The Velvet Glove

by Mary Williams

  There was nothing intentionally patronizing in Kate’s remark. It was merely that the thought of a whole afternoon having to be spent in the town choosing something for Cassandra bored her.

  So matters were arranged. Cassandra had accepted the invitation although Kate had hoped she wouldn’t, and on that special evening as the girls dressed for the event, the only real cloud on Kate’s horizon was the looming picture of having to usher her dull cousin around, help find her partners, which would inevitably interfere with any chances she had of concentrating her complete attention in gaining the notice and admiration of the Hon. Jon.

  However, when the time came and the two girls walked down the terrace steps to the great Daimler motorcar waiting to take them to Charnbrook, excitement momentarily drove any niggling thought of Cassandra from Kate’s mind. The vehicle had been recently purchased by Walter, although the family carriage was still retained and the two greys kept in the stables.

  Emily, who still mildly distrusted motors, had exclaimed, ‘I don’t really like the idea; think of the way your friend’s son, Archie Plummer, poor boy, landed in a ditch the other day. Fancy! – having to crawl out! It would be dreadful if anything like that happened to the girls!’

  ‘Couldn’t!’ Walter had stated firmly. ‘That was a two-seater! A Ford. This is the best – large and firm. Good engine and gears. Real works. Fit for a king. They’ll be all right. Adam knows his job.’

  Adam was the man, once a mechanic in Barrington’s employ, who’d specially trained to be chauffeur. He was middle-aged, sturdy, and competent to crank the engine and change a wheel in case of a mishap.

  Kate didn’t care what transport was used. All that concerned her was to look her best when she arrived at the Wentworths. Of course, the motor would probably be quicker, provided it didn’t have a puncture or breakdown of any kind en route, and that was hardly likely; Adam had spent the whole afternoon seeing everything was in order, and they’d take the Larchborough main road for a good deal of the way instead of the quiet maze of cross-country lanes, usually used by the carriage. The Daimler would certainly give a stylish touch to their arrival.

  Everything was going to be wonderfully exciting. Nothing was to mar the evening ahead. Except perhaps – Cassie.

  As the large car purred – or perhaps grunted was a better word – along the newly macadamised road surface – Kate took a doubtful glance at her cousin. She was wearing a borrowed blue velvet cape to match the dress, and was sitting quietly with her pale face sunk into the fur-lined collar. Rather nondescript as usual, Kate thought, although her hair looked quite pretty – pale and goldfish, arranged on top. Kate, who was wearing sumptuous black in dramatic contrast to the striking red, wanted to give her a dig, but merely said, with just a hint of irritation in her voice, ‘Buck up, Cass. We’re going to enjoy ourselves tonight. There’s nothing to gloom about. You look quite nice, you know. Blue suits you.’

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘Well – don’t you think so?’

  ‘Oh, well, in a way, perhaps. Only it’s your dress; it makes a difference.’

  ‘It isn’t mine any more. It’s yours.’

  ‘Yes, I know. You’re very kind, Kate. Don’t worry; I’ll try not to embarrass you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t think of me as a responsibility. Of having to find me partners, I mean.’

  Kate flushed, lifted her chin stubbornly and stared through the car window at the passing panorama of trees and fields against the fading autumn sky. Adam had seen that the car headlights were already switched on, sending an everchanging pattern of shadow shapes across the road. Everything appeared wonderfully mysterious and exciting except for this niggling sense of responsibility spoiling things. ‘I’m sure there’ll be plenty of admirers wanting to dance with you,’ she said, not meaning it. ‘Anyway, the Wentworths’ll see you’re not neglected.’

  ‘That’s it. That’s what I don’t want. To be a duty.’ Cassandra’s head suddenly rose like that of a slender bird’s from the blue velvet. For a moment she looked a different girl, alive and indignant.

  Kate was surprised. ‘Why, Cass—’

  ‘Oh, leave me alone,’ Cassandra slumped back. The quick interlude was over, and she was subdued again. Almost sullen.

  Kate shrugged.

