‘I suppose we all have moods,’ she said lamely, adding probingly, ‘you – you do have the same interests, don’t you? You and Cass? I always thought painting was one of the things that brought you together. The art – and – and that sort of thing?’
‘Did you indeed!’ The sarcasm in his voice almost shocked her. ‘It rather depends on what kind of art, I’d say.’
‘Oh well, it’s none of my business,’ Kate said rather shortly. ‘I must be getting back.’ She brushed past him and heard him saying as she moved through the trees, ‘You always seem to be “getting back” – I’m surprised Ferris doesn’t put a halter about your shoulders.’
With her cheeks flaming she wheeled round quickly and said, ‘But you’re not Rick. Anyway if you did, I’d slap your face.’
Her heart was hammering as she half stumbled over some briars. He caught up with her in one bound and placed a hand on her arm. She stood still, rigid with a conflict of emotion. ‘Oh Kate – Kate – you know I didn’t mean it,’ he said softly against her ear. ‘Be nice to me, Kate, I’m not a happy man at the moment.’
The temper died in her and, sensing it, he tweaked a curl nestling over her temple. She pushed his hand away. ‘You mustn’t, Jon—’
‘Why not? We’re cousins, aren’t we?’
She shook her head. ‘You know we’re not, nor ever could be. And if we were – even then – nothing could make this sort of thing right, I’m Rick’s wife.’
‘And I’m—’
‘Cassie’s husband.’
‘And if I wasn’t?’
‘It would be just the same.’
But would it?
This was the question that nagged her as she made her way back to Woodgate. Why was it so difficult sometimes to know what was right and what was wrong? Perhaps if she’d not been with child – but was it just because of her pregnancy that she still so easily got emotionally confused? It would have been so simple during that short interlude with Jon to have put her arms round him in an effort to comfort and ease away the bitterness – so wonderful to run her hands through his crisp blond hair – to let their tears mingle, and then ease his loneliness away. This was a sensation she’d never felt before. Was it just the motherliness in her? Or something stronger in her that just wouldn’t die?
I hope Rick’s back, she thought, as she quickened her footsteps. I mustn’t doubt like this. I’m having his baby; I’m his wife.
But even when she lay with him that night, for a long time she remained restless and awake.
*
One of Kate’s grumbles during the late summer and autumn months of pregnancy was boredom. As the time for the baby’s birth drew nearer Rick became more stubborn in curtailing her activities.
‘If only we could go to London for a weekend – you did promise,’ she said.
‘Later,’ he always said, ‘when everything’s over.’
‘You mean the baby. That means months ahead. It would be different if we could have moved – gone somewhere else to live, somewhere with proper grounds. It isn’t as if you couldn’t afford it. There’s nowhere to walk here except that square of lawn at the back and the rose garden. It’s such an ordinary dated sort of house. So Victorian.’
‘So are we. It was my father’s choice; he had it built to his own design. It’s considered an extremely fine combination of Jacobean and nineteenth-century style.’
‘But we are so near the road. Why couldn’t there have been a pool or something, and little copses and terraces?’
‘So that you could tumble down them? Anyway, I didn’t realize before you had such a keen sense of architecture or liking for ornate grounds.’
‘Not ornate. That’s what I think is so – well, tasteless somehow, about Woodgate –the pointed roofs and long square chimneys, a strange mixture—’ She broke off with a sigh. ‘I wish—’
‘I know what you’re wishing,’ he interrupted curtly. ‘For an ancient stately home similar to the Wentworths’ – somewhere traditionally grand-looking surrounded by hundreds of useless acres, inconveniently situated as far from Lynchester as possible. Well, my darling, you’d better forget it. This place suits me. Easily accessible to the city for quick business meetings and on the very edge of the forest. There’s the farm, and the stud. Good God! Why can’t you be satisfied?’
She pouted. ‘You just don’t understand.’
