Free A Woman's Place by Maggie Ford Page B

finished, polished, primed for marriage.
    Already gossip had spread concerning her callous spurning of poor Simon Whitemore. How could she do such a thing? Her family wasn’t speaking to her, her father even threatening to cast her out, Simon must be out of his mind with grief, and he such a catch, a most suitable suitor, she must be completely mad; so went the comments.
    Some of her friends had already approached her, eager to know the facts. What could she tell them but what they had already made up their minds to? Others were pretending it hadn’t happened, looked awkward in her presence as if there had been some tragedy. One way or the other she was the unwilling centre of attention and it was hateful.
    She walked slowly along the platform going over last Saturday evening as she recalled Bentick and Agnes standing ready to clear the first course and serve the next – mute, deaf and expressionless as good staff ought to be. She’d been conscious of a sort of masochistic glee that behind those rigid countenances they took in the small drama.
    If only she had known she wouldn’t have been so smug. Perhaps a maid hadn’t been such a loyal servant and that’s how it had all got out. Father took care never to discuss family business at table, even though Bentick was trusted to the umpteenth degree. No, there’d been tittle-tattle from Agnes outside work.
    Things like this could never happen to Eveline Fenton. She’d probably marry whomever she wanted. There came as well a small prickle of envy over the young man who’d come up to Eveline at the refreshment table, practically ignoring Constance. How could the daughter of a tradesman attract a person of such obvious means? Admittedly Eveline was pretty, vivacious, had a charming figure. But so had she. She however had the upbringing to know not to flutter her eyelids at any man …
    Connie stopped sharply. What was she thinking?
    Angered at having such uncharitable thoughts, she told herself she didn’t envy the interest the man had shown in her friend but Eveline’s self-assuredness. Nor should a suffragette harbour envy towards another but she could not help feeling just a little thwarted by this afternoon’s events.
    She thought again of Simon. Perhaps she should have thought twice before behaving as she had. She had upset everyone, and for what – to prove a point? After all, he was intensely good-looking in a stuffy sort of way, like her father, and it had got on her nerves. But engaged to him she would have been looked upon as someone of consequence, instead of suffering this sense of being left out when another drew a young man’s eye. Perhaps if she were to apologise to her father, say she would accept Simon’s offer of marriage if it wasn’t too late, this sense of envy would disappear.
    Moving on down the platform she found she’d walked its entire length, realising it only as a jet of steam released from the engine in a terrific shriek made her jump. Hastily she retraced her steps, in her confusion clambering into the last carriage to drop into the one vacant seat by the window looking out on to the platform; the other three window seats were already taken.
    The minutes ticked by as she fought to catch her breath. The carriage began to fill, the door continually opening to let someone in, along with the smell of engine oil and coal smoke, before being pulled shut with a bang by its leather strap; ladies brushed by her in their long skirts and laden with parcels dangling on strings, men with exaggerated gentlemanly politeness sidled past, effortlessly hoisting their attaché cases on to the sagging net rack, one of them helping to put a lady’s bulky parcel up for her.
    Connie hardly noticed, her eyes gazing without really focusing on the stream of people going home either from work or shopping.
    The train whistled, shook itself, making the carriage jerk noisily, and began to move, puffing and juddering, slowly and with effort to gather a little speed.