The Time of Roses
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These terms, generous in themselves, were eagerly accepted by the all but penniless widow. She had some difficulty, however, in persuading young Trevor to, as he expressed it, sell his independence. In the end her wishes prevailed. He went to Trinity College, Cambridge, took honours there, and now at four-and-twenty years of age was to a certain extent his own master, and yet was more tied and fettered than almost any other young man he knew. To tell the truth, he hated his own position. Mrs. Aylmer was capricious; she considered that he owed her undying gratitude: that he should only do what she wished. He had little or no control of her affairs, Bertha Keys being the true mistress.
At the time when this story opens he felt that he could scarcely stand his silken fetters any longer.
Bertha, as she stood now in the moonlit window of her little room at the "Crown and Garter," thought over Maurice Trevor, his future prospects, and his past life. She also thought about Florence.
"From the way he spoke to-night," thought this astute young woman, "very, very little would make him fall in love with Florence. Now, that is quite the very last thing to be desired. It would be a sort of revenge on Mrs. Aylmer, but it cannot be permitted for a single moment. They must not meet again. There are several reasons against that. In the first place, it would not suit my convenience. I mean to inherit Mrs. Aylmer's property, either as the heiress in my own person or as the wife of Maurice Trevor. It is true that I am older than he, but I have three times his sense: I can manage him if another girl does not interfere. He must leave here immediately. I must make some excuse. His mother is not quite so quixotic as he is; I must manage things through her. One thing, at least, I am resolved on: he must not hear the story of Florence – at least, not through Florence herself: he must not meet her again, and Mrs. Aylmer must not tell him the story of what occurred at Cherry Court School."
Bertha thought a very long time.
"If he really falls in love with Florence, then he must no longer be Mrs. Aylmer's heir," she said to herself; "but he shall not meet her. I like him: I want him for myself; when the time comes, I will marry him. He shall not marry another woman and inherit all Mrs. Aylmer's property."
Bertha stayed up for some time. It was between two and three in the morning when at last she laid her head on her pillow. She had gone through an exciting and even a dangerous day, but that did not prevent her sleeping soundly. Early in the morning, however, she rose. She was dressed before seven o'clock, and waited anxiously for eight o'clock, the time when she might send off a telegram. She procured a telegraph form and carefully filled it in. These were the words she wrote: —
"Make some excuse to summon Maurice to London at once. Must go. Will explain to you when writing. Do not let Maurice know that I have telegraphed. – Bertha Keys."
This telegram was addressed to Mrs. Trevor, Rose View, 10 St. Martin's Terrace, Hampstead. Punctually as the clock struck eight, Bertha was standing at the telegraph-office; it was so early that she knew the line would be more or less clear. She sent off her telegram and returned with a good appetite to breakfast.
At about ten o'clock a telegram arrived for Trevor. He was eating his breakfast in his usual lazy fashion, and was inwardly wondering if he could see Florence again: if he could lead up to the subject of the school where she had suffered disgrace: and if she herself would explain to him that which was making him far more uncomfortable than the occasion warranted.
"A telegram for you," said Bertha, handing him the little yellow envelope. He opened it, and his face turned pale.
"How queer!" he said; "this is from mother; she wants me to come up to-day: says it is urgent. What shall I do, Miss Keys?"
"Why, go, of course," said Bertha; "here is Mrs. Aylmer. Mrs. Aylmer, Mr. Trevor has had an urgent telegram from his mother. She wants to see him."
Mrs. Aylmer looked annoyed.
"I wanted you to come with me this morning, Maurice," she said, "on an expedition to Warren's Cove. I thought you might drive me in a pony carriage."
"I can do that," said Bertha, in her brisk way.
"Of course you can, my dear, if Maurice feels that he really must go. – When can you be back again?"
"I will try and return to-morrow," said Trevor; "but, of course, it depends on what really ails mother. From the tone of her telegram I should say she was ill."
"And I should say nothing of the kind," answered Mrs. Aylmer shortly; "she is one of those faddists who are always imagining that they require – "
"Hush!" said Trevor, in a stern voice.
"What do you mean by 'hush?'"