‘I understand perfectly. You have a mania for being spoiled. Well – I’m willing to oblige, up to a point. You’ve got the whole of the second floor already redecorated and furnished to your taste for the baby and the nursery quarters. You have a nanny and staff booked to take charge when the time arrives. If there’s anything else you can think up, you’ve only to say. And’ – he smiled with a hint of mischief – ‘I’ll give it my most serious consideration. Just so long as you – behave, like a good girl and young wife should.’
‘Oh!’ Suddenly irritated, she flounced away. ‘Don’t talk to me as though I was a child. Sometimes I hate you—’
He strode after her and caught her to him. ‘No you don’t, Mrs Ferris. And one day I’ll make you take that back. One day I’ll make you love me.’
For a moment his lips were firm and hot on hers, then he released her quickly and strode from the room.
For some inexplicable reason she wanted to cry, although she could not say why.
*
Early in November of that year, Kate surprisingly gave birth to twin girls. Rick, who’d expected and looked forward to having a son, was nevertheless delighted. Kate’s first reaction was of shock.
‘Two?’ she gasped when the tiny babies were shown to her. ‘Mine? Both of them?’
When the truth had sunk in, and she’d recovered sufficient strength to study them she could still feel nothing but astonishment. She had no rush of motherly love or desire to suckle them or have them close. All she wanted was to be quiet and sleep, away from the quaint monkey-faced little creatures who made her feel as though she was in the midst of a squawking menagerie.
She was extremely exhausted. The double birth had not been easy and she half-hoped she’d slip into unconsciousness then wake up and find none of the last hours had happened, and that she was back in her bedroom at Beechlands, her old home.
For the next two days she was lethargic and appeared to take little interest in the babies, feeding them only when necessary, then wanting them taken back to their frilly cots. Rick did all he could to cheer her with lavish gifts and compliments, praising her courage, and the beauty of his daughters. She took no notice.
Then, suddenly, on the third day she came alive again, and for the first time since their arrival, smiled.
The nurse had just left the room, and Rick was standing at the bedside. Kate finally touched the forehead of one baby peeping from its white shawl. ‘Aren’t they funny little things?’ she said.
‘They’re beautiful,’ he answered, ‘and so are you.’
‘Now don’t flatter. I must look a sight. I’m sorry I’ve been such a dreary thing – and I’m sorry one isn’t a boy. I know you wanted a son—’
‘My dear love, I wouldn’t change these two for any male Ferris in the world.’ There was a pause before he said, ‘Plenty of time ahead for—’ He broke off.
Her expression clouded. ‘For what? Go on, tell me, but don’t expect me to go through all this again.’
‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘I don’t expect anything from you you don’t want yourself. At the moment all you’ve got to do is to take things easily and get your strength back. That’s the priority always – to be my own lovely tantalizing wife again.’
But she knew he was merely evading the issue, and because of her drained energy half-dreaded the future.
The babies were in no way identical. One was dark-eyed with a tuft of reddish dark hair, the other light brown and more fragile-looking.
‘My mother was fairish when she was young,’ Kate said one day when she and Rick were pondering over them. ‘The oth
er one – well, she’ll probably have very dark hair when she’s older, like you.’
‘A Ferris?’ One of his eye-brows shot up whimsically. ‘Poor little blighter. What will we call them then? We never settled for names.’
‘I wondered about Felicity for the fair one.’
‘Felicity? Where did that come from?’
‘I don’t quite know. But I like it – it means happiness.’
‘Felicity Ferris? Hm.’
‘You think it’s silly?’
‘No. Just a bit fancy. However, what about the other one?’
‘Your turn, Rick.’
His answer was immediate. ‘Marged?’
‘Marged?’ she echoed the word softly.
‘It was my mother’s name. Welsh. Remember?’
‘Oh. Well, yes, of course, if you want; it has a kind of darkness in it – just as Felicity seems sort of light and sunshiny – a bit ethereal. Marged has a rich colour like forest trees in the autumn, and sunset on dark, still pools.’ She broke off, smiling faintly. ‘I suppose I sound a bit silly – sentimental. But I think now I like Marged very much. I’m a bit sleepy though, Rick, so let’s leave it for the moment, and then have another think.’
