘I am frightened,’ she thought.

  She was not certain whether it was the Prince of whom she was afraid or the apology she had to make to him.

  It was nearly half an hour later that she heard him speaking to someone.

  She thought it must be a servant on duty or perhaps one of the night watchmen who, Magda had told her, patrolled the Castle at night.

  There were also soldiers on duty. Ilona as she lay in bed, had heard them marching outside in the Court-yard and she realised that having an Army of his own, the Prince was guarded in the same manner as her father.

  There must always be the chance, Ilona thought, that the enemy who had infiltrated the country might try to attack the Prince.

  She felt herself shiver a little at the idea, then told herself the last thing she must do was ever to let anyone know that she was afraid of the Russians.

  The door opened and her heart gave an apprehensive leap as the Prince came into the room.

  He looked tall and very di
gnified in a long brocade robe which reached to the ground.

  The door was some distance from the bed and Ilona waited for him to walk towards her. Now the moment was upon her she tried to think desperately how she should frame the apology she knew she must make.

  Then to her astonishment the Prince walked only a little way into the room and sat down in one of the velvet covered arm-chairs.

  He arranged his robe, leant back against a satin cushion and opening a book he was carrying in his hand began to read.

  Ilona stared at him wide-eyed in amazement.

  It flashed through her mind that perhaps he held a Bible or a prayer-book in his hands.

  Was this a Dabrozkan custom of which she was not aware?

  The Prince was apparently reading with interest.

  He turned over the page, and watching him Ilona felt that he was in fact completely concentrating on his book.

  Her eyes were on his face which was half in profile and she thought that it would be impossible to imagine a man could be better looking!

  His square forehead and thick dark hair, his straight aristocratic nose, the deep-set blue eyes, which she knew could twinkle mockingly, made her think of a Greek god.

  She felt as though his very features were engraved in her mind as she waited - and went on waiting!

  ‘I must speak to him,’ Ilona told herself, ‘I must ask him what he is doing.’

  Then she realised that she did not know how to address him.

  Although he was her husband, she found it almost impossible to call him Aladár before they got to know each other, and how could she say Prince, or Your Highness?

  It would seem ridiculous!

  ‘Perhaps when he reaches the end of this page,’ she thought, ‘he will speak to me.’

  But the Prince turned the pages over again and yet again, while Ilona lay in the shadows of the silk curtains, her red hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes very green in the candlelight.

  Finally the Prince closed his book. Ilona drew in her breath.

  Now at last he would come to her and she would be able to say all she wished to.

  But the Prince rose to his feet and without even one glance at Ilona he walked to the door. It closed quietly behind him. As if released from the intolerable tension she had been suffering Ilona sat up in bed.