The Time of Roses

by L. T. Meade

  CHAPTER XLII.

  BERTHA KEYS DEFEATED.

  There is little doubt that Mrs. Aylmer was very ill. Step by step anattack, which was apparently at first of little moment, became seriousand then dangerous. The cold became pneumonia, the pneumonia becamedouble pneumonia, and now there was a hard fight for life. Nurses weresummoned, doctors were requisitioned, everything that wealth could dowas employed for the relief and the recovery of the sick woman. Butthere are times when Death laughs at wealth, with all its contrivancesand all its hopes: when Death takes very little heed of what friends sayor what doctors do. Death has his own duty to perform, and Mrs. Aylmer'stime had come. Notwithstanding the most recent remedies for the felldisease, notwithstanding the care of the best nurses London could supplyand the skill of the cleverest doctors, Death entered that sick-chamberand stood by that woman's pillow and whispered to her that her hour hadcome.

  Mrs. Aylmer, propped up in her bed so that she might breathe better, herface ghastly with the terrible exertion, called Bertha to her side. Shecould scarcely speak, but she managed to convey her meaning to the girl.

  "I am very bad; I know I shall not recover."

  "You have to make your will over again," said Bertha, who was as coolas cool could be in this emergency. Not one of the nurses could be morecollected or calm than Bertha. She herself would have made a splendidnurse, for she had tact and sympathy, and the sort of voice which nevergrated on the ear. The doctors were almost in love with her: theythought they had never seen so capable a girl, so grave, so quiet, sosuitably dressed, so invaluable in all emergencies.

  Mrs. Aylmer could scarcely bear Bertha out of her sight, and the doctorssaid to themselves: "Small wonder!"

  On the afternoon of the day when Mrs. Aylmer the less went to seeFlorence in London, Mrs. Aylmer the great went down another step in thedark valley. The doctor said that she might live for two or three daysmore, but that he did not think it likely. The disease was spreading,and soon it would be impossible for her to breathe. She was frightened.She had not spent a specially good life. She had given, it is true,large sums in charity, but she had not really ever helped the poor, andhad not brought a smile to the lip or a tear of thankfulness to the eye.She had lived a hard life; she had thought far more of herself than ofher neighbour, and now that she was about to die it seemed to her thatshe was not ready. For the first time, all the importance of money fadedfrom her mind. No matter how rich she was and how great, she would haveto leave the world with a naked, unclothed soul. She could not take anyof her great possessions with her, nor could she offer to her Maker asingle thing which would satisfy Him, when He made up the balance of heraccount. She was frightened about herself.

  "Bertha," she said to her young companion, "come here, Bertha."

  Bertha bent over her.

  "Is it true that I am not going to get better?"

  "You are very ill," said Bertha; "you ought to make your will."

  "But I have made it: what do you mean?"

  "I thought," said Bertha, "that"--she paused, then she said gravely:"you have not altered it since Maurice Trevor went away. I thought thatyou had made up your mind that he and Florence Aylmer were not toinherit your property."

  "Of course I have," said the sick woman, a frightened, anxious lookcoming into her eyes. "Not that it much matters," she added, after apause. "Florence is as good as another, and if Maurice really cares forher----"

  "Oh, impossible," said Bertha; "you know you do not wish all yourestates, your lands, your money, to pass into the hands of that wicked,deceitful girl."

  "I have heard," said Mrs. Aylmer, still speaking in that gasping voice,"that Florence is doing great things for herself in London."

  "What do you mean?"

  "She is considered clever. She is writing very brilliantly. After all,there is such a thing as literary fame, and if at the eleventh hour sheachieves it, why, she as well as another may inherit my wealth, and I amtoo tired, Bertha, too tired to worry now."

  "You know she must _not_ have your property!" said Bertha. "I will sendfor Mr. Wiltshire: you said you would alter the will: it is only to adda codicil to the last one, and the deed is done."

  "As you please," said Mrs. Aylmer.

  Bertha hurried away.

  Mr. Wiltshire, Mrs. Aylmer's lawyer, lived in the nearest town, fivemiles distant. Bertha wrote him a letter and sent a man on horseback tohis house. The lawyer arrived about nine o'clock that evening.

  "You must see her at once: she may not live till the morning," saidBertha. There was a pink spot on each of Bertha's cheeks, and her eyeswere very bright.

  "I made my client's will six months ago. All her affairs are in perfectorder. What does this mean?" said Mr. Wiltshire.

  "Mrs. Aylmer and I have had a long conversation lately, and I know Mrs.Aylmer wants to alter her will," said Bertha. "Mr. Trevor has offendedher seriously: he has repudiated all her kindness and left the house."

  "Dear, dear!" said the lawyer; "how sad!"

  "How ungrateful, you mean!" said Bertha.

  "That is quite true. How different from your conduct, my dear younglady."

  As the lawyer spoke, he looked full into Bertha's excited face.

  "Ah!" said Miss Keys, with a sigh, "if I had that wealth I should knowwhat to do with it; for instance, you, Mr. Wiltshire, should notsuffer."

  Now, Mr. Wiltshire was not immaculate. He had often admired Bertha: hehad thought her an extremely taking girl. It had even occurred to himthat, under certain conditions, she might be a very suitable wife forhim. He was a widower of ten years' standing.

  "I will see my client now that I have come," he said, rising. "Perhapsyou had better prepare her for my visit."

  "She knows you are coming. I will take you up at once."

