The Veils of the Budapest Palace (Darke of Night Book 3) (16 page)

By the time I’d finished, István and Gizella were no longer in the drawing room. Zsigmund had vanished immediately after dinner without saying where he was going. There had been no sign of the old count, or Gabor. I wondered, irreverently, if the servants would trouble to tell us if either of them were dead.

When I returned to my empty bedroom, I discovered a bed already made up in the room we’d once planned as our private sitting room. It brought a lump to my throat. I wondered if I’d been hasty. I’d meant to be so calm and not rise to any bait he threw at me. But it seemed he knew just how to provoke me. And perhaps, underneath everything, I wanted to hurt him back.

Miserable for any number of reasons, I prepared for bed. In the end, I didn’t blow out the last candle. Maybe we could talk when he came home... I lay awake, watching the glow of the candle flame flicker up the wall, tracing the peculiar shadows with my eyes. I wondered what he was doing.

My dreams were disturbed, full of strange noises and complicated happenings. At one point, I opened my bedroom door—not this bedroom, but the one at Manleigh Place—in answer to a knock, and the person I’d been seeking off and on through all these weird situations walked past me into the room.

“At last,” I said in relief, and he smiled, and moved so quickly I couldn’t escape him. He thrust his hand over my mouth and nose, holding me fast so that I could neither escape nor breathe. I struggled, fighting to wake up.

Only, when I did, I still couldn’t breathe. The world was black. Something covered my whole face, something soft although it pressed hard against my nose and open mouth. Terrified, I tried to gasp in air and tasted linen and feathers. I pushed out a scream with the last of my breath, but it came out as a muffled groan that even I could barely hear. I heaved and writhed against whatever was holding me down, tearing with my fingernails at the pillow or whatever it was. The blackness before my eyes deepened as I fought, spinning.

I won’t die! I won’t! Oh, Zsigmund, I need to make things right first. Please, God, don’t let me die yet...

And suddenly, the pressure lessened. My scrabbling hands threw the pillow off me, and I filled my rasping lungs with air. At the same time, I dragged myself into a sitting position, my knees up under my chin as I peered fearfully through the darkness for whoever had done this to me.

I could see nothing, hear nothing except my fast, gasping breaths and the thundering of my own heart. Every inch of my skin tingled in shock and alarm.

“Who’s there?” I demanded. Even my own voice sounded different, alien, but at least it seemed to give me courage enough to fight back. My fingers may have shook as I relit the bedside candle which had gone out, but light it I did, and then, further bolstered by the relief of the pale glow, which revealed no one, I got out of bed. I knelt and looked under it from a safe distance. Finding no one, I rose and gazed around me once more.

The light flickered in my shaking hand, but there was nowhere else to hide, except in the dressing room.

I didn’t know if Zsigmund was in there. I hadn’t heard him come in, but still, my heart jolted with sudden new fear for him. I grabbed the unlit oil lamp from the dressing table in passing and advanced through the open dressing room door, ready to hit or even kill if anyone was attacking Zsigmund. Somewhere, the strength of this determination took me by surprise. This was the husband I was intending to leave. Wasn’t I?

It seemed I wasn’t to be called upon to commit murder for him just yet. The bed was empty, and so was the rest of the room. I even looked under the narrow bed to be sure.

So...my attacker must have bolted, slipped silently from the bedroom while I was still hurling the pillow from me and fighting for breath. Surely only seconds could have elapsed since then? Hastily, I donned my robe and rearmed myself with both the candle and the oil lamp. I wasn’t very sure if I was going for help or in pursuit of my attacker.

As I left the bedroom, I thought I glimpsed a figure vanishing around the corner in the direction of the staircase. My heart hurtling into my mouth, I hurried after it, but I began to realise I needed to have more of a plan. What would I do when I caught him? He was unlikely to just stand there and let me hit him. He’d tried to kill me, and almost succeeded. I wasn’t quite sure why he’d stopped, but I did acknowledge that in a straight fight between him and my oil lamp, he would probably win. I needed help.

And yet who could I trust in this house? The few servants who were fanatically loyal to the old count, even though I suspected he didn’t pay them very much or very often? The count was too old to fight off attackers. If Zsigmund wasn’t in the house, that left István and Gabor...