"I would rather you did not say anything against my mother, please."
He spoke with such harshness and such determination that Bertha trembled in her shoes, but Mrs. Aylmer gave him a glance of admiration.
"You are a good boy to stand up for her," she said; "yes, go, by all means: only return to me, your second mother, as soon as you can."
"Thanks," he answered, softening a little; but the gloomy look did not leave his face.
"I will walk with you to the station, Mr. Trevor," said Bertha, who thought that he required soothing, and felt that she was quite capable of administering consolation.
"Thanks," he replied; "I shall ask the station porter to call for my portmanteau."
CHAPTER IX.
A TEMPTING OFFER
By the next train Bertha saw Maurice Trevor off to London. When she had done so, she went slowly in the direction of the sands. She had induced Mrs. Aylmer to put off her drive until the afternoon. Bertha was now very anxious to see Florence.
In all probability Florence would be on the beach: she would know that Bertha was coming to get the answer which Florence had not given her the day before. She walked slowly, holding her parasol up to shade her face from the sun, and thinking her thoughts.
"At any rate, Maurice Trevor is safe for the day," she said to herself; "and before the evening has passed, I shall have Florence's promise that she will not betray me to Mrs. Aylmer. Mrs. Aylmer is just the sort of person, if Florence made the worst of things, to turn against me and take Florence back again. Then indeed, she would be avenged, and I should be routed. Such a state of things cannot be."
Bertha thought quickly. Her thoughts turned to a little account which was weekly swelling in importance, and which stood to her credit in the Post Office Savings Bank. She was intensely fond of money, but she knew that the time had come when it might be necessary to sacrifice some of her savings. Presently she gave a well-assumed start; said: "Hullo, Flo, is that you?" and went to meet Florence Aylmer.
Florence's face was quite pale, and her eyes were red as if she had been crying.
"Goodness!" said Bertha; "what does this mean? Have you had any domestic calamity since I saw you last?"
"No, not any except what you are making," replied Florence. "I wish you would go away, Bertha: I hate to see you again. I wish you would leave me in peace."
"Well, darling, we return to Aylmer's Court to-morrow, so you will not be long worried by us. I have just been seeing that nice young fellow, Maurice Trevor, off to town."
"Indeed," answered Florence.
"Don't you like him extremely?" continued Bertha, giving her companion a quick glance.
"I scarcely know him," replied Florence.
"But you do just know him. How did you become acquainted with him?"
"My mother introduced him."
"Ah! just like the little widow," said Bertha, in a thoughtful voice. "Well, Flo, you and I have a good deal to say to each other. Let us walk to the other end of the sands, where we shall be alone."
Florence hesitated. For a moment she looked as if she were going to refuse; then she said, in an almost sulky tone: "Very well." They turned in that direction and walked slowly. At last they reached the spot where Mrs. Aylmer had discovered Kitty and Florence the day before.
"It was here I first saw him," thought Florence Aylmer to herself. "What a true, good expression he had in his blue eyes. How upright he looked! How different from Bertha! Oh, what a miserable wretched girl I am! Why do I not tell Bertha that I do not fear her? Why should I put myself in her power?"
At last they reached the rocks.
"It is nice here, and quite romantic," said Bertha; "we can come to our little arrangement. You have made up your mind, of course, Florence, that you will not speak to Mrs. Aylmer of what you know about me?"
"I do not see why I should keep your secret for you," said Florence; "I do not particularly want to injure you, much as you injured me in the past; but at the same time why should I make a promise about it? The time may come when it will be to my benefit to tell Mrs. Aylmer what I know."
"At the present moment she would not speak to you. She hates you as she hates no one else in the world. Your very name is as a red rag to her. If I want to rouse her worst passions, I have but to allude to you. Even if you told her, she would not believe a word against me."
"I am not so sure of that. Mrs. Aylmer may be forced to listen to me, and if you rouse my evil feelings I may tell her just to spite you, Bertha."
"But you will not," said Bertha. "You want money badly. You would like to be independent."
"That is quite true."
"You have had a fairly good education and you want to earn your own living?"
"I mean to earn it."
