a mother you have never been," went on Olivia calmly, "you have never given me a kind word; you speak to me before visitors as you should not do: you make me slave for you and run messages and talk of me to others as though I were a servant. What love have you ever shown me?" demanded Olivia, starting up in her turn, and also becoming excited. "I long for love. My heart yearns for it. I would like to be a daughter to you, but always you have kept me at arm's length. Aunt Sophia let me go. I can earn my bread as a governess, or as a typist. It will be better for us both."
"No," said Aunt Sophia, looking as hard as stone.
"I shall not let you go. If you have any gratitude in you, you will remain and help me to manage the house."
"You have Miss Pewsey."
"She is not a relative, you are."
"And so you treat me worse than you do her. Well, Aunt Sophia, I am not ungrateful though you seem to think I am. I shall stop with you. I only ask for a little more consideration."
"I give you every consideration. As for love, I cannot give it to you or to anyone. I gave all the love my nature was capable of feeling to Markham Ainsleigh, and he rejected my love. Yes, you may look astonished, but it was this man's father who broke my heart."
"And that is why you don't want Rupert to marry me."
"That is the reason," said Miss Wharf sitting down and growing more her calm stony self. "I was almost engaged to Markham Ainsleigh: but he saw Violet Vane and fell in love with her. He left me and made her his wife. Can you wonder that I hate the son of the woman who stole my love away from me?"
"Rupert is the son of the man you loved – "
"And of the man who cheated me. Look at my lonely life, at my starved heart. I hate the Ainsleighs – there's only one left but I hate him. And when I heard Markham was murdered in China I was glad – yes, very glad."
"What an unforgiving nature you have."
"I have every right to be unforgiving. Markham ruined my life. And do you think I'll let you marry Rupert – the son of that woman. No! Marry him, and I leave what money I have to Miss Pewsey."
"You can if you like, Aunt Sophia. I don't want your money."
"Reflect," said Miss Wharf violently. "I have a thousand a year. Half of that goes to a distant relative, and the remainder you shall have if you will give this man up. Five hundred a year is not to be thrown away."
"I cannot give Rupert up," said Olivia firmly.
"Think girl," pleaded Miss Wharf, her face becoming red and wrinkled with the violence of her passion, "there are other men who love you. Young Walker would make you a good husband, and Lady Jabe is most anxious for the match."
"I like Chris," said Olivia, "and I have known him all my life. But I can't marry him. I want a master when I marry."
"Then take Clarence Burgh," said Miss Wharf, "he will be your master."
"No. He's a brute."
"He's a man – much more of a man than Rupert Ainsleigh."
"I deny that" said Olivia fiercely.
"He is. Clarence has been all over the world. He has fought everywhere – "
"So has Major Tidman. Do you advise me to marry him?"
"He would make you a better husband than Rupert, old as he is. That young Ainsleigh is a dreamer. He is on the point of losing his estates, yet he sits at Royabay doing nothing."
"He intends to do something, and save the estates."
"Never. He is not the sort of man to work. Olivia if you will take Chris Walker, or Clarence Burgh for your husband I shall leave you five hundred a year. If you refuse I give you nothing."
"I prefer nothing – and Rupert."
"Then you shall not have him. I'll ruin him first."
Olivia started. "You can't ruin him. You talk wildly."
"Oh do I," sneered Miss Wharf, "that shows you know little of me or of my business. Listen. I bought up a mortgage on the Royabay estate. It cost me money which I could ill afford to pay away. But I bought it so as to ruin the son of that woman Vane who took Markham from me. I always intended to buy the estate, or at least to drive Rupert from the place, but if you will give him up, I shall forego my revenge. Now what do you say?"
"Nothing," faltered Olivia, who had turned very pale. "I don't know what to say."
"Will you give the man up."
"I won't see him, if that will please you."
"No. It doesn't please me. You must give him up, and engage yourself to Mr. Walker or to Mr. Burgh."
"I cannot – I cannot – " said poor Olivia.
Miss Wharf stamped her foot and bit her lip. "You are as obstinate as your mother was before you," she said savagely. "I shall give you one month to make up your mind, and that is very generous of me. If you surrender Rupert and choose one of the other two, I will not foreclose the mortgage and will leave you five hundred a year."
"When can you foreclose?" asked Olivia anxiously.
"By the end of the year. So it rests with you, if Rupert Ainsleigh leaves his home in six months or keeps it. Now you can go."
Olivia Rayner was not a girl who would stand dictation. But for some reason or another she meekly bowed her head and went out, leaving Miss Wharf to calm down over her needle-work.
The girl went to her own room, and lay down to think over the situation. What she thought or what plan she conceived, it is difficult to say; but she came down to dinner quite composed. Her aunt looked at her sharply, and Miss Pewsey with suspicion, but neither of them made any remark bearing on the storm. On the contrary Miss Wharf chatted about the ball and talked of her dress and even advised Olivia about her costume. "You will look very well in white," said Miss Wharf.
"But not so lovely as my Sophia in pale blue," said Miss Pewsey with her usual emphasis. "I know you will be the belle of the ball darling Sophia."
"I have been the belle of several balls in my time," said Miss Wharf good-humouredly.
"And will be still," purred Miss Pewsey like the cat she was, "my dear nephew said you were a rattling fine woman."
"It sounds like one of Mr. Burgh's speeches," said Olivia with great contempt. She knew that the buccaneer loved her, and therefore disliked him the more.
"Oh Olivia how can you," cried the little old maid, throwing up her hands, "when poor, dear, darling, Clarence worships the ground you walk on. He's got money too, and wants a wife!"
"Let him marry Lotty Dean then."
"That retired grocer's daughter," cried Miss Pewsey, drawing herself up, "no indeed. I may be poor, but I am of gentle blood Olivia. The Pewsey's have been in Essex for generations. My papa was rich and could afford to send me to a fashionable school when I met my own Sophia. But poor sweet papa lost his money and then – oh, dear me." Miss Pewsey squeezed out a tear. "What sad times I have had."
"You're all right now, Lavinia," said Miss Wharf stolidly, eating fruit and sipping port wine.
"Yes dearest Sophia, thanks to your large and generous heart. I have no one in the world but you and Clarence. He is the son of my only sister, and has travelled – "
"In China," said Olivia.
Miss Pewsey narrowed her eyes and looked as though about to scratch.
"In China, of course. But why do you make that remark, Olivia?"
The girl shrugged her shoulders. "I observed that Mr. Burgh has not very pleasant recollections of China," she said deliberately, "he was not pleased to find that Mr. Walker could talk the language, and he was uncomfortable when the name Tung-yu was mentioned."
Miss Pewsey bit her lip. "Do you know anything of Tung-yu?"
"No. Why should I. All I know, is that Chris Walker says he will bring the man down here for the ball."
The little old maid looked hard