This was hard to believe. All her mother seemed to be concerned about was her own personal loss of position. ‘Mother,’ she snapped, ‘Father must have relatives in America. Why can’t I go there?’

Mrs Winford sat up then, glaring at her daughter. ‘He had a mistress and two boys by her, and they certainly won’t want you. Had the nerve to call herself Mrs Winford! I’ll bet the beast hasn’t left them penniless!’

The shock nearly knocked Eugenie off her feet as the room swam before her eyes. She was learning new things about her father. It was hard to believe this was the same person she’d adored. ‘You knew? Didn’t you mind?’

‘Of course I didn’t. I refused to have any more children after you; this other woman kept him out of my bed.’

‘You only wanted his money.’ It wasn’t a question but something that Eugenie had long suspected. She’d never heard her mother speak so openly, but they’d had biology lessons at school and she knew what her mother was talking about. They’d also learnt about sex from the gossip of other girls. Some of them seemed remarkably well informed, Eugenie remembered.

‘What else do you think I married him for?’ Mrs Winford’s expression was as hard as her sister Gertrude’s. ‘I did my duty having one child. I wasn’t prepared to have another squalling baby.’

The last illusion that she held about her parents’ marriage shattered. She knew her mother had engaged a nurse as soon as Eugenie had been born, so when had she ever had to get up in the night to deal with a crying baby? Their marriage had obviously been a sham. No wonder her father had spent so little time in this country. The visits and gifts had been for appearances only. All respect she’d had for her mother drained away. Although she was shocked by what she’d just heard, the love she had for her father couldn’t be destroyed.

She turned slowly and walked out of the room, knowing that she was going to have to grow up quickly. She was on her own. Time to find out more details if possible, and the people who would know were the staff. They were, after all, about to lose their jobs and would have been told the reason.

The talk stopped immediately when she walked into the kitchen, and the warmth and smell of freshly baked bread wrapped itself around her like a blanket. It was so comforting, so normal. Her bottom lip trembled as she came close to losing control again. She mustn’t do that. There was so little time.

‘Come in, miss,’ the cook, Mrs Dobson, urged. ‘We’re so sad to hear about your poor father.’