  "But it may be too great a shock."

  "Not at all; she is past all that sort of thing. Come this way."

  Bertha and the lawyer entered the heavily-curtained, softly carpetedroom. Their footsteps made no sound as they crossed the floor. Thenurses withdrew and they approached the bedside. Bertha had ink andpaper ready to hand. The lawyer held out his hand to Mrs. Aylmer.

  "My dear, dear friend," he said, in that solemn voice which he thoughtbefitting a death-bed and which he only used on these special occasions,"this is a most trying moment; but if I can do anything to relieve yourmind, and to help you to a just disposition of the great wealth withwhich Providence has endowed you, it may ease your last moments."

  "Yes," said Mrs. Aylmer, in a choking voice, "they are my last moments;but I think all my affairs are settled."

  Bertha looked at him and withdrew. Her eyes seemed to say: "Take mypart, and you will not repent it."

  Mr. Wiltshire immediately took his cue.

  "I am given to understand that Mr. Trevor has offended you," he said;"is that so?"

  "He has, mortally; but I am too ill to worry now."

  "It will be easy to put a codicil to your will if you have any freshdesires with regard to your property," said Mr. Wiltshire.

  "I am dying, Mr. Wiltshire. When you come to face death, you don't muchcare about money. It cannot go with you, you know."

  "But it can stay behind you, my dear madam, and do good to others."

  "True, true."

  "I fear, I greatly fear that Mr. Trevor may squander it," said Mr.Wiltshire slowly.

  "I have no one else to leave it to."

  "There is that charming and excellent girl; but dare I suggest it?"

  "Which charming and excellent girl?"

  "Your secretary and companion, Miss Bertha Keys."

  "Ay," said Mrs. Aylmer, "but I should be extremely sorry that she shouldinherit my money."

  "Indeed, and why? No one has been more faithful to you. I know she doesnot expect a farthing; it would be a graceful surprise. She has one ofthe longest heads for business I have ever come across; she is anexcellent girl."

  "Write a codicil and put her name into it," said Mrs. Aylmer fretfully;"I will leave h
er something."

  Pleased even with this assent, somewhat ungraciously given, the lawyernow sat down and wrote some sentences rapidly.

  "The sum you will leave to her," he said: "ten, twenty, thirty, forty,shall we say _fifty_ thousand pounds, my dear Mrs. Aylmer?"

  "Forty--fifty if you like--_anything_! Oh, I am choking--I shall die!"cried Mrs. Aylmer.

  Mr. Wiltshire hastily inserted the words "fifty thousand pounds" in thecodicil. He then took a pen, and called two of the nurses into the room.

  "You must witness this," he said. "Please support the patient withpillows. Now, my dear Mrs. Aylmer, just put your name there."

  The pen was put into the trembling hand.

  "I am giving my money back to--but what does this mean?" Mrs. Aylmerpushed the paper away.

  "Sign, sign," said the lawyer; "it is according to your instructions; itis all right. Sign it."

  "Poor lady! It is a shame to worry her on the very confines of thegrave," said one of the nurses angrily.

  "Just write here; you know you have the strength. Here is the pen."

  The lawyer put the pen into Mrs. Aylmer's hand. She held it limply for aminute and began to sign. The first letter of her Christian nameappeared in a jagged form, the next letter was about to begin when thehand fell and the pen was no longer grasped in the feeble fingers.

  "I am about to meet my Maker," she said, with a great sob; "send for theclergyman. Take that away."

  "I shall not allow the lady to be worried any longer," said one of thenurses, with flashing eyes.

  Mr. Wiltshire was defeated; so was Bertha Keys. The clergyman came andsat for a long time with the sick woman. She listened to what he had tosay and then put a question to him.

  "I am stronger than I was earlier in the day. I can do what I could notdo a few hours back. Oh, I know well that I shall never recover, butbefore I go hence I want to give back what was entrusted to me."

  "What do you mean by that?" he asked.

  "I mean my money, my wealth; I wish to return it to God."

  "Have you not made your will? It is always right that we should leaveour affairs in perfect order."

  "I wish to make a fresh will, and at once. My lawyer, Mr. Wiltshire, hascome and gone. He wanted me to sign a codicil which would have beenwicked. God did not wish it, so He took my strength away. I could notsign the codicil, but now I can sign a fresh will which may be made. IfI dictate a fresh will to you, and I put my proper signature, and twonurses sign it, will it be legal?"

  "Quite legal," replied the clergyman.

  "I will tell you my wishes. Get paper."

  The minister crossed the room, took a sheet of paper from a table whichstood in the window, and prepared to write.

  Mrs. Aylmer's eyes were bright, her voice no longer trembling, and shespoke quickly.

  "I, Susan Aylmer, of Aylmer's Court, Shropshire, being quite in my rightmind, leave, with the exception of a small legacy of fifty pounds a yearto my sister-in-law, Mrs. Aylmer, of Dawlish, all the money I possess totwo London hospitals to be chosen by my executor.--Have you put _all_the money I possess?" she enquired.

  "Yes; but is your will fair?" he said. "Have you no other relations towhom you ought to leave some of your wealth?"

  "I give all that I possess back to God. He gave me my wealth, and Heshall have it again," repeated Mrs. Aylmer; and she doubtless thoughtshe was doing a noble thing.

  This brief will was signed without any difficulty by the dying woman andattested by the two nurses. Two hours later, the rich woman left herwealth behind her and went to meet her God.