At the end of March she started painting again, and set off in the mornings on her cycle for the Tree Studio.
Emily didn’t entirely approve.
‘I don’t like you going off on your own so much,’ she said to her one day, ‘I’ve heard the gypsies are back.’
‘I know. They’re friendly people. They don’t worry me,’ Cassie answered, smiling. ‘Didn’t the doctor say I should feel free to go for walks and paint?’
‘Yes, but your uncle and I are responsible for you – and to Jon. I can’t believe he approves either.’
‘Oh, he doesn’t mind, not now,’ Cassandra answered. ‘We understand each other far better when we’re apart, like this, just meeting when we feel like it.’
‘And that’s a very strange way to talk about your husband. Really, Cassandra! Sometimes I wonder if we did the right thing in having you back in this way.’
Cassie’s large eyes widened. ‘But I’m getting better, aren’t I? And that’s what they want, isn’t it? The Wentworths?’
Emily could think of no satisfactory answer to the question, but when Cassandra had pedalled off along the lane that day on her cycle, she tackled Walter.
‘I think you should write to your cousin,’ she said, ‘about Cassie.’
Walter looked up from his paper. ‘Oh? You want her down here or something? Things not going right with the girl?’
‘It depends on what you mean by right. She’s happier. But you can’t say things are normal between her and Jon.’
‘Hm.’
‘After all – living apart like this, because of a nightmare. Lots of folk have nightmares – they don’t let them break up a marriage, but if you ask me that’s what’s happening here. Now look here, Walter, face it, what do we know about the girl’s background? Her real one? Did your cousin and her husband have all the details when they took her from that place, the orphanage, so long ago? Sometimes the authorities don’t say, you know. But there’s something that makes me uneasy about her nowadays. Something – secret and hidden – and strange, very strange.’
‘Oh, come now—’
‘No, you’re not putting me off any longer. You must have the truth. Ask outright, demand it now we’ve got her on our hands. It’s your duty, for all our sakes, including Cassandra’s.’
Walter knew that his wife was right, and had a shrewd idea also that Ellen his cousin, and her husband, when he was living, had kept something they’d discovered about the girl’s origins to themselves. Something unsavoury. However, he decided to keep the matter in abeyance for a bit before taking any definite action. The important thing to him seemed that the young couple still appeared fond of each other on the limited occasions they met, and the presence of Ellen Blacksley had always mildly irritated him – she was to his mind a boring ‘do-gooder’, and any question concerning the conduct of her adopted daughter would be sure to bring her down to Beechlands casting a shadow over the comfortable household routine.
Sensing his attitude, Emily did her best to let the problem rest temporarily, and concentrated her thoughts in the happier affairs of her own daughter and young children. She was sufficiently wise not to visit Woodgate more than once a week or fortnight, realizing that Rick – though always welcoming and pleasant if she arrived when he happened to be there – wouldn’t appreciate too much intrusion by a mother-in-law. The important thing to Emily was that the couple seemed to be happy; Kate was blooming, and the twins were intriguing little things with completely different personalities. Marged, sturdy and strong-willed, already showed promise of developing into a dark-eyed beauty possessing Kate’s charm and manner of getting what she wanted, Felicity on the other hand, was more shy, a dainty little creature, blue-eyed and more fair. The only worry concerning the babies was Felicity’s health which had a tendency to mild chest trouble. But the doctors had assured their parents that in time she would almost certainly grow out of this one weakness.
Perhaps because he was not in the company of the babies as much as Kate, Rick appeared to be at rare times more doting than his wife. Emily privately considered that Kate was not sufficiently involved with the practical business of doing things for the children herself; and in a subtle way occasionally resented the compliments and attention lavished on them. ‘A nurse – or a nanny as they call them these days and a maid fussing round all the time – it isn’t the natural way of things,’ she said to Walter. ‘Kate sometimes seems to get irritable for no reason at all now. And then that housekeeper, Mrs Rook, all fuss and bustle acting as mistress more than someone employed to do a job. Why does Kate allow it? That’s what I’d like to know.’
