Pimpernel and Rosemary, Baroness Orczy [i have read the book a hundred times .txt] 📗

Jasper shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said quietly.

“I am sure,” Rosemary insisted.

Jasper said nothing more after that, and Rosemary was conscious of a feeling of irritation against him because he was so obviously convinced that Peter was in Transylvania and in secret communication with that odious Naniescu. How could he imagine such a thing? Peter! Peter with the lovely Hungarian mother! Peter? Nonsense! But Rosemary could not sit still. She jumped to her feet and began fidgeting about the room, arranging her dress, her hair, fidgeting, fidgeting. She would not look at Jasper, and she was determined not to say anything more. He would discover his mistake soon enough, and if she said anything now she might use words, phrases, expressions which later on she would regret.

Peter intriguing with a Romanian! Nonsense! And yet her nerves were terribly on edge, more so now than they were after her interview with Naniescu. And she could not bear to look at Jasper. She was afraid that she would hate him for his thoughts about Peter. Fortunately after a little while the luncheon-bell sounded. Jasper jumped to his feet. He too seemed relieved that the subject of Peter could now be conveniently dropped.

“Will you see Elza?” he said abruptly.

“Elza?” Rosemary asked. “Why?”

“Naniescu and his suite are in the house,” Jasper replied drily. “They will stay to lunch. I don’t know what Elza will feel about it.”

“She will feel as I do,” Rosemary retorted hotly, “that the man’s presence at her table is an outrage.”

“But he told me that Philip and Anna will be allowed to come home.”

“Yes. Provisionally. Until I⁠—”

“Elza need not know about that,” Jasper broke in hurriedly. “That is why I thought you would see her. She need not know that Philip’s release is only⁠—conditional⁠—”

Rosemary thought the matter over for a moment. As always, Jasper was right. Elza need not know. Not yet.

“Shall I go to her now,” she said, “and tell her?”

“I think it would come best from you. It will be such news for her, poor thing.”

“Poor darling!” Rosemary sighed; then she added more coldly: “But what about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Am I expected to sit at table with that mealymouthed Romanian?”

Jasper smiled. “How else would you explain the situation to Elza?” he asked.

All this had brought about a fresh train of thought, and Rosemary was quite thankful that Jasper was showing such sympathy for Elza. He was quite right. Elza need not be told that the release of Philip and Anna was only conditional. There was a month still ahead before Elza need be told the truth.

“Will you keep Naniescu talking,” Rosemary said finally, “while I see Elza?”

She looked quite cool and self-possessed now, beautifully dressed, one row of perfect pearls round her neck, circles of diamonds in her ears, a great lady conscious of her own beauty. “How wonderful you are!” came as an involuntary exclamation from her husband’s lips, and his dark, deep-set eyes lit up with a sudden flash of passionate admiration as they rested on the vision of loveliness before him.

Then together they went out of the room, Rosemary just a step of two in front of her husband. She still could not bear to look at him, and when she caught his look of bold admiration she coldly turned her head away. Obedient to her wish, he went downstairs to keep Naniescu talking, while she went to break the good news to Elza. But walking along the stately gallery that led to her hostess’s rooms, Rosemary’s thoughts were not with Elza, her lips were murmuring almost audibly:

Peter intriguing with a Romanian?

What nonsense!

Jasper must be mad!

The moment that Rosemary came into the room she guessed that Elza somehow or other had heard the news. She had tears in her big, kind eyes, but they were tears of emotion, not of sorrow or anxiety.

“Philip is coming home with Anna!” she cried as soon as she caught sight of Rosemary.

“Who told you?” Rosemary asked.

“General Naniescu sent his captain to tell me. I only knew it five minutes ago. But oh, my dear, they have been such five minutes!”

Rosemary kissed her with tender affection. She did not feel somehow as if she could say much.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Elza went on while she put a few finishing touches to her toilet. “And has not Naniescu been kind? Of course I knew that they could not do anything to Philip because he has done nothing, and I don’t believe that Anna did anything either. But you know, my dear, these days some awful mistakes do occur. But,” she added lightly, “I have so often experienced it in life that men are not nearly so cruel as they are credited to be. One is so apt to pass judgement on insufficient evidence. Give a man the chance of doing a kind act, that is my motto, and he will nearly always do it.”

Fortunately Elza was rather fussy for the moment, fidgeting about the room and obviously trying to calm her nerves, so she did not notice Rosemary’s silent, unresponsive way.

“When do you expect Philip and Anna?” Rosemary said at last.

“This afternoon,” Elza exclaimed, her words rang out like a little cry of joy. “And you know Maurus is so happy that he has actually gone down in order to say something civil to Naniescu, who, of course, is staying for lunch. Well,” she added after a moment or two, when she had gathered up her keys, her rings, her handkerchief, and given a final tap to her hair, “shall we go down too?”

Without a word Rosemary followed her. She felt as if she must choke. Elza’s happiness was going to be the most severe trial of all during this terrible month that lay ahead of her.

“Oh, and I was almost forgetting,” Elza resumed, while she tripped lightly along the gallery towards the stairs, “the smaller joy beside the greater⁠—the greatest one! I have heard from Peter Blakeney.”

“From Peter?”

“Yes. He is at Cluj, at the