Kitabı oku: «The Time of Roses», sayfa 5
CHAPTER XII.
ALONE IN LONDON
Florence and Kitty left Dawlish the next day and went to Southampton. There they met Colonel Sharston, and Florence had the great bliss of seeing Kitty's intense happiness with her father. They stayed at a hotel at Southampton for the best part of a week, and then the three went to London. Kitty and her father were going to Switzerland for a month's holiday. They begged of Florence to go with them, but nothing would induce her to accept the invitation.
"I know well that Colonel Sharston even now is far from rich," she said to herself. "I will not let Kitty feel that I have put myself upon her."
So very firmly she declined the invitation, and one short week after she had bidden her mother good bye at Dawlish she found herself alone in London. She had seen Kitty and Colonel Sharston off by the night train to Dover, and left the great railway-station slowly and sadly.
"Now I have to fight the battle. Shall I fail or shall I succeed?" she said to herself.
She had taken a bed-room in a large house which was let out in small rooms. It was one of the first houses that had been let out in flats for women in London, and Florence considered herself very fortunate in being able to take up her quarters there. There was a large restaurant downstairs, where the girls who lived in the house could have their meals provided at low prices.
Florence's bed-room was fairly neat, but very small and sparsely furnished. It was an attic room, of course, for she could only afford the cheapest apartment. She had exactly twenty pounds wherewith to support herself until fortune's ball rolled her way. She felt confident enough. She had been well educated; she had taken certain diplomas which ought to enable her to get a good situation as a teacher; but if there was one thing which poor Florence disliked it was the thought of imparting knowledge to others. If she could obtain a secretaryship or any other post she would certainly not devote her life to teaching.
"It behooves me to be sensible now," she thought; "I must look around me and see what is the best thing to do."
That evening, after the departure of Kitty and her father, she retired to her bed-room. She had bought a little tea, sugar, bread, and butter, and she made herself a small meal. The prices at the restaurant were very moderate, but Florence made a calculation that she could live for a little less by buying her own food.
"I will dine at the restaurant," she thought, "and make my own breakfast and get my own supper. I must make this twenty pounds go as far as possible, as I do not mean to take the first thing that offers. I am determined to get a secretaryship if I can."
That evening she wrote a long letter to her mother, and another to Sir John Wallis. She told Sir John that she was preparing to fight the battle in London, and gave him her address.
"I am determined," she said in the letter, "not to eat the bread of dependence. I am firmly resolved to fight my own way, and the money you have given me is, I consider, a stepping-stone to my fortunes."
She wrote frankly and gratefully, and when Sir John read the letter he determined to keep her in mind, but not to give her any further help for the present.
"She has a good deal of character," he said to himself, "although she did fall so terribly six years ago."
Mrs. Aylmer the less also received a long letter from Florence. It was written in a very different vein from the one she had sent to Sir John. Mrs. Aylmer delighted in small news, and Florence tried to satisfy her to her heart's content. She told her about Kitty's dresses and Kitty's handsome bonnets and all the different things she was taking for her foreign tour.
She described her own life with the Sharstons during the few days she had spent with them at a London hotel, and finally she spoke of her little attic up in the clouds, and how economical she meant to be, and how far she would make her money go, and how confident she was that in the future she could help her mother; and finally she sent the little Mummy her warmest love, and folded up the letter and put it into its envelope and posted it.
That letter brought great delight to Mrs. Aylmer. It was indeed what she considered a red-letter day to her when it arrived, for by parcel post that very same day there came a large packet for her from Bertha Keys, sent straight from Aylmer's Court. This packet contained a wardrobe which set the little widow's ears tingling, and flushed her cheeks, brightened her eyes, and caused her heart, as she expressed it, to bound with joy.
"Oh, Sukey, come and look; come and look!" she cried, and Sukey ran from the kitchen and held up her hands and uttered sundry ejaculations as she helped her mistress to turn over the tempting array of garments.
"There's the silk dress. What a dear girl!" cried Mrs. Aylmer. "Isn't it a perfectly splendid dress, Sukey? We must get it cut down, of course; and the extra breadths will do to renovate it when it gets a little shabby. I shall give a tea-party, I really will, Sukey, when this dress is made as good as new. I am quite certain that I can spare you my old black silk, which you know, Sukey, has been turned four times."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Sukey, in her downright voice. "And what news is there from Miss Florence, please, ma'am?"
