Kitty by MC Beaton Read Free Book Online Page A

“Here’s to the bride. Don’t know ’er but I’m sure she’ll do,” he said and sat down again.
    The shopgirl slur was not new to Kitty, but it was to her mother. Mrs. Harrison sat as if in a trance while the roar of conversation swept around her ears like the unheeding sea. “Shopgirl.” For this, she had endured the gluttony of Lady Henley. For this, she had filled her house with these laughing, uncaring, and sneering people. And—oh, bitter blow—for this she had sacrificed her daughter. Hairpins fell as thick as the leaves in Vallembrosa.
    The best man was then called. He was a cheerful-looking young man with the uninspiring name of Percy Barlow-Smellie. A young matron across from Kitty leaned over and squeezed her arm.
    “You mustn’t mind Percy. He’s a terrible wag,” she said.
    Percy, after clowning around for several minutes pretending to have lost his speech, began.
    “I couldn’t think what to say, so I wrote a poem.”
    (Cheers. Good old Percy.)
    “Here’s to the wicked baron
    Who didn’t marry a harridan,”
    (Loud laughter.)
    “But he married Kitty,
    Who is very pretty.”
    (Groans and hoots.)
    “So now that we’ve got them wed
    Let’s get them into bed.”
    (Screams from the ladies. Applause from the men.)
    Other speeches followed while Mrs. Harrison sat on as if turned to stone. These people would drink her wine and eat her food but never, never would they accept her.
    The babble died down as Mrs. Harrison got to her feet and glared around the room.
    “Get out,” she said in a venomous whisper. Then her voice rose to a scream. “Get out, get out, get out!”
    What a horrified rustling of lace and chiffon, satin and silk. Like a poultry yard after the fox had just broken in, the ladies rose in a flutter of feather boas and large feathered hats. The men stolidly got to their feet. Everyone paused. Mrs. Harrison
must
be drunk. They could not possibly have heard aright.
    Suddenly, there was an upheaval near Mrs. Harrison. Like some huge primeval beast erupting from its swamp, Lady Henley rose from a litter of bones and crusts and crumbs.
    “You heard ’er. Get out. Go on. Shoo!” And putting a pudgy arm round Mrs. Harrison’s shoulders, she said, “C’mon, Euphemia. Let’s get out of here.”
    The Baron turned to his new Baroness. “Well, Kitty. Shall we leave?”
    Kitty gratefully took his arm. She simply wanted to get away. Everything would be all right as soon as she was alone with her new husband.
    The younger wedding guests, their spirits restored, followed them, laughing and chattering, out to the carriage. The sun shone bravely while Kitty made her way shyly to the carriage through a rainstorm of rice and rose petals.
    As Lord Chesworth took his place beside her, a group of young people led by a freckled-faced, tomboyish girl placed a large box tied up with ribbon on her lap. “It’s from us—your new friends. You must open it
now.
”
    “Don’t,” said Peter Chesworth, laconically.
    Kitty looked down at the circle of laughing faces and smiled shyly. She remembered Lady Henley’s defense of her mother. They were not so bad after all.
    She untied the pretty ribbons on the parcel, opened it—and screamed. A huge jack-in-the-box leapt out and hung wobbling in front of her, its mocking clown’s face dancing before her tear-filled eyes.
    “Drive on,” snapped the Baron, and then turned to Kitty and held out his handkerchief. “You mustn’t take everything so seriously. If you’re ever going to feel comfortable in society, you must learn to take a joke.”
    In silence they entered the house in Green Street. Kitty was introduced to the staff who were lined up in the hall. The butler, a fat white man called Checkers, who seemed to have a perpetual cold, made a speech of welcome. Then the happy pair retired to the drawing room and surveyed each other in silence.
    “Well, here we are,” said Lord Chesworth crossing over to the looking glass and straightening his