Chapters (38)
- Cover
- RITA BRADSHAW
- Dedication page
- Acknowledgements
- PART ONE
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- PART TWO
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- PART THREE
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- PART FOUR
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Epilogue
- One Snowy Night
- By Rita Bradshaw
‘This, this is what makes my life worthwhile,’ Madame Poiret had said dramatically, clasping her hands together under her bosom and rolling her eyes. ‘For this I endure what has to be endured.’ Her black eyes had swept over the rest of the class sitting in meek silence, leaving each person in no doubt they were part of the endurance Madame was suffering. ‘Miss Morgan, she listens to her mentor, yes? Not only listens but applies herself to what I say. And the result?’ Her voice had risen to a rapturous quiver. ‘Perfection. Yes, I say it again, perfection.’ She had unclasped her plump hands and taken Ruby’s and for a moment Ruby thought Madame was going to waltz her round the sewing room. Instead Madame had contented herself with a wide smile. ‘Exquisite work, my dear.’
Ruby now surveyed herself in the mahogany cheval mirror she had bought shortly after beginning the classes with Madame Poiret, when she had realized the importance of seeing the whole of her reflection and how the clothes she was making hung on her frame. The suit was plain but screamed exclusivity and a hefty price tag; no one would dream she had made it herself. Madame had taught her the importance of cut and cloth and a hundred things beside, and she had absorbed every single detail like a sponge. Another year, maybe two, and she would have saved enough to start thinking about taking her dream to the next stage, because she didn’t intend to work in a laundry for the rest of her life.
Her eyes narrowed as she adjusted her hat. Neither would she put her future happiness in the hands of any man. She intended to be in charge of her destiny. This was a new era for women but it didn’t mean the fight against men’s exploitation of them at every level of society was over. Far from it. Lady Russell had outlined some of the basic reforms Lady Astor was agitating for, reforms that had seen her come under savage attack by her male colleagues time and time again. Things like nursery schools, votes for women at twenty-one, equal guardianship for mothers and fathers, the abolition of the death penalty for expectant mothers, the protection of married women who lost their citizenship if they married a foreigner . . . To society’s shame the list was endless.