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“I am sure you can understand that, given the circumstances—”
“Why?” she demanded.
“Mrs. Pearsall, it will do no one any good for you to make a scene.”
“I am not making a scene, I am asking a perfectly reasonable question in response to a very unreasonable request.”
Lady Nolan smoothed a hand over the fussy pin tucks of her blouse, which certainly would not have passed muster with the Board of Trade’s new regulations. “You have misrepresented yourself to the ladies of this committee and to myself.”
“I have done nothing of the sort,” she said. “I am Mrs. Hugo Pearsall, the very same woman who helped you organize a number of events in the past. I have raised money just like the rest of the ladies. I have done my bit—more than my bit, if you compare my work to some of the other committee members.”
“Nevertheless,” said Lady Nolan.
“I have been a member of this committee in good standing for years,” she began, unable to countenance the snobbery of the other woman.
“You have been late twice this year alone, and you missed the last meeting.”
“Lady Nolan, there is a war on. Certainly that is reason enough for a little compassion.”
“I am not certain that you can be relied upon any longer to focus the attention that is needed for this committee,” said Lady Nolan.
“And you don’t like that I own a dress shop,” she said.
Lady Nolan sniffed. “If you simply owned it, that might be one thing.”
Sylvia straightened. “I work there too. Is that the real heart of the matter? You can’t countenance a woman who works mixing with the good and proper ladies of your precious committee.”
“Mrs. Pearsall, I am certain that neither of us would like to say anything unbecoming that we might regret as part of this conversation,” warned the other woman.
“And what happens to the fashion show?” she asked.
“I believe that, given the current circumstances, it would be best for all involved if we set the idea of the fashion show aside for the time being. However, if you will leave your notes with me, we may revisit it at a better time.”
Lady Nolan held out her hand for the attaché case.
“No.”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Lady Nolan.
“No. Each and every dressmaker on that list has been contacted by me. I will need my notes so that I may telephone them and explain that the War Widows’ Fund is no longer interested in supporting them because, while the ladies of the committee are perfectly happy to have dressmakers make up their clothes when they cannot afford to buy more than the occasional dress from one of the more prestigious designers, they are not willing to include one in their ranks.”
“Mrs. Pearsall, you are being rather unfair…”
“I think you will find that I am not the one who is being unfair. I will take my case and go,” she said.
Lady Nolan lifted her nose. “I think that would be for the best.”
“At least in that we are in agreement. I suppose I will be allowed to exit via the front door, or would you prefer that I use the tradesmen’s entrance?”
“Really, there is no need to become spiteful, Mrs. Pearsall.”
“Isn’t there?” Sylvia gave her a tight smile. “Why don’t I see myself out?”
She strode out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind her. Her heels clicked on the polished wood floor, drawing the attention of Lady Winman and Mrs. Hunt, who were shedding their summer coats. As she caught Lady Winman’s eye, she could see the confusion in the other woman’s expression, but she didn’t stop. Instead, she wrenched open the Nolan front door and stepped out into the road.
“Mrs. Pearsall!” she heard Lady Winman call out after her. “Mrs. Pearsall, wait!”
It was the concern in the other woman’s voice that stopped Sylvia, despite her desire to flee. When she turned, she saw Lady Winman trot down the steps, her coat still in her hand and her handbag swinging from her wrist.
