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

her body. It had flown over mountains and seas, right across the great plains of Hungary and the fields of waving corn, to a small, dark corner in the crowded Albert Hall, with noisy jazz music buzzing in the distance like phantom melodies, with laughter and chatter all around, glittering jewels, fantastic clothes and waving fans; and here Rosemary’s mind came to a halt and insistently beckoned to memory. She recalled every moment of that night, every incident stood out like a picture before her now: the dance with Peter, and then the box with the heavy curtains that shut her right out of the world⁠—alone with Peter. She recalled every line of his face, those fine white hands made to wield brush or pen rather than a cricket-ball, the fair, curly head, the tense dark eyes.

What sympathy she would have got from Peter if only he were here! His judgement, perhaps, would not have been so sound as Jasper’s: Rosemary would not feel that she could rely on Peter to say or do only what was right, what was just and reasonable. He would be guided by his heart and not by his head; he would be wrong, no doubt⁠—utterly wrong⁠—in his judgements, in his advice. But oh! he would be so human, so full of pity, so understanding! And for the first time since her marriage to Jasper, Rosemary allowed herself to think of Peter, to long for Peter, to mourn that which Peter had meant in her life: youth, humanity and enthusiasm.

And suddenly she was brought back to Kis-Imre and to the reality of the present situation by a direct question put to her by Jasper:

“Why didn’t you tell me, dear, that Peter Blakeney was in Transylvania?”

Jasper had put the question quite gently and kindly. He never put on with Rosemary any airs of marital authority, nor was there even a hint of reproach in his tone. But the question did bring Rosemary’s mind back in a second from the Albert Hall to Kis-Imre. She frowned, very much puzzled, and turned to look straight at Jasper. He, too, appeared to have come back to Kis-Imre from the land of nowhere. He still had on a puzzled and pondering expression, but with it a certain look of hardness, which he seldom had when his wife was nigh.

“Peter Blakeney?” Rosemary asked slowly. “What in the world do you mean?”

“Don’t look so scared, little one,” Jasper rejoined, his stern face breaking into a smile. “As a matter of fact the whole thing has puzzled me to such an extent that I am afraid I must have appeared very unresponsive just now⁠—” He paused, and, leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, and instead of looking at his wife, he gazed intently down at his hands, as if he wished to avoid making her feel uncomfortable by staring directly at her.

“A moment ago,” he resumed presently, “as I was crossing the hall, General Naniescu came out of the smoking-room into the outer vestibule. He did not see me, and I was just debating in my mind whether I would speak to him when he turned to a young officer who was evidently in attendance, and what he said to him was this: ‘Ring up Mr. Blakeney at once and tell him I will see him about the business at five o’clock this afternoon; you may tell him that on the whole I think I have been successful.”

“Impossible!” Rosemary exclaimed impulsively.

“So I thought at the time,” Jasper rejoined. “Therefore I recrossed the hall and spoke a few words to Naniescu. He appeared vexed when he saw me, and I distinctly saw him make a sign to the officer, who did not then go to the telephone, although a moment ago Naniescu had ordered him to ring up at once. I kept the general talking for a few minutes in the hall. He did not refer to his conversation with you, nor did he refer in any way to Peter.”

“You must have misunderstood the name,” Rosemary insisted.

“I thought so at first, but I had confirmation of it later on. Naniescu very obviously and very clumsily manoeuvred me toward the dining-room, the doors of which were wide open. As soon as he had got me into the room he closed the doors. Now, I happened to have very sharp ears, and although Naniescu talked to me at the top of his voice I distinctly heard what was going on in the hall. The officer called up the Hôtel New York at Cluj, after which there was a pause. I tried to take my leave of the general, for I wanted to come up to you, but he would not let me go. He talked incessantly and always at the top of his voice on all sorts of irrelevant topics. He dragged me to the window at the farther end of the room to show me the view. He tried to persuade me to go out with him for a turn in the park. Finally fortune favoured me; my sharp ears caught the ring of the telephone bell. I gave Naniescu the slip and just had the door open when I heard the officer say quite distinctly in French:

“ ‘Is that you, Mr. Blakeney? Mr. Blakeney, his Excellency will see you⁠—’ At this point,” Jasper went on, “Naniescu with a loud guffaw took hold of my arm and made some facetious remark which I did not catch. However, he had made it so obvious that he did not wish me to hear the telephone message, and, on the other hand, I had heard the officer name Peter so distinctly that I allowed myself to be dragged back into the room, and made no further attempt to pry into Naniescu’s⁠—or Peter’s⁠—secrets.”

“But this is all nonsense,” Rosemary broke in warmly. “Peter is not in Transylvania. I am sure he is not. He would have told me. He would have let me know. It is some other Blakeney whom Naniescu