The Velvet Glove

by Mary Williams

  For the first time in his life he was faced with a problem he felt unable to solve. His mind – usually so needle sharp and clear was torn ruthlessly in two directions – one the unquenchable desire for her and to believe in her innocence concerning Jon Wentworth, the other to follow the line of reasoning and common sense, taking her story with a grain of salt, but outwardly accepting it because he needed her so much. The latter course perhaps might eventually end in complete forgiveness. On the other hand the shadow could always linger between them.

  Who could say?

  Wearily, feeling curiously drained and defeated, he entered his study and lit the incandescent wall lamp. It was still dark outside, although the pale thin grey of dawn would soon be lifting over the gardens spreading a blurred light against the Gothic-styled long widow. At the moment everything in the book-lined interior was a cheerless pattern of shadowed distorted forms – cupboards and office equipment, plus the addition of a large leather armchair and sofa and valuable antique secretaire.

  A man’s room.

  No lingering aroma of feminine perfume here, no glimmer of a woman’s white arms and shadowed sweet smile.

  No Kate.

  Just chill negation of emotion. A reminder of finance and committee, sterile business days ahead. He flung his scarf over the table, fetched a decanter and glass from the cabinet and poured a stiff drink, taking it neat. Then he slumped into the armchair, stretched out his legs and threw his head back against the leather cushion. Gradually the liquor warmed his spirits. But, despite the fact he was still wearing his coat, the early morning spring air felt chill. He braced himself to move, not worth lighting the fire. Soon there’d be the first sounds of domestic life beginning from the kitchen below. He reached for his scarf and went upstairs to the quarters he now occupied. In spite of his efforts to make no noise, the door creaked when he unlocked it and went in.

  Then the shock hit him.

  The small round lamp glowed by the bed, and someone was lying there. A woman. He stood quite still for a moment angered by this violation of his privacy until, as he stepped forward, he saw who it was, the first reaction collapsed, shattered by bewilderment that was almost disbelief.

  Kate.

  He approached the bed quietly. She was lying on her side with one cheek pressed against the pillow, her shining hair spread over the fine linen. The quilt was loose over her shoulders revealing the gentle curve of a breast under her blue silk nightdress. He bent down and saw she was sleeping, but he fancied the glint of tears still lingered on the soft thick fringe of her lashes; and there was something else – or was he mistaken? No. As he peered closer he recognized the collar of one of his own shirts protruding from the sheets. She was clutching it to her body as though it was a child or something she could not bear to be without.

  Good heavens, he thought, completely disorientated by a conflict of emotions, had it been as bad for her as that?

  His heart quickened. She appeared so young and vulnerable, only a girl in innocent dreamless slumber. Yet she was his wife and had already borne his children. That, and what else?

  If only he knew. If only he could whisper her name, press his lips to hers gently, and watch those deep golden-dark eyes open with the truth clarified in their clear gaze.

  But he had not the heart or the will to wake her at that moment for fear of what he found there. As he waited she stirred. He turned away, and swiftly, quiet-footed as a panther, crossed the thick carpet in three strides and was closing the door behind him.

  No doubt she’d soon be fully awake and back in her own bedroom. She’d better be, he thought, with a touch of wry humour, or heaven only knew what the maid would think who brought her early cup of tea, to find her mistress clutching a shirt in the master’s room. Not that domestic gossip worried him anymore. There’d been sufficient, as he well knew, to fill a book, concerning life at Woodgate during recent months. And none of it important or holding a grain of the tragic truth.

  Which was? Again the same question.

  He returned to his study, and knew suddenly that there had to be an answer. He and Kate had to face each other and solve the future. Life could not continue as it had.

  In a flash an idea took shape from the conflict of his thoughts.

  He went to his desk, took up pen and paper and wrote a short note.

  Kate,

  We have to talk.

  I returned on the night train and am having an early breakfast before taking off to the stud.

