The Coiled Serpent
‘REALLY, I DON’T UNDERSTAND ALL THIS excitement.’ Duchess Fanny tapped the wooden pew for emphasis. ‘I’ve had two weddings and never felt any need to rehearse. All you have to remember is not to gallop up the aisle, so people have time to admire your dress, and to speak your vows clearly. Hardly taxing for a girl of your intelligence, Cora. And as for your bridesmaids, Sybil has done this many times before, she can lead the way. If you really want to practise, why don’t you walk up and down a few times now, to get the timing of the thing. But not too much, you don’t want to appear drilled.’ The Duchess smiled at the assembled company, her pale blue eyes candid with the air of someone who has found the missing key that the whole household has been searching for. Her audience, however, did not share her conviction. When Mrs Cash at last found her voice, it was tight with suppressed emotion.
‘I have not had the experience of an English wedding, Duchess, perhaps they are simpler affairs. Here it is customary to rehearse with all the members of the wedding, including the groom.’ Mrs Cash was trying to control her irritation but without much success. She looked up at the great stained-glass window over the altar for inspiration. She had gazed at this window at so many society weddings in the past, imagining the moment when it would be Cora at the altar, that she knew every detail. There had never been any question about which church to use. All the smartest weddings were here at Trinity. There were airier, more spacious churches further uptown, but Mrs Cash had never even considered them. Trinity was the church used by the Astors, the Rhinebackers, the Schoonmakers and the rest of Old New York. Although Mrs Cash was pleased to think that none of them had ever seen the church looking so splendid.
Built of native granite, the building could be a little gloomy but the great arches of ivy and jasmine that hung over the congregation, echoing the stone vaulting above, made the stern church feel almost boudoir-like. She was particularly pleased with the cloth-of-gold carpet that she had had laid from the altar all the way down the nave. It was embroidered here and there with the bridal couple’s monograms in silver. Even the Duchess, who had deemed the church quite ‘forbidding’ from the outside, had gasped at that. Mrs Cash glanced over to where the Duchess was seated under an enormous floral representation of the Maltravers coat of arms on the groom’s side of the church, looking completely unconcerned by her son’s absence, and felt the scar tissue on the left side of her face begin to ache.
When the Duke and his party had arrived in the country, she had given them itineraries that had made it absolutely clear that the rehearsal was a formal event. It was bad enough that he had missed nearly all of the dinners she had arranged to introduce him to New York society, but for the groom and the best man to miss the rehearsal, that really was too much. The bishop was there, the bridesmaids and ushers, even the editor of Vogue; only the groom was missing. And the Duchess, who really should know better, was acting as if this was some tiresome piece of American nonsense. Duchess Fanny took no notice of the stiffness in Mrs Cash’s reply and continued regardless. ‘Ivo would be mortified to think that you were all here waiting for him.’ She lingered on the word mortified, somehow implying that Ivo would be quite the opposite. ‘I’m sure he had no idea that this was such an event. He probably thought it was a women’s affair.’
Nobody spoke.
The Duchess looked up at her future daughter-in-law, who was standing at the altar steps next to her father. ‘Don’t worry, Cora. I’m sure he will remember to turn up tomorrow.’ She gave her most adorable smile.
Cora tried to smile back. Her cheeks ached as she tried to match the Duchess’s breeziness, even though she could feel her eyes stinging. Suppose Ivo really had changed his mind? But she forced herself to sound as if, like the Duchess, she found his absence simply amusing.
‘Oh, I hope so, Duchess. It would be so tiresome to return all the wedding gifts, and to waste all these flowers would be criminal.’ She gestured at the banks of orchids, the tuberose garlands and the columns of myrtle and jasmine. The air inside the church was so thick with floral scent that Cora felt as if she could fall back and be supported by the fragrant undercurrents.
The Duchess looked at her with something like approval. If only the mother would stop making such a fuss. She decided to bring the proceedings to a close.
