Kitabı oku: «The Time of Roses», sayfa 3

CHAPTER VII.
THE CHAINS BEGIN TO FRET

Meanwhile Trevor went slowly back to the hotel. He had enjoyed his talk with Florence; he liked her brusque way, she did not flatter him, and she was, he considered, a particularly attractive-looking girl. In Mrs. Aylmer's society he was made a great deal of and fussed over, and when that happens to a young man he always enjoys the sort of girl who snubs him by way of contrast. He thought Mrs. Aylmer the less one of the most extraordinary women he had ever met; but as he liked Florence, and was in the mood for a bit of an adventure, he would gladly have accepted her mother's invitation to supper if she had not tabooed it.

"You are not to come," said Florence, looking at him with her wide-open frank dark eyes; "mother is the soul of hospitality, but we are very poor: we have nothing proper to give you for supper, and I for one would much rather you did not come."

"I do not in the least mind what I eat," he said, in a somewhat pleading tone, and he looked full at Florence with his blue eyes.

"Nevertheless, you are not to come; it is only my mother's way: she always goes on like that with strangers. I never allow people to accept her invitations."

After this there was nothing more to be said, and Florence and Trevor bade each other a very friendly good-bye.

When Trevor reached the "Crown and Garter" he found that Mrs. Aylmer and Miss Keys were already at dinner. They had both wondered where he was, and Bertha Keys had been a little anxious and a little uneasy. When he came in, the faces of both ladies brightened.

"What makes you so late?" said Mrs. Aylmer, looking up at him.

"I had a bit of an adventure," he said. He drew his chair to the table. "There was a slight chance of my not coming in to supper at all," he continued. "I met that charming little lady who visited you to-day, Mrs. Aylmer."

"What?" said Mrs. Aylmer, dropping her knife and fork.

"I met her again, and she introduced me to her daughter and to another young lady who is staying with them. By the way, they are your relations, so the little lady told me, and she was very hospitable, and invited me to supper, and I should have been very glad to go if the young lady had not told me that I must not accept her mother's invitation."

Now, these remarks were anything but agreeable to Mrs. Aylmer, and still less did they suit Bertha Keys. Neither lady said anything, however, at the present moment, but each glanced at the other. After a time, Mrs. Aylmer stretched out her hand and touched Trevor on his sleeve.

"I am sorry you have made the acquaintance of Miss Florence Aylmer," she said.

"Sorry? Why?" he asked. "I consider her a remarkably nice girl."

"I regret to have to inform you that she is anything but a nice girl. I will tell you about her another time. It is quite contrary to my wishes that you should have anything to do with her: you understand?"

Trevor flushed. He had a way of looking annoyed at times, and he looked annoyed now. His silken chains sometimes fretted him a great deal. He often wondered whether he had done right in allowing himself to become Mrs. Aylmer's adopted son. Bertha, however, gave him a warning glance, and he said nothing.

Presently dinner was over, and Bertha beckoned to him to join her on the balcony.

"Shall we go out on the sands?" she said. "I have something I want to say to you."

"But Mrs. Aylmer has something to say to me also – something about that particularly nice girl, Miss Florence Aylmer."

"She will not say it to you to-night; she has a headache, and I persuaded her to go early to bed. I quite sympathise with you, too, about Florence; she is one of my greatest friends."

Trevor gave Bertha a grateful glance.

"I am so glad you like her," he said. "I was never yet mistaken about anyone, and I took to her frank ways. She looks like the sort of girl who will never deceive you."

Bertha gave a peculiar smile, which vanished almost as soon as it visited her face.

"Shall we meet, say, in twenty minutes," she said, "just by the pier? I must see Mrs. Aylmer to bed; but I can join you then."

"Very well," he answered.

Bertha left the balcony, and Trevor, lighting a cigar, tried to soothe his somewhat ruffled feelings. He had never liked Mrs. Aylmer less than he did at that moment.

"It is horrid when a woman runs down a girl," he said to himself; "such bad form, and, as to this girl, it is impossible Mrs. Aylmer can know anything against her."

Presently he looked at his watch, and prepared to keep his appointment with Bertha. He liked Bertha Keys very much; she was always jolly and good-tempered, and she often tried to smooth over matters when there was any little difference between himself and Mrs. Aylmer. When he reached the pier he found her waiting for him. It was a moonlight night, and the young couple began to pace up and down.

"What is it?" he said at last. "Have you anything special to say?"