"But you will require a little money until you do. Now, look here, Florence: I don't want to injure you. I know I did long ago; I did it for my own benefit. I was cast penniless on the world, and I was forced to invent all kinds of subterfuges to make my way. I pity girls who are placed as I was placed. I have now managed to get into a comfortable nest. As I said before, I am in your nest. It suits me, and I do not mean to go out of it; but I pity you, and I should like to help you. Will you borrow a little money from me?"
"Borrow money from you? No, no," said Florence; but she trembled as she said the words.
"I can quite conveniently lend you fifty pounds," continued Bertha, gazing as she spoke across the summer sea. "It is not much, but it is something. With fifty pounds in your pocket you can go, say to London or to any other large town and advertise what you are worth. You have, I presume, something to sell: some knowledge, for instance, which you can impart to others; or perhaps you have a talent for writing. Don't you remember our wonderful essay?"
"Don't!" said Florence; "don't!" She covered her face with her hands; the crimson colour had flooded her face.
Bertha gave a queer smile.
"Now, I could earn money by writing essays," she said; "very smart essays they would be, and I could earn money by writing stories. Suppose, suppose I write stories still, and send them to you, and you publish them as your own – how would that do? Why should you not? I like writing stories, and I do not want money, and you could polish them up if you liked and sell them as your own. That is an excellent idea. Will you do it? I am quite agreeable. I will furnish you with a short story, say, once a fortnight, or once a month. Will you take one with you and try to sell it as your own? I can do it in the evenings, and you shall have it. Don't you think that I am paying you well, now, to keep silence? I am offering you an honourable livelihood, and in the meantime there is the fifty pounds: you may as well have it; it will keep you until the money for the stories comes in, and you can pay me back when you like. I dare not appear before the world as a writer, for Mrs. Aylmer is hard to please, and she would not like me to write or to do anything but devote my time to her; but there are hours at night when she goes to bed which I can devote to your service. Now, what do you say? It seems to me to be a very good offer."
"It is a tempting offer, certainly," said Florence; "but I never thought of writing. I have no particular taste for it."
"Well, think it over," said Bertha, rising as she spoke, "and in the meantime I will send you the money this evening."
"Oh, I cannot take it; please don't."
"I will send it to you," said Bertha, in a gay voice; "it is quite arranged. Good-bye, dear; I wish you success. When you are a great writer we can cast up accounts and see on which side the balance lies. You quite understand? I have a gift in that way which I think can be turned to account. You will agree to do what I wish, will you not, Florence?"
"It is all horrible! I do not know what to say," answered Florence.
"I see in your eyes that you mean to accept; you cannot help yourself. You cannot possibly starve, and you will find when you go to London that the posts of teachers and secretaries are overfull; but the writer of clever short stories can always find a market for his or her wares."
Florence rose to her feet.
"I don't like it," she said; "I am thoroughly miserable. I wish there were some other way; but there is not."
"Well, try for yourself before you think of the story part; but, anyhow, you must take the fifty pounds – you really must."
Bertha rose, touched Florence lightly on her cheek, and before the other girl could say a word turned and left her. She walked across the beach now with a dancing step.
"I have scored a point," she said to herself; "Florence won't dare to tell. She is as certain to accept that fifty pounds as she is to eat her breakfast to-morrow morning. After all, I am very generous to her; but I see my way, I think, to win Maurice Trevor. I see my way to prevent these two becoming friends, and at the worst, if Maurice does meet Florence again, and does fall in love with her, I shall take good care that he is not Mrs. Aylmer's heir. It is but to alter her will and heigh presto! the riches are mine!"
CHAPTER X.
THE LITTLE MUMMY'S CURIOSITY
Florence did not return to the cottage until past the usual dinner hour. When she did so, her mother, who appeared to be very much excited, met her in the porch.
"There has come a little parcel for you," she said, "from the 'Crown and Garter Hotel.' I wish you would open it; I am quite curious: it is sealed. The messenger did not want to leave it when I told him that you were out. He said it had been given him by Miss Keys to bring to you, and that he was to give it into your hands. I wonder what it can be?"
"Oh, it is nothing of importance," said Florence, turning quite pale. "Give it to me, please, mother."