"Oh, there is a letter. I have just had time to read it. It is a very nice, pleasant letter; but really Florence is the sort of girl who does not know where her bread is buttered. If she had been anybody else she would have made up to that young man instead of sending him away when I invited him in to supper. Florence is a great trial to me in many ways, Sukey."
"If I was you, ma'am, I'd be thankful to have such a good, nice, downright young lady like Miss Florence, that I would," said Sukey. "But don't keep me any longer now, please, ma'am. I'll go and make you a cup of cocoa: it's quite as much as you want for your dinner to-day. You're so new-fangled with your bits of clothes."
"That I am," said Mrs. Aylmer the less, as Sukey hurried out of the room.
Amongst the clothes, lying by itself, was a thick envelope. Mrs. Aylmer tore it open. There tumbled out of it two golden sovereigns.
"Dear, dear!" thought the widow; "my sister-in-law Susan must be changing her mind to send me all these lovely clothes and this money; but stay: the writing is not in Susan's hand – it is doubtless the hand of that charming young creature, Miss Keys."
Bertha's letter ran as follows: —
"Dear Mrs. Aylmer —
"I have collected a few things which I think may prove useful, in especial the silk dress which you seemed so much to covet. I also send two sovereigns, as I think you will like to have the funds to pay the dressmaker for cutting it down to your figure. Please use the sovereigns in any way you think best.
"I have a little request to make of you, dear Mrs. Aylmer. I am not likely to come to Dawlish again, but I am much interested in your dear daughter Florence, and would be greatly obliged if you would favor me with her address in London. Will you send it to me by return of post, and will you put it into the addressed envelope which I enclose, as I do not want my benefactress Mrs. Aylmer to know anything about this matter? If I can help you at any time pray command me.
"Yours sincerely,
"Bertha Keys."
Mrs. Aylmer was so excited by this letter, and by the fact that she possessed two sovereigns more money than she had done when she awoke that morning, that she could scarcely drink the cocoa when Sukey appeared with it.
"Sukey," she exclaimed to that worthy woman, "it never rains but it pours. We will have a tea-party: such a tea-party it shall be; done in style, I can assure you. All the neighbours who have ever shown any kindness to me shall be invited, and we will have the most recherché little set-out. I will go to Crook's, in the High Street, and order the cakes and the pastry and the sandwiches, and we will hire enough cups and saucers and tea-spoons and all the other things which will be necessary."
"You had better begin by hiring an increased apartment, ma'am," said Sukey, in a dubious voice. "I don't say nothing against this parlour, but it ain't to say large. How will you crowd in all the visitors?"
"It is fashionable to have a crowded room," said Mrs. Aylmer, pausing for a moment to consider this difficulty. "People can stand and sit on the stairs; they always do in crushes. This is to be a crush and – "
"How will you pay for it, ma'am?"
"I tell you I have money. What do you say to these?"
As Mrs. Aylmer spoke, she held a sovereign between the finger and thumb of each hand.
Sukey opened her eyes.
"Is it your sister-in-law, ma'am," she said, "that is changing her mind?"
"No, it is not; I wish it were. I can tell you no more, you curious old body; but when both our silk dresses are made to fit us we will have the party."
Sukey went softly out of the room.
"There's something brewing that I don't quite like," she said to herself. "I wish Miss Florence was at home! I wish the missus hadn't those queer mean ways! But there, when all's said and done, I have learned to be fond of her: only she's a very queer sort."
That evening Mrs. Aylmer wrote to Bertha Keys thanking her effusively for the parcel, telling her that she felt that she owed her lovely silk dress to her, and further thanking her for the sovereigns. The letter ran as follows: —
"I am not proud, my dear; and a little extra money comes in extremely handy. I mean to give a party and to show my neighbours that I am as good as any of them. It will be a return for many little kindnesses on their part, and will ensure me a comfortable winter. I shall have so many invitations to tea when they see me in that silk dress, and eat the excellent cakes, muffins, and crumpets, etc., which I shall provide for them, that they won't dare to cut me in the future.
