The Velvet Glove

by Mary Williams

  So that evening was like so many others of lovemaking with his young wife, holding no expression of ardour in words – merely a deep sensuous coming together that left them at last at peace, though fleeting half-formed memories of Jon merged in Kate’s mind, fading eventually into sleep.

  2

  The first discordant note in the Ferris household occurred when Kate expressed a dislike of attending the Wentworth wedding.

  ‘It would really be so embarrassing,’ she told her husband. ‘With Aunt Blacksley being there – so drab and – and looking just what she is—’

  ‘The mother of the bride,’ Rick interrupted with what his wife should have detected as a dangerous edge to his voice.

  ‘By adoption,’ came the sharp correction. ‘No one knows who Cassie’s real mother was. And anyway the Wentworths are high church. Aunt Blacksley wouldn’t know how to act. Her husband was Methodist. A minister. There’s always ill-feeling between Free Church and anything veering towards Catholicism. And—’

  Rick sighed. ‘For Heaven’s sake, Kate, be reasonable. We’re talking of a wedding ceremony that should unite the Barringtons with the Wentworths. And Mrs Blacksley is all the family Cassandra has.’

  ‘It isn’t only that – the religious difference,’ Kate persisted stubbornly. ‘It’s the church – that tiny chapel place. You know how I get claustrophobia in small places, and—’

  Rick’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I know nothing of the sort. It’s the first I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘Well I do. I’d feel stifled and miserable, and there’ll probably be an incense smell. That always makes me feel sick, and I know it would be better for Cass if I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Now, my love, you’re being quite ridiculous. It’s settled. We’re going. To refuse would be downright rude and it’s important to me to be thought well of in the district. So forget your doubts and qualms. Be a good girl and settle for something suitable and charming to wear, and look forward to the champagne and confetti and a happy day instead of glooming about having to take second place for once.’

  Kate’s eyes widened. She stared at him astonished. He had an expression on his face she’d never seen before – searching, almost grim as though for the first time he was reaching her most secret thoughts.

  ‘What do you mean? Second place?’ she asked, catching her breath slightly.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t have to explain; your own fancy for the Honourable Jon was clear enough at the time, if you remember. But that’s an episode we should both do well to forget. So no more arguing about the wedding. We’re going, that’s that.’

  He’s insufferable, Kate thought, quite insufferable. But she said no more. Her fingers were clenched tightly over her handkerchief, rolling it into a small ball, and her jaws were set.

  He’d won this time. In future, she determined, she’d have to be more subtle and play her part differently should any conflicting discussion arise between them.

  It was the very first time she’d realized that marriage to Rick Ferris was not going to be all plain sailing.

  Still, she’d been born a Barrington, and Barringtons generally succeeded in winning any challenge that arose. Her self-confidence gradually returned, and in the end her natural high spirits were revived by the contemplation of acquiring some eye-catching outfit that would evoke envy and admiration from the select congregation gathered to see the Honourable Jonathan Wentworth marry her cousin. She chose pale lavender silk for the occasion that accentuated her exquisite complexion, emphasizing the rich russet shades of her hair.

  So, despite the brief dispute life assumed its original harmonious course at Woodgate, though Rick realized full well there might be occasional difficulties ahead.

  It was in late January, the period shortly before the wedding that during one of Kate’s canters on Beth through the winding forest lanes, that she came upon Cassie leaning against a tree, with her sketching pad under her arm. She was wearing a loose blue cape, and the wind had blown pale strands of fair hair over her shoulders. She appeared absorbed, staring at a glitter of light through a tangle of branches shielding a darker mass of something beyond, to her left.

  For the first time Kate, with a lurch of astonishment, recognized that Cassandra in these surroundings had a certain beauty – a fey-like delicacy of form – a grace akin to that of a young deer and other of the forest creatures. She had never really fitted in at Beechlands, and its social life, but here, somehow, she appeared so right. Had Jon recognized this subtle quality? Was there something similar in the two of them that had so instantly captured his imagination? Or was it just happiness that had caused the change in a rather colourless young girl to gentle loveliness? If so, then it was wrong of her, Kate to grudge her the new status of becoming Jon’s wife. She must be generous, she decided, and forgive her for stealing the man whom she’d so wanted for herself.

