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The Time of Roses, a fiction by L. T. Meade |
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Chapter 18. A Vestige Of Hope |
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_ CHAPTER XVIII. A VESTIGE OF HOPE Miss Franks was heard tripping downstairs as fast as her feet could carry her, and Florence covered her face with her hands. "I have yielded," she said to herself. "What is to be done?" She got up desperately. "I must not think, that is evident," was her next sensation. She could not take any more breakfast. She was too tired, too stunned, too unnerved. She dressed herself slowly, and determined, after posting the necessary money to her mother, to go the round of the different registry-offices where she had entered her name. "If there is any chance, any chance at all, I will tell Edith Franks the truth to-night," she said to herself. "If there is no chance of my earning money--why, this sum that mother has demanded of me means the reducing of my store to seven pounds and some odd silver--I shall be penniless before many weeks are over. What is to be done?" Florence wrote a short letter to her mother. She made no allusions whatever to the little woman's comments with regard to the dangers in which she herself was placed. "I am extremely likely to die of starvation, but there is no other danger in my living alone in London," she thought, with a short laugh. And then she went to a post-office and got the necessary postal orders, and put them into the letter, and registered it and sent it off. "Oh, Mummy, do be careful," she said, in the postscript; "it has been rather hard to spare you this, though, of course I do it with a heart and a half." Afterwards poor Florence went the dreary round--from Harley-street to Bond-street, from Bond-street to Regent-street, from Regent-street to the Strand did she wander, and in each registry-office she received the same reply: "There is nothing at all likely to suit you." At last, in a little office in Fleet-street, she was handed the address of a lady who kept a school, and who might be inclined to give Florence a small post. "The lady came in late last night," said the young woman who spoke to her across a crowded counter, "and she said she wanted someone to come and live in the house and look after a lot of girls, and she would be glad to make arrangements, as term would begin in about a fortnight. You might look her up. I know the salary will be very small; but I think she is willing to give board and lodging." Slightly cheered by this vestige of hope, Florence mounted an omnibus, and presently found herself at South Kensington. She found the right street, and stopped before a door of somewhat humble dimensions. She rang the bell. A charwoman opened the door after some delay, told her that Mrs. Fleming was within, and asked her what her message was. Florence said she had come after the post which Mrs. Fleming was offering. The charwoman looked dubious. "I wouldn't if I was you," she said, in a low voice, hiding both her hands under her apron as she spoke. Florence would not condescend to consult with the charwoman whether she was to accept the situation or not. She simply said: "Will you tell your mistress that I am here?" "A wilful lass," muttered the old woman, "and I told her she had better not." She shambled across a dirty passage, and opened a door at the farther end. A moment later Florence found herself in the presence of a tall woman with a very much powdered face and untidy hair. This personage was dressed in rusty black, wore a dirty collar and cuffs, and had hands evidently long strangers to soap-and-water. She invited Florence to seat herself, and looked her all over. "H'm! you've come after the situation. Your name, please." "Florence Aylmer." "Your age?" "I am nearly twenty-one." "Very young. Have you had experience in controlling the follies of youth?" "I have been pupil teacher at my last school for over a year," said Florence. "Ah, and where was your school?" Florence mentioned it. "Have you ever got into any scrape of any sort, been a naughty girl, or anything of that kind? I have to make most searching enquiries." "Why do you ask?" said Florence. She coloured first, and then turned very pale. Mrs. Fleming gazed at her with hawk-like eyes. "Why don't you answer?" "Because I cannot see," replied Florence, with some spirit, "that you have any right to ask me the question. I can give you excellent testimonials from the mistress of the school where I was living." "That will not do. I find that nothing so influences youth as that the instructress should give an epitome of her own life, should be able plainly to show how she has conquered temptation, and risen even above the appearance of evil. If there is a flaw in the governess, there will also be a flaw in the pupils--understand, eh?" "Yes, madam," said Florence; "I am afraid your post won't suit me. I have certainly a great many flaws; I never supposed you wanted a perfect governess." "Impertinent," said Mrs. Fleming. "Here am I ready to offer you the shelter of my roof, the excellent food which always prevails in this establishment, and fifteen pounds a year, and yet you talk in that lofty tone. You are a very silly young woman. I am quite sure you won't suit me." "It is a foregone conclusion," said Florence, indulging in a little pertness as she saw that the situation would no more suit her than she it. She walked towards the door. "I will wish you good morning," she said. "Stay one moment. What can you teach?" "Nothing that will suit you." "I must certainly remove my name from that registry-office. I stipulated that I should see godly maidens of spotless character. You, who evidently have a shady past, dare to come to me to offer your polluted services! I will wish you good morning." "I have already wished you good morning," said Florence. She turned without another word, and, not deigning to ask the assistance of the charwoman, left the house. When she got to the street she was trembling. "It is hard for girls like me to earn their own bread," she said to herself. "What is to be done? Nearer and nearer am I getting to the edge of the cliff. What is to be done?" She returned home, and spent the rest of the day in a state of intense depression. Her attic was so suffocating that she could not stay in it, but there was a general sitting-room downstairs, and she went there and contrived to make herself as wretched as she could over a well-thumbed novel which another girl had left behind her on the previous evening. A certain Miss Mitford, the head of this part of the establishment, wandered in, saw that Florence was quite alone, noticed how ill and wretched she looked, and sat down near her. "Your name is, I think, Aylmer," said this good woman. "Yes: Florence Aylmer," replied Florence, and she scarcely raised her eyes from her book. "You don't look very well. I am going for a little drive: a friend of mine is lending me her carriage. I have plenty of room for you; will you come with me?" "Do you mean it?" said Florence, raising languid eyes. "I certainly do. My friend has a most comfortable carriage. We will drive to Richmond Park. What do you say?" "That I thank you very much, and I--" "Of course you'll come." "Yes, I'll come," said Florence. She ran upstairs more briskly than she had done yet. The thought of the drive, and the peace of being alone with a woman who knew absolutely nothing about her, was soothing. Miss Mitford was not remarkable for her penetration of character, but she was essentially kind. The carriage arrived and she and Florence got in. They drove for a quarter of a mile without either of them uttering a word; then the coachman drew up at a shabby house. Miss Mitford got out, ran up the steps, and rang the bell; in a moment or two three little girls with very pasty faces and lack-lustre eyes appeared. "I am sorry I was late, dears," said Miss Mitford; "but jump in: there is room for us all in the barouche." Florence felt now almost happy. There was no chance of Miss Mitford discovering her secret. Indeed, the superintendent of No. 12, Prince's Mansions, had not the faintest idea of enquiring into Florence's affairs. She could bestow a passing kindness on a sad-looking girl, but it was not her habit to enquire further. She chatted to the children, and Florence joined in. Presently she found herself laughing. When they reached the park, they all alighted and sat under the trees, and Miss Mitford produced a mysterious little basket, out of which she took milk and sponge-cakes, and Florence enjoyed her feast just as much as the children did. It was seven o'clock when she arrived home again, and Edith Franks was waiting for her in the downstair hall. _ |
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