I slowed as I drew near the corner.

How likely was it that some attacker had wandered in off the square and picked on my bedroom, on me, and decided to kill me while I was asleep? Why would anyone do that? Surely robbers seized what they could and left? Sleeping, I’d presented no threat to him whatsoever. If it was some lunatic...would my room really have been the first he’d come to?

The count slept on the first floor, close to his study. I thought Gabor did too, although I wasn’t sure. Gizella and István had rooms on the other side of the staircase from ours.

Dear God, what if they’re all dead? Murdered before he even got to me...

Unlikely, surely most unlikely, and yet the fear of it twisted through me as I rounded the corner as widely as I could, grasping the oil lamp tighter, ready to strike.

No one leapt out at me. Although I held the candle higher and peered hard, I could see no one in the corridors or on the staircase. Drawing a ragged breath, I hurried towards Gizella’s room and scratched on the door.

I pressed my ear to the wood, listening. If I didn’t hear anything, I meant to go in, but even before I’d grasped the handle, the door flew open and I almost fell into the room.

Gizella stood there in her nightgown and a shawl, a candle in one hand. “Caroline? What is it? Are you ill?” Her gaze flickered from my candle to the oil lamp, which I hastily lowered.

“No. Oh no.” My tongue stuck stupidly to the roof of my mouth. Partly it was relief, partly a terrible new fear, and partly a trivial social awkwardness. I swallowed. “I had a bad dream that seemed very real... I thought there might be an intruder and wanted to be sure you were safe.”

“Bless you, child, no one would ever attack this house,” Gizella said indulgently. “It was only a dream. Unless you heard Zsigmund coming home? Either way, you should go back to bed.”

“Then István is safe too?”

“If you listen, you can hear him snoring from here!”

I gave an embarrassed smile. “Sorry to disturb you,” I muttered. “Good night.”

“Good night, Caroline.”

Her door shut firmly and I trailed back towards the stairs. After a moment, I walked faster, determined that I should also be sure of the old count’s safety. I didn’t want to believe there was no intruder; the alternative was so much worse.

As I ran down the wide staircase, the surrounding house seemed to fold in on me, dark, creaking, neglected. Who would choose to rob this house when the others around the square spoke of a great deal more wealth for stealing? Was that what Gizella had meant?
Bless you, child, no one would ever attack this house...

I flitted past the count’s study, my bare feet making no sound on the frayed carpet. I knew he slept in the room next to the study. But I didn’t need to put my ear to the door to hear him snoring. I could hear him from the passage. I stopped and turned back. It seemed everyone was safe. No lunatic attacker, no robber. Which left only that someone in the house had tried to smother me.

The knowledge was so appalling that I almost didn’t hear it. I was already past the study door when I realised I’d heard a faint voice in the room. Yes, there it was again.

My erratic heart beat faster. I walked back to the door, lifting my lamp to scratch the door with it before sense returned. I’d no idea who was in there. It could really be the frenzied attacker I’d almost stopped believing in. I strained my ears, but the voice was silent. Maybe I’d imagined it. But I had to be sure.

For the first time since I was a small child, I knelt on the floor and peered through a keyhole.

There was no key in it, and I had a view across to the count’s desk and the shuttered window. As if permanently in the shadows, a tall figure occupied the other desk. Gabor sat perfectly still, almost rapt, gazing at the pages of a book. It looked a little like the old tome he’d had in the attic with him; certainly, it must have been fascinating reading.

Then his head lifted, and I saw that his eyes were closed. Not so fascinating, then. He frowned and spoke again in a voice both soft and commanding that for some reason sent shivers down my spine. I didn’t recognise the language, but it didn’t sound like Hungarian.

A little bizarre, perhaps, but hardly dangerous. I rose silently and padded away from the door.

Since I’d come so far, I decided to be thorough and to quickly search the downstairs rooms. At the back of my mind lurked a terrible vision of Zsigmund lying in the drawing room in a pool of his own blood. Though, in fact, of all the house’s occupants, Zsigmund was by far best able to take care of himself. I didn’t really fancy the chances of any attacker, lunatic or not, against him. If he was even home, which he didn’t appear to be.

