by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XLVI.
A DENOUEMENT.
Tom Franks was seated before his desk in his office. He was a good dealperturbed. His calm was for the time being destroyed, although it wantedbut a week to his wedding-day. He did not look at all like a happybride-groom.
"It is a case of jilting," he said to himself, and he took up a letterwhich he had received from Florence that morning. It was very short andran as follows:
"I cannot marry you, and you will soon know why. When you know the reason you won't want me. I am terribly sorry, but sorrow won't alter matters. Please do not expect the manuscript. Yours truly,
"FLORENCE AYLMER."
"What does the girl mean?" he said to himself. "Really, at the presentmoment, the most annoying part of all is the fact that I have notreceived the manuscript. The printers are waiting for it. The new numberof the _Argonaut_ will be nothing without it. The story was advertisedin the last number, and all our readers will expect it."
A clerk came in at that moment.
"Has Miss Aylmer's manuscript come, sir?" he said. "The printers arewaiting for it."
"The printers must wait, Dawson; I shall be going to see Miss Aylmer andwill bring the manuscript back. Here, hand me a telegram form. I want tosend a wire in a hurry."
The clerk did so. Franks dictated a few words aloud: "Will call to seeyou at twelve o'clock. Please remain in."
He gave the man Florence's address, and he departed with the telegram.Franks looked up at the clock.
He thought for a little longer. Anderson opened the door of his room andcalled him.
"Is that you, Franks?"
"Yes, sir."
"May I speak to you for a moment?"
"Certainly," replied Franks. He went into his chief's room and shut thedoor.
"I have been thinking, Franks," said Mr. Anderson, "whether we do wellto encourage that extremely pessimistic writing which Miss FlorenceAylmer supplies us with."
"Do well to encourage it?" said Franks, opening his eyes very wide.
"I have hesitated to speak to you," continued Mr. Anderson, "because youare engaged to the young lady, and you naturally, and very justly, areproud of her abilities; but the strain in which she addresses her publicis beginning to be noticed, and although her talent attracts, hermorbidity and want of all hope will in the end tell against the_Argonaut_, and even still more against the _General Review_. I wish youwould have a serious talk with her, Franks, and tell her that unless shealters the tone of her writings--my dear fellow, I am sorry to pain you,but really I cannot accept them."
Franks uttered a bitter laugh.
"You are very likely to have your wish, sir," he said. "I am even nowwriting for the manuscript for the fourth story which you know wasadvertised in the last _Argonaut_."
"I believe she will always write according to her convictions."
"And that is what pains me so much," continued Mr. Anderson. "I havemyself looked over her proofs, and have endeavoured to infuse a cheerfulnote into them; but cutting won't do it, nor will removing certainpassages. The same miserable, unnatural outlook pervades every word shesays. I believe her mind is made that way."
"You are not very complimentary," said Franks, almost losing his temper.He was quiet for a moment, then he said slowly: "We are very likely tohave to do without Miss Aylmer. I begin to think that she is a verystrange girl. She has offered to release me from my engagement; in fact,she has declared that she will not go on with it, and says that shecannot furnish us with any more manuscripts."
"Then, in the name of Heaven, what are we to do for the next number?"said Mr. Anderson. "Look through all available manuscripts at once, mydear fellow; there is not a moment to lose."
"I'll do better than that," replied Franks. "Our public expect a storyby Miss Aylmer in the next number, and if possible they must have it. Ihave already wired to say that I will call upon her, and with yourpermission, as the time is nearly up, I will go to Prince's Mansionsnow."
"It may be best," said Mr. Anderson. He looked gloomy and anxious. "Youcan cut the new story a bit cannot you, Franks?"
"I will do my best, sir."
The young man went out of the room. He was just crossing his ownapartment when the door was opened and his clerk came in.
"A lady to see you, sir: she says her business is pressing."
"A lady to see me! Say I am going out. I cannot see anyone at present.Who is she? Has she come by appointment?"
"She has not come by appointment, sir; her name is Miss Keys--MissBertha Keys."
"I never heard of her. Say that I am obliged to go out and cannot seeher to-day; ask her to call another time. Leave me now, Dawson; I wantto keep my appointment with Miss Aylmer."
Dawson left the room.
