‘There are advertisements in the newspapers and a very good agency in the Tottenham Court Road. And’ – he allowed himself a small smile – ‘word gets around.’

She returned the smile and stood up, relieved to have found out where to start on her quest for a job. She would visit this place as soon as possible.

After returning to her room the next couple of hours were spent in trying to create a new identity. Her hair was cut with a small pair of scissors from her workbox – not an easy job to do herself. It was passable when finished and did make her look a little older. Short hair was all the rage now, so it was unlikely to be commented on. A rummage through her wardrobe showed that even her oldest clothes were too good. She’d heard about pawnbrokers’ shops where they gave you money for almost anything. She’d take some things to one of them in the morning, and also see if she could buy more suitable working clothes from there. Then she collected together all the pieces of jewellery and the trinkets her father had brought back from America for her. They would have to go as well. It was no good being sentimental about them; the past had to be put behind her.

The final part of her plan was her name. The girls at school had called her Jenny. That would be more suitable than Eugenie. Her surname would have to be changed as well; otherwise her aunt would be able to find her too easily. What could she call herself? Something ordinary like Baker? Yes, that would do. The other thing she would have to watch carefully would be her accent. The polished speech taught at the Templeton School for Young Ladies would have to go.

It was nearly midnight when she finally settled down to sleep. The tears soaked the pillow, and then, as exhaustion overcame her, the new Jenny Baker slept.

3

The only people moving around the next morning were the servants. The housekeeper, Mrs Charlton – who Jenny had never liked – was holding a list in her hand and pointing out what could be packed and removed from the house. There was very little on the list, and it was obvious that the bank was claiming almost the entire contents.

Breakfast had been prepared and Jenny forced herself to eat, although it was an effort. There was a tense day ahead of her and she would need all of her strength. She was so anxious that her insides churned most alarmingly, making her hesitate before swallowing a mouthful of scrambled egg in case she was sick.

After about fifteen minutes she gave up, leaving a plate of crumbs where she’d crushed the toast in agitation. After casting an apologetic glance at the butler, she opened the door and nearly bumped into the housekeeper.

‘Ah, Miss Winford, I shall ask one of the maids to help you pack.’