by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XXXI.
BERTHA WRITES THE ESSAY.
Bertha got up early next morning to act upon the idea that had occurredto her on the previous evening. She ran downstairs and had a privateinterview with the cook. It was Mrs. Aylmer's custom, no matter whatguests were present, to breakfast in her room, and immediately afterbreakfast Bertha, as a rule, waited on her to receive her orders for theday. These orders were then conveyed to the cook and to the rest of theservants.
Breakfast was never over at Aylmer's Court until long past nine o'clock,and if Bertha wished to keep Florence from putting in a most undesiredappearance, she must be at Hamslade Station at half-past nine. She had achat with the cook and then wrote a brief note to Mrs. Aylmer. It ran asfollows:--
"I am going in the dogcart to Hamslade. Have just ascertained that thepheasants we intended to have for dinner to-day are not forthcoming.Will wire for some to town, and also for peaches. I will leave a linewith Kitty Sharston to take the head of the table at breakfast."
"She will be awfully cross about it all," thought Bertha, "and, ofcourse, it is a lie, for there is plenty of game in the larder, and wehave an abundant supply of peaches and apricots, but any port in astorm, and cook will not betray me."
The dogcart was round at the door sharp at nine o'clock, and Bertha,having sent up a twisted bit of paper to Kitty's bed-room, asking her topour out coffee, started on her way. She reached the station a littlebefore the train came in, and sent the necessary telegrams to the shopsin London with which they constantly dealt.
A large party was expected to dine at Aylmer's Court that night, whichwas Bertha's excuse for ordering the fruit and game. The train wasrather late, which added to her impatience. She paced up and down theplatform, and when at last Florence's anxious, perturbed face appeared,Bertha was by no means in the best of humours.
"What mad craze is this?" she cried. "You know you cannot possibly cometo Aylmer's Court. I came here to prevent it. Now, what is it you wantwith me?"
"I must speak to you, and at once, Bertha."
"Come into the waiting-room for a moment. You must return by the nexttrain, Florence; you really must. You don't know how terribly annoyed Iam, and what risks I run in coming here. The house is full of company,and there is to be a dinner-party to-night. Mrs. Aylmer won't forgive mein a hurry."
While Bertha was talking Florence remained quite silent.
"We must find out the next train to town," continued Bertha.
"I am not going back until you do what I want," said Florence. "I darenot. If you do not choose to have me at Aylmer's Court, I will stayhere; but you must do what I want."
"What is that?"
"I want you to write an essay for me immediately."
"Oh, my dear, what utter folly! Really, when I think of the way in whichI have helped you, and the splendid productions which are being palmedoff to the world as yours, you might treat me with a little moreconsideration. My head is addled with all I have to do, and now you comedown to ask me to write an essay."
"Listen, Bertha, listen," said poor Florence. She then told her story inas few words as possible.
"I made such a fool of myself. I was very nearly betrayed, butfortunately Mr. Franks and Mr. Anderson took it as a practical joke. Ihave promised that they shall have an admirable essay by to-morrowevening. You must write it; you must let me have it to take back withme."
"What is the subject?" said Bertha, who was now listening attentively.
"The modern woman and her new crazes. You know you have all that sort ofthing at your finger-tips," said Florence, glancing at her companion.
"Oh, yes, I could write about the silly creatures if I had time; but howcan I find time to-day? It is not even a story. I have to think thewhole subject out and start my argument and--it cannot be done,Florence--that's all."
"But it can, it must be done," replied Florence. "Bertha, I amdesperate; all my future depends on this. I have gone wrong again, andyou are the cause, and now I will not lose all: I must at least have mylittle share of this world's goods as my recompense. Oh, I am amiserable girl! You are the evil genius of my life."
"Don't talk such folly," said Bertha; "do let me think."
They were now both seated in the waiting-room, and Bertha covered herface for a moment with her hands. Florence looked round, she felt hemmedin, and now that she was face to face with Bertha she found that sheregarded her with loathing.
Presently Bertha raised her head and glanced at her.
"You must have it to-night?"
"Yes."
