Pimpernel and Rosemary by Baroness Orczy (ebook reader 7 inch TXT) 📕

Naniescu arrived soon after ten o’clock. Rosemary heard the hooting of his motor when it turned in at the gate, also the general bustle, clatter, running about that ensued. Her rooms, with the balcony overlooking the park, were on the other side of the house, so she saw nothing of this; but somehow, after the arrival of his Excellency, the stately château appeared to have lost something of its dignified quietude. Loud voices resounded from end to end of the galleried hall, footsteps that sounded almost aggressive echoed along the corridors.

Jasper had gone down some time ago for a stroll in the park, while Rosemary dressed. She was sorry now that she had not asked him to be sure to come back so as to support her in her interview with Naniescu. However, this wish was only a momentary weakness. She had been accustomed for years past to stand on her own feet, to act for herself, and to take swift decisions without outside advice. So now, with a careless shrug, she turned back to the important task of dressing; this she did with deliberate care, then surveyed herself critically in the glass, and, having satisfied herself that Rosemary Tarkington was in no way less beautiful than Rosemary Fowkes had been, she settled herself down in her boudoir with a book and waited.

A very few minutes later one of the men came to announce that his Excellency General Naniescu desired to pay his respects to Lady Tarkington.

He came in looking breezy and gallant. He kissed Rosemary’s hand, sat down on the chair she indicated to him, inquired after the state of her health, her journey, her work, all in a mellifluous voice and in execrable English. In fact, for the first five minutes of this momentous, visit he was just a pleasant, cheerful man of the world, exchanging banalities with a pretty woman.

“Et ce cher Tarkington?” he queried. “How is he?”

“My husband will be in, in a moment or two,” Rosemary replied, trying to bring the conversation round to the all-important subject. “He will, of course, make a point of not failing to see you.” She made a slight, insignificant pause, then she went on more seriously: “I can assure you, M. le Général, that Lord Tarkington’s interest in our dear host and hostess is just as keen as mine.”

“Of course, of course,” Naniescu rejoined vaguely, with a sweep of his well-manicured hand. “They are very foolish people, these Imreys. And that young man! Dear lady, you have not an idea what trouble we have with these Hungarians! They are all a little toqué! What you call so admirably in your picturesque language: they have a bee in their bonnet. What?”

He laughed, very pleased with himself for what he apparently considered a little joke.

“A bee in their bonnet,” he reiterated, still waving his white, podgy hands about. He set his teeth together and made a sound to represent the buzzing of bees. “Buzz-z! Just like that! But bees,” he added curtly, “are apt to be tiresome. Is it not so?”

“You choose to look upon the matter lightly, M. le Général,” Rosemary rejoined, with a touch of impatience, “but to these unfortunate people the summary arrest of their only son is anything but a light matter. On the telephone last night⁠—”

“Oh, the telephone!” the general broke in with an affected sigh. “A marvellous invention! What? But it is difficult on the telephone to give those little nuances which are the essence of conversation. It was wonderful to hear your melodious voice on the telephone last evening. I was not expecting to hear it, and it was delightful! Like a spirit voice coming from a place unseen to soothe me to pleasant dreams.”

He tried to capture her hand, and when she snatched it away with obvious irritation he gave a soft, guttural laugh and gazed with a look of bold admiration into her eyes. Rosemary felt her temper rising, and nothing but her knowledge that this distinctly unpleasant personage had supreme power over those she cared for kept her impatience in check.

“General Naniescu,” she said, quietly determined, “you must forgive me if I cannot enter into your playful mood just now. The only son of my very dear friend is under arrest for an offence of which he knows nothing, and, moreover, he was arrested under circumstances that are entirely unjustifiable, seeing that this country is not, I presume, under martial law.”

“Not under martial law, certainly, dear lady,” Naniescu was willing to admit, and did so with a certain measure of seriousness, “but under strict disciplinary law, framed by a suzerain state for the protection of its own nationals in occupied territory. But let that pass. You graciously informed me over the telephone last night that young Imrey was arrested, and I gave orders to the captain in charge for his immediate release. As I intended to come over here in the course of the morning, I was willing to let the matter stand until I had investigated it myself.”

“Count Philip Imrey was released at ten o’clock yesterday evening, and rearrested in the middle of the night; he was not even given the chance of saying goodbye to his parents, or of providing himself with the necessary clothing and money. I imagine, M. le Général,” Rosemary went on coldly, “that this was done by your orders, or at any rate that you were not kept in ignorance of it.”

For the fraction of a second Naniescu hesitated; then he said cynically:

“Yes; certainly I knew of it. I may even say that it was done by my orders.”

Rosemary suppressed a cry of indignation.

“Well, then?” she exclaimed hotly.

But Naniescu, not in the least taken aback, only retorted blandly:

“And how am I to interpret that enigmatic query, dear lady?”

“As a challenge to justify your actions,” was Rosemary’s bold reply.

Then, as he gave no immediate answer but allowed his mellow dark eyes to rest with a