  ‘If that’s how you feel. Very well. But there’s no need to look a martyr. I was thinking about you, that’s all. Wanting us both to be happy. Not just me.’

  Cassandra didn’t reply.

  A few minutes later the car slowed up to negotiate a sharp corner leading from the main road back to narrower lanes skirting the fringe of woodland country. Through the fitful light beads of perspiration glistened at the back of Adam’s neck under his uniform cap. Kate saw his jaws clench determinedly as he jerked the gears. They were climbing a thread of hill between tall hedges that swayed ghost-like through the thin rising mist sending blurred shadow shapes across the road. There was a grinding sound and a momentary jerk as the Daimler came to a sudden halt then moved on again. Kate reached for the little speaking horn that led on a communication cord through the glass panel to the driver’s seat.

  ‘What was it? What was the matter?’

  ‘A rabbit, miss, that’s all,’ Adam answered half turning his head to the horn. Then more loudly, ‘Just a rabbit.’

  Kate gave a sigh of relief and sank back. ‘It could have been anything, or – anyone, couldn’t it?’ she remarked to Cassandra. ‘Dreadful thought. But adventurous somehow.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Oh, Cass, do cheer up. We shan’t be long now. Charnbrook isn’t far from the Monastery, and I saw that poking through the trees just now. They don’t talk, you know – the monks. They’re a silent brotherhood. Just fancy. Oh, I don’t know how anyone could live like that – I suppose it’s very worthy of them. But just imagine! – no fun or contact with other people. No romance. They must love God terribly.’

  ‘If you can call it God.’

  Kate made no further attempt at conversation. Cass really was the limit, she thought resentfully. After all the trouble taken over the dress and efforts spent to make her feel at ease and in a mood to enjoy Isabella’s invitation she might at least try to be sociable. After all, she had been asked as a member of the Barrington family. Unless she cheered up and managed at least a smile Heaven alone knew what Jon Wentworth would think.

  Rising indignation deepened the rose glow in Kate’s cheeks, but when, a few minutes later the car turned down the drive to Charnbrook Hall, the fret of Cass was magically forgotten. Lights streamed from the open door down the terrace steps and, as the car drew to a halt, the sound of laughter and chatter and tinkle of music flooded the dusk. A footman was waiting to show the girls through the wide-open doors; Isabella was hovering about inside surrounded by a small group of young people in evening dress. She was looking quite stunning, Kate thought, in ivory satin, with something sparkling and fussy holding her pale shining hair in a shimmering roll on the top of her small head. The bodice of her dress was tightly waisted, cut almost but not quite as low on the shoulders as Kate’s gown. She darted forward and greeted them effusively, while a maid in frilly black and white waited nearby to show them to the powder room.

  Kate’s memories of those first moments at Charnbrook remained in her mind always as a confused impression of soft perfumed air, the swish of silk, and soft chatter and laughter of youthful voices as elegantly clad feminine bodies pressed and peered at their reflected images through numerous mirrors. Heads turned and conversation momentarily lowered when Kate and Cassandra entered. Knowing her appearance would be spectacular among the softer muted shades of pinks, blues, lavenders and frilly whites, Kate lifted her head an inch higher; she could sense during the brief hush – curiosity, envy perhaps – or was it merely resentment stirring the little crowd? She was known, of course, to one or two, and probably the fact of her being Walter’s daughter, and merely Trade made her a target for criticism. F
or a second she wondered if her mother had been right, and she should have worn something less daring?

  Just as quickly the thought was dispelled. With a small sweet smile, she stepped forward followed by Cassandra and said in light, very clear tones, ‘Pardon me, may I just have a teeny glimpse of myself in the mirror? I feel so very windblown.’

  A rather plump girl, a stranger to Kate, moved away grudgingly with a faintly hostile glance, and sprayed herself liberally with cologne behind her ears.

  Kate turned her head briefly. ‘Come along, Cassandra, there’s room for both of us.’

  She stared at her reflection for a brief few seconds, turning her head critically from side to side on her slender neck. The image was reassuring. Her heart leaped. Cassie registered only as a fragile shadow at her shoulder.