"Well, the best thing I can possibly do is to go straight home. I willleave you here; you must on no account let anyone see you--that isall-important. I will try to get to the station this evening and let youhave it. I don't know that I can write anything worth reading in thetime."
"But at least you will give style and epigram and pure English," saidpoor Florence, who was sore after the bitter words with which her ownproduction had been received.
"Yes, I shall at least write like a woman of education," said Bertha."Well, stay here now, and I will, by hook or by crook, come here in timefor you to take the last train to town. I suppose it would not do if Iposted it?"
"No, it would not; I dare not go back without it. You think I amaltogether in your power; but I am desperate, and if you do not let mehave that essay to-night I will come to the Court, whoever dines there,and see you. What does it matter to me? Aunt Susan cannot hate me morethan she does."
"You shall have the essay, of course," said Bertha, who turned pale whenFlorence uttered this threat. "She means it too," thought Miss Keys, asshe drove rapidly home. "Oh, what shall I do? Such a world of things tobe done, and all those guests expected, and if the fruit or game doesnot arrive in time (and cook and I dare not now show the stores which wehave put away in hiding) what is to be done?"
Bertha entered the house and saw Mrs. Aylmer, who was in just as bad ahumour as Bertha had expected to find her in. Everything, she declared,was going wrong. She wished she had not asked those guests to dinner. Ifthere was no game nor proper fruit for dessert, she, Mrs. Aylmer, wouldbe disgraced for life.
Bertha roused herself to be soothing and diplomatic. She brought all herfund of talent and ingenuity to the fore, and presently had arrangedthings so well that she was able to rush to her desk in Mrs. Aylmer'sboudoir and begin to write Florence's essay.
Bertha was a quick writer and had a great deal of genius, as we know,but she was harassed and worried to-day, and for a time the paper whichshe had promised to give to Florence did not go smoothly. She was inreality much interested in the struggles of the woman who was at thattime called "modern." She pitied her; she felt that she belonged to theclass. Had she time she would have written with much power, upholdingher, commending her, encouraging her to proceed, assuring her that thedifficulties which now surrounded her lot would disappear, and thatby-and-by those who watched her struggles would sympathise with her moreand more. But she had not time to do this. It was much easier to besarcastic, bitter, crushing. This was her real forte. She determined towrite quickly and in her bitterest vein. She was in her element. Thepaper she was writing would make the modern woman sit up and would makethe domestic woman rejoice. It was dead against aestheticism: against allreform with regard to women's education. It was cruel in its pretendedlack of knowledge of women's modern needs.
Bertha felt that she hated her at that moment. She would give vent toher hatred. She would turn the disagreeable, pugnacious, upstart NewWoman into ridicule.
If Bertha possessed one weapon which she used with greater power thananother it was that of sarcasm. She could be sarcastic to the point ofcruelty. Soon her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone: she was in herelement. She was writing quickly, for bare life, and she was writingwell. The paper would make the New Woman sit up, and would make the oldwoman rejoice. It would be read eagerly. It was not a kind paper. It wasthe sort of paper to do harm, not good; but its cleverness wasundoubted. She finished it just
before the luncheon gong rang, and feltthat she had done admirable work.
"After all," she said to herself, "why should I work through the channelof that little imp, Florence Aylmer? Why should she have the fame andglory, and I stay here as a poor companion? Why should I not throw upthe thing and start myself as a writer and get praise and money and allthe good things which fame and success bring in their train? Why shouldI not do it?"
Bertha thought. She held the paper in her hand. It was but to betrayFlorence and go herself to the editor of the _Argonaut_ and explaineverything, and the deed was done. But no: she could not do it. She knewbetter--she was trying for a bigger prize.
"Either I inherit Mrs. Aylmer's wealth or I marry Maurice Trevor andinherit it as his wife," she thought. "I think I see my way. He isdepending on me in spite of himself. He will never marry Kitty Sharston.He neither wants her nor she him. He is to be my husband, or, if not, hegoes under completely and I secure Mrs. Aylmer's wealth. No amount ofwriting would give me what I shall get in that way. I can keep Florencequiet with this, and she is welcome, heartily welcome, to the cheapapplause."