‘She’s been at Woodgate for a long time,’ Walter pointed out. ‘Now don’t you start interfering, Emily, or popping over too much. Leave the family to go its own way.’
‘I’m thinking of my own family,’ Emily replied, ruffled. ‘Our daughter, Kate.’
Actually, Kate had other things on her mind besides the children. She knew something was wrong between Jon and Cassandra, and was chagrined that she didn’t know what. She didn’t believe the simple explanation of a breakdown for one moment, and was determined somehow to discover the cause of the rift. Strangely, she was not only concerned on Jon’s account, but experienced for the first time an odd kind of sympathy for Cass, recalling that when they were younger they’d had a few pleasant companionable times together, and there was something rather pathetic about the way she’d tried to make an impression at that awful wedding anniversary celebration – because that’s all it had been surely – just a pitiful attempt to keep her end up against those snobby Wentworths? Or had Jon fallen out of love with her, was that it? Kate was surprised how little that possibility affected her: a few months, even weeks, ago she’d have felt a certain unkind triumph at the thought. But Rick’s vitality, keeping pace with things, the birth of the twins, and all that life at Woodgate entailed had curtailed a good deal of her own romantic yearnings. Or perhaps she was maturing? – Oh, horrible thought. She’d certainly put on a little weight, she decided one afternoon, studying herself through the mirror. Even Rick, after viewing her appraisingly, had remarked teasingly, ‘Don’t worry about the pounds, darling, you’re developing into a fine figure of a woman.’
She had been annoyed but had not shown it, deciding, however, that she must take more daily exercise. The twins didn’t need her for much of the day, and the forest was at its loveliest for a wander now with bluebells thick among the ferns, and the trees lacy-pale in young green.
She determined from that moment to make jaunts when convenient to the Tree Studio, and with luck find Cassie to learn what her reason was for leaving the Dower House.
So she set off one afternoon on foot, taking a rough track off the main lane, then making a short cut she knew well through the woods to the vicinity of the ruined priory and the nearby studio. The air was sweet and tangy. She discarded the light headscarf and let the gentle breeze ruffle her hair loosening a few bright copper curls. At one point there was a rustle overhead, and looking up she saw a red squirrel, bright-eyed, peering down at her. ‘Hullo, you funny little thing,’ she couldn’t resist saying, much as she would have done as a child. ‘What are you doing? Nothing?’ There was a quick movement of the bushy tail, and it had lolloped down a branch and was gone.
Kate felt a kind of nostalgia. How carefree and happy those days had been, and what a joy it was to sense the old wonder and magic of the forest – alone for once, without the complex of secret longings and mixed emotions.
The Tree Studio was open when she arrived there, emerging like a fairytale place from its bed of tall bracken, flowering thorn and tangled undergrowth. Late primroses and dandelions like small suns starred the path leading to the door which was half open. Kate pushed through. ‘Are you there, Cass?’ She looked round. The familiar paint smell crept to meet her. Several pictures were propped up against the wall, landscapes and a few of animals including as she’d expected one or two portraits of the nun – with a larger
one on the easel. It was a serene face, but full of subtle longing that Cass had captured in quite a masterly fashion. She’s improved in her painting, Kate thought, she’s really quite gifted. I wonder if Jon – her thoughts broke off there, because she didn’t quite know what she wondered about Jon these days. It was some time since she’d seen him.
She idled a few moments away indecisively, then went out again calling, ‘Cass – Cass – I’m here, it’s Kate. Are you around?’ She paused, peering through the pale lacy pattern of bushes and interwoven brambles. There was no sign of Cassandra. So she took a thread of path winding through the wild spring jungle in the opposite direction from Beechlands. There was a green clearing quite near, and screwing up her eyes she saw the glimmer of water beyond. She’d been there many times always taking care not to venture too close; beautiful as it was – limpid and deep with a translucent shimmer on its clear surface – the soil round it was reputed to be slippery. They called it Old Harry’s Pool because in the far past it was said a farmer and his horse had gone over and their drowned bodies never recovered. Originally it was one of the famous Burnwood slate pits.
