The Velvet Glove (12 page)

‘
You may have something there,’ William agreed. ‘It’s quite an idea. Rick could be useful in getting contacts. He’s embroiled at the moment with this wild project the Yanks have of putting moving picture stories on a screen. Can’t believe it myself. But
he’s
nobody’s fool. Says it’ll be a thriving industry in a few years.’

‘
He may well be right.’

‘
Could be – could be. Progress is a funny thing. You can never tell what’s going to turn up next. Like the flying machine. There was talk, and experimenting, but very few people took the idea seriously. Then look what happened –The Wright Brothers did it for the States in 1903. Oh, they’re a go-ahead lot, the Americans.’

There wa
s a pause then he added thoughtfully, ‘We’ll go into this business of letting the Dower House, Olivia. And I’ll have a talk with Ferris about his newspaper – what’s it called –
Pictorial
something? – maybe it would be worth taking up a few shares.’

‘
William, we’ve debts to pay first. I pray you’ll be wise and think twice before you buy anything.’

Her hus
band gave a quirky smile. ‘Sometimes it’s only by buying that you can pay off what you owe, my dear.’

She sighed.
‘Oh. If only life was not so worrying. My first concern, and it should be yours, William, is somehow to see our son more happily settled.’

‘
It is, it is, and you needn’t worry too much. There’s one thing certain, whatever difficulties the boy has to face he’ll come through all right in the end. He’s a Wentworth.’

‘
How nice to be an optimist,’ Olivia said a trifle sourly.

William gave her a shrewd look, and after a pause said,
‘I’m going to have a talk with that man you took on to help in the greenhouse. It’s my belief he hasn’t a clue about tomatoes.’

Lady Wentworth opened her mouth to give a sharp retort, thought better of it, and the next moment her husband had left for the gardens.

*

Undue gossip between the domestic staff of the Dower House and Charnbrook Hall was avoided by retaining fees being paid to the former for a limited
period, with the explanation that Mrs Wentworth junior had suffered a minor nervous breakdown which meant a temporary change of scene was necessary away from any domestic responsibilities.

Certain rumours, of course, were put about, but the nightmare theory seemed the most feasible, since Jon made almost daily visits to Beechlands, and appeared on friendly terms, and sincerely concerned about his wife.

Walter and Emily were naturally worried, though Cassandra herself, after the first few days, appeared content, and gradually settled into her former routine. She was always pleased to see Jon, and more than once told him it was like being engaged all over again. As the days passed faint wild-rose colour tinged her delicate face. From being over-thin, she put on a little weight, and when she smiled it was as though no dark memories lingered.

‘
I do love you so much, Jon,’ she said, as she walked with him to the gate of the drive one evening. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

He studied her for a moment longing to take her in his arms, but not daring to.
‘If you say so, Cass,’ he said. ‘One day—’

‘
Yes, yes,’ she interrupted, ‘one day we’ll be together for good – it’s so romantic.’

His heart sank; it was like a cloud blotting out the sunlight. She was such a child. Either she didn
’t remember a thing or she was determined to live a fairytale existence of unreality, and he wondered how long he would be able to stand it, because her physical fascination for him remained. He still wanted her, but as a woman of flesh and blood. How could any man go on forever hungering after a dream when his body ached with normal physical desires?

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.’

C
assie’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 attent
ion 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 in
decisively, 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.