"If you want dear Florence's address, here it is – 12, Prince's Mansions, Westminster. She has taken a room in a sort of common lodging-house, and I understand from the way she has written to me that she is in one of the attics. It seems a sad pity that the dear child should pinch herself as she does, and if you, Miss Keys, could add to your other virtues that of effecting a reconciliation between Florence and her aunt by marriage, you would indeed fill my cup of gratitude to the brim.
"Yours sincerely,"Mabel Aylmer."
"P.S. – If by any chance that most charming young man, Mr. Maurice Trevor, should be coming to Dawlish, I shall always be pleased to give him a welcome. You might mention to him where Florence is staying in London. He seemed to have taken quite a fancy to her, but mum's the word, my dear. Mothers will have dreams, you know."
CHAPTER XIII.
A WEARY WAIT
Florence settled down in her attic, and made herself as comfortable as circumstances would permit.
With all her faults, and she had plenty, Florence had a straightforward sort of nature. She was alive to temptation, and when occasion rose, as has been already seen, could and did yield to it. But just now she was most anxious to eat the bread of independence, not to sink under the sway of Bertha Keys, to fight her own battle, and to receive her own well-earned reward.
She made her little attic look as neat and cheery as she could; she was extremely saving with regard to her food, and set to work at once trying to obtain employment.
Now, Florence honestly hated the idea of teaching. She was a fairly clever girl, but no more. She had certain aptitudes and certain talents, but they did not lie in the teacher's direction. For instance, she was no musician, and her knowledge of foreign languages was extremely small; she could read French fairly well, but could not speak it; she had only a smattering of German, and was not an artist. Her special forte was English history and literature, and she also had a fair idea of some of the sciences.
With only these weapons in hand, and the sum of twenty pounds in her pocket, she was about to fight the world.
She herself knew well, none better, that her weapons were small and her chance of success not particularly brilliant.
With a good heart, however, she started out from her lodging on the morning after her arrival in town.
She went to a registry-office in the Strand and entered her name there. From this office she went to two or three in the West End, and, having put down her name in each office and answered the questions of the clerk who took her subscription, returned home.
She had been assured in four different quarters that it was only a matter of time; that as soon as ever the schools began she would get employment.
"There is no difficulty," one and all said to her. "You want to get a teacher's post; you are quite sure to succeed. There will be plenty of people requiring assistance of all sorts at the schools when the holidays are over."
"What shall I do in the meantime?" said Florence, who knew that several weeks of the holidays had yet to run.
"In the meantime," said all these people, "there is nothing to do but wait."
Florence wondered if she had really left her mother too soon.
"It would have been cheaper to stay on with the little Mummy," she said to herself; "but, under the circumstances, I could not stay. I dared not leave myself in Bertha's power. August is nearly through, and the schools will open again about the 20th of September. By then I shall surely hear of something. Oh, it is hateful to teach; but there is no help for it."
Accordingly Florence returned home in as fair spirits as was to be expected.
She wrote and told her mother what she had done, and resolved to spend her time studying at the British Museum.
There were not many people yet in London, and she felt strange and lonely. A great longing for her old school life visited her. She wondered where her schoolfellows had gone, and what they were doing, and if they were also as hard pressed as she was.
Her money seemed to her to be already melting away in a remarkably rapid manner. She wanted new boots and a neat new serge dress, and thought she might as well get these necessary articles of apparel now, while she was waiting for a situation, as later; but, although she bought boots at the very cheapest place she could find, her funds melted still further, and before September was half through she had spent between five and six pounds of her small stock of money.
"This will never do," she said to herself; "I shall get so frightened that I shall become nervous. What am I to do? How am I to eke out the money till I get a post as teacher?"
It was already time for different mistresses at schools to be applying to her for her valuable services; but, although she listened with a beating heart as she heard the postman run up the stairs and deposit letters in the different hall doors of the various flats, very seldom indeed did the good man come up as far as her attic, and then it was a letter from her mother.
She decided to go again to the offices where she had entered her name, and enquire if there were any post likely to suit her which she could apply for. She was now received in a totally different spirit.
