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

a house, I, too, would wish to take possession of it as soon as possible. Perhaps,” he added, with a smile, “I should not have been quite in such a hurry, but we all know that with the English time is money, eh, messieurs? And now all I need do is to thank you for your courtesy. I will comply with the order, chiefly because I have no choice.”

It was almost unbelievable. Rosemary thought that her eyes and ears must be playing her a trick. The two Romanians took their leave with their habitual elaborate politeness and Maurus himself saw them to his front door, where the squad of soldiers still stood at attention. When they had all gone, he came back into the smoking-room, and he was actually laughing when he entered.

“Did you ever see such swine?” he said lightly, and then apologised to Rosemary for his language.

“You are taking it so bravely, Maurus, dear,” Rosemary murmured bewildered. “But what about Elza?”

“Oh, she prepared me for it; she knew all about it yesterday, and she sent me word what to bring along in the way of clothes for her. And, of course, there will be her jewellery, and one or two little things to see to. However, I have got twenty-four hours before me, and there will be Anton and Rosa to help me.”

“But, Maurus, dear⁠—”

“You are astonished, dear Lady Tarkington,” Maurus broke in, with rather a sad smile, “to see me take it all so calmly. I was born in this house, and I always thought that I would die in it; but lately these walls have seen so much sorrow and so many villainies that I would just as soon turn my back on them.”

“But what does Elza feel about it?”

“The same as I do. She writes quite calmly.”

“When did you hear from her?”

“Early this afternoon⁠—so you see I was prepared.”

“But where is she?” Rosemary asked insistently.

“She was at Sót when she wrote to me. She had seen Philip and Anna. And she was on the point of leaving for Hódmezö. This was late last night. She is in Hungary by now⁠—and in safety. Please God I shall be with her soon.”

He still spoke quite quietly, in short, crisp sentences, with nothing of the rambling and babbling about his speech that had been so pathetic to witness yesterday. But though Rosemary ought to have felt reassured and comforted about him, she could not rid herself of a persistent feeling of dread: the same sort of feeling that invades the nerves at the manifestation of a supernatural phenomenon. There was nothing supernatural about Maurus certainly, but his attitude was so abnormal, so unlike himself, that Rosemary caught herself watching with ever-increasing anxiety for the moment when his real, violent nature would reassert itself.

A moment or two later the dinner-bell rang, and Maurus was full of apologies.

“My stupid affairs have prevented your getting on with your packing, dear Lady Tarkington. Can you forgive me?”

Rosemary could only assure him that all her packing was done. “And anyway,” she added, “as Jasper has a car we need not start before eleven o’clock.”

“Ah, then,” Maurus said, and offered her his arm to lead her into the dining-room, “we need not hurry over dinner; and I shall have the pleasure of two or three more hours of your company.”

Jasper all the while had been strangely silent. Rosemary could see that he was just as much puzzled as she was, and that he was studying Maurus very keenly while the latter was talking. During dinner and while the servants were about, the conversation drifted to indifferent subject. This was the first time that Maurus had had a meal in the dining-room since he was taken ill four days ago, and he was like a child enjoying his food and delighted with everything. It was only when coffee had been brought in and the servants had gone away that he reverted to the important subject of his departure.

“My chief cause of regret, dear Lady Tarkington,” he said, “is that I cannot welcome you here when you return from your journey. But perhaps we could meet at Budapest, not? Elza speaks about that in her letter to me. She is very anxious to see you.”

“I shall break my journey at Hódmezö,” Rosemary said, “and probably wait there twenty-four hours till you come.”

She had it in her mind that she could wire from there to the Times office, and in any case she had to see Elza.

“There are two good hotels in Hódmezö,” Maurus rejoined. “Elza is staying at the Bristol. A very grand name for a simple provincial hotel, but it is very comfortable, I believe. Peter Blakeney’s cricket people stayed there last week, you know.”

He even could mention Peter’s name calmly; and a quaint old English saying came to Rosemary’s mind, ever her professional activities brought her in contact with extraordinary people. “Nought so queer as folk!” She almost said it aloud; for never in all her life had she witnessed anything so strange as this metamorphosis of a violent-tempered, morbid epileptic into a calm, sensible man of the world, who takes things as he finds them, and Fate’s heaviest blows without wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“I shall not forget the Bristol at Hódmezö,” she said after a little while, “and I will certainly remain with Elza until you come. Perhaps I can help her to endure the suspense.”

“Perhaps.”

“How did the letter get to you? Through the post?”

“No; she sent a peasant over from Sót, a lad who lives in Kis-Imre and was returning home. You know him, dear Lady Tarkington⁠—him and his brother⁠—the two sons of János the miller.”

“Those two brave lads who⁠—”

Rosemary paused abruptly. The last thing she wanted to do was to bring back to Maurus’ memory that fateful night of the children’s abortive escape; but Maurus himself broke in quietly:

“Yes, the two fellows who helped us all they could that night when Philip and Anna tried to get out