Kitty Little Read Free

for Hullo Ragtime had been Frank’s idea. Kind as he undoubtedly was, he’d never think of such a thing on his own account, not in a million years. He was far too unimaginative, bless his heart.
    Oh, but it had been wonderful! Whatever sacrifices her mother had made in order to procure them, Kitty was truly grateful.
    Even now she could feel her heart pounding with the excitement of it all and she did a little tap dance before settling to sip her cocoa. Swinging her long legs up over the arm of her chair, she arranged them in the most comfortable and unladylike position she could find and picked up her book, Arms and the Man, for a quiet read before bed.
      But the book remained closed on her lap, the cocoa scarcely touched as it came to her that the thrill of the evening had been generated not by her engagement to Frank but by the show itself. Surely that was the wrong way round?
    She sat as if dazed, eyes fixed upon the view of rooftops through the attic window, their chimneys poking like fingers into the darkening sky. The sensation always made her feel slightly claustrophobic. Kitty hated London, wondered desperately if she was destined to live out her entire life in this smoky muddle of bricks and mortar.
    She and Raymond had often talked of escaping to a new life, somewhere deep in the country. There seemed no such possibility of that now. They’d often used to giggle about Frank Cussins behind their hands as he pontificated on some worthy subject or other, saying he must have been born middle-aged with that receding hair line and the slightest hint of a double chin. Yet in Clara’s eyes at least he was an excellent catch, and Kitty had to admit that he was steadfast and earnest; she felt safe with him, even if he was rather on the dull side.  
    She let a flicker of moonlight catch the tiny solitaire stone of her ring. Was it a real diamond? Had Frank chosen it himself, or had her mother had a hand in that too? Why didn’t she feel excited? Why wasn’t she happy? And if she wasn’t, Kitty wondered why she’d allowed the engagement to take place at all.
    Dear Lord, had she agreed to marry him out of pity? Or to please her mother?
    ‘A girl must have a husband, oh dear me, yes. What would the world come to if gels refused to marry? Anarchy, no less,’ Kitty recited, rather dramatically, to the empty room. She lifted her mug of cocoa as if in a toast, then drank it back in one like a shot of whisky. Then she closed her eyes in pained resignation.
    Or was it simply because she’d been too filled with grief for her beloved brother to care.
    A cold hand gripped her heart, squeezing out all the excitement that the evening had engendered and now, too late, she faced reality. She was engaged to be married to a man she didn’t even love. Tears squeezed from beneath the sensible lashes and dripped on to her clasped hands.
    She would have to tell him that it had all been a mistake; that she wasn’t ready for marriage, not while she still grieved. She slapped the tears firmly away with the flat of her hand. Over twelve months since Raymond had died, and still it felt like yesterday. Clara said it was time to think of the future. But was marriage with Frank Cussins the right future for her?
    The next morning Kitty pulled on a favourite sweater, somewhat disreputable and with a hole in one elbow; dragged on a well-worn tweed skirt that finished just above the anklebone revealing a darn in one stocking, and crept downstairs. She intended to avoid breakfast: kippers, judging by the smell that was wafting up from the dining room. Casting one anguished glance at the hall table, loaded yet again with social invitations her mother had no doubt procured for her, Kitty snatched up her coat and bolted for the front door, her one thought being to escape the anticipated grilling which always followed one of Clara’s carefully planned outings.
    Then caught the first bus which happened along in a desperate effort to escape, quite