  After all, nothing could make any difference now. In the space of two weeks they would both be married women – Mrs Rick Ferris, and the Hon. Mrs Jon Wentworth.

  They must be friends – not only for Cassie’s sake, but because she knew Rick wished it.

  Cassandra turned as Kate reined and tethered her mount to the stump of a tree at the side of the lane. Then she pushed through the undergrowth and approached her cousin.

  Cassandra gave a little start, as though she’d been woken sharply from a dream.

  ‘So I’ve found you,’ Kate remarked ineffectually. ‘This is your secret place!’

  ‘Secret? Well, it’s where I like to come for ideas and things. For my paintings. There’ll be orchids later, as well as bluebells wild, of course, but rare. Jon gave me a little book about them—’ she broke off vaguely. Something in Kate’s face – the way she stood, so completely still for a moment – a static shape against the pale light behind her was mildly disturbing to Cass.

  ‘Ah, yes. Jon. I’ve heard he’s a bit of a naturalist.’

  ‘He is. We like the same things,’ Cassandra stated with a sudden unexpected show of spirit. ‘And this place isn’t secret – anyone can come here, you know that. Or didn’t you know—?’ She turned, indicating the half-tumbled shape over the lane of a ruined cottage entangled in briars, elderberry and thorn, fifty yards or so away. ‘That was once part of a priory, then something tragic happened. Later an old woman lived there who had strange powers, and she—’

  ‘Oh, I know. I know,’ Kate interrupted impatiently. ‘There are lots of stories and legends about this district, but they shouldn’t be taken as fact. True history’s often a very different matter.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose so.’

  ‘Anyway – have you been sketching it?’

  ‘Not today. Just thinking.’

  ‘About the wedding?’

  ‘Partly. You and Rick are coming, aren’t you?’

  ‘Naturally. But I don’t suppose we shall stay long at the reception. There’s going to be one, I suppose?’

  ‘Just for relations – that’s what Jon said, and the servants.’

  ‘And Aunt Blacksley, of course, with my parents?’

  Cassandra sighed. ‘Why are you asking all these questions, Kate? You must have seen the invitation, or haven’t you?’

  Kate shrugged. ‘Oh, I just glanced. But I do find celebrations – of any kind – rather boring. Of course’ – she tried to simulate interest and warmth into her voice – ‘it’ll be different with you, Cass – being my – sort of cousin. And getting married too – to Jon.’

  Cass smiled, and the smile gave her sudden radiance. ‘Yes. And if it hadn’t been for you, and that wonderful dance we’d probably never have met at all.’

  No, Kate thought, with a sudden desperate feeling of loss and anger, you wouldn’t. I was an idiot ever to agree taking you to that wretched birthday ball. It was Isobel’s fault – I’ll never forgive her, or you for the secret way you acted in stealing Jon.

  Through this unexpected fresh spurt of jealousy it didn’t occur to her that she herself had known Jonath
an so very slightly, in fact hardly at all. Her expression had suddenly become hard and cold. But Cassandra didn’t notice.

  The tracery of dancing shadows from the trees dimmed bitterness into a mere blue of a face under a shining mane of russet hair.

  ‘Would you like to see my latest paintings?’ Kate heard Cassandra saying in her light voice.

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Over there – in that little place – the ruin. I’ve sort of made it into a kind of studio. Jon helped me, of course. We call it the Tree Studio, because it’s half made of branches now, and there’s a beech tree at the back.’

  Kate agreed automatically, and together they made their way across the path to the green thicket enclosing the tumbled building.