‘When I see Ivo I will scold him roundly for being so inconsiderate, but for my part I am delighted to have had the chance to admire this church and the magnificent floral arrangements at my leisure. I don’t think I have ever seen such a profusion of flowers or such tasteful arrangements. Reassure me, Mrs Cash, that this is an exceptional display even by New York standards. Our poor London posies feel quite primitive by comparison.’
Mrs Cash was somewhat mollified by this overture. It was the first time that the Duchess had admitted that anything in America was superior to its British equivalent. She was about to speak when her husband forestalled her. Standing at Cora’s side, he had noticed the tears in his daughter’s eyes.
‘Well, as we have now been here for the best part of two hours, I think the ladies should conserve their strength for tomorrow. I expect Wareham to come back with a mountain lion at the very least. Duchess, would you allow me to escort you to the carriage?’
The Duchess lowered her eyelashes at him. Really, Cora’s father was quite gentlemanly for an American. She placed her kid-gloved hand on his proffered arm with a look of complicity that made Winthrop stroke the ends of his mustache.
As they walked up the aisle of the church to the entrance, Duchess Fanny could not resist saying, ‘Really, this makes me feel a little emotional, Mr Cash, walking up the aisle on the arm of a man. I feel as if I were the bride myself,’ and she gave him a sideways look that made it clear that she considered him quite a suitable partner.
‘Well, anybody could be forgiven for mistaking you for a blushing bride, Duchess. Why, I could scarcely credit that you were old enough to have a grown son. When I first saw you I thought you must be your stepdaughter.’
‘Oh Mr Cash, you are teasing me, but I shan’t pretend I don’t like it. I hope you will come to England soon, I think you would enjoy it. If you come to Conyers, I promise to entertain you.’
Winthrop Cash wondered if the Duchess was really flirting with him. The little squeeze she gave his arm as she invited him to England held the promise of greater intimacy. He was not used to such signals from women of his own social class; his tastes ran to rather simpler transactions. But the Duchess was a beautiful woman and it tickled his vanity to have her look up at him with such invitation in her eyes. He found the Duchess altogether more to his taste than her son. The disagreement they had had over Cora’s settlement still rankled. The Duke had expected Cora’s fortune to be handed over to him; he had been astonished when Cash had explained that the money he would settle on Cora would be hers to control. ‘Do you mean to say that you expect me to ask Cora for money?’ Ivo had said loudly and slowly, as if speaking to someone with an imperfect command of English. Winthrop had replied that in America women retained control of their fortune when they married, he saw no reason to change things because his only child was marrying an Englishman, even such a distinguished one (the last remark made with a stiff little bow to the Duke). The implication was not lost on Wareham, who went silent. The pause lasted for some minutes until the Duke managed a smile of sorts and tried to speak with some degree of warmth.
‘You must excuse me, Mr Cash, I had no idea that our ways of doing things were so very different. I should probably have brought some adviser with me but I did not foresee the need. I am not a fortune-hunter, Mr Cash, I am merely an Englishman who shrinks from burdening his future wife with the cares of running an estate. I won’t pretend that my affairs are unencumbered. The depression in prices has affected me greatly. I don’t want to marry Cora for her money but there is no doubt that money will be needed. We English don’t mind so much being shabby but Cora has been brought up to all this…’ he gestured round the library in the Cash mansion. In its decoration and furnishings, the American library was in every way similar to its English equivalent on which it had been closely modelled; the difference was not in the furnishings but in the absence of damp and the general air of comfort that lay across the room like a cashmere stole.
Winthrop looked at the younger man with a degree of scepticism. He knew that dukes did not marry American heiresses for love alone; moreover, this union was a transaction on both sides, even if Cora would never admit it. He could protect her fortune but he wondered if by doing so he would condemn their marriage; he thought of how much he would dislike having to ask his wife for money. He decided to make a concession to the Duke’s pride – his father the Golden Miller had taught him that it was bad business not to let the defeated party walk away with honour. He would make a settlement on the Duke as a wedding gift, but he would make his gesture on the day of the wedding. He had not quite forgiven the Duke for his assumption that Cora was getting the best part of the bargain.