The result of this conversation was that a month later the twins were christened in Lynchester Cathedral as Felicity and Marged Ferris.
*
In February, out of courtesy, and as a family gesture, presumably to celebrate the birth of the Ferris twins and the first anniversary of Jon’s marriage to Cassandra, the Barringtons and Rick and Kate were invited to Charnbrook for dinner.
‘It must be done, William,’ Olivia said resignedly. ‘Not only as a show of good manners, but to find out what we can about the relationship between our son and that silly girl he married. Things aren’t right, you know. Jon isn’t at all like he once was – so short-tempered and on edge. I’ve done my best to draw him out, but he was almost rude to me the other day, and as for Cassandra herself – I wonder sometimes if there’s something seriously wrong with her. Mentally, I mean – she’s so vague and whenever I try to get to grips with any problem there could be, she puts that sly smile on her face and says, “We’re quite happy, Lady Olivia. Jon and I love each other”.’ She frowned. ‘But I don’t believe that young woman has a shred of feeling in her.’
‘Hm.’ Sir William took a pull on his pipe. ‘You must do as you think fit, my dear. Have the dinner party by all means, although what chance there’ll be for any private conversation’s doubtful, I’d say. Still, a show of good feeling will be all to the good. I owe quite a bit to Barrington at the moment. Had bad luck with another lot of shares –Pelham & Company – only the other week, and Walter very kindly put his hand in his pocket for me.’
‘Oh William! Why do you take such risks? Spending what we haven’t got and having to rely on people like the Barringtons to get you out of a hole!’
‘Knowing us more than pays him, Olivia. Not so many of our breed about these days.’
Olivia sighed. ‘It seems nothing will change you. But on this I am determined. I’m going to discover what is wrong with Jonathan.’
‘Do, do. Give your dinner party, put on a good show, and I’ll somehow contrive to see you two mothers have a chance of a chin-wag. Women have a better nose for these things than men.’
So the event was arranged, and invitations sent to the Barringtons and Ferrises.
Kate at first wanted to refuse and searched for an excuse. But Rick, as usual, was determined to accept.
‘Only a week or two ago you were complaining that nothing happened, that you were tired of seeing just “babies and bottles”,’ he reminded her. ‘Now there’s a chance of dressing up to the eyes and showing off your new slender figure again, you go stubborn and want to decline. Well, my darling, you’ll do as I say for once, and I mean it — even if I have to drag you by the hair of your head.’
‘You brute!’
‘Exactly. To tell you the truth, Kate, I’m getting somewhat tired of your tantrums lately. Another thing – don’t let me overhear you threatening to slap either of my daughters again. I heard you the other day; Marged, wasn’t it? Oh, I realize she can be a wilful little thing, and I don’t suppose you meant it for a moment. But if you ever raise a hand against either of the twins, and I get to know of it – it’s you who’ll get the slapping. So remember it.’
Kate wheeled round on him.
‘You’ve no right to talk like that, even in fun. You—’
‘Oh, I can assure it wasn’t fun, my love—’
‘Anyhow,’ she interrupted, ‘you want me interested in the twins all the time, although I’m not allowed to do anything for them; oh, no, We have a nanny and servants for that. Am I just supposed to look on them? Without a right to say a word or use a touch of discipline when it’s necessary?’
‘I didn’t say that. At the moment they’re only babies, Kate. I realize Marged’s a bit of a bawler – it’s just high spirits. I guess you were the same at her age – maybe a bit worse.’
‘I was supposed to be a very good baby,’ Kate told him primly.
He laughed. ‘And some say “pigs can fly”. Now—’ his voice softened, ‘forget this silly argument, just concentrate on counting your blessings and think about what you’re going to wear for the “get-together”?’
She eventually chose soft luscious velvet in a deep lilac shade with a flimsy chiffon shawl spotted with diamante for her shoulders. She had a single flower in her piled-up hair that curled in a fringe over her forehead, and round her white neck wore a diamond necklace, one of Rick’s gifts to her.
They arrived at Charnbrook shortly before seven; and the Wentworth family and Barringtons were already gathered in the drawing-room when Kate was taken down by a maid from the powder room to join them.
