The Time of Roses

by L. T. Meade

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  A VESTIGE OF HOPE.

  Miss Franks was heard tripping downstairs as fast as her feet couldcarry her, and Florence covered her face with her hands.

  "I have yielded," she said to herself. "What is to be done?" She got updesperately.

  "I must not think, that is evident," was her next sensation. She couldnot take any more breakfast. She was too tired, too stunned, toounnerved. She dressed herself slowly, and determined, after posting thenecessary money to her mother, to go the round of the differentregistry-offices where she had entered her name.

  "If there is any chance, any chance at all, I will tell Edith Franks thetruth to-night," she said to herself. "If there is no chance of myearning money--why, this sum that mother has demanded of me means thereducing of my store to seven pounds and some odd silver--I shall bepenniless before many weeks are over. What is to be done?"

  Florence wrote a short letter to her mother. She made no allusionswhatever to the little woman's comments with regard to the dangers inwhich she herself was placed.

  "I am extremely likely to die of starvation, but there is no otherdanger 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 beenrather hard to spare you this, though, of course I do it with a heartand a half."

  Afterwards poor Florence went the dreary round--from Harley-street toBond-street, from Bond-street to Regent-street, from Regent-street tothe Strand did she wander, and in each registry-office she received thesame reply: "There is nothing at all likely to suit you."

  At last, in a little office in Fleet-street, she was handed the addressof a lady who kept a school, and who might be inclined to give Florencea small post.

  "The lady came in late last night," said the young woman who spoke toher across a crowded counter, "and she said she wanted someone to comeand live in the house and look after a lot of girls, and she would beglad to make arrangements, as term would begin in about a fortnight. Youmight look her up. I know the salary will be very small; but I think sheis 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 rightstreet, and stopped before a door of somewhat humble dimensions. Sherang the bell. A charwoman opened the door after some delay, told herthat Mrs. Fleming was within, and asked her what her message was.

  Florence said she had come after the post which Mrs. Fleming wasoffering.

  The charwoman looked dubious.

  "I wouldn't if I was you," she said, in a low voice, hiding both herhands under her apron as she spoke.

  Florence would not condescend to consult with the charwoman whether shewas to accept the situation or not. She simply said: "Will you tell yourmistress that I am here?"

  "A wilful lass," muttered the old woman, "and I told her she had betternot." She shambled across a dirty passage, and opened a door at thefarther end. A moment later Florence found herself in the presence of atall woman with a very much powdered face and untidy hair. Thispersonage was dressed in rusty black, wore a dirty collar and cuffs, andhad hands evidently long strangers to soap-and-water. She invitedFlorence 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 ofyouth?"

  "I have been pupil teacher at my last school for over a year," saidFlorence.

  "Ah, and where was your school?"

  Florence mentioned it.

  "Have you ever got into any scrape of any sort, been a naughty girl, oranything of that kind? I have to make most searching enquiries."

  "Why do you ask?" said Florence. She coloured first, and then turnedvery 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 youhave any right to ask me the question. I can give you excellenttestimonials from the mistress of the school where I was living."

  "That will not do. I find that nothing so influences youth as that theinstructress should give an epitome of her own life, should be ableplainly to show how _she_ has conquered temptation, and risen even abovethe _appearance_ of evil. If there is a flaw in the governess, therewill also be a flaw in the pupils--understand, eh?"

  "Yes, madam," said Florence; "I am afraid your post won't suit me. Ihave certainly a great many flaws; I never supposed you wanted a perfectgoverness."

  "Impertinent," said Mrs. Fleming. "Here am I ready to offer you theshelter of my roof, the excellent food which always prevails in thisestablishment, and fifteen pounds a year, and yet you talk in that loftytone. You are a very silly young woman. I am quite sure you won't suitme."

  "It is a foregone conclusion," said Florence, indulging in a littlepertness as she saw that the situation would no more suit her than sheit. 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. Istipulated that I should see godly maidens of spotless character. You,who evidently have a shady past, dare to come to me to offer yourpolluted services! I will wish you good morning."

  "I have already wished you good morning," said Florence. She turnedwithout another word, and, not deigning to ask the assistance of thecharwoman, 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 toherself. "What is to be done? Nearer and nearer am I getting to the edgeof the cliff. What is to be done?"

  She returned home, and spent the rest of the day in a state of intensedepression. Her attic was so suffocating that she could not stay in it,but there was a general sitting-room downstairs, and she went there andcontrived to make herself as wretched as she could over a well-thumbednovel 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 andwretched 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 hereyes from her book.

  "You don't look very well. I am going for a little drive: a friend ofmine is lending me her carriage. I have plenty of room for you; will youcome with me?"

  "Do you mean it?" said Florence, raising languid eyes.

  "I certainly do. My friend has a most comfortable carriage. We willdrive 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 shehad done yet. The thought of the drive, and the peace of being alonewith a woman who knew absolutely nothing about her, was soothing. MissMitford was not remarkable for her penetration of character, but she wasessentially kind.

  The carriage arrived and she and Florence got in. They drove for aquarter of a mile without either of them uttering a word; then thecoachman drew up at a shabby house. Miss Mitford got out, ran up thesteps, and rang the bell; in a moment or two three little girls withvery pasty faces and lack-lustre eyes appeared.

  "I am sorry I was late, dears," said Miss Mitford; "but jump in: thereis room for us all in the barouche."

  Florence felt now almost happy. There was no chance of Miss Mitforddiscovering her secret. Indeed, the superintendent of No. 12, Prince'sMansions, had not the faintest idea of enquiring into Florence'saffairs. She could bes
tow a passing kindness on a sad-looking girl, butit 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 shetook milk and sponge-cakes, and Florence enjoyed her feast just as muchas the children did. It was seven o'clock when she arrived home again,and Edith Franks was waiting for her in the downstair hall.