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."