I wandered across the hall from the drawing room to the dining room and beyond to the salon and then the ballroom. I even walked down into the empty kitchen and tried the back door, which was securely locked. I knew I was putting off my return to my own room. I didn’t want to be there anymore. Someone had tried to smother me to death. Someone who lived in the house.

Dragging my feet, I walked back up to the draughty entrance hall and reluctantly climbed the stairs. On the first floor, I glanced towards the library and the empty rooms once occupied by Zsigmund’s parents. There were lots of rooms in this house I didn’t even know, let alone checked on tonight. An intruder could have been hiding in any of them.

The trouble was, I didn’t really believe in the intruder anymore. An intruder wouldn’t have known the house well enough to know where to hide so efficiently, to move around it so quickly and quietly that he’d lost me. He wouldn’t have picked on my room, on me. Not even to get at Zsigmund.

Someone wished me ill. Someone wanted me dead.

I was shaking once more. I couldn’t let them find me in my bed again, vulnerable and asleep. I could sleep in the dressing room. Only Zsigmund would come home and find me there. Maybe that would be a good thing. Only I couldn’t be his toy...

I was wandering from the point, which was my safety. I contemplated leaving the house, finding some respectable hotel, but I couldn’t quite face that tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps.

Beyond the library, the other doors in the passage seemed to glow in my candle’s flickering light.

No one would look for me there. I had a sudden longing to curl up in that bed. I gave in to it, padding along to the music room. I closed the door behind me. It was like walking among ghosts, travelling the length of that room and into the next. I imagined the music following me, welcoming me as I moved through the drawing room and the little sitting room to the bedroom. At once, I set down my candle and my oil lamp on the bedside table and climbed into the bed, robe and all. The ghosts of Zsigmund’s parents, of many others, seemed to enfold me in warmth and peace.

I lay under the dusty covers and watched the dancing shadows on the wall, too many for one little candle. I couldn’t even identify them all and didn’t care. I was safe.

Don’t be afraid.
I didn’t know if I deliberately imagined the soothing voice of Ilona, or if it was real. At that moment, I didn’t care.
Everything will be fine. Everyone loves you.

Somebody doesn’t.

No one who matters. We’ll look after you. We’ll always protect you. Sleep now. Sleep...

My eyelids fluttered closed, and I began to drift into slumber.

I woke only minutes later to the sound of footsteps, outdoor shoes or boots walking steadily nearer me through the outer rooms.

I sprang fully awake, sitting bolt upright and listening. The footsteps came nearer and nearer. By the time I could make myself move, it was too late. I’d never be able to slide out of bed and under it before my stalker reached me. My murderer had found me.

Well, this time I would be no easy victim. Reaching out, I grasped the stem of the oil lamp and stared at the open door to the sitting room. The footsteps slowed and halted. A tall figure filled the doorway, lit by the candle in his left hand. The dark, savagely scarred face of my husband.

Oh no. Oh please, no, not you...

A
nd yet, who else? He’d married me for money he’d now never be able to fully control through me. He’d bought me a ticket home and no one would know I’d never used it. My death would leave him free to marry a different woman, different money.

Not you. Not Zsigmund.

In silence, he walked towards me until he stood beside the bed, gazing down at me. His scar seemed to shine in the flickering flame.

“Are you planning to protect your virtue with that?” he enquired.

“I believe you had the last of my virtue some weeks ago,” I managed.

“So I did. Only now that we’re married, everything is reversed, and it is, in fact, a virtue to submit to me. Or so I’m told. What are you doing here?”

He wasn’t going to kill me. Perhaps I was too numb to feel relief. Perhaps I’d never truly believed he would do such a thing. But I couldn’t trust my heart or my instincts any more for
someone
had tried to kill me.

Slowly, I released my hold on the lamp and swallowed, searching for words.

“I felt safe here,” I blurted at last.

“Oh for God’s sake,” he said irritably. “You may be next to irresistible, Caroline, but I’m not a monster. I can just about control myself.”

Weirdly, it was now that relief flooded me; he hadn’t known what I was talking about. I began to laugh, a strange, shaky sound that tugged his brow down even farther.