by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XLIII.
MRS. AYLMER'S WILL.
Nothing would induce Florence to go to Aylmer's Court and Mrs. Aylmerthe less, in great distress of mind, was forced to remain with her inher flat that evening.
Florence gave her the very best that the flat contained, sleepingherself on the sofa in her sitting-room.
Mrs. Aylmer sat up late and talked and talked until she could talk nolonger. At last Florence got her into bed, and then went to visit Edithin her room.
"You don't look well," said Edith; "your engagement has not improvedyou. What is the matter?"
"I don't exactly know what is the matter," said Florence. "I am worriedabout mother's visit. My aunt, Mrs. Aylmer, is dying. She is a very richwoman. Mother is under the impression that, if she and I went toAylmer's Court, Mrs. Aylmer might leave me her property. I don't wantit; I should hate to have it. I have learned in the last few months thatmoney is not everything. I don't want to have Aunt Susan's money."
"Well," replied Edith, staring her full in the face, "that is the mostsensible speech you have made for a long time. I have closely studiedthe question of economics, and have long ago come to the conclusion thatthe person of medium income is the only person who is truly happy. I ameven inclined to believe that living from hand to mouth is the mostenviable state of existence. You never know how the cards will turn up;but the excitement is intense. When I am a doctor, I shall watchpeople's faces with intense interest, wondering whether, when their nextillness comes on, they will send for me; then there will be the countingup of my earnings, and putting my little money by, and living _just_within my means. And then I shall have such wide interests besidesmoney: the cure of my patients, their love and gratitude to meafterwards. It is my opinion, Florence, that the more we live _outside_money, and the smaller place money takes in the pleasures of our lives,the happier we are; for, after all, money can do so little, and I don'tthink any other people can be so miserable as the vastly rich ones."
"I agree with you," said Florence.
"It is more than Tom does," replied Edith, looking fixedly at her."After all, Florence, are you not in some ways too good for my brother?"
"In some ways too good for him?" repeated Florence. She turned verywhite. "You don't know me," she added.
"I don't believe I do, and, it occurs to me, the more I am with you theless I know you. Florence, is it true that you have a secret in yourlife?"
"It is quite true," said Florence, raising her big dark eyes and fixingthem on the face of her future sister-in-law.
"And is it a secret that Tom knows nothing about?"
"A secret, Edith, as you say, that Tom knows nothing about."
"How very dreadful! And you are going to marry him holding that secret?"
"Yes; I shall not reveal it. If I did, he would not marry me."
"But what is it, my dear? Won't you even tell me?"
"No, Edith. Tom marries me for a certain purpose. He gets what he wants.I do not feel that I am doing wrong in giving myself to him; but, wrongor right, the thing is arranged: why worry about it now?"
"You are a strange girl. I am sorry you are going to marry my brother. Ido not believe you will be at all happy, but, as I have said already, Ihave expressed my opinion."
"The marriage is to take place quite quietly three weeks from now," saidFlorence. "We have arranged everything. We are not going to have anordinary wedding. I shall be married in my travelling-dress. Tom says hecan barely spend a week away from his editorial work, and he wants me tolive in a flat with him at first."
"Oh, those flats are so detestable," said Edith; "no air, and you arecrushed into such a tiny space; but I suppose Tom will sacrificeeverything to the sitting-rooms."
"He means to have a salon: he wants to get all the great and witty andwise around us. It ought to be an interesting future," said Florence ina dreary tone.
Edith gazed at her again.
"Well," she said, after a pause, "I suppose great talent like yours doescontent one. You certainly are marvellously brilliant. I read your laststory, and thought it the cleverest of the three. But I wish you werenot so pessimistic. It is terrible not to help people. It seems to meyou hinder people when you write as you do."
"I must write as the spirit moves me," said Florence, in a would-beflippant voice, "and Tom likes my writing; he says it grows on him."
"So much the worse for Tom."
"Well, I will say good-night now, Edith. I am tired, and mother will bedisturbed if I go to bed too late."
Florence went into her own flat, shut and locked the door, and, lyingdown, tried to sleep. But she was excited and nervous, and no reposewould come to her. Up to the present time, since her engagement, she hadmanaged to keep thought at bay; but now thoughts the most terrible, themost dreary, came in like a flood and banished sleep. Towards morningshe found herself silently crying.
"Oh, why cannot I break off my engagement with Tom Franks? Why cannot Itell Maurice Trevor the truth?" she said to herself.
Early the next day Mrs. Aylmer the less received a telegram from BerthaKeys. This was to announce the death of the owner of Aylmer's Court.Mrs. Aylmer the less immediately became almost frantic with excitement.She wanted to insist on Florence accompanying her at once to the Court.Florence stoutly refused to stir an inch. Finally the widow was obligedto go off without her daughter.
"There is little doubt," she said, "that we are both handsomelyremembered. I, of course, have my fifty pounds a year--that was settledon me many years ago--but I shall have far more than that now, and you,my poor child, will have a nice tidy fortune, ten to twelve or twentythousand pounds, and then if you will only marry Maurice Trevor, whoinherits all the rest of the wealth, how comfortable you will be! Isuppose you would like me to live with you at Aylmer's Court, would younot?"