"I know you are in a bad humour, and I am not surprised," she said.

"Listen, Miss Keys," said Trevor. He dropped his cigar, and turned and faced her. "I often feel that I cannot stand this sort of thing much longer: it is like being in chains. I would much rather talk the matter out with Mrs. Aylmer, tell her I am very much obliged to her for her kind intentions with regard to me, but that I would sooner carve out my own career in life and be indebted to no one."

"And how silly that would be!" said Bertha. "But what do you want Mrs. Aylmer to do?"

"To let me go. I feel like a captive in her train; it is not manly. I never felt more annoyed than when she spoke to me as she did this evening. It is horrid when a woman abuses a girl – such bad taste."

"You know how peculiar she is," said Bertha; "but you suit her better than anyone I know. You want her to give you money to allow you to live in town. I am sure I can manage it. I quite understand that you must hate being tied to her apron-strings."

"It is detestable," said the young man; "and if it were not for my own mother, who seems so happy about me, and so grateful to Mrs. Aylmer, I should break with her to-morrow."

"I quite sympathise with you," said Bertha. "You must have money, and you must go to town. You want to read for the Bar: I will see that it is arranged. Mrs. Aylmer is rich, but not rich enough for you to live all your life in idleness. It would break her heart now if you deserted her: she has gone through much."

"What do you mean?"

"I cannot tell you."

"Why does she dislike Miss Florence Aylmer?"

"I would rather not say."

"But she will tell me herself."

"I shall beg of her not to do so."

"By the way," said Trevor, after a pause, "is this girl Mrs. Aylmer's niece?"

"She is her niece by marriage. Mrs. Aylmer's husband was Florence Aylmer's uncle."

"Then in the name of all that is just," cried Trevor impetuously, "why should I have the fortune which is really meant for Florence Aylmer? Oh, this is unendurable," he cried; "I cannot stand it. I will tell Mrs. Aylmer to-morrow that I am obliged to her, but that I will not occupy a false position."

"You will do fearful harm if you make such a remark," said Bertha. "Something very sad happened a few years ago, something which I cannot tell you, but – " Bertha's lips quivered and her face was very pale.

"What is it? Having told me so much, you must go on."

Bertha was silent for a moment.

"What has Miss Aylmer done? If there is a frank, open-hearted, nice-looking girl, she is one. I do not care so much for her mother, but Miss Aylmer herself – I defy anyone to throw a stone at her."

"I own that she is a nice girl, a very nice girl; but once, once – well, anyhow, she managed to offend Mrs. Aylmer. You must not ask me for particulars. I want you to be most careful; that is why I have brought you out here to-night. I want you to be most careful to avoid the subject with Mrs. Aylmer. Florence offended her, and she has resolved never to see her and never to speak to her again. She is annoyed at your having made her acquaintance, and I doubt not we shall leave Dawlish to-morrow on that account. Be satisfied that Florence only did what perhaps another girl equally tempted would have done, but it was – "

"It was what? The worst thing you can do is to throw out innuendoes about a girl. What did she do?"

"She was not quite straight, if you must know – not quite straight about a prize which was offered in the school where she was being educated."

"She told me that you were a teacher in the same school."

"Did she?" said Bertha. Her face turned pale, but her companion was not looking at her at that moment. "Ah, yes, poor girl: that is how I happen to know all about it. It was hushed up at the time, and of course Florence has quite retrieved her character. It was nothing whatever but what a girl tempted as she was would do, but it settled her as far as Mrs. Aylmer was concerned, and if you do not wish to bring fresh trouble upon the niece you will avoid the subject with her aunt. That is what I wished to say to you."

"How can I avoid it? It is quite impossible for me to be long with Mrs. Aylmer and prevent her speaking about what she has made up her mind to tell me."

"I have been thinking of that," said Bertha; "the very best thing you can do is to go up to London to-morrow morning."

"I go to London to-morrow?"

"Yes; go away for the present. I will tell her that you have had sudden news of your mother: that she wants to see you; or you can leave her a note to that effect."

"But it would not be true." Trevor darted a keen glance at his companion.

Bertha coloured again.

"It is difficult to manage with people who are as quixotically straight as you are," she said, after a pause; "I want you to keep away for your own sake. If what I have suggested does not please you, think of something else."

"I will tell her that I wish for a change: that is true enough," he answered; "but how will that help me? When I come back, she will tell me the thing you do not wish me to hear about Miss Aylmer."

