They Were Counted (65 page)

But now what could she do, to whom could she turn? She couldn’t look for work in her condition – no one would have her. Perhaps she could find a protector, a pimp; though she knew of the existence of such people only by hearsay and had never met one. She was a country girl who had come straight from her
parents
’ cottage to service in the great house of Simonvasar, for at home there were so many mouths to feed that she had had to go out to work as soon as she was old enough.

Should she go home to her mother, go home to show her shame with a bastard child in her belly, to be the laughing stock of the village and to be driven away again for conceiving a child by some ‘foreigner’, as the people at home thought of all who were not born and bred in the district? And what about that lad who would soon return from his military service with whom she had held hands, and to whom she had pledged herself on the evening before he had signed up and gone away to serve his time with the 44th Infantry? The thought that he should return to find her like this, fallen and despised by all, was unbearable. He, too, would despise her, turn away from her and spit upon her. No! She would rather die than suffer such disgrace.

So she sat on the bench and pondered, not crying but just staring silently in front of her; seeing nothing.

Surely the Lady Klara would take pity on her? But that hateful ‘Miss’ had said she wouldn’t see her, as if she too despised her and found her unclean, unfit to enter a lady’s presence. Yet the Lady Klara had always been so kind and considerate. Even last week she had kissed her when she had handed her the letter to deliver, but then of course she didn’t know about the child.

Laszlo Gyeroffy! Perhaps he could help. Yes, she would go to him. If Count Laszlo asked it of her, perhaps for
his
sake …?

Ilus pulled herself upright. Picking up the wicker bag, she started off. Count Laszlo lived somewhere thereabouts, quite near. Of course! She remembered it was in Museum Street. She prayed she would find him at home.

 

Laszlo was walking up and down his little sitting-room. He had been doing so for more than an hour, waiting impatiently for Ilus to come to him in answer to his message. He was rehearsing to himself what he would tell her and how he would make her learn by heart, word by word, what she was to say to Klara, that life was impossible, that he could not go on like this and that Klara must find a way. Perhaps she could send Ilus back the following morning, to tell him what her plans were for the day, where he would be able to find her.

The doorbell rang. Laszlo went quickly to see who was there and indeed it was Ilus for whom he had been waiting so impatiently. As he ushered her into the living-room, he wondered for a brief moment why she was carrying a travelling bag.

Ilus was out of breath after climbing the three flights of stairs to Laszlo’s rooms. It really was too much for her and she
staggered
, panting, to support herself on the end of the piano.

‘Sit down, please,’ said Laszlo. ‘Rest a moment.’ And though she tried to protest he made her sit down in an armchair facing the window. Then he noticed the desperation in her face.

‘What is the matter? Is something wrong?’ he asked.

‘Forgive me, please forgive me!’ stammered Ilus uncertainly. She was still feeling giddy from the climb.

‘I’m so glad you could come,’ went on Laszlo. ‘I’ve been
waiting
for you!’ He started to outline to Ilus his plan to see Klara and what we wanted the girl to say. He spoke very quickly and passionately. ‘You do know, my dear girl, that Klara and I … well, we love each other?’

The girl nodded. Of course she knew, that was why she had come to him. She still said nothing but just nodded.

‘I haven’t been able to see her for days, and it’s unbearable,
impossible
to live like this. Four days without seeing her and I can’t sleep or think. I can’t stand it. Therefore I want her to know that if this goes on I’ll die. It can’t go on! It can’t! Four days is an
eternity
! And you must tell her as I don’t dare to write – my letter would never reach her – but a message by word of mouth … you could take it. Will you do it? You must have many opportunities – while you’re helping her dress, perhaps?’

Ilus had kept on trying to interrupt but Laszlo had not noticed. She raised her little hand, which was covered with needlepricks, but nothing would stop him, he just went on, trying in broken sentences, to explain himself. As he went on Ilus slowly began to understand that even Count Laszlo, to whom she had come for help, could not approach the Lady Klara either. This was
dreadful
; her last hope had vanished and so, her heart constricted with grief, she broke out in great heaving sobs.

Laszlo was just saying ‘… so that’s why I sent the card.’ when he saw that she was crying bitterly. He broke off and looked at Ilus in wonder.

‘What is wrong? Tell me! Why are you crying like this!’

‘I … I … I’ve been sent away, thrown out!’ sobbed Ilus.

‘You? When? How? Why?’

‘An hour ago. Like a dog, thrown out on the street. That’s why I’ve come to you.’

‘But what happened? Why?’

The girl wiped her eyes with her little crumpled handkerchief. She blushed deeply and hesitated for a moment. Then she said: ‘I’m going to have a baby.’

‘You? For Heaven’s sake!’ Laszlo was taken aback.

‘Yes, and because of it, and because I wouldn’t have an abortion as Mr Szabo wanted, so that it wouldn’t be known and be talked about, so that the masters shouldn’t hear about it, he’s had me thrown out! It’s him. I’m sure of it.’ And she started to tell her sad story, somewhat confusedly but sufficiently clearly for Laszlo to understand the essential points, of how Szabo had pursued her, pestered her, even though she had tried to explain that she was a good girl, not like that at all, betrothed to a soldier; but how
nothing
had stopped him. How powerful Mr Szabo was, how well-in with the masters, how he had threatened her with dismissal and
finally
how he had forced her despite all her entreaties. She was only a girl from a poor family with many brothers and sisters and now she was sent away because no one who got on the wrong side of Mr Szabo was ever allowed to stay. He was a very strong man and it would be terribly humiliating for her if she went back to her village, sent home like this in disgrace. And how could she go back to her mother when it would make so much trouble for her, when they already had difficulty finding food for them all?