  Could we meet about 12 at Brad Hill? After long business sessions I need a leg stretch, and a dose of fresh air will do you good. You know the spot near the ancient Folly? – far enough away from Woodgate hopefully to get an objective clear slant on our relationship, but not too far to tire you.

  I shall be waiting. If you don’t make it, the meeting will have to be at the house, but I prefer otherwise.

  Rick.

  He stuck it down firmly, addressed it simply as KATE in his bold handwriting, and took it along the landing to a small semi-circular glass table standing against the wall immediately next to the door of their main bedroom. He left it there knowing she would see it when she left the room later for breakfast.

  A sense of relief filled him. Whatever the outcome, at least some positive action must accrue. In his heart he knew he wanted and would have Kate, at any price – provided she told the truth without the sly ambiguities and protests of just wanting to comfort Wentworth. He was about to walk away when some quirk of fate made him put his hand unconsciously into a side pocket of his coat. There was a spare key there and a few loose coins. Something else too. Something soft. He drew it out.

  A white velvet glove; crumpled now, but still seeming to hold a faint suggestion of perfume.

  The shock of memory temporarily caught him off guard. All the time it must have lain there since the night of the dance those many years ago, simply because he’d worn that particular coat so rarely, and not being a sentimentalist he’d found no occasion or use for it.

  Until now.

  He placed it beside the note on the table for no logical reason whatever except perhaps to remind Kate of certain personal obligations, and a necessity at all costs for absolute truth between them as man and wife.

  Then, hearing the subdued sound of movement from the bedroom he quickly made his way back along the corridor and down the stairs.

  He decided to change clothes at the house by the stud, where his breeder kept certain accommodation for him, and have breakfast there. It was still sufficiently early for avoidance of a chance encounter with any servant of Woodgate, but the light outside was visibly lifting. So he made his exit as quickly as possible from a side door and five minutes later was well on his way.

  12

  An early haze had left the hills of Burnwood glittering bright with dew from the rising sun as Rick reached the high point of the Folly for his meeting with Kate.

  He’d climbed the steep way leading from the historical parkland of Bradgate, but guessed Kate would naturally take the gentle field slope from the opposite direction. He had also expected her to be late – it was supposed to be a woman’s prerogative –though he couldn’t fathom why – in addition to which there was a stubborn streak in her to be reckoned with, and punctuality had never been one of her virtues.

  He’d wandered restlessly about for over a quarter of an hour before he glimpsed her figure outlined against the shimmering sky. She was wearing a green cape and, as she approached, a rising breeze caught it up gently, revealing fleetingly the strong yet slender lines of her figure in its purple dress. She walked with a proud swing, chin up, nerves keyed no doubt to face him; a frail scarf tied loosely over her curls blew back behind her, taking flying strands of escaped russet hair with it.

  He went to meet her, and they faced each other for a few moments not speaking. He thought she looked paler than usual, a little defiant. But beautiful. The epitome of some lovely legendary character made flesh and blood to taunt him. He gritted his
teeth, forcing himself not to smile or take her as his instinct prompted into his arms.

  ‘Well,’ he said glancing down at his watch, ‘so you’ve made it. I was beginning to wonder.’

  ‘Naturally,’ she answered. ‘You ordered me.’ Her tones were cool, impersonal.

  He forced a short humourless laugh. ‘Come, Kate, there’s no need to fence with words. The time has come to settle things. For good. I don’t intend to wear a hair shirt for ever, and I presume you want more from life than that of existence as an external grass widow.’

  He noticed that the hard line of her lips relaxed slightly. She shrugged.

  ‘What is it you’re trying to say Rick? There’s been so much discussion already. You’ve heard my explanation about – about Jon and everything so many times, and I just don’t understand why we have to come here for more.’