"Oh, mother, don't," said poor Florence. "I have a feeling which Icannot explain that Mrs. Aylmer will disappoint everyone. Don't count onher wealth, mother. Oh, mother, don't think so much of money, for it isnot the most important thing in the world."
"Money not the most important thing in the world!" said Mrs. Aylmer,backing and looking at her daughter with bright eyes of horror. "Flo, mypoor child, you really are getting weak in your intellect."
A few moments afterwards she left, sighing deeply as she did so, andFlorence, to her own infinite content, was left behind.
The next few days passed without anything special occurring; then thenews of Mrs. Aylmer's extraordinary will was given to Florence in hermother's graphic language.
"Although she is dead, poor thing, she certainly always was a monster,"wrote the widow. "I cannot explain to you what I feel. I have begged ofMr. Trevor to dispute the will; but, would you believe it?--unnaturalman that he is, he seems more pleased than otherwise.
"My little money is still to the fore, but no one else seems to havebeen remembered. As to that poor dear Bertha Keys, she has not been lefta penny. If she had not saved two or three hundred pounds during thetime of her companionship to that heathenish woman, she would now bepenniless. It is a fearful blow, and I cannot think for which of oursins it has been inflicted on us. It is too terrible, and the wayMaurice Trevor takes it is the worst of all."
When Florence read this letter, she could not help clapping her hands.
"I cannot understand it," she said to herself; "but a great load seemsto have rolled away from me. Of course, I never expected Aunt Susan'smoney, but mother has been harping upon it as long as I can remember. Idon't think Maurice wanted it greatly. It seemed to me that that moneybrought a curse with it. I wonder if things are going to be happier now.Oh, dear, I am glad--yes, I am glad that it has not been left to any ofus."
Florence's feelings of rapture, however, were likely soon to bemitigated. Her wedding-day was approaching.
Mrs. Aylmer the less, who had at first told Florence that she could noton any account marry for three or four months, owing to the sad death inthe family, wrote now to say that the sooner she secured Tom Fr
anks thebetter.
"Maurice Trevor is a pauper," she said, "not worth any girl's seriousconsideration. Marry Mr. Franks, my dear Florence; he is not up to much,but doubtless he is the best you can get. You need not show the smallestrespect to Susan Aylmer; the wedding need not be put off a single houron her account."
Nor did Flo nor Tom intend to postpone the wedding. Mrs. Aylmer had notbeen loved by Florence, and, as the couple were to be married quietly,there was not the least occasion why the ceremony should be delayed.Florence had not a trousseau, in the ordinary sense of the word.
"I have no money," she said, looking full at Edith.
Tom Franks happened to come into the room at the time.
"What are you talking about?" he said. "By the way, here is a letter foryou."
As he spoke, he laid a letter on the table near Florence's side. Sheglanced at it, saw that it was in the handwriting of Bertha Keys, anddid not give it a further thought.
"Flo is thinking about her trousseau; all brides require trousseaux,"said Edith, who, although unorthodox in most things, did not think itseemly that a bride should go to the altar without fine clothes.
"But why should we worry about a trousseau?" replied Tom. "I takeFlorence for what she is, not for her dress; and I can give you thingsin Paris," he added, looking at her. "I have some peculiar ideas, and myown notions with regard to your future dress. You want a good deal ofrich colour, and rich stuffs, and nothing too girlish. You are veryyoung, but you will look still younger if you are dressed somewhat old,as I mean to dress you. We will get your evening dress in Paris. I amnot a rich man, but I have saved up money for the purpose."
"I don't really care about clothes at all," said Florence.
"I know that; but you will change your mind. With your particular style,you must be careful how you dress. I will manage it. Don't waste yourmoney on anything now. I want you to come to me as you are."
Tom then sat down near Florence, and began to give her particulars withregard to several flats which he had looked over. He was a keen man ofbusiness, and talked L. _s._ _d._ until the girl was tired of thesubject.
"I shall take the flat in Fortescue Mansions to-morrow morning," he saidfinally; "it will just suit us. There is a very fine reception-room,and, what is still better, all the reception-rooms open one into theother. We must begin to give our weekly salons as soon as ever youreturn from your wedding tour, Florence."
"Surely you will wait until people call on Florence?" interrupted Edith."You are too quick, Tom, for anything. You must not transgress all theordinary rules of society."
Tom looked at his sister, shut up his firm lips, and turned away; he didnot even vouchsafe to answer.
A moment later, he left the room. It was his custom when he met Florenceto kiss her coldly on the forehead, and to repeat this ceremony when heleft her. He did not neglect this little attention on the presentoccasion. As his steps, in his patent-leather boots, were hearddescending the stairs, Edith saw Florence raise her handkerchief to herforehead and rub the spot which Tom's lips had touched.
"How heartily you dislike him!" said Edith. "I would not marry him if Iwere you."
Florence made no reply. She took up her letter and prepared to leave theroom.
"Why do you go? There is a good fire here, and there is none in yourroom. Sit by the fire, and make yourself comfy. I am going out for alittle."
