what filth you might encounter.”
Ursula could feel no more humiliated than if Lady Dalrymple-Guiney had ground her into the pavement with the heel of her elegant boots. Three women who were about to enter Selfridges turned round at her words and stared at Ursula.
Ursula backed away, only to collide with Lady Catherine Winterton, exiting with a pile of packages in her arms.
“Ursula!” Lady Winterton cried. “I hardly expected to see you here!”
Ursula knew Lady Winterton from the local branch meetings of the Women’s Social and Political Union and always envied her ability to move seamlessly between her political work and her role in London society. Today she looked as unruffled as always in an elegant navy blue day suit that complemented both her chestnut hair and her deep blue eyes.
Ursula was shaking too much to reply. She watched Baroness Dalrymple-Guiney’s Rolls Royce drive up and her chauffeur help her into the rear passenger seat.
“Ursula? Are you feeling ill?” Lady Winterton exclaimed.
“No,” Ursula responded unsteadily. “Just give me a minute. I will be fine.”
Lady Winterton looked over Ursula’s shoulder and cried. “Oh! No wonder you’re looking peaky. I’ve just seen that horrid little man Hackett from the Daily Mail across the way. He’s probably been following you.”
“Oh God.” In all the turmoil, Ursula had forgotten about the press. No doubt Hackett had witnessed the entire episode with Lady Dalrymple-Guiney.
“Here,” Lady Winterton asked with a brief glance at her own Lady’s maid who was hovering a few feet away. “Do you fancy a cup of tea? Grace can take everything home for me, and I’m sure it will make you feel better. You must be in a dreadful way, my dear. Obviously, I’ve read all about it in the newspapers by now. But I didn’t like to call—didn’t feel you would want visitors just yet.”
“No,” Ursula admitted, color slowly returning to her cheeks.
“How is Lord Wrotham holding up?” Lady Winterton queried. Although her tone was neutral, Ursula noticed the way her teeth chewed at her lower lip, as she waited for Ursula to respond. She suspected that, despite her words, Lady Winterton was a little uneasy about being seen in Ursula’s presence. Although she and Ursula knew each other from the WSPU and from their work on encoding messages within the organization, their friendship had cooled slightly since Ursula’s engagement to Lord Wrotham.
Lady Winterton’s husband died five years ago and, since he had been an old university acquaintance of Lord Wrotham’s from Balliol, there was a long history of friendship between them. While Ursula suspected Lady Winterton’s feelings for Lord Wrotham may have deepened over the years, causing a measure of friction, this seemed unimportant now. At least Lady Winterton was still speaking to her.
“I’ve just come from seeing him,” Ursula answered. “In Brixton, I mean. I think I was trying to lose myself, quite literally, in the crowd when I bumped into you.”
“Understandable,” Lady Winterton said and Ursula was grateful for her compassion.
“Will you at least join us on Monday?” Lady Winterton continued. She was referring to the regular WSPU meeting held each Monday evening. Ursula shook her head.
“I know that seems like such an irrelevancy right now. But you could probably do with the support,” Lady Winterton continued, ignoring Ursula’s obvious skepticism, as she nimbly stepped out of the way of a man delivering wicker hampers. “Believe it or not, there are those among our set who view him as an Irish patriot. Strange world we live in, is it not?!”
Ursula blinked rapidly, unsure what to say.
“You wouldn’t have had the chance to read some of the more radical editorials, I’m sure, but I believe Lord Wrotham has garnered quite a following in Irish republican and anarchist circles,” Lady Winterton commented with a wry smile. Though she was a supporter of female
Ursula could feel no more humiliated than if Lady Dalrymple-Guiney had ground her into the pavement with the heel of her elegant boots. Three women who were about to enter Selfridges turned round at her words and stared at Ursula.
Ursula backed away, only to collide with Lady Catherine Winterton, exiting with a pile of packages in her arms.
“Ursula!” Lady Winterton cried. “I hardly expected to see you here!”
Ursula knew Lady Winterton from the local branch meetings of the Women’s Social and Political Union and always envied her ability to move seamlessly between her political work and her role in London society. Today she looked as unruffled as always in an elegant navy blue day suit that complemented both her chestnut hair and her deep blue eyes.
Ursula was shaking too much to reply. She watched Baroness Dalrymple-Guiney’s Rolls Royce drive up and her chauffeur help her into the rear passenger seat.
“Ursula? Are you feeling ill?” Lady Winterton exclaimed.
“No,” Ursula responded unsteadily. “Just give me a minute. I will be fine.”
Lady Winterton looked over Ursula’s shoulder and cried. “Oh! No wonder you’re looking peaky. I’ve just seen that horrid little man Hackett from the Daily Mail across the way. He’s probably been following you.”
“Oh God.” In all the turmoil, Ursula had forgotten about the press. No doubt Hackett had witnessed the entire episode with Lady Dalrymple-Guiney.
“Here,” Lady Winterton asked with a brief glance at her own Lady’s maid who was hovering a few feet away. “Do you fancy a cup of tea? Grace can take everything home for me, and I’m sure it will make you feel better. You must be in a dreadful way, my dear. Obviously, I’ve read all about it in the newspapers by now. But I didn’t like to call—didn’t feel you would want visitors just yet.”
“No,” Ursula admitted, color slowly returning to her cheeks.
“How is Lord Wrotham holding up?” Lady Winterton queried. Although her tone was neutral, Ursula noticed the way her teeth chewed at her lower lip, as she waited for Ursula to respond. She suspected that, despite her words, Lady Winterton was a little uneasy about being seen in Ursula’s presence. Although she and Ursula knew each other from the WSPU and from their work on encoding messages within the organization, their friendship had cooled slightly since Ursula’s engagement to Lord Wrotham.
Lady Winterton’s husband died five years ago and, since he had been an old university acquaintance of Lord Wrotham’s from Balliol, there was a long history of friendship between them. While Ursula suspected Lady Winterton’s feelings for Lord Wrotham may have deepened over the years, causing a measure of friction, this seemed unimportant now. At least Lady Winterton was still speaking to her.
“I’ve just come from seeing him,” Ursula answered. “In Brixton, I mean. I think I was trying to lose myself, quite literally, in the crowd when I bumped into you.”
“Understandable,” Lady Winterton said and Ursula was grateful for her compassion.
“Will you at least join us on Monday?” Lady Winterton continued. She was referring to the regular WSPU meeting held each Monday evening. Ursula shook her head.
“I know that seems like such an irrelevancy right now. But you could probably do with the support,” Lady Winterton continued, ignoring Ursula’s obvious skepticism, as she nimbly stepped out of the way of a man delivering wicker hampers. “Believe it or not, there are those among our set who view him as an Irish patriot. Strange world we live in, is it not?!”
Ursula blinked rapidly, unsure what to say.
“You wouldn’t have had the chance to read some of the more radical editorials, I’m sure, but I believe Lord Wrotham has garnered quite a following in Irish republican and anarchist circles,” Lady Winterton commented with a wry smile. Though she was a supporter of female
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