  From the first it appeared to be no more than an overgrown tumbled hovel – a retreat for a wandering tramp perhaps and wild creatures seeking refuge from the elements. But a ray of light zig-zagged from inside, and when they’d pushed through the opening that had probably once been a door, a stream of early sunshine from a gothic-shaped window at the far end revealed an interior with a boarded floor – obviously recently installed – granite walls partially mended that had been thatched and were enclosed on the outside by the groping branches of sycamores and the spreading arms of the old beech tree. The remains of a fireplace were clearly in a state of being restored, and the holes in one rough wall were already filled in. A large tin of household paint stood in a corner facing a wooden bench and a cane chair. There was an oil stove and a stack of Cassandra’s paintings pushed into an alcove.

  ‘It will be quite different when it’s finished,’ Kate, in a daze, heard Cass saying. ‘There’s going to be a proper door, and that old stove won’t be here, because Jon says oil is dangerous. He doesn’t really like me coming alone here yet. I’m supposed to bring the dog with me anyway. But I just had a sudden longing, somehow, to be here quite alone for once. Funny, isn’t it, that you should appear? But I’m glad now, because I wanted you to know.’

  ‘Why?’ Kate’s voice was sharp.

  ‘Well, we’re cousins, aren’t we? Oh, I know you’re not really interested in painting – not mine anyway. But we’ve done things together, and if ever you want to share it you can.’

  ‘As I don’t paint there wouldn’t be much point, would there? Still, I’m glad you’ve got your own retreat at last.’

  ‘Jon doesn’t call it that,’ Cassandra said with a shy half-smile. ‘Our Tree Studio –that’s what he’s named it.’

  ‘Quite apt,’ Kate remarked shortly. She felt Cassandra’s eyes on her questioningly, and wondered if she’d sensed – even slightly – the sudden sharp pain she felt – the quite irrational envy, because after all she was Mrs Ferris now – of picturing Jon making love to Cassie in that romantic, somehow unreal, setting.

  ‘Isn’t it rather a long way from Charnbrook to have a studio?’ she asked mechanically.

  ‘That won’t matter. And it’s not so far if you take the shortest cut. Anyhow, I’m learning to ride now, side saddle of course – I’ve a mare of my own in the stable at Charnbrook; and there’s always my bicycle.’

  ‘You? On a horse? But you never used to like them. They frightened you.’

  ‘This one’s different. Gentle, not much more than a foal – and quite white. Her name’s Snowfire.’

  Snowfire! Snowfire? the word echoed through Kate’s brain tormentingly. And a gift from Jon. The picture evoked a fairytale quality about it of Cassandra riding through the forest like some legendary princess on a white palfrey to meet her lover.

  Yet her voice was calm when she said, ‘You’re lucky, Cass. I hope you’ll be happy.’

  And in a way this was true. Bitterness had died in Kate as quickly as it had flamed up; there was no point in fretting for something that never, now, could be hers. In any case she wasn’t the fairytale type. But then, was Jon?

  Brushing the question aside, she said abruptly, ‘I must get back. Rick’s returning from a London visit this morning, he may already be back at Woodgate. I want to be there when he arrives.’

  ‘But can’t you just have a proper look at my paintings?’

  ‘Another time. I know about your hideout now.’

  Minutes later she was cantering back towards the village. She was unaware of the unshed tears brimming to her eyes until the brushes of cool wind whipped their dampness to her cheeks. One hand rubbed them quickly away. Her lower lip tightened with resolve, and when she reached the red-brick mansion of her home her smile was brilliant as Rick came to meet her. His kiss was firm and warm on her mouth. She closed her eyes, briefly willing herself to forgetfulness through the dark tide of his rising passion.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ she replied.

  It was true. Only through him could she dispel the longing sense of loss – and of an emotion to which she could give no name.

  *

  The wedding at Charnbrook passed quietly as the Wentworths had intended it should, with only a small crowd of onlookers at the gates of the estate, to watch the comparatively small number of cars and guest carriages drive through to the family chapel.

  As Rick and Kate passed in their carriage and pair, Kate was aware of faces peering admiringly from the sides of the lane. She knew she looked ravishing, and the knowledge combined with Rick’s pride in her added to her self-confidence and beauty.