He then crossed the room to the peg where he kept his coat and hat, andwas preparing to put them on when once again Dawson appeared.
"Miss Keys says she has come about Miss Aylmer's business, and shethinks you will not lose any time if you see her, sir."
Bertha Keys had quietly entered the apartment behind the clerk.
"I have come on the subject of Florence Aylmer and the manuscript youexpect her to send you," said Bertha Keys. "Will you give me two orthree moments of your valuable time?"
Dawson glanced at Franks. Franks nodded to him to withdraw, and the nextmoment Miss Keys and Mr. Franks found themselves alone.
Franks did not speak at all for a moment. Bertha in the meantime wastaking his measure.
"May I sit down?" she said. "I am a little tired; I have come all theway from Shropshire this morning."
Franks pushed a chair towards her, but still did not speak. She lookedat him, and a faint smile dawned round her lips.
"You are expecting Florence Aylmer's manuscript, are you not?" she saidthen.
He nodded, but his manner was as much as to say: "What business is it ofyours?"
He was magnetized by the curious expression in her eyes; he thought hehad never seen such clever eyes before. He was beginning to beinterested in her.
"I have come about Florence's manuscript; but, all the same, youbitterly resent my intrusion. By the way, you are engaged to marryFlorence Aylmer?"
"I was," replied Franks shortly; "but pardon me. I am extremely busy: ifshe has chosen you as her messenger to bring the manuscript, will youkindly give it to me and go?"
"How polite!" said Bertha, with a smile. "I have not brought anymanuscript from Florence Aylmer; but I have brought a manuscript frommyself."
Franks uttered an angry exclamation.
"Have you forced your way into my room about that?" he said.
"I have. You have received and published three stories _purporting_ tobe by the pen of Florence Aylmer. You have also published one or twoarticles by the same person. You are waiting for the fourth story, whichwas promised to the readers of the _Argonaut_ in last month's number.The first three stories made a great sensation. You are impatient anddisturbed because the fourth story has not come to hand. Here it is."
Bertha hastily opened a small packet which she held in her hand andproduced a manuscript.
"Look at it," she said; "read the opening sentence. I am not in theslightest hurry; take your own time, but read, if you will, the firstpage. If the style is not the style of the old stories, if the matter isnot equal in merit to the stories already published, then I will own toyou that I came here on a false errand and will ask you to forgive me."
Franks, with still that strange sense of being mesmerized, received themanuscript from Bertha's long slim hand. He sank into his office chairand listlessly turned the pages.
He read a sentence or two and then looked up at the clock.
"I have wired to Miss Aylmer to expect me at twelve: it is past thathour now. I really must ask you to pardon me."
"Miss Aylmer will not be in. Miss Aylmer has left Prince's Mansions. Ihappened to call there and know what I am saying. Will you go onreading? You want your story. I believe your printers are
waiting for iteven now."
Franks fidgeted impatiently. Once again his eyes lit upon the page. Ashe read, Bertha's own eyes devoured his face. She knew each word of thatfirst page. She had taken special and extra pains with it; itrepresented her best, her very best; it was strong, perfect in style,and her treatment of her subject was original; there was a note ofpassion and pathos, there was a deep undercurrent of human feeling inher words. Franks read to the end.
If he turned the page Bertha felt that her victory would be won--if heclosed the manuscript she had still to fight her battle. Her heart beatquickly. She wondered what the Fates had in store for her.
Franks at last came to the final word; he hesitated, half looked up,then his fingers trembled. He turned the page. Bertha saw by the look onhis face that he had absolutely forgotten her. She gave a brief sigh:the time of tension was over, the victory was won. She rose andapproached him.
"I can take that to another house," she said.
"No, no," said Franks; "there is stuff in this. It is quite up to theusual mark. So Florence gave it to you to bring to me. Now, you know, Ido not quite like the tone nor does my chief; but the talent isunmistakable."
"You will publish it, then?"
"Certainly. I see it is the usual length. If you will pardon me, asthings are pressing, I will ring and give this to the printers."
"One moment first. You think that manuscript has been written byFlorence Aylmer?"
"Why not? Of course it has!" He looked uneasily from the paper in hishand to the girl who stood before him. "What do you mean?"