"Nothing of importance, indeed!" said the little widow, tossing her head; "it seemed to me very much of importance. The messenger was quite fussed when he found you were not here: he said perhaps he had better take it back, but I assured him that I did not lose things when they were addressed to my only daughter, and that he might safely trust me to put the parcel into your hands. He was one of the waiters from the hotel – a very stylish-looking person indeed. What riches and what luck follow some people! Why should Miss Keys have everything and my poor girl be left out in the cold?"
"Oh, mother, I would not change with Bertha Keys for anything," said Florence; "but give me the parcel, please."
"Here it is; you'll open it and assuage my curiosity."
"It is only a letter from Bertha; I quite know what it contains," said Florence. She got red first and then pale. Her mother's bright beady eyes were fixed on her face.
"Well, but can't you open it and tell me about it? You know how curiosity does eat into me: I can't sleep, I can't enjoy my food when there's a secret surrounding me. What's in the letter, Flo? If you are too tired to read it just now, I will open it for you."
"No, thank you, mother; I know what it contains: it is a message from Miss Keys. I met her on the sands this morning and – and she said she would write."
With a wild fluttering at her heart, Florence popped the sealed packet into her pocket and sat down near the door.
"I am thoroughly tired," she said, "and my head aches."
Mrs. Aylmer appeared to be annoyed and disappointed.
"I do declare," she exclaimed, "I don't think any of the girls of the present day have health worth mentioning. There's Kitty: she's been fretting and fuming because you went out without her; she's a nice, refined sort of little thing, but she has a headache, and now after preparing the very nicest little dinner out of the scraps which that young man ought to have eaten last night, you never came in to partake. I had lobster salad of the most recherché description, and you were not present, while Kitty could scarcely eat because of her headache, so I had to do justice to the mayonnaise myself; and now you come in looking washed out and wretched. I do declare," she concluded, "things are more comfortable for me when Sukey and I are alone."
"Well, mother, I shall be leaving you shortly. I shall probably be going to London to-morrow or next day."
"So soon, after arranging to spend the holidays with me?"
"I have changed my mind about that now," said Florence restlessly; "I must work and begin to earn money."
"I have not a penny to give you to start with, you understand that."
"I have a little money," said Florence, and her face coloured and then turned pale: "I think I can manage."
"I wonder how," thought the widow. She glanced at Florence, but did not speak: a shrewd expression came into her eyes and she pursed up her lips.
"I will go and coax Sukey to make a cup of coffee for you," she said: "there is nothing like really strong coffee as a cure for a headache, and you can have some bread-and-butter. I am sorry to say I can afford nothing else for your dinner to-day."
"Oh, coffee and bread-and-butter will do splendidly," said Florence.
Her mother left the room. A moment later Kitty came down.
"Flo," she said, "I have just received a letter from father; he will reach Southampton to-morrow and I am to go and meet him there. Won't you come too?"
"Oh, may I go with you?" said Florence, sensibly brightening.
"May you? Of course you may; it will be so splendid to see him again, and you must constantly stay with me – constantly, Flo dear. Oh, I am so happy, so happy!"
CHAPTER XI.
FLORENCE'S GOOD ANGEL
"What is the matter, Flo?" said Kitty. The two girls were in their tiny bed-room. They were to leave Dawlish the next morning, as Kitty had persuaded Florence to go with her to Southampton in order that they might both be present when Colonel Sharston once more set foot on his native land.
Kitty was very much excited, but she was too gentle and noble a girl, too absolutely unselfish, not to notice that her companion was distrait and anxious. No one could be much more worried than poor Florence was that evening.
All during the long day which had followed she had kept saying to herself: "Shall I or shall I not? Shall I take that fifty pounds from Bertha and put myself in her power for ever, or shall I return her the money, fight my way to fortune with the weapons which God has given me, and not descend to her temptations?"
One moment Florence had almost made up her mind to choose the right path, but the next instant the thought of the struggle which lay before her and the terrible adventures which any girl must meet who fights the world without money rose to weaken her resolve. It would be so easy to accept that fifty pounds, and Bertha would scarcely dare to ask her to repay it. She would at least have plenty of time to collect the money bit by bit, and so return it to Bertha; but Florence knew well that if once she took that money she would lower herself forever in the moral scale.