  Cassandra, to the contrary, appeared a shy and rather fragile bride as she walked up the aisle for the ceremony on her uncle’s – William Barrington’s – arm. Kate wondered once or twice during the ceremony what Jon could ever have seen in her. During their brief accidental meeting at the Tree Studio she had almost understood; amongst the mysterious shadowed background of the forest Cassie had possessed an elusive, almost elfin, quality – the background of trees and undergrowth had suited her. But the conventional white bridal dress had dimmed what character she possessed into a mere representation of any ordinary girl dressed up for the occasion – colourless, and rather dull; the Cassie Kate had known through the years.

  Rick, however, thought differently. In the bedroom after their return home following the reception, he said, ‘Cassandra came up to scratch, didn’t she? No fumbling for words or unintelligible “I do”. An attractive little thing too, in her way.’

  ‘You think so?’ Kate said shortly. ‘Oh, I suppose so. I don’t think the white suited her though. If I’d been Cassie I’d have chosen peach, it would have given her more colour.’

  ‘Ah, but you’re not Cassie,’ Rick said lightly, giving her an overt glance. ‘Thank God.’

  The last remark revived Kate’s spirits like magic. She sighed. ‘No,’ and added retrospectively, ‘we did have a good honeymoon, didn’t we? It was exciting. I can’t somehow imagine Cass and—’ She broke off as Rick interposed quickly, ‘Cassie and Jon rolling off a bed on top of each other—’

  Kate flushed, recalling what a comical yet wildly passionate interlude that had been.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of that,’ she said stiffly, wishing that just for once her husband could concentrate on the romantic rather than the amusing episodes of their first night together.

  ‘I know you weren’t. I know what you were thinking. A touch of envy. Yes?’

  ‘Envy. Good heavens what do you mean?’

  Rick’s eyebrows arched; his voice had an ironic touch as he said, ‘Don’t try and fool me, darling. Let’s always be honest with each other, shall we? Believe me, I perfectly understand your wishing I was the Hon. Jon, instead of just plain Rick Ferris.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘It won’t be in time,’ he asserted. ‘And the sooner you speed up the forgetting business the better – for both of us.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t talk that way. Almost threatening. It’s mean of you.’

  He laughed. ‘Threatening? My dear sweet girl, I never threaten. I can act when I have to, but only under extreme provocation.’

  Not knowing whether he was serious or not, she as
ked, ‘Such as—?’

  ‘Putting a naughty girl over my knee if I suspected she was up to anything I didn’t approve of – such as planning any secret intrigue with another woman’s husband. But don’t worry love, I’m sure you’re not that stupid.’

  She sighed. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you. You insisted on me going to the wedding, so I went. I didn’t want to – I find it all rather boring. It was just to please you, and all the thanks I get is being talked to as though I was a child. Why?’

  The ironic smile died from his face suddenly. He took a step forward and took her face between his hands, forcing her eyes to stare up into the burning glow of his own.

  ‘Perhaps because I love thee too much, Kate,’ he said thickly.

  ‘Oh, Rick.’

  His lips travelled from her neck to the firm white curve of her shoulder above the lavender silk of her dress.

  ‘Try to love me, Kate,’ he said. ‘Be faithful. That’s all I ask.’

  The seed of longing in her suddenly erupted to wild desire.

  He carried her to the bed. And that night a child was conceived.

  *

  On the same evening at Charnbrook the newly married couple were facing complications in their relationship that neither had visualized. They were to travel to the Continent the following day and motivated by eager desire on Jon’s side, went to bed early. The room was tastefully decorated in pink and cream, with antique walnut furnishings, rose brocade curtains and hangings, thickly piled carpet, and roses arranged in a crystal bowl on a Louis Quatorze side-table. The air was thick with a perfume that momentarily was too heady for Cassandra’s already overwrought nerves. Just inside the door she stiffened for some moments, until Jon gently took her arm and urged her in.