But thoughts of the son evaporated as the mother cooed in his ear about the splendours of Conyers and how much she would like to introduce him to the Prince of Wales. As he handed her into the carriage, Winthrop noticed that on the sliver of skin visible between the Duchess’s sleeve and her glove there was a blue marking. If it had been anyone else, he would have sworn it was a tattoo.
The Duchess caught his look and laughed throatily. ‘I see you have found the serpent, Mr Cash.’ She peeled back her glove to give him a closer look at the tattoo of a snake that coiled itself round her wrist, the tail disappearing into the serpent’s mouth on the tender white skin beneath the mound of her thumb. It was delicate work, a world away from the pictures of sweethearts and mothers that adorned the biceps of Mr Cash’s mill hands.
‘It is very…particular,’ he said.
‘You have no idea how true that is. There are only four tattoos like it in existence. And when you come to Conyers, I will explain its significance.’
‘I don’t know that I can wait that long.’ Winthrop felt unreasonably excited by the Duchess and her secrets, but the moment was interrupted by the arrival of his wife, daughter and a clutch of bridesmaids all complaining about the cold and in urgent need of a carriage. By the time all the women were accommodated, Winthrop had been separated from the Duchess but not from the image of the tattoo. He felt a sudden spike of desire mixed with something like alarm. Was Cora, he wondered, ready for this world of coiled serpents and secret symbols?
The rehearsal dinner was to go ahead that night, even if as yet there was no sign of the Duke and his best man.
Only the Duchess was entirely serene. As she walked into the drawing room before dinner, she surveyed the members of the wedding and drawled in her throatiest tones, ‘This is like Hamlet without the Prince. It really is too naughty of Ivo to neglect his duties so.’ But her smile suggested that she felt that her presence more than made up for the non-appearance of her son. Only Winthrop smiled back with genuine warmth.
Cora tried to concentrate on her bridesmaids who were peppering her with questions about England. When would she be presented at court? How many rooms did Lulworth have? What would people call her? Were all the English girls as tall as Lady Sybil? Cora answered them as best she could, although she knew the only thing that would satisfy them would be Ivo himself. She was not above looking forward to seeing her bridesmaids’ faces when they saw that her future husband was a handsome man as well as a duke. But her smile became more and more fixed as the last of the guests arrived and there was still no sign of Ivo. At last her mother announced that they must go in to dinner. Cora did her best to sparkle as if completely unconcerned and declared that Ivo was probably confused as to the hour, as in London no one dined before eight.
‘Oh, you know men and their shooting,’ the Double Duchess said helpfully. ‘We should be grateful really that they have something to get them out from under our feet. Really, I don’t think I could endure a man I had to lunch with every day.’
Winthrop laughed, but Cora’s smile was thin and her mother’s non-existent.
Cora went in to dinner with Sybil, as they were both missing their partners. The width of their enormous leg-of-mutton sleeves made it difficult for them to talk easily but Sybil turned her head sideways and said, ‘You are an angel for lending me the frock. One of your friends asked me where I had got it. I said from Maison Worth as if I went there all the time!’ She laughed and then she saw the expression on Cora’s face. ‘Don’t worry, Cora, he’ll be here. I’m sure he’s only doing this to annoy Mama.’
And then, just as they were walking into the long candle-filled dining room, each girl felt her arm being taken by the elbow. The hunting party had returned. Ivo and Reggie were there, faces ruddy from the shooting, looking delighted with themselves, and boasting about their tally.
Cora tried not to show how relieved she was to see him and how furious she was with him for having stayed away so long, but Ivo caught the flicker of emotions on her face and said in a lower voice, ‘Are you angry with me for missing the rehearsal? Your mother sent a note to the hotel saying how disappointed she was.’ Ivo’s tone was hardly contrite. Cora tried to temper the pleasure she took in seeing him with the coolness appropriate to his behaviour. But Ivo’s hand was caressing the inside of her arm, and as he pulled out the chair for her to sit down, his hand brushed the nape of her neck.
