Pimpernel and Rosemary Baroness Orczy (mobi reader TXT) 📖

shade so as to get a little light into the carriage, straightened his clothes, then went out into the corridor. Everything was so still that Rosemary could hear his footstep treading the well-worn strip of carpet, then the opening of the carriage door, which sent a welcome draught of air through the stuffy compartment. Rosemary pulled up the blind, and leaned out the window. It was pitch-dark, though the sky was starry. The small oil-lamp still flickered over the exit door, and the two soldiers were still there. Rosemary saw Jasper’s vague silhouette in the gloom. He stood for a moment looking up and down the line; then he walked away in the direction of the engine. A few minutes went by, and presently Rosemary saw Jasper coming back, accompanied by the guard.

“What is it, Jasper?” she called. “Where are we, and what has happened?”

The two men had come to a halt immediately beneath her window. The guard doffed his cap at sight of her, and scratched his head in obvious perplexity.

“We are at Sót, my darling, but I have bad news for you, I am afraid,” Jasper said. “There has been a very serious landslide lower down the line. I suppose it is due to the heavy storms. Anyway, the line is blocked for a distance of nearly half a kilometre, and of course there will be considerable delay. I don’t understand all the man says, but it seems to have been a terrible catastrophe.”

But out of all this only two words had penetrated Rosemary’s brain⁠—“considerable delay.” What did that mean? She asked the guard, but he only shook his head. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything except that there had been a landslide, and that no train could get through till the line was clear. He supposed that a gang would come down in the morning, but he couldn’t say. Rosemary wanted to know whether there would be any other way of continuing the journey and picking up a train the other side of the frontier. The guard again shook his head. He really couldn’t say; he was a stranger to these parts, but perhaps in the morning⁠—He suggested respectfully that the gracious lady should allow him to make up a couple of beds in two of the sleeping compartments. There was no one else on the train, so⁠—

“No one else on the train?” Rosemary broke in curtly. “What does he mean, Jasper? There must be other passengers on the train. Where have they gone to?”

Jasper put the question to the guard.

“The last of the passengers got out at this station, gracious lady. When it was known that the line was blocked this side of the frontier, no one took a ticket further than Sót.”

“How do you mean? When was it known that the line was blocked?”

“Before we left Cluj, gracious lady, and so⁠—”

“But they sold us tickets to Budapest, and said nothing about a breakdown,” Rosemary exclaimed. And then she turned to her husband: “Jasper, tell me, is this man a fool or a liar, or am I half-witted? You took our tickets to Budapest. Did the man at the ticket-office say anything to you about a block on the line?”

“No,” Jasper replied, “he did not.”

“But our luggage?”

“We have no registered luggage⁠—only what we have with us in the carriage.”

“Of course, how stupid of me! But when the man clipped your ticket?”

“He didn’t say anything.”

Rosemary, impatient, her nerves on edge, turned again to the guard. “You saw the gracious gentleman’s tickets,” she said, “when we got into the train. Why didn’t you warn us?”

“I thought perhaps the gracious lady and gentleman would only go as far as Sót and sleep there. I thought everyone knew about the landslide, and that every passenger had been warned.”

“Can we get a car here that will take us to Hódmezö?”

“Not at this hour, gracious lady.”

“Or a vehicle of any sort?”

The guard shook his head. Rosemary could have screamed with impatience until Jasper’s quiet voice broke in: “I think, my dear, that by far the best thing to do will be to let the man make up a couple of beds for us, and to try and possess ourselves in patience until the morning. There is nothing to be done⁠—really, darling, nothing. And, after all, it may only mean a delay of eight to ten hours.”

Then, as Rosemary remained silent, making no further objection, he slipped some money into the guard’s hand, and told him to get the beds ready. After that he re-entered the carriage, and rather diffidently sat down beside his wife.

“I feel terribly guilty, dear one,” he said humbly, “but you know I don’t speak Romanian very well, and when these sort of people jabber away, I don’t always understand what they say. And I was rather anxious about you at Cluj. You seemed so agitated, so unlike yourself.”

“Can you wonder? Twenty-four hours’ delay may mean that Naniescu’s courier will get to London and make arrangements before I have time to wire. I must see Elza first, and in the meanwhile⁠—”

“My darling,” Jasper put in, with a quick, wearied sigh, “it is not like you to be so illogical. Do you really suppose that events move at such a rate in a newspaper office? There is bound to be delay⁠—and there’s ample time for your telegram to reach the Times before the editor has even thought of inserting your articles. Even if we are held up here for twenty-four hours, you can see Elza and send your wire from Hódmezö before Peter Blakeney, or whoever Naniescu’s courier happens to be, can possibly have made any arrangements with the Times.”

“Of course, dear, of course,” Rosemary said, more calmly. “I am stupid tonight. This whole business has got on my nerves, I suppose. I don’t seem to know what I am doing.”

XL

On the narrow made-up bed, with the coarse linen and the heavy blanket, and the smell of sulphur and dust about