‘Really? Ilus?’
‘Yes, your Grace. I hesitated for some time before reporting the matter to your Grace, but now, because the good name of such a high ranking household is at stake I feel obliged to bring the matter to your Grace’s notice.’
‘What is it? Is she having some disreputable love-affair?’
Szabo paused. He seemed to be having difficulty in bringing himself to speak of such indecent matters. At last he got it out: ‘She is pregnant, your Grace!’ He bowed slightly, with downcast eyes, and then went on with even greater deference of manner: ‘I beg your Grace’s pardon, but I felt it my duty to dare to inform your Grace.’
‘Well! And … since when, may I ask? Who is responsible?’
The butler sighed sadly and made some uncertain gesture with his hands: ‘I have had my suspicions for some time, but how can one be sure of such things? However, today a street porter brought her a letter … to this house! That really is going too far, your Grace!’
He brought out the grey, wrinkled envelope and placed it on a table near where the princess was sitting.
‘Do you imagine that I wish to read a maidservant’s letters?’ said Princess Agnes coldly, but before saying any more she looked up at him and realized from his expression, sad but emphatic, knowing but respectful, that there was something here, something special, that must be revealed. She reached for the envelope, opened it, and a little visiting card fell out on to the table: Laszlo’s card, engraved on one side with his name and title and, on the other, in the hand-writing she knew so well, the message: ‘Dear Ilus, Come to see me today …’
Agnes was filled with a dreadful anger. This Laci! Now he was trifling with serving wenches! Dirty, disreputable, perverted lout, to give Klara’s maid a child! And, as these thoughts rushed through her head, she realized that she didn’t believe a word of it and this must only be a way of trying to get a message to her stepdaughter. But what a chance this offered! She would believe it, it was fuel to her anger against him, fuel that could fan the flames of her wrath at his presumption and justify her hatred of her nephew.
The butler waited without moving. Not a muscle of his face twitched. He did not look at his mistress but only at the carpet beneath his feet. There was nothing for him to do. It was not his place to influence the princess, any more than it was to show that he was aware of her emotion. That would never do. It was an unwritten law that servants were not permitted to notice their employer’s feelings. He was there merely to pass on information, nothing more. He must not utter another syllable. He had said enough to accomplish his duty and now his role was merely to await orders and then to carry them out. He would do what he was told, to the last letter. That was his role. Thus far and no further. Until the princess spoke he must remain silent and for that he would wait as long as necessary.
The princess rang the bell on her desk and, in an instant, her maid appeared.
‘Liebe Schulze! Bring me the employment card of …’ She looked up enquiringly at Szabo.
‘Ilona Varga,’ he said.
‘Also von dieser Varga. Sofort — at once!’
The elderly German maid hurried away. She returned in a few moments.
The princess then issued her orders: Ilona Varga was to be paid a month’s wages and thrown out of the house immediately. In ten minutes she must be out in the street.
The two upper servants bowed their acknowledgement of their instructions and the princess rose and started to move towards her dressing-room. At the door she turned. ‘Make sure the girl speaks to nobody before she leaves the house. Absolutely no one, do you understand? This is an order, Szabo! No one!’
The butler made a low bow, showing that the command was perfectly clear and that he would ensure that it was faithfully carried out. He did not speak. What it is to employ someone one can trust, thought the princess … and the thought almost made her cheerful again.
When the door had closed behind her Szabo picked up Laszlo’s card, slipped it back in the envelope and replaced it in his pocket. If ever the girl demanded maintenance for her child no doubt it would come in handy! Then he followed the lady’s maid out of the room.
Together Szabo and Fräulein Schulze went to look for Ilus. First they went straight through the second courtyard to the door of the great kitchen where Fräulein Schulze looked in and asked the maids who were busy washing up if anyone had seen Ilus. ‘She’s gone to the drying room,’ said one of them as they crowded round the door eager to know why the ‘Miss’ and the great Mr Szabo were looking for a young maidservant. They had sensed at once that something was up, so they stayed in a group by the door to watch and listen.
Just at that moment the girl came back, carrying in her right hand two clothes-hangers on which were hung a couple of Klara’s delicate, frothy muslin summer dresses. She held them high and well away from her lest one of the ruffles should be creased or the hem pick up some dust from the tiled floor. She walked lightly, almost tripping as she came.
Szabo stood back as Fräulein Schulze advanced upon the girl.
‘You get out of this house at once! Do you hear me? Out! This very instant!’ shouted Schulze furiously in appalling Hungarian.
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ cried Ilus, frightened by the woman’s angry tone.
‘Out of here? No buts and ifs! Here’s your card and your month’s wages. Off with you. At once, I say!’
‘What? Me? Just like that?’ Ilus paused when she saw that Szabo was standing in the background and then she cried out to him: ‘This is your doing. I know it. It’s you … you, Mr Szabo!’ and then, her voice growing every more strident: ‘You do this to me and now, now you … you …’ She could say no more, so strong was her shame and consternation. She staggered slightly and leant against the wall for support, still automatically holding Klara’s dresses away from her so that they should not spoil.
At the noise the cook and the kitchen-boy came to see what was going on in the passage and the chef appeared from the door of his room. Seeing that the eyes of so many people were on her Ilus got hold of herself so that they should not gloat over her disgrace. Her courageous, proud little peasant spirit rebelled and gave her strength. She straightened up, raised her head and said to the German Fräulein: ‘All right! Let’s go!’ and started to move away. Schulze too turned on her heel and left, the girl following behind her. As Ilus passed Szabo, who had not moved from his place in the background, she stopped for a moment.
‘God will punish you for this, Mr Szabo!’ she said, and then went on, still holding high Klara’s beautiful dresses, dresses of such lightness and elegance, featherlight garments seemingly woven of the stuff that dreams are made of, scented and glittering. So went the little maid along the dark dusty corridor holding dreams — someone else’s dreams — on her outstretched arm.
‘That was nicely done! You are a clever fellow,’ laughed the overweight chef, taking Szabo’s arm. ‘First you get her with child and then you have her thrown out! Very clever!’ He went back into his room from which his chuckles could be heard for some little time.
When the two women reached Ilus’s room, Fräulein Schulze took Klara’s dresses and putting down Ilus’s employment card and her money, said: ‘Pack! Straight away, mind you!’ and left the girl alone in her room.
Ilus packed hurriedly. It was quickly done for she had few possessions, and it would have been finished even sooner if the child in her womb had not moved inside her, that child conceived without joy and for which Mr Szabo was now having her thrown out.