Orczy Delphi Collected Works of Baroness Emma Orczy (Illustrated)

1. Auflage 2016
ISBN: 978-1-78656-022-3
Verlag: Delphi Classics
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, Band 24, 9834 Seiten

Reihe: Delphi Series Six

The Hungarian-born British novelist, Baroness Emma Orczy achieved immense fame as the author of 'The Scarlet Pimpernel', one of the greatest successes of twentieth century literature, as well as numerous historical adventure novels and innovative detective fiction. For the first time in publishing history, this eBook presents Orczy's complete fictional works, with all the Scarlet Pimpernel adventures, numerous illustrations, rare texts, informative introductions and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 2)

* Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Orczy's life and works
* Concise introductions to the major novels and other texts
* all 45 novels, with individual contents tables
* The complete Scarlet Pimpernel novels and short stories, featuring tales often missed out of collections
* Special 'Scarlet Pimpernel Series' table of contents, allowing you to navigate the famous works quickly
* Includes rare novels appearing for the first time in digital publishing, including BY THE GODS BELOVED, A SON OF THE PEOPLE and NICOLETTE
* Images of how the books were first published, giving your eReader a taste of the original texts
* Excellent formatting of the texts
* Famous works are fully illustrated with their original artwork
* The complete short story collections, first time in digital print
* Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the short stories
* Easily locate the short stories you want to read
* The rare OLD HUNGARIAN FAIRY TALES - available in no other collection
* Includes Orczy's autobiography - discover the author's personal and literary life
* Ordering of texts into chronological order and literary genres
* UPDATED with 10 novels and 2 story collections

CONTENTS:

The Scarlet Pimpernel Series

The Novels
The Emperor's Candlesticks (1899)
In Mary's Reign (1901)
The Scarlet Pimpernel (1905)
By the Gods Beloved (1905)
I Will Repay (1906)
A Son of the People (1906)
Beau Brocade (1906)
The Elusive Pimpernel (1908)
The Nest of the Sparrowhawk (1909)
Petticoat Government (1910)
A True Woman (1911)
Fire in Stubble (1912)
Meadowsweet (1912)
El Dorado (1913)
Unto Cæsar (1914)
The Laughing Cavalier (1914)
A Bride of the Plains (1915)
The Bronze Eagle (1915)
Leatherface (1916)
Lord Tony's Wife (1917)
A Sheaf of Bluebells (1917)
Flower o' the Lily (1918)
His Majesty's Well-Beloved (1919)
The First Sir Percy (1921)
The Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel (1922)
Nicolette (1922)
The Honourable Jim (1924)
Pimpernel and Rosemary (1924)
The Celestial City (1926)
Sir Percy Hits Back (1927)
Blue Eyes and Grey (1928)
Marivosa (1930)
A Joyous Adventure (1932)
A Child of the Revolution (1932)
Pride of Race (1933)
The Scarlet Pimpernel Looks at the World (1933)
The Way of the Scarlet Pimpernel (1933)
A Spy of Napoleon (1934)
The Uncrowned King (1935)
The Turbulent Duchess (1935)
Sir Percy Leads the Band (1936)
The Divine Folly (1937)
No Greater Love (1938)
Mam'zelle Guillotine (1940)
The Will-o'-the-Wisp (1947)

The Short Story Collections
Old Hungarian Fairy Tales (1895)
The Case of Miss Elliott (1905)
The Old Man in the Corner (1909)
Lady Molly of Scotland Yard (1910)
The Man in Grey (1918)
The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel (1919)
Castles in the Air (1921)
A Question of Temptation (1925)
Unravelled Knots (1925)
Skin o' My Toot (1928)
Adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel (1929)
In the Rue Monge (1931)

The Short Stories
List of Short Stories in Chronological Order
List of Short Stories in Alphabetical Order

The Autobiography
Links in the Chain of Life (1947)

Autoren/Hrsg.

Orczy, Baroness Emma

Leseproben

CHAPTER III.