"It is extremely unlikely, miss," said one and all of the clerks who had been so specious on the occasion of her first visit, "that we can get you anything to do. You are not a governess, you know, in the ordinary sense. You cannot teach music, nor languages, nor drawing. What can you expect, madam?"
"But you told me," began poor Florence, "you told me when I paid my fee on the previous occasion of calling that you could get me a post without the slightest difficulty."
"We will do our utmost, of course, madam; but, with your want of experience, we can make no definite promise. We certainly made none in the past," and the clerk whom Florence was interrogating gave her a severe glance, which was meant as a dismissal.
"If you cannot get me anything to do as a teacher, is there nothing else you can think of to suit me? Secretaries are sometimes employed, are they not?"
"Secretaryships are not in our line," said the clerk; "at least, not for ladies. People prefer men for the post – clever men who understand shorthand. You, of course, know nothing of that accomplishment?"
"Certainly not! Girls never learn shorthand," said Florence.
She left one office after the other, feeling sadder and sadder.
"What is to be done?" she said to herself, almost in tones of despair.
CHAPTER XIV.
A BLUNT QUESTION
Florence was returning slowly home by way of Trafalgar Square when she heard a voice in her ear. She turned quickly, and was much astonished to see the bright face and keen blue eyes of Maurice Trevor.
"I thought it must be you," exclaimed the young man. "I am glad to see you. You passed me in a hurry just now, and never noticed me, so I took the liberty of following you. How do you do? I didn't know you were in town."
"I have been in town for over a fortnight," replied Florence. She found herself colouring, then turning pale.
"Is anything the matter? You don't look well."
"I am tired, that is all."
"May I walk part of the way home with you? It is nice to meet an old friend."
"Just as you please," replied Florence.
"Where do you live?"
"I am in a house in Westminster – 12, Prince's Mansion, it is called. It is a curious sort of place, and let out in rooms to girls like myself. There is a restaurant downstairs. It is a nice, convenient place, and it is not dear. I think myself very lucky to have a room there."
"I suppose you are," assented Trevor, "but it sounds extraordinary. Do you like living alone in London?"
"I have no choice," replied Florence.
"I was sorry not to have seen you again before we left Dawlish. We had a good deal in common, had we not? That was a pleasant afternoon that we spent together looking at the sea-anemones."
"Very pleasant," she answered.
"And how is your mother, Miss Aylmer, and that nice young friend – I forget her name."
"Mother is quite well. I heard from her a few days ago; and Kitty Sharston is abroad."
"Kitty Sharston: that is a pretty name."
"And Kitty is so pretty herself," continued Florence, forgetting her anxieties, and beginning to talk in a natural way. "She is one of the nicest girls I have ever met. Her father has just returned from India, and he and she are enjoying a holiday together. But now, may I ask you some questions? Why are you not with Mrs. Aylmer and Bertha Keys?"
"I have not been at Aylmer's Court for some days. My mother has not been quite well, and I have been paying her a visit. But do tell me more about yourself. Are you going to live altogether in London?"
"I hope so."
"What a pity I didn't know it before! Mother would so like to know you, Miss Aylmer. I have told her something about you. Won't you come and see her some day? She would call on you, but she is quite an old lady, and perhaps you will not stand on ceremony."
"Of course not. I should be delighted to see your mother," said Florence, brightening up wonderfully. "I have been very lonely," she added.
"When I go home to-night I will tell mother that I have met you, and she will write to you. Will you spend Sunday with us?"
"Shall you be at home?"
"Yes; I am not going back to Aylmer's Court until Tuesday. I will ask mother to invite you. I could meet you and bring you to Hampstead. We have a cottage in a terrace close to the heath; you will enjoy the air on Hampstead Heath. It is nearly as good as being in the country."
"I am sure it must be lovely. I am glad I met you," said poor Florence.
"You look better now," he answered, "but please give me your address over again."
As Trevor spoke, he took a small, gold-mounted note-book from his pocket, and when Florence gave him the address he entered it in a neat hand.
"Thank you," he said, putting the note-book back into his waistcoat pocket. "You will be sure to receive your invitation. You look more rested now, but you still have quite a fagged look."
"How can you tell? How do you know?"
