They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [141]
Countess Roza had ordered all these arrangements herself, explaining to her maid and to the housekeepers, in the babble of sound that only they had learned to understand, when they had dressed her for the feast. Even so her eyes sparkled angrily for a moment when she fancied they had not fully understood what she wanted, for to her it was of the utmost importance that nobody should be shocked by her appearance nor for a moment feel sorry for her; no one, not even her own faithful servants. While she was still living she must remain what she had always been, a great lady with her head held high, a sovereign queen in her own right, wrapped in indomitable pride like a robe of purple and ermine.
And so, outwardly at least, all was as it always had been on every Christmas Eve at Denestornya for the last forty years. But the myriad candles in the great chandeliers and in the sconces, and all those tiny flames that covered the tree and which were reflected in cascades of polished crystal, sparkled in vain. The Shadow of Death lurked in the immense hall and everyone who stepped inside that resplendent room could feel his presence. Perhaps he was lurking in the gilded display cabinets or in the deep window embrasures, or even in the next room, in the darkness of the neighbouring drawing-room which could just be glimpsed through the tall glazed doors. Wherever he was he was there, waiting; and at any moment he might step forward. Even now, or in a few moments, there would be a faint tinkle from the glass doors and he would be there before them … Everyone felt it: while coming forward, bowing and kissing their mistress’s hand, they would send covert frightened glances to the far end of the hall where the white doorway and the black squares of glass hid something frightening and unknown.
There were few of Countess Roza’s retainers who did not feel a wave of relief as they regained the great stone stairway and could steal away.
Chapter Three
IN THE NEW YEAR, AT THE END OF FEBRUARY, the affair which had led to the formal denunciation of Gaszton Simo by old Juon aluj Maftye, of Pejkoja in the mountains, took a new turn.
To recall what had led to this we should remember that in the spring of the previous year – 1912 – old Juon had received a tax demand which claimed the payment of some 286 crowns for arrears dating back to 1909. At this point he was not unduly worried. A year and a half before, he had received a similar reminder which had not been followed up since old Juon had at once complained to the local notary Gaszton Simo, to whom, when the demands had first come in, he had paid the tax money and from whom he had received a receipt. The notary had expressed himself outraged that the tax office should be in such a muddle and promised to go himself to the county offices in Banffy-Hunyad and see that the misunderstanding was cleared up. When no further demands had been delivered by the village policeman the old man assumed that Simo had been as good as his word. For eighteen months there was official silence until in that fateful spring of the previous year there had come a new demand for the same arrears, and in August this had been followed by an order for the seizure and sale of all Juon aluj Maftye’s possessions.
At that time old Juon’s affairs had been looked after by his grandson, Kula, who had at once taken the papers to Honey