‘I had to field some searching questions from my bridesmaids. The ones that credited your existence at all were most curious about your habits. A duke is excitement enough, but a missing duke is even better. So I don’t know who is more put out with you, me because you missed the rehearsal or my bridesmaids because you’ve spoiled a promising mystery.’ Her tone was as unconcerned as she could make it.
Ivo sat down next to her. He took her hand under the table and squeezed it. The gesture was enough to make her eyes fill. She smiled, desperately trying to make the tears disperse through sheer will. She took her hand away and had a sip of Ivo’s champagne.
‘You know, I wondered last night if you were ever coming back. I thought perhaps you might have gone home.’ She said this in a very fast muttered undertone so that only he should hear.
‘Gone home?’ Ivo opened his eyes wide in exaggerated astonishment. She saw that he was trying not to take her comment seriously. ‘But why would I do that, when I have come all this way to marry you?’
Cora felt her mother’s stare, but she had to talk to Ivo about this now; tomorrow would be too late.
‘Because you feel differently. Ever since you arrived you have been…distant. Not like you were in Lulworth.’ Her words tumbled out, all her attempts at insouciance abandoned.
Ivo heard the change in her voice and said quietly, ‘But that’s because we’re not at Lulworth. You forget, I am a foreigner here. So many things seem strange to me here. Even you.’
Cora looked at him in astonishment. ‘Me? But I have not changed. I am the same girl you proposed to.’ She put her hand to her chest as she said this as if to emphasise that, underneath, she was the same.
Ivo looked at her directly and she felt she was seeing a part of him she had never seen before. ‘But when I see you here amidst all this, I realise that I proposed to a very small part of you. I thought I was giving you a home and a position, but here I see that I am taking you away from so much.’ He looked down at his plate which was made of gold and chased with the Cash monogram, and lifted it, exaggerating its weight. She was about to tell him how little she cared for any of it when there was a chink of metal on glass and Winthrop stood up to make a toast.
All eyes were on them now. Cora looked at Ivo anxiously but to her relief and joy he took her hand and raised it to his lips. There was a little sigh of envy from the bridesmaids. Cora felt the tightness behind her eyes loosen; this, after all, was what she had wanted.
The dinner ended promptly at nine. Mrs Cash’s direction had been quite clear, there was to be no lingering. Cora stood at the top of the stairs saying goodbye to Cornelia Rhinelander, her mother’s favourite bridesmaid (to have a Rhinelander as a bridesmaid at the wedding of her daughter to a duke was almost at the summit of Mrs Cash’s social ambitions). Cornelia, who was twenty-four, congratulated Cora with a creditable display of enthusiasm, given her unmarried status. ‘You look very well together, I think it will be the wedding of the season.’ She was about to go on but then she saw the Duke approaching over Cora’s shoulder and made her goodbyes. Even Cornelia could see that the Duke wanted to be alone with his bride-to-be.
A touch on her shoulder. She turned to face him. He took one of her hands in his and used the other to trace the curve of her cheek. ‘I am glad I came back.’ He looked as serious as she had ever seen him, his dark brown eyes deep with emotion, his mouth soft.
But Cora stiffened. She was disturbed by the implication of his remark. He had spoken as if he had overcome something, that he had come back from the brink. She had been right – he had been having second thoughts. But then she thought of the way he had lifted the gold dinner plate – it was her money that was coming between them. She almost smiled in relief.
‘Did you have a choice?’ She looked at him with all the longing and disappointment of the last week in her eyes.
‘Not any more,’ and he raised her hand, opened the buttons of her long kid evening glove and kissed her exposed wrist. ‘Not any more.’ He looked at her fully with what Cora felt was love and she swayed towards him. But then there were footsteps and he straightened away from her.
‘Oh, there’s Reggie, we must go. I don’t want to annoy your mother twice in one day.’ He gave her back her hand like a gift. ‘Sleep well, Cora.’
Cora watched him walk down the stairs to the door. Would he turn and look back at her? But here was Reggie bidding her good night before following his friend to the Astoria Hotel where they were spending the night. When she turned back, Ivo had gone.
