Jasper arrived in the late afternoon, unheeded and unannounced. Elza and
Rosemary were in the garden at the time, and he was in the house for
over a quarter of an hour before they heard that he had come. Then she
and Elza hurried to greet him. He was in the drawing-room waiting
patiently. Rosemary thought him looking tired or perhaps travel-stained.
He kissed Elza's hand first, then his wife's, no more. But Rosemary knew
her Jasper. He could not have kissed her in front of anyone, and Elza
for once did not seem surprised at the cold, formal greeting between
husband and wife. She asked a few questions: "Will you have something to
eat, dear Lord Tarkington?" and "How did you come?"
Jasper gave the required explanations.
He had jumped out of the train at Apahida, which is the next station
before Cluj, to get a drink, and whom should he see in the station
restaurant but General Naniescu, who had driven out in his motor on some
business or other. Hearing that Jasper was on his way to Kis-Imre, he
offered to drive him over. It was a kind offer as Jasper was sick of the
train journey. He had only hand-luggage with him, and this he
transferred, together with himself, to Naniescu's motor. And here he
was--very glad to be back.
Elza asked him what had become of the luggage, and where the motor was.
Jasper explained that he had put the motor and the chauffeur up at the
inn. General Naniescu had only driven in as far as Cluj, and after that
had graciously put the motor and chauffeur at his, Tarkington's,
disposal, not only for the day but for as long as he and Rosemary would
care to use it. The chauffeur was bringing the luggage over presently
and would give it to Anton.
"The car might be very useful," Jasper went on, turning to his wife, "so
I accepted the offer gladly. I thought it kind of old Naniescu."
Of course, he knew nothing of what had occurred, but even so his mention
of Naniescu's name hurt Rosemary. She had already read failure in her
husband's eyes--complete failure, and all of a sudden she realized how
much hope she had built on this mission of Jasper's, and how it had
dwelt at the back of her mind whenever she tried to comfort Elza. Now
there was nothing left to hope for, nothing to believe in. Even faith
appeared shipwrecked in this new tidal-wave of despair.
Rosemary had always found it difficult to extricate herself from
Jasper's arms once he held her tight, and this he did a few moment's
later when at Elza's suggestion that Rosemary should see him up to his
room, he found himself alone with her. He took her breath away with the
suddenness, the almost savage strength of his embrace.
"Jasper!" she murmured once or twice. "Jasper! Please!"
"I was so hungry for you, my Rosemary," he said. "Ten days--my God, ten
days without your kiss!"
He looked her straight between the eyes and whispered huskily:
"I've been in hell, little one."
Rosemary tried to smile: "But why, my dear? We can't expect to be
always, always together, every day for the rest of our natural lives."
"I don't know what you expect from life, little one, but I do know that
if you send me away from you again, I should not come out of that hell
again alive."
"But I did not send you away, Jasper," she argued, a little impatient
with him because of his wild talk. "Your going to Bucharest was entirely
your own idea."
"And I have lamentably failed," he muttered with a shrug.
She gave a little gasp that sounded like a sob.
"There was nothing to be done?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"The King?"
"Indifferent. He trusts Naniescu, has confidence in his judgment, and
believes in his patriotism and sense of justice."
"Then there is absolutely nothing to be done," she reiterated slowly in
a dull dream-voice.
She was keying herself up to tell him all that had happened in the past
four-and-twenty hours. But she was so tired, almost on the verge of
breaking down. She did not think that she would have the strength to go
through with the long tale of hope and despair. But Jasper made her sit
down on the sofa and arranged a couple of cushions round her head. Then
he sat down on a low chair beside her.
"Now tell me, little one," he said quietly.
"Why, Jasper," she exclaimed, "how did you guess that there was anything
to tell?"
"Don't I know every line of your adorable face?" he retorted, "every
flicker almost of your eyelid. Before I touched your hand I knew that
something was amiss. After that I was sure."
"Dear," she murmured, and nestled her hand in his. Wasn't Jasper
wonderful too? With his marvellous understanding and that utterly
selfless love for her, who, alas! gave so little in return. He bent his
head and pressed his lips upon her wrist.
"You guessed right," she said. "Something is very much amiss."
Then she told him everything. He listened to the whole tale without a
comment, and even after she had finished speaking he sat in silence with
her hand held between his own, only bending his head now and again in
order to kiss her wrist.
"There's nothing to be done!" she reiterated again, with a pitiable
little catch in her voice.
And after awhile he said quite quietly and deliberately:
"The only thing to be done, my dear, is to comply with Naniescu's wish."
But against this she at once exclaimed, hot with indignation, and he
went on with a sigh: "I know, I know. You are such a sweet, enthusiastic
creature, and you have embraced the cause of these good people
whole-heartedly, injudiciously. I don't want to influence you, of
course----"
"You promised me that you would not," she retorted.