"I have often watched that sort of look on people's faces. I take a great interest in – oh! so many things, that I could talk to you about if we had time. I am very sorry for Londoners. I should not care to live in London all my life."
"Nor should I; but, all the same, I expect I shall have to. Perhaps I ought to tell you, Mr. Trevor, quite frankly that I am a very poor girl, and have to earn my own living – that is why I am staying in a place like Prince's Mansions. I have an attic in No. 12, a tiny room up in the roof, and I am looking out for employment."
"What sort of employment? What do you want to do?" asked Trevor.
"I suppose I shall have to teach, but I should like to be a secretary."
"A secretary – that is rather a wide remark. What sort of secretary?"
"Oh, I don't know; but anything is better than teaching. It is just because a secretaryship sounds vague that I think I should like it."
Trevor was thinking to himself. After a moment he spoke.
"Do you mind my asking you a very blunt question?"
Florence gave him a puzzled glance.
"What sort of a question? What do you mean?"
"Are you not Mrs. Aylmer's niece?"
"Your Mrs. Aylmer's niece?"
"Yes."
"I am her niece by marriage. Her husband was my father's brother."
"I understand; but how is it she never asks you to Aylmer's Court nor takes any notice of you?"
"I am afraid I cannot tell you."
"Cannot? Does that mean that you will not?"
"I will not, then."
Trevor flushed slightly. They had now nearly reached Westminster.
"Here is a tea-shop," he said; "will you come in and have tea with me?"
Florence hesitated.
"Thank you. I may as well," she said then slowly.
They entered a pretty shop with little round tables covered with white cloths. That sort of shop was a novelty at that time.
Trevor and Florence secured a table to themselves. Florence was very hungry, but she restrained her appetite, fearing that he would notice. She longed to ask for another bun and a pat of butter.
"Oh, dear," she was saying to herself, as she drank her tea and ate her thin bread-and-butter, "I could demolish half the things in the shop. It is perfectly dreadful, and this tea must take the place of another meal. I must take the benefit of his hospitality."
A few moments later Trevor had bidden her good-bye.
"My mother will be sure to write to you," he said.
She would not let him walk with her as far as her lodgings, but shook hands with him with some pleasure in her face.
"I am so glad I met you," she repeated, and he echoed the sentiment.
As soon as he got home that day he went straight to his mother.
"You are better, are you not?" he said to her.
Mrs. Trevor was a middle-aged woman, who was more or less of an invalid. She was devoted to her son Maurice, and, although she delighted in feeling that he was provided for for life owing to Mrs. Aylmer's generosity, she missed him morning, noon, and night.
"Ah, darling, it is good to see you back again," she said; "but you look hot and tired. What a long time you have been in town!"
"I have had quite an adventure," he said. "Mother, I want to know if you will do something for me."
"You have but to ask, Maurice."
"There is a girl" – he hesitated, and a very slight accession of colour came into his bronzed cheeks, "there is a girl I have taken rather a fancy to. Oh, no, I am not the least bit in love with her, so don't imagine it, little mother; but I pity her, and like her also exceedingly. I met her down at Dawlish. I want to know if you will be good to her. I came across her to-day whilst walking in town, and she was looking, oh! so fagged out and tired! I said you would write and invite her to come and see us here, and I promised that you would ask her to spend next Sunday with us."
"Oh, my dear Maurice, your last Sunday with me, God only knows for how long!"
"But you don't mind, do you, mother?"
She looked at him very earnestly. She was a wise woman in her way.
"No, I don't mind," she said; "I will ask her, of course."
"Then that is all right. Her name is Miss Florence Aylmer, and this is her address."
"Aylmer! How strange!"
"It is all very strange, mother. I cannot understand it, and it troubles me a good deal. She is Florence Aylmer, and she is my Mrs. Aylmer's niece by marriage."
"Very queer," said Mrs. Trevor; "I never thought Mrs. Aylmer had any relations. What sort of girl did you say she was?"
"Not exactly handsome, but with a taking face and a good deal of pluck about her – and oh, mother, I believe she is starvingly poor, and she has to earn her own living, I made her have a cup to tea and some bread-and-butter to-night, and she ate as if she were famished. It's awfully distressing. I really don't know what ought to be done."