Shaken, she tried to slip upstairs to her room before she had to talk to anyone. She wanted to be alone to think. She rubbed the wrist he had kissed against her cheek. But as she turned towards the staircase she heard the Duchess’s voice. Cora had no desire to talk to her future mother-in-law. She opened the door behind her.
She turned into the dark drawing room just as a beam of moonlight struck the table in front of her. The ceiling was pierced by a hundred points of light and then as a cloud moved across the moon, the brilliance was gone. Cora walked over to the long table where the wedding presents had been laid out ready for inspection by the guests the next day. The sparkle had come from one of the antique crystal and bronze candlesticks that had been sent by Mrs Auchinschloss. Cora flicked one of the brilliants with her finger and watched the shower of light it made in the mirror opposite. She could still hear the Duchess’s husky voice on the other side of the door.
The presents had been arriving since the engagement was announced. The display had been set out on three long tables, each gift with a card announcing the giver. The more magnificent the gift, the more likely it was to have come from a friend of the bride. Cora looked at a Louis boulle clock of tortoiseshell and gilt which was about two feet high – a gift from the Carnegies. There was an alabaster bowl set with gold and gems from the Mellons, a silver punchbowl – so big that it would happily accommodate a small child – from the Hammerschorns. There were no dinner services or cutlery, as it was tacitly assumed that a duke would have no need of such things.
Cora moved restlessly around the table. There was too much here, she thought; all these glittering objects shining in the moonlight made her feel slightly queasy. Hitherto she had felt bolstered by the size and splendour of this tribute, but now it seemed worrying. So many things and for what? She stopped by a pair of boxes that lay side by side on the table. They were beautiful things made from walnut with mother-of-pearl inlay and her and Ivo’s monograms in silver on the lid. She opened the box marked CW and found it was a dressing case whose sides opened out like arms to reveal crystal bottles with chased silver tops and sets of ivory manicure instruments and glove stretchers, tortoiseshell-backed hairbrushes and combs, a porcelain box for rouge, a pair of tiny gold scissors shaped like a crane with its legs turning into the blades, and a golden thimble. Every item from the thimble to the hairbrush was engraved with her monogram. Even Cora, who was no stranger to such things, was struck by the luxurious preciseness of the case, the way in which every feminine need was accommodated and allowed to nestle in its red velvet hollow. Cora looked at the card which accompanied it: From Sir Odo and Lady Beauchamp. She remembered the couple at the hunt and the chilliness of their attitude towards her; perhaps they regretted their behaviour now that she was to be a duchess. Then she lifted the lid of Ivo’s box – it was like hers except that the linings were in green morocco leather and velvet, not red, and the rouge pots and tweezers were replaced by ivory-handled shaving brushes. Cora thought for a moment that it was a curiously intimate present, it disturbed her to see Ivo’s bodily needs anticipated so neatly by a stranger. She noticed that unlike her case, this one had a set of drawers for cufflinks. She pulled at a tiny golden handle and the drawer came out smoothly to reveal a set of black pearl dress studs and a card. Cora picked up the card. Written on it in cramped italic writing were the words ‘May your marriage be as happy as mine has been’. Cora wondered which of the couple from the hunt had placed it there, Sir Odo with his shiny face and high voice, or his handsome, sulky wife? She was about to put the note back but then, angry with everything British and mealy-mouthed, she tore the card in two.
She pushed the drawer shut. Looking about her for distraction, she saw a birdcage with a tiny gilded bird on a perch in the middle. There was a key at the base of the cage. Cora gave it a couple of sharp turns and the golden bird began to chirp its way through ‘Dixie’. This was a present from one of Mother’s cousins in South Carolina – who else would send something so eccentric? But the jaunty song roused Cora. At once the pressure in her head lifted and although she could still hear the Duchess’s voice, she opened the door.
She waved at the assembled company and walked up the twenty-four marble steps to her bedroom. At the top she remembered the bicycle that Teddy had offered her as a wedding present and the thought of its rude practicality amongst all the gilt and glitter downstairs almost made her smile.