AS SOON AS Iván Volenski lost sight completely of Madame Demidoff’s carriage, he, with a sigh of relief, retraced his steps up the wide stairs of the opera house, and joined a couple of dominoes, who, dressed like himself in uniform grey, stood isolated among the groups of masks that encumbered the entrance to the foyer. Together all three began sauntering in the direction of the Kolowrátring.

They walked on in silence for some time, smoking cigarettes and pushing their way through the crowd as best they could.

On the Ringstrasse the scene was as gay as ever; laughing groups of masks in bands of a score or so occupying the whole width of the street made progress somewhat difficult. But the three grey dominoes appeared in no very great hurry; they exchanged jests where repartee was expected of them, and mixed with the crowd where it was impossible to avoid it.

The sumptuous houses and gorgeously decorated shops on either side were illuminated with many-coloured lights, changing this midnight hour into light as broad as day. On the balconies, gaily festooned with flowers, groups of onlookers gazed on the animated scene below, whilst every now and then, from some opened windows, dreamy waltzes and weird csárdás mingled with the noisy street cries and laughter, telling of aristocratic balls and parties given within, where King Carnival was courted with equal mirth if somewhat less exuberance and noise. Sometimes the groups of mummers would stop beneath some of these windows and watch the bejewelled figures flitting to and fro, and listen to the soft cadences of the gipsy music — the one thing Hungarian, the Viennese cannot bring themselves to despise.

But the three dominoes did not pause long, amidst this gay and bustling scene, nor did the brilliantly lighted Ring appear to have any attraction for them, for presently they turned into a side street, uninviting and dark though it seemed; and being free to walk more rapidly, soon left the sounds of merry laughter and revelry far behind them.

Still they walked on in silence, not heeding now the few muffled masks that passed them with a laugh and jest, on their way towards the gayer part of the city.

With these few exceptions the streets they now crossed were completely deserted; no illuminations from the windows proclaimed the reign of King Carnival, no sound of dreamy waltz music lent a touch of merriment to the dismal, stone-paved courtyards that yawned drearily on either side.

Into one of these the three dominoes presently turned, and, without waiting to reply to the concierges’ challenge as to whom they were seeking at so late an hour, they found their way to the back stone staircase, which was but dimly lighted by a hanging lamp, that flickered in the draught, and threw weird shadows on the steps. Having reached the second flight, one of the dominoes gave a peculiar rhythmical knock on one of the doors facing him, which after a few moments was thrown open, while an anxious voice asked —

“Is that you, Baloukine?”

“Yes,” replied the domino, “with Iván and Serge; let us in.”

The room which they now entered, furnished with an attempt at comfort, half as office, half as smoking lounge, was filled with some twelve or fourteen men, of all ages, and apparently, judging from their clothes, of very mixed social positions; while four or five of them, collarless, and probably shirtless, wore working jackets and clumsy boots; some wore beautifully cut dress-clothes and spotless linen, with a flower in their button-hole, and one elderly man, with pointed grey beard, and handsome, aristocratic features, wore two or three decorations fastened to his coat. All, however, whether peer or peasant, seemed on the best of terms together, and smoking pipes and cigarettes of peace and fraternity.

“What news?” asked half a dozen voices, as the new arrivals divested themselves of their grey dominoes, and shook hands with those sitting around.

“The best.”

“Where is he?” asked a voice.

“In Mirkovitch’s fiaker with Maria Stefanowna.”

“And presently?”

“Mirkovitch’s guest at No. 21, Heumarkt.”

The questions and answers followed each other in rapid succession; the tension of suspense had evidently been great, the relief at the news obviously most welcome, for a sigh of satisfaction seemed to rise in unison from a dozen heaving, oppressed chests.

“And Mirkovitch?” asked one of the older men.

“He will be here anon.”

“As soon as he is safe under lock and key.”

“Then he is in our power?”

“Absolutely.”

“Did Lavrovski attempt to follow him?”