Laszlo listened to the girl’s story in silence. He was sure that every word she said was true for he remembered how, when he had been at Simonvasar for the pheasant shooting in November, he had seen the girl struggling in the butler’s arms at the turn of the service stairs and afterwards had heard the sound of a scuffle in a room above his. Now, as he looked at the crumpled figure of the girl huddled miserably in the armchair in front of him, he could see clearly the signs of her pregnancy. His heart went out to her in compassion and he took her hand and stroked it.

‘How can I help?’ he asked.

‘I thought, perhaps, my Lady Klara … maybe she could do something for me? Put in a word for me if … I know I don’t
deserve
it, but out of pity, perhaps something?’

‘Klara? But haven’t you asked her? If she were told what that evil man had done to you – not quite as you’ve told me, of course, but still something of it. I know it’s difficult to speak of such things.’

‘I wanted to. I tried, but they told me she wouldn’t receive me. I know she thinks I’m vile.’

Ilus fell silent. The young man got up and, for a moment or two, walked up and down the room. Then he went to the window and looked out.

The foliage of the trees in the Museum garden moved slightly in the spring breeze. It was fresh, cool, young and green. Spring. Leaf beneath leaf gleamed even more brightly in the afternoon sunshine than did the cream-painted façade of the building
behind
. There, just beyond the wavy green line of the tree-tops, one could see the upper part of the Kollonich Palais. That, too, shone in the sunlight, and even its slate roof had a golden glitter. Only the two of us, thought Laszlo, this poor girl and I, only we are condemned to live in the shadows of this glorious world.

‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘did you get that visiting card I sent you this morning?’

‘Visiting card? No! I didn’t receive anything.’

‘That’s odd.’

Laszlo began to suspect that the answer might well be here. Perhaps the card had fallen into the wrong hands. If the wrong person had got hold of it that could explain the storm that had broken over the girl’s innocent head. Laszlo shivered at the thought of what must have happened if his Aunt Agnes had been shown his card and assumed that he was the father of Ilus’s child. The girl must have been thrown out because they believed that she was involved with him. He felt he was greatly in her debt.

‘And you never saw Klara?’

‘They said …’

Perhaps, thought Laszlo, it was better that Klara knew nothing of all this – her youth and purity must remain unsullied by such a sordid little tale.

‘I just thought,’ went on Ilus, sticking to her original plan, ‘that if your Lordship could put in a kind word for me with my Lady Klara so that … just until I can find another place …’

Gyeroffy turned round, exasperated.

‘Don’t you understand? They won’t let me see her either. Didn’t you hear what I was telling you?’

Ilus got up. With great humility, all her timidity returned, she said: ‘Oh, please! Please forgive me, I didn’t know. Forgive me.’ She turned at once and started for the door.

Laszlo ran after her, caught her arm and pulled her back. ‘It’s you who should forgive me,’ he said. ‘This is something you couldn’t understand. Please sit down again and we’ll talk for a little. Tell me,’ and he paused in delicacy, blushing at what was he going to say, ‘how many months … I mean when … how long before …?’

The girl answered composedly. She was closer to nature than he and did not blush to discuss such matters: ‘I’m six months gone. There’s still three more to come, the most difficult ones.’

‘All right. I think I know what I can do. I know the head of the maternity ward in the hospital. He goes to the Casino about this time each day. I’ll go to see him and he will arrange to take you in as one of the charity cases.’

‘To the hospital? I won’t go there!’ cried the girl. ‘Not there with all the bad women! Never! I’d rather it was the Danube!’ Nothing could move her from this. Stubbornly she repeated. ‘Not there! Not with the bad women!’ No matter what Laszlo said she merely repeated over and over again: ‘No! No! Not there!’

‘What will become of you then?’ asked Laszlo, dismayed and discouraged. ‘I can’t take you back to the Kollonich house. Would you rather go home to the country?’

Ilus raised both hands in a gesture of panic, as if she saw
something
dreadful before her. The idea of returning to her village where her betrothed would shortly be back from his military
service
, to stand before him carrying in her belly this bastard child conceived among strangers, to wait there trying to hide her
condition
, always ashamed, forever sitting in the back pew at church so that no one could stare at her, to be the laughing stock of the village and of all the other girls who, if they got pregnant it was always by their known sweethearts who married them as soon as they
returned
on leave or left the army. No! Not home, not for all the world! As she had been well brought up she did not explain all this to Laszlo, but merely said: ‘I have an aunt in Veszprem: her
husband
works in a factory. I could see if she would take me in. She might because they are very poor.’ Automatically she began to look in her purse, her worn, grubby little purse, already thinking of how little money she had and if it would be enough for them.

‘That is an excellent plan, excellent. Look! I’ll gladly help you.’

Laszlo immediately felt somewhat relieved and he took two thousand-crown notes from his pocket-book – for a gambler
always
carried at least four or five thousand crowns on him. ‘Take these!’ he said. ‘Perhaps it will be enough for your expenses … for them to take you in?’

‘That’s far too much!’ cried Ilus, moved. ‘One will be plenty, more than enough. I don’t need any more! Really I don’t!’ Despite Laszlo’s protests she absolutely refused to take more than one note from him and as she accepted this she suddenly bent down and kissed his hand. Two hot tears dropped on to the note as she started to fold it.

‘Your Lordship is far too kind. Thank you ever so much! God bless your Lordship!’

Laszlo led her towards the door. She bent down and picked up her wicker case. As she crossed the threshold she straightened her back and turned to him and again said: ‘May God bless your Lordship’s kindness!’

The latch fell into place behind her.

The young man stayed for a moment behind the door listening to the sound of her footsteps as she descended the stone stair. Slowly they faded away. Now she had reached the second floor, now the first … and finally nothing was to be heard. She had gone.