Pimpernel and Rosemary

Rosemary was ready, dressed for the journey; her suit-case was packed. She was only taking a very little luggage with her as she had every intention of returning as soon as her errand in London was accomplished. She would not for the world have left Elza alone too long with her troubles. She made herself no illusions with regard to the telegram which she had sent from the village. It would, she was sure, be intercepted, and Naniescu would not allow it to go. Rosemary's intention was to send another directly she was the other side of the frontier. This would prevent the articles being published hurriedly, and, of course, she would be in London thirty-six hours later.

Indeed, the odious deed which Peter had planned and carried through appeared to her now not only in its hideousness but in its futility. What did he hope to accomplish? Did he know her so little as to imagine that she would merely call the occurrence an adverse blow of Fate and quietly sit down under it—be content to send one wire which would be intercepted? It was futile! Futile! She was a British subject. She had a British passport. No power on earth could stop her from going to London or to the outermost ends of the earth if she had a mind. No one. Not even Jasper. Least of all Jasper!

But in the meanwhile Elza had not returned. Time went on, slowly but certainly. Eight o'clock—nine o'clock—ten o'clock. unless Elza was home within the next half-hour Rosemary could not start for London before the next night. There was only one through train to Budapest every twenty-four hours, the midnight express! Any other slow train would be no help for getting the communication with the Orient Express.

And Rosemary could not go to London without knowing what Elza's wishes were. Elza was to decide—not she. And Elza had not come back from Anna's mother. Soon after ten Rosemary sent Rosa round to Maurus to ask if she might see him. She hoped that he could perhaps tell her something definite about Elza's movements. Rosemary found him very much altered since last she had seen him. He looked well in health, but his whole expression, even his appearance, seemed strange. The gipsy strain was more apparent—the eyes seemed darker and more restless, the mouth redder and fuller, and the nose more hooked and narrower across the bridge. But he talked very quietly about Elza, because he had not really expected to see her back this evening.

"She was going to Cluj first," he said, "to see Philip and Anna. Probably it took time to get permission to visit the children in prison. Then after that she was going to Ujlak. I suppose she wanted to let Charlotte know how little Anna is getting on. Poor child! Poor child!" Maurus went on slowly, wagging his head. "Isn't it pitiable? She is such a nice little girl. And my Philip—my Philip—"

He rambled on, and his speech became thick and unintelligible. The sister in charge gave Rosemary a hint that it would be better for her to go. Rosemary rose at once.

"Well, my dear Maurus," she said, "I don't want to tire you. I thought perhaps you might know something definite about Elza. But if you are not anxious about her I am sure it is all right."

"Oh, yes, yes, it is all right. You see, she went to visit the children. Then she was going to Ujlak. It is a long way for the horses—"

"You don't think she would stay in Cluj for the night?"

"I don't know. I don't know. She was going to Cluj first to see the children—then she was going to Ujlak. It is a long way for the horses—Elza will stay with Charlotte for the night. A hard woman, Charlotte. But Anna is such a nice child. And my Philip—my Philip—"

The mind was obviously wandering. Maurus, while he spoke was staring straight out before him. Rosemary tried to explain to him that she had to go away on business for a day or two and she hoped to start this evening, but she could not go, of course, without seeing Elza first.

"Ah! you are going away, dear Lady Tarkington?" the invalid said with a quick gleam in his restless, dark eyes. "I wish I could go with you. I am so sick of this place, and now that my Philip has gone. . . . But how can you go to-night, dear Lady Tarkington?"

"I won't go before I have seen Elza."

"No, no, you must not go before Elza comes. I have only the one comfortable carriage now. They have taken everything from me, my horses, my cattle, my carriages, and my motor-cars—I can't send you to Cluj in comfort until Elza comes back in the carriage. I have another pair of horses—but no comfortable carriage. They took everything away from me. Soon they will turn me out of this house—"

"Don't worry about that, dear, my husband has the use of a small car and a soldier-chauffeur. We can get to Cluj all right."

The sister in charge interposed again, more peremptorily this time. Rosemary took as cheerful a farewell of the invalid as she could.