Rosemary must have fallen asleep in the corner of the carriage, for she
woke with a start. The train had come to a halt, as it had done at two
or three stations since Cluj was left behind. So it was not the sudden
jerk or the sound of the exhaust from the engine, that had caused
Rosemary suddenly to sit up straight, wide-awake and with that vague
feeling of apprehension which comes on waking when sleep has been
unconsciousness rather than rest. Jasper sat in the other corner with
eyes closed, but Rosemary did not think that he was asleep. They had a
sleeping compartment, but hadn't had the beds made up; it was perhaps
less restful for the night journey, but distinctly cleaner. The carriage
was in semi-darkness, only a feeble ray of blue light filtered through
the shade that tempered the gas-light up above.
Rosemary pulled up the blind. They were at a small station dimly lighted
by one oil-lamp above the exit door. A clump of acacia trees in full
leaf effectually hid the name of the station from view. A couple of
soldiers stood at the door through which a number of peasants, men with
bundles and women with baskets, one or two Jews in long gabardines and
a prosperous looking farmer in town clothes and top-boots were filing
out. Some one blew a tin-trumpet, a couple more soldiers stalked up the
line in the direction of the engine. There was a good deal of shouting.
Rosemary drew the blind down again, and tried to settle herself
comfortably in her corner once more. But sleep would not come. She
looked at her watch. It was past two. This seemed an unconscionably long
halt, even for a train in this part of the world. Rosemary peeped again
behind the blind. The station appeared quite deserted now except for the
two soldiers on guard at the door. Everything seemed very still--of that
peculiar stillness which always seems so deep when a train comes to a
halt during the night away from a busy station, and all the more deep by
contrast with the previous ceaseless rumbling of the wheels. From the
direction of the engine there came the sound of two men talking.
Otherwise nothing.
Rosemary reckoned that they should be over the frontier soon, but, of
course, if they were going to have these interminable halts----
Half an hour went by. Even the distant hum of conversation had ceased,
and the silence was absolute. Feeling unaccountably agitated rather than
nervous, Rosemary called to Jasper. At once he opened his eyes.
"What is it, my dear?" he asked vaguely. "Where are we?" And he added,
with a shake of his long, lean body: "These carriages are deuced
uncomfortable."
"We are at a small station, Jasper," Rosemary said. "And we've been here
over half an hour. Have you been asleep?"
"I remember this confounded train pulling up. I must have dropped off to
sleep after that. I wonder where we are."
"We can't be very far from the frontier. I thought at first they would
turn us out for the customs, or passports or something. But nothing has
happened, and we don't seem to be getting on. I do hope there has not
been a breakdown on the line."
"My dear!" Jasper exclaimed, rather impatiently, "why in the world
should you think that there is a breakdown on the line? There's a signal
against us, I suppose. That's all."
But Rosemary was not satisfied. "Do you mind," she said, "seeing if you
can get hold of anybody. I can't help feeling nervous and----"
At once Jasper was on his feet, courteous, attentive as always. "Of
course I'll go and see, my darling," he said. "But it's not like you to
be nervous."
He drew back the 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 footsteps 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 of 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 kilomètre, 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 Sot 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 Roumanian 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
to-night. This whole business has got on my nerves, I suppose. I don't
seem to know what I am doing."