"I know! I know! You would not be the adorable creature that you are if
you were not unreasonable sometimes. But--I put it to you--what harm
would you do in writing the articles that Naniescu wants?"
This question roused Rosemary's indignation once more.
"How can you ask?" she queried. "To begin with I should alienate from
these wretched people over here all the sympathy which Philip Imrey's
articles have aroused for them abroad. Never again after that could any
friend raise a voice on their behalf. Naniescu or his kind would have a
free hand. He knows that well enough. Not only he, but all the waverers,
all the selfish and the indifferent could in future point to the _Times_
and say: 'Hardship! Nonsense! Why, here was an independent lady
journalist--and a woman at that--with every opportunity for getting at
the truth, and she writes at full length to tell the entire world that
the administration in Transylvania is a model of equity and
benevolence.' And mothers like Elza would cry in vain because their sons
had been torn from them, families would be sent into exile, fathers,
brothers murdered, oppression, confiscation, outrage would go
unpunished, all because one woman had been too great a coward to smother
sentiment under the mantle of justice."
Jasper had not uttered a word, hardly made a sign, while Rosemary spoke
her impassioned tirade. Only from time to time his dark eyes flashed
with a glance of admiration on his beautiful wife, who, with flaming
cheeks and slightly dishevelled hair, looked perhaps more desirable in
her indignation than she had ever done in repose.
When she paused for want of breath he slowly shook his head.
"And do you really think, my darling," he said softly, "that you can
permanently influence English and American opinion by a few newspaper
articles, even if these are written by a well-known person like
yourself? Dear heart, in order to do that you would have to go at your
subject hammer and tongs, never allow one article to be forgotten before
you write another; you must be at your subject all the time if you want
to create an impression--hammer away at the newspaper-reading public
until its stupid wooden head is saturated with the stuff you give it.
Naniescu thinks a great deal of these articles which he wants you to
write. Well, in my opinion their effect would last just one week after
the last of them has appeared. After that some philanthropist or other
will have his say on the maladministration of Transylvania, and you are
not bound to refute that again, are you? But in the meanwhile Philip and
Anna will be comfortably out of the country, and even Elza and Maurus
will have settled down somewhere in Hungary to await better times; you
will have saved the lives of two young things whom you love, and spared
these good people here a terrible sorrow."
While Jasper spoke Rosemary could not do anything but stare at him. His
sophistry amazed her. That there was a modicum of common sense in his
argument was not to be gainsaid, but that the suggestion of such
bargaining with truth and honour should come from Jasper, her husband,
horrified Rosemary and revolted her. And men often accused women of a
feeble sense of honour! From the first Rosemary had turned away from
Naniescu's proposal as from something unclean. She had never dwelt on
it, not for a moment. Even this morning, when first she felt herself
sinking into an abyss of despair, she had not dwelt on that. But Jasper
had not only dwelt on it; he had weighed its possibilities, the "for"
and "against" which, with unanswerable logic and not a little sarcasm,
he had just put before her. And even now, when she could not keep the
look of horror out of her eyes, he only smiled, quite kindly and
indulgently, as if she were just an obstinate child who had to be coaxed
into reason; and when indignation kept her dumb he patted her hand and
said gently:
"You will think over it, I am sure!" Then he rose and started pacing up
and down the room, as was his custom when he was irritated or worried,
with his head thrust forward and his hands clasped behind his back.
"You will think over it," he murmured again.
"Never!" she retorted hotly.
"You have another fifteen days before you."
"Never!" she reiterated firmly.
He looked at her for a moment or two with an indefinable smile on his
lean, dark face, then he shrugged his shoulders.
"How much longer can you stand the mother's tears," he asked, "and the
father's despair?"
"Elza, if she knew," Rosemary rejoined, with an obstinate toss of her
head, "would be the first to wish me to stand firm."
"Try her!" Jasper retorted laconically. Then as Rosemary, reproachful,
indignant, made no attempt to reply, he went on with harsh insistence:
"Have you tried her? Does she know that the life of her son is entirely
and absolutely in your hands?"
Rosemary shook her head.
"No!" she murmured.
Jasper gave a harsh laugh. "Then," he said, "I can only repeat what I
said just now. Go and tell Elza everything, then see if her arguments
will be different from mine!"
"Jasper!" Rosemary exclaimed, flushed with bitterness and resentment.
He paused in his restless walk, looked at her for a moment or two, and
then resumed his seat beside her. For an instant it seemed as if he
wanted to take her hand, or put his arms round her, but whether she
divined this wish or no, certain it is that she made a slight movement,
a drawing back away from him. A curious flash, like a veritable volcano
of hidden fires, shot through the man's deep, dark eyes, and, as if to
control his own movements, he clasped his hands tightly together between
his knees. Strangely enough, when he next spoke his voice was full of
tenderness and almost of humility.