  ‘Don’t you? It’s one of my favourite places – rich with history – tragedy, comedy, yet still free for more. Happiness I hope. Come—’ He touched her shoulder lightly, and strode to the sheltering walls of the ancient Folly which stood looking like a miniature castle on the highest point of the hill. The fresh green young bracken already sprinkled the rocky slope down to the valley below where a narrow river coursed over tumbled boulders catching silvered light from the sun. Deer were visible on the opposite side of the park moving gracefully through patches of woodland. Oaks thrived and the rich earth, though boggy in places immediately below the Folly, was riddled with rabbit holes.

  A twisted thorn with dark gnarled arms stood near a ruined mansion to the right, resembling some ancient witch for ever on the watch for trespassers. Kate had never particularly liked the spot, and said so. ‘I prefer the Beacon,’ she said. ‘This is somehow sad.’

  ‘Yes. It has atmosphere. I’m no romantic, as you know – not in words. But I believe we can learn through nature. Despite the freedom and beauty of this area now I always feel something of its past still lingers in the elements – of how that innocent young girl, Queen Jane for nine days, who lived at the ruined Hall, was manipulated and accused falsely by devious plotters and beheaded. But you know all about that. History books tell the story now, or half of it. But the truth of her suffering can never be recounted. That’s what’s so important – to know the truth. And that is all I ask of you, Kate.’ There was a pause. ‘Look at me.’

  Very slowly she turned her head and stared straight into his face.

  His gaze was relentlessly on hers. ‘The truth,’ he persisted, ‘about you and Jon.’

  She didn’t answer, but turned with a violent movement like that of some outraged wild thing and fled, cape flying, towards the stretch of lane she’d come along.

  He caught up with her almost immediately and held her, struggling against him; it was then that self-control deserted him. His lips were on her mouth, cheeks, and at the base of her throat, pulses of both of them hammering with the shock of release and desire.

  Then, just as quickly, he let her go.

  She was crying.

  Trembling, he took her hand. ‘Oh, Kate,’ he said. ‘Kate. What have we done to each other?’

  She shook her head dumbly.

  He guided her to a flat slab of granite at the base of the Folly and eased her down, then passed her a handkerchief. ‘Dry your eyes, darling. I’m sorry. It just proves—’

  ‘What?’

  He smiled bleakly. ‘Men are men and women are women. Both with weaknesses. I wanted you here because I wanted – demanded the impossible. Proof of your fidelity. But proof doesn’t matter anymore.’ He knew she’d never realize what it cost him to say that. ‘I love you, whatever has been, whatever you are. We’re going home now, to live as ordinary a life as possible with the children, and I’ll never refer to that damned unspeakable incident again.’

  ‘But Rick—’ Her voice faltered. ‘That isn’t enough. You should know – you must, that I’ve told you all the time the real truth. I was never never unfaithful to you with Jon. Never – not physically. It’s only been you. Can’t you believe it? Even now?’

  ‘At this moment perhaps – yes. But tomorrow? – who can say? Some things lie too deeply in memory, Kate, to be completed erased. I’ll do my damnedest to squash any shadow if it comes up, and I’ll not refer to the incident again. That I can promise. So’ – his firm lips curved with a hint of his old charismatic smile – ‘what about it? Shall we start afresh? Drive the cobwebs away in a clean sweep? Do you care for me sufficiently?’

  She gave a little cry and reached towards him. He lifted her up again and they stood together close, arms entwined, her head resting on his breast below a shoulder.

  A curious peace seemed to fill the air, enveloping all around them. Later when they’d recovered from emotional reaction both knew it would be different. Passion would reclaim them after exhaustion had spent itself. But for the moment awareness of reunion was sufficient.

  Presently they turned and took the quickest route back to Woodgate.

  And it was then that the miracle occurred.

  Kate had already gone upstairs, and Rick was taking his boots to the kitchen quarters when he heard voices at a side door. Voices with a familiar tone about them. Curious suddenly, he went to investigate.