"I should sink again to that sort of awful thing I was just before my great temptation at Cherry Court School," she thought. "I have managed to rise above that level now, and am I going to sink again?"
So she wavered all day long, the pendulum of her mind now swinging to one side, now to another. The result was that she felt quite worn out when night came.
"What is it?" said Kitty. "What is worrying you?"
"Oh, never mind," answered Florence. The tears rose to her eyes, she pressed her hands for a moment to her face, then she said abruptly: "Don't ask me."
"I will ask you. I have seen all day that you are wretched; you must tell me what has gone wrong with you."
"I am tempted, that is all," said Florence.
"Then do not yield to the temptation," was Kitty's answer; "if it is something you would rather not say to me – "
"No, Kitty, I must not tell you, but I am tempted strongly," answered Florence.
"The only thing to do, however hard the temptation, is not to yield to it," said Kitty.
Florence looked for a moment at her companion. Kitty, too, had known what it was to want for money. Kitty had been poor. It is true that, since the day she took the prize which Florence through deceit had lost, her kind friend, Sir John Wallis, had never ceased to shower small benefits upon her. She was not only his pet, but almost his idol. In his heart of hearts he felt that he would like to adopt her, but he did not dare even to suggest such a thing, knowing how passionately she was attached to her father.
Now Colonel Sharston was returning to England, having been appointed to an excellent home post, and Kitty's money troubles were quite at an end.
"She will want for nothing in the future," thought Florence to herself as she looked at the graceful figure and bright beautiful face of the young girl who was standing a short distance away. "She will want for nothing: she will never know the real heartache of those who have to earn their daily bread. How can she understand?"
"Why are you looking at me like that, Flo?" said Kitty.
"Oh, I don't know; I don't know. I – sometimes I envy you. You have rich and powerful friends."
"Then it is money: I thought as much," said Kitty. "Listen to me, Florence. I am sure I can guess what is troubling you. That dreadful Bertha wants to bribe you to be silent: she has offered you money."
Florence's face turned quite pale.
"Give it back to her; you shall, you must! I know father will help you when he comes back. I will speak to him. You must not yield, Flo; you must not."
Florence stood irresolute.
"It is not too late," said Kitty. "We are both leaving here early in the morning. Has she sent you any money now?"
"Yes," said Florence. Her voice scarcely rose to a whisper. The word trembled on her lips.
"Then we will return it to her. You must not take it."
"It is too late: I have taken it."
"It is not too late. What is the time? It is only half-past ten. I am quite certain that Miss Keys is not in bed yet. Come, Flo, put on your hat; your mother won't mind. We will take the latchkey and let ourselves in. We will go to the hotel and return the money."
"Oh, I dare not."
"Then I dare," said Kitty. "You have told me nothing, remember; but I will not let you sink or yield to this temptation."
Florence colored crimson.
"You have a great power over me," she said; "I feel as if you were my good angel, and Bertha were my bad."
"Then for heaven's sake, Florence, yield to the entreaties of your good angel. Come, come; the hotel won't be shut up. Where is the money?"
"In my pocket."
"Then come immediately."
Florence was inspired by Kitty, whose voice was strong, and her face brave and bright, as befitted one who lived for the right and rejected the wrong.
"I am glad," she said to herself; "I did not ask her counsel: she has forced it upon me. She is my good angel."
A moment later the two girls left the cottage. They walked quickly in the direction of the big hotel. There were lights in many rooms, servants walking about, and the hall-door was open. They walked up the steps, and Kitty entered the hall. Florence followed her, pale and trembling.
"Can I see Miss Keys?" asked Kitty of the hall porter.
"I will enquire if Miss Keys is up still," replied the man. "What name shall I say?"
"Miss Sharston. I want to see her for a moment about something important."
"Will you come in, Miss?"
"No; perhaps she would see me here. Say also that Miss Florence Aylmer is with me."
The man withdrew. A moment later, Bertha, in her evening dress, looking pretty and excited, ran downstairs.