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Christmas was a few short weeks away, and bright red berries, crisp wintergreens and first white snows festooned the landscape with their festive colours. The winter sun turned the daylight silver-blue and made gossamer cobwebs into crystal jewels. Tynan leaned heavily on his stick as we strolled together around the frozen lake.
“I have heard tales of your homeland.” I looked surprised because I had always been deliberately vague about where I was from. “Of the beauty of Hungary, but also of some lawlessness,” he said quietly. His eyes scanned the grey horizon where sky and sea merged seamlessly. “In particular, I have heard some lurid stories of a man named Takas.” I stiffened warily, but he continued without appearing to notice. “A notorious Hungarian bandit leader. I think you would call him a betyár. Have I said that correctly?”
I nodded. I had no desire to deceive this man who had shown me nothing but kindness. “Why are you telling me this? Are you asking me to leave?”
“You could not expect me to admit you into my home and my family without making some enquiries,” he said in his gentle way. “You have hidden your tracks well, my dear. But I have some very persistent sources. You might find it helps to tell me it all.”
“Very well.” I drew a ragged breath. “My real name is Judita Takas. Liviu Takas was my father. I took the name Varga because it is common in Hungary, and I thought it would not draw attention to me.” The truth had haunted me for so long that it was a relief to finally say the words aloud. “When I was fifteen, my father was killed in a bloody encounter with soldiers who were attempting to capture him. He knew his reign was coming to an end and, before his death, he bequeathed all his goods—including me—to his second in command. That man, Sandor Karol, is more brutal and feared than any other betyár. He inherited my father’s criminal empire, and also tried to stake his claim to me, even though my mother protested that I was still too young. To escape him, we left our home on the southern Hungarian plains and went to live in Buda. But my mother became unwell.” I bit my lip at the memory. “And she died soon after our arrival there. I went to work as a maid to a rich family—”
“You? A maid?” He interrupted, raising an incredulous brow. “Did the family concerned not question how one so beautiful, and so well educated, came to be in such a lowly position?”
I allowed a slight smile to peep through at his words, but I shook my head. “I made sure I was very good at my job but remained unobtrusive, so no one ever asked me any questions. I knew Sandor’s men were searching for me, and when they tracked me down, I was forced to leave. I have been running from him ever since. Now and then, he has come close to finding me. He was on his way to Paris when I left.”
He did not express any opinion, merely watched my face thoughtfully. “Who was your mother? You have clearly been raised a lady, and your English is nearly perfect. How did she come to marry a Hungarian brigand?” he asked at last.
“She was the only daughter of an English vicar, and she was travelling across Eastern Europe with him. They were set upon by my father’s betyár gang and my grandfather was killed. My mother was very beautiful.” I felt my lips twist bitterly. My mother and I had both learned the hard way that beauty was not always a desirable commodity. She never complained to me, but I had often felt the weight of my mother’s pain. “And, for that reason, my father spared her life. He kidnapped her, became obsessed with her.” I drew a deep breath. If I was telling the truth at last, I must tell it all. “But they never married.” I turned to face him. “There you have it, all of it. My mother and I travelled with my father and his gang. I was the tie that bound her to him. She could not escape and risk his revenge on us both, so she stayed. As strange as it may seem, toward me my father was kindly, cultured and intelligent. And, despite everything, I think my parents actually grew fond of each other. Unconventional though it was, I had a happy childhood. But the reality remains. I am the bastard daughter of a notorious criminal, sought now by another ruthless murderer, a man who will stop at nothing to get me back. I shamelessly took Eddie’s offer of protection, knowing that I could never marry him. Knowing that my presence might bring Sandor to your door. Hardly the sort of credentials you want from a house guest, one who has, moreover, been befriended so generously by your wife and daughter.”