  One of the maids was in conversation with a woman and a young boy. The woman was swarthy-faced, hawk-nosed, wearing a black shawl over a multi-coloured dress and beads, and with long gold rings swinging from her ears below a red headscarf. The boy too was very dark, curly-haired and good-looking. There was evidently an argument going on. The maid, who was comparatively new at Woodgate, was protesting and trying to close the door, the woman was holding up something that looked like a pendant dangling from a slender golden chain.

  Rick recognized her instantly.

  ‘Ah! – Thisbe,’ he cried, stepping forward quickly.

  There was a flash of white teeth in the wrinkled lean face.

  ‘Mr Ferris, sir. I’m glad to see thee. There’s something of yours here.’ She pushed the trinket towards him, obviously eager for his response. Rick told the servant to go, and took the chain from the gypsy. After only a few seconds’ examination he stared at her in bewilderment.

  ‘Yes. It was once my grandmother’s, but when we married I gave it to my wife. I can’t understand how you came by it. But you’d better come inside where we can talk.’

  Once in the hall, the woman was voluble in her explanation which was interjected by occasional Romany phrases.

  ‘We only got to the forest yesterday, Mr Ferris, sir,’ she said, ‘and it was my grandson here, Dirk, who found it.’

  ‘Found it? Where? When?’

  ‘Early this morning, sir. He was collecting wood near that but place that had the pictures in it, and the pool where the poor rawni, the lady who did them, was drowned—’ She paused.

  ‘The Tree Studio, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Being a good chavi he brought it straight to me, and I saw your name on the back of the pretty thing. See, sir?’

  The locket was shaped like a heart. A single small diamond glinted from its centre, and on the back the name ‘Ferris’ was engraved. He could not recall when Kate had last worn it, and was puzzled that she had left it at the studio. The chain was wrenched, so obviously it had caught on something and fallen off.

  He was ruminating over the question when Thisbe, seeing his bewilderment, suggested, ‘It must’ve been there for months, sir, gone into the earth like, and been trampled over since that day of the fight.’

  Rick was startled. ‘The fight? What fight?’

  ‘When that high-and-mighty, yellow-haired rai who fancies himself lord of everything, attacked your lovely lady, sir. I saw it all. A real tussle it was – I was behind that big holly tree, sir, and couldn’t be seen. Collecting a special kind of herb I was. If the struggle’d’ve gone on I’d’ve taken a hand in it. But I’m not young, sir, and it was soon over – when the other lady appeared – the strange one.’

  Rick had gone very pa
le.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ the gipsy woman enquired, ‘is there something wrong in what I’ve said?’

  He pulled himself together. ‘No – no. You’ve done me a great service, Thisbe, and your grandson. Thank you, boy. The pendant means something very special to me, and nothing I can give you in return can repay you.’ He put his hands in his pocket and drew out two sovereigns. ‘But here’s a little of something to show my gratitude – one for you and one for the lad. Dirk you say his name is. Here Dirk.’

  The boy glanced at his grandmother questioningly. The brown of her skin appeared to have darkened with a more rosy tinge. ‘We don’t ask payment for doing what’s right,’ she said, ‘but when a gift’s offered by a fine Gorgio gentleman ted’n our way to refuse. So if Mr Ferris wants, you c’n take it in y’s own hand, chavi.’ And to Rick, ‘May the blessing of our tribe rest on y’r head, sir, and those of your family for all the moons of your life—’

  The boy accepted the coin staring at its gold shine wonderingly, watched by Thisbe’s eagle eye. Then, after her slipping the other into a small embroidered bag hanging from her waist, there was a show of signs from one lean arm accompanied by utterings in a strange tongue, good wishes and further thanks from Rick who had been familiar with Thisbe’s gipsy clan for many years, and learned to respect them.

  Then, still bowing and gesticulating the two figures turned and at a quick speed were soon hurrying down towards the lane and their forest encampment.

  For a minute, following their departure, Rick stood perfectly still as though all movement in him had suddenly petrified, trying to absorb the full impact of the gipsy’s revelation, which meant that Kate’s complete innocence was proved, and Jon’s accusation had been no more than a dastardly lie.