“Not till it was too late, and the fiaker out of sight. He fell into the trap, without a shadow of suspicion.”

There was a pause now; evidently much had to be thought of and serious points considered, for during the next ten minutes not a sound disturbed the stillness of the room, save the crackling of burning logs in the wide chimney, and one or two whispered questions and rapidly given answers.

Then a heavy tread was heard in the passage outside, the same rhythmical knock on the door, while a gruff voice said —

“Mirkovitch.”

A herculean man, some six foot three in height, with long grey hair thrown back from a massive forehead, and piercing grey eyes, half hidden under a pair of bushy eyebrows, now joined the group of smokers, greeting them all with but two words —

“All safe.”

“Prisoner?”

“Safely in my house; no windows, only a skylight. No chance of discovery, and less of escape.”

“And Maria Stefanowna?”

“Did her part splendidly; he suspected nothing till he heard the door locked behind him.”

“Did he speak?”

“Only to call himself a fool, which remark was obvious.”

“He asked no questions?”

“None.”

“The deaf-mute valet was there to receive him?”

“Yes, and waited on him, while he took some of the supper we had prepared for him.”

“What about Lavrovski?” asked a voice from the further end of the room.

“He went back to his box, and is waiting there now, I should imagine.”

“In the meanwhile, Mirkovitch, you have promised us the best possible treatment for our prisoner.”

“Yes,” said Mirkovitch grimly. “I hate him, but I will treat him well. The deaf-mute is a skilled valet, the rooms are comfortable, the bed is luxurious, the food will be choice and plentiful. Very different,” he added sullenly, “from what Dunajewski and the others are enduring at this moment.”

“They are practically free now,” said a young voice enthusiastically; “we can demand their liberty; let them refuse it, if they dare.”

“Yes,” added Mirkovitch with a smile, “it would go hard with Nicholas Alexandrovitch now if they refused to let our comrades go.”

“To business, friends, there is no time for talk,” said the authoritative voice of the elderly man, who wore decorations.

The cigarettes and pipes were with one accord put aside, and all chairs turned towards the table placed in the centre of the room, on which stood a lamp tempered with a green shade, and, scattered all about, loose bundles of papers, covered with writing and signatures.

“There are many points to decide,” resumed he, who appeared to be a leader amongst them; “the deed, accomplished to-night, thanks to those heads who planned, and those arms who executed it, great as it is, has still a greater object in view. This, we over here cannot attain; the turn of Taranïew and the brothers in Petersburg has now come, to do their share of the work.”

The chairman paused, all heads nodded in acquiescence, then he resumed —

“We have been obliged to act very hurriedly, and on our own initiative. Taranïew and the others, so far, know absolutely nothing.”

“They must hear of it at once,” said one voice.

“And cease any plotting of their own,” assented another.

“It could only now lead to certain disaster,” agreed the chairman, “if they were in any sort of way to draw the attention of the Third Section on themselves.”

“Or us!” grimly added Mirkovitch.

“Obviously, therefore, our messenger’s duty to them will be twofold,” said the president. “The bringing of the great news, as it now stands, and our instructions as to the next course they must follow to attain the noble object we all have in view.”

“Yes, the letter to Alexander III.” said a young voice eagerly.

This was the important point; more eagerness in the listeners, more enthusiasm among the younger men was, if possible, discernible.

“I have here,” said the president, taking a document from the table, “with the help of the committee, embodied our idea as to how that letter should be framed.”

“It will be an appetising breakfast relish for the autocrat of all the Russias when he finds it, as he does all our written warnings, underneath his cup of morning coffee,” sneered Mirkovitch, who had been sitting all this while smoking grimly, and muttering at intervals short sentences between his teeth, which boded no good to the prisoner he had under his charge.

“Our letter,” said the president, “this time will contain the information that the Tsarevitch is, at the present moment, in the hands of some persons unknown, and that those persons will continue to hold him a hostage till certain conditions are complied with.”

“Those conditions...