It was not a question but a bare statement of fact, nothing else: a little, sad, resigned phrase that summed up all that had been going on in her mind.
Laszlo replied slowly, still looking upwards at nothing in particular. His voice too was very soft; and he seemed infinitely sad and very, very tired:
‘No. I can’t say I truly love you.’
Chapter Two
THE TURMOIL OF EMOTION that had overwhelmed him in Uzdy’s fast carriage, after he had slipped unobserved into Adrienn’s room before making his formal farewells to old Countess Uzdy, had still not evaporated when Balint arrived in the town square of Banffy-Hunyad early in September.
He drove straight to the station where the clock on the tower told him that it was not yet midday and that he had somehow to get through a two hours’ wait before the next train left for Kolozsvar. What should he do with all this time on his hands? Still tormented by his thoughts he drove to the Tigris Hotel and ordered an early lunch. Though it was market day in the town and the main square was filled with a multitude of people dressed in their best finery, Balint sat alone, unable to think of anything but those last few moments in the dark room beside Adrienne’s bed. Try as he would he could find no way of calming himself, and he realized that he could not yet face going back to Denestornya where he would have to talk dispassionately to his mother about Almasko and find some convincing reason as to why he had returned earlier than expected. His mother was sure to cross-question him about the visit and Balint felt quite unable to face, let alone parry, the anxious, loaded enquiries she was sure to make.
The only answer, obviously, would be not to go home at all but to go somewhere else where he would be able to get rid of all that pent-up energy and emotion in the physical tiredness which would spring from activity and hard work. Where? The mountains, of course; he would go straight to the mountains, where he always had work to do and where the outdoor life was hard and exhausting. It was true that no one was expecting him, but that hardly mattered as his tent and all his camping equipment was kept at Nyiresy’s. Everything he needed, even his mountain boots and warm clothes, was there in the little room that he had had put at his disposal at the forest manager’s house at Beles. And it was just as well sometimes to arrive unannounced.
He sent someone to find the forester, Honey Zutor, who, as it was market day was sure to be in the town where he was a prominent and respected citizen. In an hour or two Zutor had procured him a carriage and some adequate horses, and by four o’clock they were on the road. The carriage was laden with a good supply of smoked bacon, bread and cornmeal packed hurriedly in with blankets, flour and cheeses, especially cottage cheese for the gornyiks. Liquor they would obtain at Beles. The road was good, for it was much used in the autumn, and the weather was dry, even up on the normally rain-soaked meadows on top of the Csonka-Havas ridge. This was unusual on that particular watershed so the carriage passed easily. It was just after nine o’clock when they drove up to the wooden fence of the forest manager’s house.
Here Balint was surprised to see, beyond the wide forecourt, that the veranda of the house was brightly lit by lanterns and a big party was in progress. Men and women were moving about and the sound of a gypsy band could be heard. Maids bustled around a long table carrying trays, and two of the younger forest guards in their formal livery were filling up the glasses from large cut-glass decanters.
Abady had the carriage stopped in front of the entrance gate. After a few moments’ pause, he said: ‘Zutor! Go inside and bring me my mountain boots, tent and sleeping bag. You know where they are, don’t you? And don’t forget my rubber washing-bowl.’
The forester knew that his master was angry because when he was in a good mood he always used his nickname, Honey. Accordingly he clicked his heels smartly and replied with formal brevity: ‘As you command, my Lord!’
‘I shall also need my big Tyrolean raincoat, the folding chair, the iron kettle and the case of knives and forks. Bring those too; we’ll find room for them somewhere. I shall wait here.’
Zutor hesitated for a moment before asking: ‘How far does your Lordship intend going? We can’t get far into the mountains with the carriage.’
‘Just to the bend of the road. We’ll camp there for the night.’
Honey saluted without a word and turned on his heel. Annoyed though he was, Balint could not help being amused to notice how smartly the forester, rifle on his back, marched away to obey his master’s orders. His broad shoulders were etched in black in front of the illuminated glitter from the veranda and as he mounted the steps he stamped his feet noisily as if he were Nemesis arriving to confront old Kalman Nyiresy.
When Honey told the old manager that Count Abady was in his carriage at the door, the pipe nearly dropped from the old man’s mouth. Commotion raged. The gypsies fell silent and all the guests peered outside. No matter how hard they tried they could see nothing; but Balint, from where he sat, could easily recognize some of them; the notary Gaszton Simo, the director of the sawmills and the sheriff of the Hunyad county district — all of whom he had met on his last visit — and, at one end of the table, Timbus, the Romanian popa from Gyurkuca.
Nyiresy got up and disappeared into the house with Zutor. Two of the gornyiks went with them. They were followed by three girls and Balint thought that he recognized two of them as the priest’s daughters whom he had seen when he had gone up into the mountains the previous winter.
Seen from outside in the dark it was like watching a brightly-lit pantomime in the theatre. A few peasants strolled out from their tied cottages nearby to gape at the carriage and question its driver as to who could possibly be inside. The coachman, who normally earned his living as a carter, had jumped down and was pulling at the horses’ ears, for it was a country superstition that this was the quickest way of freshening up a tired animal. He answered in low tones and in an instant the men bowed low to the carriage and retired to a respectful distance, whispering among themselves that something must be seriously wrong if the Mariassa did not wish to set foot in the house of the domnule director, even though the much feared judge was there as well as the even more terrible and powerful notary. The Lord must be angry about something and this could mean trouble. How and why no one knew, but it would obviously only be prudent to stand on the sidelines and watch from a distance without giving any sign of whose side they might be on.
Half an hour went by, half an hour which seemed like an eternity to the spectators. Then Nyiresy reappeared on the veranda, his face red with anger behind the white beard. From the house emerged three figures, Honey and the two foresters, who hurried out to the carriage and piled in all that they could. The two gornyiks hoisted the rest on to their shoulders, for the Noble Count had ordered that they should accompany him.
They made camp about fifteen minutes’ walk away on a meadow between the road and the banks of the Szamos. Rapidly they erected the tent and started a fire and as soon as this was done Balint sent the two men and the carter away. Then he sent Honey back to the forest manager with orders that the carriage horses should be housed in the estate stables and that lodging and food should be given to the driver. Honey was also told to arrange that some mountain ponies should be collected that evening so that the party could set off for the mountains at dawn.