  Poor Cass, she thought with a wave of genuine sympathy. She really would do her best to see she wasn’t entirely neglected. ‘Put more perfume on,’ she whispered, ‘and don’t look so serious. If you’d only smile a bit, Cass, it would make such a difference.’ But Cassandra of course with her strict dreary upbringing wasn’t au fait with scent or powder or the art of beguiling men. It really must be awful having such a boring background. Still, she, Kate, had done what she could on her cousin’s behalf. The rest really was up to her, and with this consoling thought Kate let the matter drop.

  Presently the two girls had joined a throng of guests in the large lounge, an ornate high-ceilinged room, brilliantly lit by crystal chandeliers hanging from the encrusted ceiling and on brackets round the walls. There was a tinkle of glass, the sound of corks popping, and excited murmurs and laughter of voices as black-coated male figures in evening dress merged with the froth of feminine frills, moving from group to group with glasses of champagne, or milder wines and fruit juices for any particular eye-catching girl of individual choice.

  A footman was in charge of the buffet at one end of the long room, and a maid busy with silver trays of sandwiches.

  The Hon. Jon soon noticed Kate and was quickly by her side staring down at her admiringly.

  ‘I say!’ he remarked, ‘we do know each other, don’t we? We last met at that old girl’s garden party. I must say you look quite – ravishing.’

  The hot blood mounted Kate’s face.

  She smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  He took her hand and pressed it. ‘I shall have to see your card is filled before any other greedy bounder gets a chance.’ His eyes briefly turned to Cassandra who was standing very upright and still a few inches in Kate’s shadow.

  ‘And this is—?’ his voice wavered.

  ‘Cassandra. A – a relative of mine – a kind of cousin.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Isabella did tell me.’

  The half-teasing, light-hearted quality had suddenly disappeared.

  Bored already, Kate thought.

  The next moment seemed to confirm it.

  He was very polite, of course. He took Cass’s white-gloved hand in his, and said in formal tones, ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss—?’

  ‘Blacksley,’ Kate said, not waiting for Cass herself to give the information. ‘Cassandra Blacksley.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll try to remember. But if you’ll forgive me for just a bit – I’ll see you later – in the ballroom.’

  He disengaged himself and zig-zagged away into the crowd, leaving Kate with a rising sense of anger and disappointment. What she’d feared was already happening. Cassandra was spoiling everything.

  The next half an hour was to register later as a mere blur in Kate’s memory.

  The orchestra, at the far end of the magnificent ballroom was already tuning up for a waltz when Kate and Cassandra entered accompanied by Bertie Foster, recently graduated from Oxford. He was the son of a lawyer and well acquainted with the Barrington family. Kate had felt relief when he’d appeared on the scene. Here, she’d thought, was someone able to take Cassie off her hands for a bit. He was good-natured, tall, fair, light-hearted, and interested in art more than the legal profession he was expected to follow. Just right for Cass.

  ‘May I?’ he said, indicating Kate’s little dance card dangling from her wrist.

  ‘Oh, but—’ Kate paused. Only a few yards off she saw Jon’s form making his way towards them. ‘There’s Cassie,’ she reminded Bertie, ‘we can’t just—’

  Her voice wavered speculatively, and during the following brief seconds Jon was there, smiling with an eager anticipatory look on his face.

  Kate’s heart fluttered. Her eyes were bright; the rose of her cheeks was emphasized by the brilliant light on her glossy curls. She had never looked lovelier. Unconsciously she took a short step towards him.

  And then the shock came.

  He gave her a brief nod, then by-passed her and moved straight to Cassandra who stared at him coolly for a moment, looking like some pale effigy of a character out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, while he indicated her dance card and, with something in his expression that shocked Kate, took it from the slim, outstretched white hand and started scribbling his name on it. Kate winced inwardly. Feeling outraged and hurt she looked round for Bertie, but he’d disappeared. Only one face in the nearby crowd was known to her – that of a dark, rather sardonic-looking man – Rick Ferris, standing just inside the door. Her glance was held by his. Was it her fancy that his expression was faintly amused? She had a feeling he’d witnessed the little incident and sensed her humiliation. Anger replaced shock in her. She lifted her head proudly, wild colour flaming her cheeks, and turned away.