"I have something to tell you. You may be angry with me, but I do notmuch care. _I_ possess the genius, not Florence Aylmer; _I_ am thewriter of that story. Florence Aylmer wrote one thing for you, aschoolgirl essay, which you returned. I wrote the papers which thepublic liked; _I_ wrote the stories which the public devoured. I am thewoman of genius; I am the ghost behind Florence Aylmer; I am the realauthor. You can give up the false: the real has come to you at last."
"You must be telling me an untruth," said Franks. He staggered back, hisface became green, his eyes flashed angrily.
"I am telling you the truth; you have but to ask Florence herself. Hasshe not broken off her engagement with you?"
"She has, and a good thing, too," he muttered under his breath.
"Ah! I heard those words, though you said them so low, and it is a goodthing for you. You would never have been happy with a girl likeFlorence. I know her well. I don't pretend that I played a very nicepart; but still I am not ashamed. I want money now; I did not want moneywhen I offered my productions to Florence. I hoped that I should be avery rich woman. My hopes have fallen to the ground; therefore I takeback that talent with which Nature has endowed me. You can give _me_orders for the _Argonaut_ in the future. You will kindly pay _me_ forthat story. Now I think I have said what I meant to say, and I wish yougood-morning."
"But you must stay a moment, Miss--I really forget your name."
"My name is Keys--Bertha Keys. Other well-known magazines will pay mefor all I can write for them; but I am willing to give you the _whole_of my writings, say for three months, if you are willing to pay meaccording to my own ideas."
"What are those?"
"You must double your pay to me. You can, if you like, publish thislittle story about Florence and myself in some of your society gossip--Ido not mind at all--or you can keep it quiet. You have but to say inone of your issues that the _nom de plume_ under which your talentedauthor wrote is, for reasons of her own, changed. You can give me afresh title. The world will suspect mystery and run after me more thanever. I think that is the principal thing I have to say to you. Now, mayI wish you good-morning?"
Bertha rose as she spoke, dropped a light mocking curtsey in Franks'sdirection, and let herself out of the room before he had time to realizethat she was leaving.
CHAPTER XLVII.
FINIS.
It is, alas! true in this world that often the machinations of thewicked prosper. By all the laws of morality Bertha Keys ought to havecome to condign punishment; she ought to have gone under; she ought tohave disappeared from society; she ought to have been hooted anddisliked wherever she showed her face.
These things were by no means the case, however. Bertha, playing adaring game, once more achieved success.
By means of threatening to take her work elsewhere she secured admirableterms for her writing--quite double those which had been given to poorFlorence. She lived in the best rooms in Prince's Mansions, and before ayear had quite expired she was engaged to Tom Franks. He married her,and report whispers that they are by no means a contented couple. It isknown that Franks is cowed, and at home at least obeys his wife. Bertharules with a rod of iron; but perhaps she is not happy, and perhaps hertrue punishment for her misdeeds has begun long ago.
Meanwhile Florence, released from the dread of discovery, her conscienceonce more relieved from its burden of misery, bloomed out intohappiness, and also into success.
Florence wrote weekly to Trevor, and Trevor wrote to her, and his lovefor her grew as the days and weeks went by. The couple had to wait sometime before they could really marry, but during that time Florencelearned some of the best lessons in life. She was soon able to supportherself, for she turned out, contrary to her expectations, a veryexcellent teacher. She avoided Tom Franks and his wife, and could notbear to hear the name of the _Argonaut_ mentioned. For a time, indeed,she took a dislike to all magazines, and only read the special bookswhich Mrs. Trevor indicated.
Kitty Sharston was also her best friend during this time of humiliationand training, and when the hour at last arrived when she was to joinTrevor, Kitty said to her father that she scarcely knew her old friend,so courageous was the light that shone in Florence's eyes, and so happyand beaming was her smile.
"I have gone down into the depths," she said to Kitty, on the day whenshe sailed for Australia; "it is a very good thing sometimes to seeone's self just down to the very bottom. I have done that, and oh! Ihope, I do hope that I shall not fall again."
As to Mrs. Trevor, she also had a last word with Kitty.
"There was a time, my dear," she said, "when knowing all that hadhappened in the past, I was rather nervous as to what kind of wife mydear son would have in Florence Aylmer, but she is indeed now a daughterafter my own heart--brave, steadfast, earnest."
* * * * *
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