Any Other Name (The Split Worlds) - By Emma Newman Page 0,22
Cathy had been alive.
Cathy took the cup from her and it rattled in the saucer. “Sorry,” she whispered, unable to bring the trembling under control.
“I understand. I sat where you are now, some years ago, talking to William’s paternal grandmother and I shook so much she commented on how loudly my teeth were chattering.”
Cathy smiled as best she could, grateful at the attempt to put her at ease even if it was ineffectual. The tea was strong and hot and, despite everything, comforting.
“We’re about to have the same conversation I had all those years ago but before we begin, I should like you to call me Mother from now on.”
“All right.” Cathy cleared her throat. “As you wish, Mother.”
That earned another smile. “Good. I do understand how overwhelming this is. Your life has changed forever and it will take time to adjust. However, as a bride married into the Iris family, there’s something you need to know about before the reception.”
She held out the package. Cathy set down the cup and saucer to take it from her. She untied the blue ribbon and unwrapped the gift. It was a pair of long evening gloves, beautifully made from iris-blue silk.
“Thank you,” she said. “They’re lovely.”
“They are very important. You may have felt a little flutter when the ring was placed on your finger…”
“When it shrank to fit, yes.” Cathy looked at the ring again. It was hard to believe it had ever been made of wood.
“It wasn’t just the adjustment. A Charm has been placed upon you, as on all new Iris brides, Catherine, just as it was placed on me.”
Cathy’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her heart, which had been settling into a normal rhythm, started to pound again. “What Charm?”
“Only an Iris man may touch you now. If a man other than William touches your skin, it will leave a mark on you and burn him.”
“What?” Cathy sounded stupid in her shock.
“I was just as surprised as you were. Take a moment,” Mrs Iris said, offering her the cup and saucer again. She set it back down when Cathy just stared at it.
“What if my brother kissed my cheek?”
“He must not.”
“What if… what if the Shopkeeper shook my hand?”
“He must not, Catherine. You must always attend public functions gloved, and only ever present your hand. The mark, I am told, lasts until your husband chooses to lift it.”
“This is awful!” Cathy stared at the ring. “Did he know?”
“William? No, his father will be speaking to him now.”
But you knew, Cathy thought. She’d only met William’s mother twice, very briefly, and had no idea what she was like. If her own mother was anything to go by Cathy knew it would be best to stay calm and not show any anger. That always closed down the conversation with her mother and set them at odds. Perhaps, if she did things differently right from the start, her mother-in-law could be an ally.
“I can see it’s a shock but, as my mother-in-law said to me, only a woman who covets the touch of another man would be upset by this.”
Cathy pressed her lips together, choking on the beginning of a tirade against the patriarchy and how that kind of thinking allowed this barbarism to continue. Could she keep it all in long enough to get through this conversation, let alone the rest of the day? The rest of her life? No, just today, she promised herself, just shut up and get through today and then you can find a way out.
Her silence was making Mrs Iris uncomfortable. “I suggest you drink your tea. When you’re ready to go to the reception, put on the gloves and I’ll escort you back in.”
Cathy looked at the silk gloves. The thought of putting them on to go and smile and curtsy after this make her feel sick to the stomach. Holding in the rage and the urge to sob was making her chest ache. Shouldn’t she say something? Wasn’t quiet conformity to this misogynistic farce perpetuating the problem?
“I didn’t want to marry either,” Mrs Iris said gently. “In fact, I doubt any marriage that has taken place in front of that tree was entered into with a glad heart. It will get easier.”
“How did you cope?” Cathy asked. “Didn’t you feel angry?”
Mrs Iris picked up her tea cup and saucer again. “Anger is not becoming in a lady. I knew that pushing against the inevitable would only make it hurt more. Let