Pimpernel and Rosemary Baroness Orczy (mobi reader TXT) 📖

made no comment on the news, only stared rather dejectedly out of the window, Jasper went on after awhile:

“I am afraid it will mean a disappointment all round, as the weather can hardly be said to have improved, can it?”

Rosemary said: “No, it cannot,” after which the subject was dropped. Somehow the idea of the postponed cricket match worried her, and there was one insistent thought which would force itself into the forefront of her mind to the exclusion of all others, and that was the thought that the postponed cricket match would have left Peter free yesterday to come over to Kis-Imre, and that therefore it might have been himself in the flesh who was standing during the storm in the garden last night.

Why he should have chosen to stand in the garden in the rain rather than come into his aunt’s house was a problem which Rosemary felt herself too wearied and disheartened to tackle.

When she went downstairs soon after ten o’clock she met Elza in the hall, dressed ready to go out. She looked more tired, more aged, more ill than the day before; obviously she had spent another sleepless night. But she kissed Rosemary very tenderly. “Come into the smoking-room, darling,” she said. “I want to say something to you.”

Rosemary followed her into the smoking-room and at once asked after Maurus.

“He has had no sleep,” Elza said, “and at times his brain wanders. But physically he seems no worse⁠—rather stronger, I think, than yesterday, and he enjoyed his breakfast. If we could only keep him quiet!”

She opened her handbag and took out the papers which Rosemary gave her yesterday.

“I read your articles through very carefully, dear,” she said, “but I did not have to pray for guidance. I knew at once, that none of us, not Maurus or I, or Anna’s people, would accept the children’s safety at such a price. The children themselves would refuse.”

With a perfectly steady hand she held the papers out to Rosemary. “Take them, darling,” she said. “Thank you for letting me decide. This is the one thing which we none of us would have forgiven, if you had published these articles without consulting us.”

Rosemary took the papers, and with them Elza’s hands, which she raised to her lips. She could not speak for the moment, she could only kiss those soft, white hands, which, with sublime heroism, were sacrificing an idolised son for an abstract idea of humanity and justice.

“Elza,” she murmured at last, “have you thought of everything⁠—of Maurus⁠—of Anna’s mother?”

“Anna,” Elza replied softly, “has linked her fate with Philip’s. Her mother is a hard woman, but she would not be a traitor to her own people. As for poor Maurus, the last of his tottering reason would go if I were to speak of this with him. But, sane or insane, he would not buy his son’s life at this price. We are suffering enough, God knows, but how could we live in future, knowing that other fathers, other mothers, would have to go through this same misery because of our cowardice. These devils here would continue their work unchecked⁠—perhaps not for long⁠—but they would continue⁠—no one would stop them⁠—no one could criticise them after this. And mothers would suffer as I am suffering now⁠—and fathers⁠—and wives⁠—our friends, perhaps. No, no,” she said, with a shake of the head, “it can’t be, my dear, it can’t be.”

She pushed Rosemary’s hand away from her, the hand that still held the fateful papers. She thrust it aside, with eyes closed so as not to see that thing which meant Philip’s life.

“I am going to see Charlotte Heves,” she said, after a while. “I think I ought to tell her. And after that I shall see Philip and Anna. Those devils can’t prevent my seeing my own son. I shall see Philip. I know what he will say. And you can destroy those papers, Rosemary, darling. Burn them. It was right to tell me, and now you know.”

There was a knock at the door. Anton came in to say that the carriage was at the door. Elza was going to drive over to Ujlak first to see Anna’s mother, and then to Cluj to see Philip and Anna.

“I shall not be home till late,” she said as she gave Rosemary a goodbye kiss, “but everything is in order for you and dear Lord Tarkington. Maurus will be all right. He likes one of the sisters⁠—the old one⁠—and the doctor is coming before noon. So Maurus will be all right.”

She fussed with her cloak and her veil; her pretty little hands shook every so slightly, but her eyes were dry and they rested with great tenderness on Rosemary.

“It was quite right to tell me,” were the last words she said. “Tell dear Lord Tarkington that I did not hesitate. Not for a moment.”

She was gone, and Rosemary found herself alone with those fearful papers in her hand. Destroy them? Yes! That is what she would do. She had known all along that Elza would be a true heroine; she would not sacrifice her people even as propitiation for her son. Strangely enough, Elza’s point of view was in direct opposition to Jasper’s. Her own splendid ideals had been her guide, and though she was not by any means an intellectual woman, she was clever enough to appreciate the immense lever for evil which Rosemary’s articles would have put into the hands of the enemies of her people.

Destroy them? Yes! That was the only thing to be done now. Let the chapter of doubts be finally ended. What Rosemary had thought right Elza had endorsed. Everything else was sophistry and specious argument. So let temptation itself be swept away. The touch of these papers had become as noisome as a plague spot. With them in her hand Rosemary went up to her room. Jasper was there, waiting for her and smoking a cigarette. His eyes lit up with a curious flash when she