by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER IV.
AN EVIL GENIUS.
After Bertha said the last words, Florence was quite silent. Berthaturned and looked at her; then, satisfied with what she saw or fanciedshe saw in her face, she turned aside again, giving a faint sigh as shedid so.
"It was a narrow shave," she said to herself; "this had to be. If shetook it in one way all was lost; but she won't take it in that dreadfulway: she will protect me for her own sake. The girl who could stoop todeceit, who could use my assistance to gain her own ends six years ago,is not immaculate now. I can use her in the future; she will beextremely useful in many ways, and my secret is absolutely safe."
So Bertha leant back against the bench, crossed one prettily-shod footover the other, and looked out across the summer sea. Presently Florencespoke in a low tone.
"Good-bye," she said. She rose as she uttered the words.
"Why do you say that? Sit down again. We have come to no terms."
"We cannot come to any," answered Florence, in still that low, almostheart-broken voice. Then, all of a sudden, without the least warning,she burst into tears.
"You bring the past back to me, Bertha," she said: "the hateful past."
"It is very silly of you indeed to cry," said Bertha; "and as to thepast, goodness knows it is dead and buried deep enough unless you chooseto dig it out of its grave. Leave it alone, Florence, and come to termswith me. Now, for goodness' sake stop crying!"
"I won't tell of you just at present," said Florence; "that is the onlything I can say now." Once more she rose.
"You had Kitty Sharston with you this morning," continued Bertha. "Sherecognised me too, did she not?"
"Yes, we both recognised you."
"I never did anything particular to injure her; I mean, everything cameright for her," continued Bertha; "she could scarcely interfere. It isyou whom I dread. You and your mother between you can do me harm; but,after all, even at your very worst I may not be deprived of my presentcomfortable home and my delightful future. But I do not choose to runthe risk, so you must promise that you won't betray me."
"Does mother know that Mrs. Aylmer--that Aunt Susan is staying atDawlish?" continued Florence.
"She probably knows it by this time. Mrs. Aylmer has written her a noteasking her to call to see her. She won't see you, so don't imagine it."
"I don't want to see her."
"Before your mother accepts that invitation, I want you to secure hersilence; or, stay," continued Bertha briskly, "I will see her myself."She thought for a moment over a new idea which had come to her. Her lipsthen broke into smiles.
"How stupid of me!" she said. "I never thought of your mother before;she is the very person. I will meet you to-morrow morning here,Florence, and then you can tell me what you decide. It will be all thebetter for you if you are wise: all the worse for you if you are silly.Now go home, as I see you are dying to do so."
Florence turned away from her companion without even bidding hergood-bye: her heart was in a tumult. She scarcely knew what to say orwhat to do.
She did not want to injure Bertha, and yet she hated to feel that shewas in her present position. She disliked her as much as it was possiblefor her to dislike anyone.
"She makes me feel bad," thought the girl; "she brings back the dreadfulpast. Oh, I was a wicked girl; but she helped to make me so. She bringsback the dreadful, dreadful past."
By the time she had reached her mother's cottage she resolved to tellher exactly what had transpired and to ask her advice.
"For the little Mummy must also have learned her lesson: the littleMummy will tell me what is right to do," thought the girl.
But when she entered the house Mrs. Aylmer was nowhere to be seen.
Sukey, on the contrary, came forward with an important manner.
"Well, Miss Flo," she said, "when you come to the place, that aunt ofyours seems also to put in an appearance. Your mother has had a notefrom her. She is staying at the 'Crown and Garter,' and Mrs. Aylmer hasgone up there to tea. No, you are not invited, Miss Flo, and sorry I amthat you are not."
"It doesn't matter, Sukey," replied Florence. She sighed as she spoke.
"Have you a bit of a headache, my dear?" asked the old servant.
"Yes, I think I have," answered the girl.
"I'll get you your tea, and the tea for the other pretty young lady too.You can have it in the porch. It's a lovely evening. It don't do forgirls to have headaches; but there's nothing to set you right like a cupof tea."
Sukey bustled off to prepare the simple meal, and presently Kitty camedownstairs. She was refreshed by her sleep and inclined to be merry withFlorence. Florence, however, felt too anxious to talk much.
"What is the matter with you, Florry? Are you worried about anything?"asked the companion. "Oh, I suppose it is about that wretched BerthaKeys. What can she be doing here?"
"You'll be amazed when I tell you that I saw Bertha this afternoon,"continued Florence. "Where do you think she is staying? What post do youthink she has secured?"
"How can I tell?" answered Kitty, raising her brows almost withimpatience; then she added, before Florence could utter a word: "I amafraid I don't greatly care. All you and I want is that she should notcome into our lives."
"But she has come into my life once more," said poor Florence, claspingand unclasping her strong white hands as she spoke. "I believe she is myevil genius. I quite dread her, and she has a power over me, and it hasnot lessened, although I have not seen her for six years. Do you knowwhere she is staying?"
"No."
"She is living with Aunt Susan Aylmer as her companion."
Kitty was so much startled by the news that she sprang to her feet.
"Never!" she cried.
"It is the case; she has been with Aunt Susan for years."
"But how did she get the post? From the little I have seen of your aunt,she is one of the most particular, fastidious women in the world."
"Trust Bertha to manage that," replied Florence, in a bitter tone; "butanyhow, she is very much afraid of me: she does not want me to see AuntSusan, nor tell her what I know."
"And what will you do, Flo?"
"I am undecided at the present moment."
"I think you ought to tell her," said Kitty gravely.
"She won't see me, and I do dread making Bertha a greater enemy than sheis at present."
"All the same, I think you ought to tell her," replied Kitty. She lookedgrave and earnest as she spoke.
"If I were you I would," replied Florence, with some bitterness; "if Iwere you I would never do a crooked thing, or think a crooked thought;but I am not made that way. I am different, quite different. Shefrightens me."
"Well, don't think any more of her just now. Take your tea and let us goout for a walk."