For no logical feeling at all Kate felt a strange sensation of apprehension creep over her.
And then she saw her.
Cassie was standing only a few yards from the chasm. Through the fragile light her figure was a half-dimmed shape, and she appeared perfectly still – weirdly static – like an unmoving shape of the elements.
‘Cass!’ Kate called sharply. ‘Cass – what are you doing there?’ Cassandra turned. After a pause she swept her hair from her face, tossed it back over a shoulder, and came forward. She moved gracefully and, as she drew near, Kate saw she was smiling. She was wearing a long green embroidered skirt and a white high-necked blouse under a loose blue cape. The little cross falling from her neck on its silver chain glittered momentarily in a transient beam of thin sunlight.
‘Hullo, Kate. I didn’t expect you. I—’ She paused before adding, ‘I’ve just seen her.’
‘Who?’
‘The nun. She’s beautiful, you know.’
Feeling vaguely shocked and irritated at the same time Kate said, ‘Oh, Cass! how can you be sure she’s a nun. There’s no convent or women’s priory round here anymore. You must be wrong. Have you spoken to her?’
‘No. But—’
‘Well, then! Someone told me the other day there’d been an artist staying at that large farm near Bradgate for quite some time. I expect it’s her. Artists do sometimes dress rather eccentrically. And apparently she does a lot of walking up the Beacon and round the forest.’
‘I know she’s a nun,’ Cassandra persisted. ‘Think what you like. Why does everyone doubt my word?’
Kate sighed. ‘Oh, well, have it your way. I suppose it doesn’t matter. If you want to believe she’s a nun, that’s it. But Jon must think it pretty odd.’
‘Jon? Why should he? Anyway, he doesn’t pry into who I meet. He’s interested in my painting. He always was.’
‘Is he? And what about your marriage?’
‘Well, what about it? We’re happy, if that’s what you want to know.’
‘Then why on earth don’t you go back to the Dower House?’
Cassandra’s colour faded leaving only two brilliant spots of scarlet on her cheek-bones when she stopped suddenly and faced her cousin tight-lipped with her eyes wide and staring, both hands clenched. ‘Because I hate that place – hate it, and you’ve no right to upset me. The doctor said I should have peace.’
Kate tried to pacify her. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I was wrong to say anything. But it seems so strange.’
‘That’s because you’re married to Rick. If it was Jon you’d understand – he’s very sensitive; we’re not like you two.’
‘No, you’re certainly not,’ Kate remarked with a touch of acerbity, and had a mental picture of Rick’s reaction should she behave like Cass.
There was silence for some moments as the girls turned into the path to the Studio. By the time they got there Cass’s angry mood had passed, and she appeared contrite.
‘It was nice of you to come really,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about my temper. It’s so important to keep serene – whatever happens.’ Her words, and the soft manner she spoke them, for some unpredictable reason sent a little shiver down Kate’s spine.
‘I’ll come again, unless you’d rather I didn’t.’
‘No of course I don’t mind. It’s nice seeing you, so long as we don’t argue.’
Kate forced a smile. ‘I’ll do my best. Now, can I look at your most recent paintings?’
‘They’re over there.’ Cass pointed to a corner. ‘The new portraits, the one on the easel, isn’t finished yet.’
Close inspection of the watercolours revealed beside delicate detail, surprising suggestions of hidden faces and forms, which although only vaguely defined – probably because of that – were proof of Cassandra’s extraordinary imagination. This of course was at the root of the nun business, Kate told herself on the way back to Beechlands. Cass must realize herself surely that the demure face of the gentle woman in the painting was either a creation of her own mind, or of someone she’d met on her rambles and used as a subject.