"Oh, I never said I did not wish you to hear it: I think it would be better for your peace of mind not to hear it: that is all. I have said that it was a little shady: that it happened years ago: that Florence has quite retrieved her character."

Trevor stamped his foot impatiently.

"I will not go away to-morrow," he said, after a pause. "I should like to see Miss Florence Aylmer again. I will ask her to tell me frankly what occurred some years ago."

"You will?" said Bertha, and now her face looked frightened.

"Yes," he answered, looking full into her eyes; "I will. She is perfectly honest. She can excuse herself if necessary. Anyhow, she shall have the chance of telling her own story in her own way."

CHAPTER VIII.
BERTHA'S QUANDARY

It was by no means the first time that Bertha Keys had found herself in a quandary. She was very clever at getting out of these tight corners: of extricating herself from these, to all appearances, impossible situations; but never had she been more absolutely nonplussed than at the present moment.

When she and Florence had both left Cherry Court School her prospects had been dark. She had been dismissed without any hope of a character, and had, as it were, to begin the world over again. Then chance put Mrs. Aylmer the great in her way. Mrs. Aylmer wanted a companion, a clever companion, and Bertha was just the girl for the purpose. She obtained the situation, managing to get references through a friend, taking care to avoid the subject of Cherry Court School, and never alluding to Florence Aylmer.

Mrs. Aylmer was very sore and angry just then. She disliked Florence immensely for having disgraced her; she did not wish the name of Florence Aylmer to be breathed in her presence; she was looking around anxiously for an heir. With Bertha Keys she felt soothed, sympathised with, restored to a good deal of her former calm. By slow degrees she told Bertha almost all of her history; in particular she consulted with Bertha on the subject of an heir.

"I must leave my money to someone," she said; "I hate the idea of giving it to charities. Charity, in my opinion, begins at home."

"That is does, truly," answered Bertha, her queer green-grey eyes fixed on her employer's face.

"And Florence Aylmer being completely out of the question," continued Mrs. Aylmer, "and Florence's mother being about the biggest fool that ever breathed, I must look in another direction for my heir."

"Why not adopt a boy?" said Bertha, on one of these occasions.

"Adopt a boy? a boy?"

"Well, a young man," said Bertha, colouring.

"What a very extraordinary idea!" was Mrs. Aylmer's response. She looked withering things at Bertha, and this young lady found herself more or less in disgrace for the next few days. Nevertheless, the idea took root. Mrs. Aylmer, having found girls failures, began to think that all that was desirable might be encompassed in the person of a boy.

"It would be nice to have a boy about the house. They were cheerful creatures. As they grew to be men, they were more or less a protection. Boys, of course, had none of the small ways of girls. A deceitful boy was a creature almost unknown."

So Mrs. Aylmer thought, and she began to look around for a suitable boy to adopt and leave her money to. No sooner did she seriously contemplate this idea than the opportunity to adopt a very special boy occurred to her. She had an old friend, a great friend, a woman whom as a girl she had really loved. This woman was now a widow: she was a certain Mrs. Trevor. She had married an army man, who had died gloriously in battle. He had won his V. C. before he departed to a better world. His widow had a small pension, and one son. Mrs. Trevor happened just about this very time to write to Mrs. Aylmer. She told her of her great and abiding sorrow, and spoke with the deepest delight and admiration of her boy.

"Send Maurice to spend a week with me," was Mrs. Aylmer's telegraphic reply to this epistle.

In some astonishment, Mrs. Trevor packed up her boy's things – he was a lad of eighteen at this time – and sent him off to visit Mrs. Aylmer in her beautiful country place.

Maurice Trevor was frank, innocent, open as the day. He pleased the widow because he did not try to please her in the least. He liked Bertha Keys because all apparently amiable people suited him, and Bertha certainly did look distinctly amiable. Soon she got into his confidence, and he talked of his future. He wanted to go into the army, as his father had done before him. Bertha suggested that he should tell his desire to Mrs. Aylmer. This Maurice Trevor would not think of doing. He spent a week, a fortnight, a month with the widow, and went back to his mother, having secured a great deal more than he bargained for in the course of his visit.

Mrs. Aylmer now wrote to Mrs. Trevor, said that she liked Maurice very much, that she had no heir to leave her money to, and that if Maurice really turned out quite to her satisfaction she would make him her future heir. He must live with her during the holidays; he must give up his mother's society, except for a very short time in the year; he must be thoroughly well educated; must, on no account, enter the army; and must have a University education.

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."