"I am sorry, dear," he said gently, "if I hurt you. God knows that I
would rather be broken to pieces on a rack than to do that. But things
have come to a pass," he went on more harshly, "where my duty--and my
right--as your natural friend and protector command me to get you out of
this impasse before all this damnable business has affected your health,
or, God help us! clouded your brain."
"The impasse, as you very justly call it, Jasper," she riposted, "will
not cloud my brain, so long as you do not seek to make right seem wrong
and wrong right."
Then suddenly he dropped on one knee close beside her; before she could
prevent him his two hands had closed upon hers, and he looked up into
her face with a glance full of love and entreaty, whilst every tone of
harshness went out of his voice.
"But child, child," he urged, "don't you see, can't you understand, that
it is you who make right seem wrong? What good are you doing, what good
will you do, by letting those two wretched young idiots suffer the
extreme penalty for their folly? Will you ever afterwards know one
moment's peace? Won't you for ever be haunted by the ghosts of those
whom you could so easily have saved? Won't your ears ring for ever with
the whole-hearted curses of these wretched people, who will look upon
you as the murderer of their son? And, honestly, my dear, your articles
in the _Times_ won't do more than flatter the vanity of Naniescu. Those
people in England and America who have really studied the question won't
think any the better of Roumanian rule or misrule in Transylvania
because a lady journalist--eminent, I grant you--chooses to tell them
that everything is for the best in the best possible occupied world.
Think of all those articles in the _Times_ on the subject of the French
occupation in the Ruhr and their misrule in the Palatinate--did it
prevent the very readers of that same paper from joining the League of
the Friends of France and proclaiming at the top of their voices their
belief in the unselfish aims of M. Poincaré? You attach too much
importance to the Press, my dearest. Roumania and Transylvania are very,
very far away from Clapham and Ealing. People don't trouble their heads
much what goes on there. A few do, but they are the ones who will stick
to their opinions whatever you may say."
Unable to free them, Rosemary had yielded her hands passively to
Jasper's clasp. She lay back with her head resting upon the cushions,
her eyes obstinately evading his glance and fixed upon the ceiling, as
if vainly seeking up there for some hidden writing that in a few terse
words would tell her what to do. Jasper thus holding her captive by her
hands made her feel like an imprisoned soul bruising itself against the
bars of an unseen cage. She felt fettered, compelled, unable to see, to
visualise that rigid code of honour which had ruled her actions until
now. Jasper had talked at great length; she had never heard him talk so
long and so earnestly and with such unanswerable logic. And Rosemary,
who up to this hour had seen her line of action before her,
crystal-clear, was suddenly assailed with doubts, more torturing than
any mental agony which she had suffered before. Doubt--awful, hideous,
torturing doubt. How could she fight that sinister monster "compromise"
if the one man whom she could trust tilted on its side? She had never
dreamed of such a possibility. And now, suddenly, Jasper had made such a
thing possible--worse, imperative!
Rosemary felt her eyes filling with tears. She was so tired and could
not argue. She dreaded argument lest she should give in. It was all so
utterly, utterly hopeless. Jasper was out of sympathy with her, and
Peter--Peter----
She must unconsciously have murmured the name, for all of a sudden
Jasper jumped to his feet with a loud curse.
"If you mention that devil's name----" he began.
Then once more he started on his restless pacing, with lips firmly set
almost as if he were afraid that words would come tumbling out of them
against his will.
"Jasper!" Rosemary exclaimed, "why do you hate Peter so?"
"Hate him?" Jasper retorted harshly. "Does one hate a snake--or a worm?"
"That is unjust," she riposted, "and untrue. You forced a promise from
me not to confide in Peter. But I wish to God I had spoken to him, asked
for his help. Peter half belongs to these people; he would have helped
us if he had known."
But Jasper only threw his head back and broke into a harsh, sardonic
laugh:
"Peter?" he exclaimed. "Peter Blakeney help you? Heavens above! Don't
you know, child," he went on, and once more came and sat down beside
her, "that Peter Blakeney is nothing but a paid spy of the Roumanian
Government? I warned you; I told you. You remember that day, when you
did not even know that he was in Transylvania, he was in Cluj in touch
with Naniescu. I warned you then as much as I dared. I could not say
much because--because----" He paused, perhaps because he had felt
Rosemary's eyes fixed upon him with a curious, challenging look. A
second or two later he went on coldly: "And the denunciation of Anna and
Philip? How did it come about? Who knew of their folly except you and
Peter Blakeney? And what about last night? I warned you not to confide
in Peter, not to speak with him of the whole thing while I was away. Are
you quite sure, quite, quite sure that Peter knew nothing of the plan?