  Strains of the ‘Blue Danube’ already floated sweetly, insidiously, through the air. One by one couples took to the floor. Kate noticed a somewhat florid middle-aged gentleman with a paunch approaching her. She moved hurriedly past a little group where an MC was busy about his duties. She was oblivious of anything but a wild desire to escape – to be alone somewhere – the powder room, where she could recover her equanimity, and avoid the further hurt of seeing insipid Cassandra being swirled around in Jon’s arms.

  Cassie! – that insignificant pale-faced little creature who hadn’t a word to say for herself, and Jon – Jon.

  How could he?

  Half-blindly she pushed her way towards the door, and almost ran straight into the tall form of Rick Ferris.

  She stopped, with a start, as he said, ‘Miss Barrington! – not leaving yet, I hope. You’re not faint surely? In that case, allow me—’

  She pulled herself together abruptly.

  ‘No, no. I’m quite all right. I just – I think I’ve left my handkerchief in the powder room—’ She broke off knowing he did not believe her. There was a twinge of laughter at the corner of his lips, and his eyes had a shrewd disconcerting look as he stared at the tempestuous slender figure confronting him. The dip between her white breasts was faintly shadowed above the low-cut crimson bodice, the dark eyes luminous with the glitter of temper and unshed tears under disarranged curls of chestnut hair.

  ‘I think you are mistaken,’ he said, in quiet even tones. ‘Isn’t it poking out of your bag?’

  She glanced down at the spangled pockette dangling from one wrist, with the card. He was right. The handkerchief was there.

  ‘Oh how – how stupid of me—’

  ‘But lucky for me. The moment I spotted you – looking so very striking, if I may say so – among that bunch of frilly dollies – I decided you were the only one worth a second glance. I was about to cut across and grab my chance of a dance, when you bolted.’

  There was a slight pause until he added, ‘In the right direction luckily. So – may I have the pleasure, Miss Barrington?’

  In a kind of daze Kate agreed, and a second or two later his arm was about her waist, and they were gliding across the polished floor in perfect rhythm as though they could have been practising for quite a time.

  Once or twice, through the haze of figures and her own mixed emotions, she caught a glimpse of Cassie and Jon drifting by. She ignored them purposefully, her head high, smiling up
into Rick’s face. He was tall – quite the tallest man in the room. With his lean, strong features that were almost piratical they must appear the most spectacular couple on the floor. The knowledge raised her spirits. She’d show them; show them all – including Jon – that she, Kate Barrington, had sufficient feminine allure to captivate the man whom many women would consider a brilliant catch.

  His background, though hardly aristocratic – his father had been a journalist, his mother, it was rumoured, on the stage, of Welsh extraction – could be ignored in the face of his other attributes, including his striking looks, the fact of his wealth, for he was very, very rich, and that at his age in the mid-thirties he had still evaded the matrimonial net. An aloof quality about him was tantalizing, though in business circles, and farming – he owned hundreds of acres of valuable land, and a stud bordering the forest – he was respected and well liked. He lived at Woodgate, a picturesque village only six miles from Lynchester, which enabled easy access to the thriving Midland town. As chief shareholder of the daily newspaper, the Lynchester Times, he journeyed there almost daily for meetings and to keep a personal eye on what was going on.

  He could be generous to any charities he, considered deserving, but critics resented what was termed the ‘mean streak’ in him, which seemed aware if even a penny stamp went missing according to the books of firms he had considerable interests in.

  On the other hand his private life was frequently the scene of lively parties. It was known he had a ‘lady friend’ – a widow, a Mrs Linda Wade, who appeared periodically for the weekend at his home. ‘Well – rather more than friend, my dear,’ one thwarted ambitious mama had whispered significantly to another. ‘She was on the stage you know. Like his mother. Blood will out.’

  Such comments, however, had in no way deflected from the obvious advantages any future young woman would acquire in becoming Mrs Rick Ferris.