Kate intended to take a second walk to the Studio the following week, but was diverted by a dramatic upheaval that put all other matters temporarily out of her mind.
Rick informed her one evening that he had a friend coming for the evening meal the following day – a Richard Owen from Wales.
‘So tell Mrs Rook to see Cook has something tasty for the meal – tasty but straightforward without frills,’ he said. ‘I’ll arrange the wine. It’s quite an occasion. We’ve decided to take a trip together to the States about April. Maybe he’ll take up shares in the Review, and his mining interests over there. So do your best to put on a good show, darling.’
Kate stared at him. She was looking particularly lovely in shimmering sea-green with just a faint shadowed suggestion of the cream bosom beneath the low-cut silk of the bodice.
‘What did you say? A trip? To America, do you mean?’
He glanced at her warily. ‘That’s right. Business purely. It won’t be for long, eight days each way on the water and a week or so there. No more than a month altogether.’
‘But—’ She broke off, her mind whirling, then continued, only half believing what she’d heard, ‘Do you mean without me?’
He put on his most placating smile, and took her hand. ‘Oh, come now, sweetheart. What would you do on your own over there, knowing nobody, no woman to talk to—’
‘Not even Mrs Linda Wade?’ The question was out before she knew it.
His face darkened slightly. ‘Now Kate, I thought we’d settled the place of Mrs Wade in our routine. No questions, no petty jealous ideas – don’t start creating a scene at this stage of our marriage. No, as far as I know, Mrs Wade will not be on the Oceanic when we sail. If she is it will be through no suggestion of mine. As I’ve just pointed out it will be an all-male business trip.’
‘But you’re always having business trips to somewhere or other, London or Wales, and – and all over the place. And I never go anywhere – never – Rick.’ Her voice softened, became pleading, she looking up at him with her large eyes limpid and pleading. ‘Please, oh please, do let me come. I wouldn’t be in the way. If you love me—’
He studied her seriously. ‘I do love you Kate. Much much more than you realize. But it’s really not convenient or suitable to have you with me this time. Another thing – and this is most important: there are the twins. I wouldn’t want them to be left entirely to the care of servants for four weeks. Felicity isn’t a strong child and needs a mother at hand in case of any problem. You must see that. Don’t you?’
He took her hand. She pulled it away sharply. ‘Yes, I see. Oh, I see. You’re using me. You always use me, and give me nothing in return.’
She put a hand to her mouth, aghast at her outburst. He put
both hands on her arms, gave her a quick shake and forced her to look at him.
‘So I use you, do I? – and give you nothing. What about this?’ He indicated the rich exotic interior. ‘The endless hours I’ve spent pandering to your whims and wishes – in spite of your secret lusting for fancy words and God knows what else from your fair-haired Galahad. Nothing?’
‘I didn’t mean that. It was just – frustration.’
His mouth tightened. ‘Then I advise you, Mrs Ferris, to try curbing your frustrations, and concentrate on your manners, or I may have to resort to my own methods of controlling a wilful wife.’
She bit her lip, released herself, and walked to the window. Her handkerchief became a small ball in her hand. Why couldn’t he understand? But he seemed able to take everything so lightly – to make a decision, and it was fait accompli – done. The clash of words had shaken her. Her throat was tight with emotion. She struggled for composure, and was steeling herself to appear calm and uncaring when he came up behind her. She sensed rather than heard his presence there with a shock of awareness almost electric.
Firmly he turned her round and stared into her face, looking deep into her eyes. A glisten of unshed tears glittered on the thick velvet lashes, spreading gradually into tormented pools of darkness.
‘Oh, Kate,’ he said, ‘what am I to do with you? Spank you, or love you?’
He shook his head slowly, then gently at first his lips were on hers, and her arms were reaching to his shoulders.
That moment held a wonder and magic that was completely new to her. It was then that she first knew, without admitting it, that she loved him.
At the end of March he went to America.
5
The Velvet Glove Page 10