Are you quite sure that he----"
"Jasper! Stop!" Rosemary cried; and with a great effort she pushed
Jasper away from her and rose to her feet. She wanted above all to get
away from him. She would not listen. She would not hear,
because--because every word that Jasper spoke was a dart that hit
straight at her heart, and every dart was marked with the word "Truth."
All that Jasper said she had heard whispered about her by unseen demons
who had tortured her for days with these horrible suspicions. She had
rejected them, fought against them with all her might; but no sooner had
she silenced one tempter than another took his place and whispered,
whispered awful words that, strung together, became a fearful, an
irrefutable indictment against Peter. But this, she would not admit; not
now, not before anyone, not even before Jasper.
"I won't believe it," she said firmly. "I have known Peter all my life,
and what you suggest is monstrous. There have been strange coincidences,
I admit, but----"
"Strange," Jasper broke in with a sneer. "You are right there, little
one. It is a strange coincidence, shall we say, that has made Peter
Blakeney the new owner of this house."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"That Peter Blakeney has bought an option on the château and property
of Kis-Imre from the Romanian Government."
Rosemary frowned in bewilderment.
"Jasper," she said, "will you please tell me clearly what you do mean?"
"I have told you, dear heart, as clearly as I could. But perhaps you
have not realised that if Philip and Anna are brought before a military
tribunal and convicted of treason against the States, these estates,
together with the château, will be confiscated. It will then be sold
for the benefit of the State and the owners will be expelled from the
country."
Rosemary felt herself shuddering. "No," she said slowly; "I had not
realised that."
"I am afraid that it is so. And in the meanwhile, some who are in the
know have already cast covetous eyes on this admirable château and
beautiful park and garden, and our friend Naniescu has hit on the happy
idea of selling the option of them to the highest bidder. And it seems
that Peter Blakeney was the lucky man. He has paid a few hundred
thousand leis for a first option on Kis-Imre and its dependencies,
should it come in the market after the conviction and presumably the
death of his cousins for treason against the State."
"Who told you all that?" Rosemary queried coldly.
"Our friend Naniescu."
"And you believed it?"
"I could not help believing; Naniescu showed me the contract for the
option. It was signed 'Peter Blakeney.'"
"If Peter has done that," Rosemary went on slowly, "it is because he
wants to secure the place ultimately for Elza."
Jasper smiled tenderly. "You are a loyal friend, sweetheart," he said.
"The accusation is so monstrous," Rosemary retorted, "it defeats its own
ends."
"I wish I could think so," he rejoined with a sigh. "Unfortunately, ever
since Peter's arrival in Cluj I have seen nothing but one calamity after
another fall upon these wretched people here. I only wish I had your
belief in coincidences. I only wish I could explain satisfactorily to
myself how those two children, how Elza, Maurus, all of us, have come to
this terrible pass, at the end of which there is nothing but chaos. But
there," he went on with his usual gentleness and patience, "I won't
worry you any longer. I have said my say. I have put my case before you.
Perhaps I look at it too much from a selfish point of view. I am
heart-broken to see you so wretched, and feel like hitting out right and
left to set you free from this awful impasse. So now, sweetheart, try
and forgive me, and think over it all from my point of view a little.
These people here are nothing to me, you are everything. All the world
and more. Even Heaven would be nothing to me without you, and this place
is a hell when you are not here."
Rosemary was standing close by the open window. The sky was grey. Great
banks of cloud rose and tumbled about the mountain tops. The pine trees
on the hill-side appeared like ghostly sentinels standing at attention
in the mist. The heat was oppressive. From far away came the dull rumble
of distant thunder. The tuberoses beneath the window sent a heady,
intoxicating scent through the storm-laden air. Rosemary felt terribly
wearied, and for the first time in her life discouraged. She had striven
for right, smothered every sentiment for the sake of abstract justice,
and in the end right was proclaimed to be wrong, at best a fantasy born
of her own vanity. Was Jasper right, after all? He had rather a way of
being always right. Anyway, he was English and practical; sentiment had
no part in his organization. Even his love, deep as it was, was not
sentiment. Rosemary had found this out before now. It was not
sentiment--it was elemental passion. But his views of life were built
neither on sentiment nor passion. He looked at things straight, as
Englishmen of a certain type do, who despise sentiment and whose
unanswerable argument is: "Well, it is the right thing to do."
But, heavens above! what was the right thing now? Rosemary felt sick and
faint; the heat and the scent of the tuberoses made her head ache and
her eyes smart. Jasper was saying something, but she hardly heard him,
and she hardly felt his nearness when he took her hand and pressed it
against his lips.