It was then that Kate received her first shock.
Cassandra.
She was seated near to Mrs Barrington on a high-backed satin-upholstered chair at the far end of the room facing the door as Lady Wentworth moved, hand extended, to greet Rick and his wife. The men were gathered by the massive marble fireplace, including Jon, who looked distinctly ill-at-ease. And no wonder, thought Kate, considering Cassandra’s appearance. She was attired all in black – a high-necked dress, with a cape-like arrangement falling over the shoulders, and a spreading skirt covering the tips of her shoes. Her light hair was dragged to the back of her head almost entirely covered by black lace veiling resembling a miniature mantilla, of some religious order perhaps. Kate’s nerves lurched. Over the dark bodice of the gown a pearl cross hung at the breast from a silver chain.
The whole effect – the demure severity of expression on the pale face against the unrelieved black was startling, and somehow macabre.
Kate went forward mechanically, forcing a smile.
‘Hullo, Cass, how are you?’
‘Perfectly well, thank you,’ Cassandra answered in high sweet tones. ‘And how are you?’
‘Me? Oh, I’m all right. I haven’t seen you lately.’
‘No. I’ve been busy.’
‘Painting?’
‘Yes, and other things.’
‘Cass doesn’t make a habit of mingling with us normal folk these days,’ Jon said sarcastically, coming to join them. ‘She is much too pure.’ Instantly he regretted the cruel comment, but it was too late.
An embarrassed flush rose to Kate’s cheeks. She was wondering wildly what to say, whether to make a joke of Jon’s rebuff or change the conversation quickly into other channels, when Lady Wentworth mercifully intervened.
‘Do come and sit down, my dear,’ she said to Kate. ‘I was just saying to your dear mama that I hadn’t seen your delightful babies since the christening. One day you must bring them along in the afternoon, and we can have a cosy cup of tea together without these wicked men of ours.’ Her smile at Kate was as sugar sweet as her brief frown at Jon was strong with warning.
Of Cassie, whose wedding anniversary it was, she took no
notice at all.
The whole short interlude had the atmosphere of a social drama being enacted on a stage with no one knowing quite what the climax was to be, a situation saved only by a veneer of good manners, and the good food and wine that followed.
Actually such an assessment would have been correct, although it was three hours before the finale took shape, and one which neither the Wentworths nor Barringtons could have anticipated.
By 10.30 the guests had departed. Jon and Cassandra were the last to leave after a cold farewell from Lady Wentworth and a gruff ‘Hope all’s well with you two – have a good night m’boy’, from Sir William.
Two bright spots of colour burned on Olivia’s high cheek-bones as she returned to the dining-room followed by her husband. A fire was still burning brightly, the air was warm; small signs of festivity remained there – massed bowls of roses, a large framed photograph of Jon and Cassandra on their wedding day standing in a silver frame on a side table. Light leaped from logs and coal, catching the glint of wall lamps and the immense crystal chandelier hanging from the high encrusted ceiling. Soft shadows mingled with the rich warm scent of the flowers evocative of bygone romantic luxury. A gentle tune from a French china clock upheld by baby angels tinkled merrily from the mantelshelf. But Olivia Wentworth’s face was grim. The very atmosphere seemed to chill as she spoke.
‘Outrageous. That girl’s behaviour was quite inexcusable. To appear like that –making a mockery of her marriage to our son. And in front of those – those Barringtons. So demure and sly. As if she was in mourning. Or about to enter a convent. We must do something William. It can’t go on. Jon has aged years, even in the short time since they moved to the Dower House. We must have advice. Marriages can be annulled in certain cases. I’m sure something’s very wrong. In cases like this—’ She broke off, lifting a shred of lace handkerchief to one eye, her upper lip trembled beneath her long aristocratic nose.
William patted her shoulder comfortingly.
‘There, there, m’dear. Compose yourself. It’s not as bad as all that. Young couples often go through a tricky stage. And it’s my belief he still thinks the world of her. Give them time, that’s what I say, give them time.’
The Velvet Glove Page 8