A bus for Tottenham Court Road arrived and she ran up the stairs. After paying her fare she gazed out of the window as doubt assailed her again. This was crazy! She was crazy. She had been offered a good home, comfort and security. With head bowed she picked away at the frayed cuff of the coat with shaking fingers. But the price was too high.

Lost in misery, she jumped when the conductor called her stop. After getting off the bus, she stood and stared up and down the long road. Where to start? Jessop had said that the domestic agency was in this road.

By the time she’d walked up one side and started down the other, it was nearly nine thirty. At last she found a notice nailed on to a side door saying that this was Mrs Dearing’s Domestic Agency. The door was locked and there was nothing to indicate when it would be open.

She hurried into the haberdashery shop next door to ask the assistant if she knew when Mrs Dearing would be there.

‘Any minute now,’ she was told. ‘She’s usually arrived by now.’

‘Thank you so much.’ Jenny smiled in relief, and then noticed the shop lady studying her with a frown on her face. She left the shop quickly. Her accent didn’t go with the tatty coat she was wearing. It was time to act again; she would have to be careful not to slip back into her usual way of speaking. She tried to fix Fred and Glad’s voice in her head. She would have to try to sound something like them – without the cockney rhyming slang, of course. There was no way she’d get away with that.

A smartly dressed woman of middle years walked up to the door and put a key in the lock.

‘Mrs Dearing?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m looking for work. The servants I’m with said you might be able to help.’

‘Come in.’ She held the door open and walked up a flight of narrow stairs.

The room at the top was small, clean and bright. It contained a desk, two chairs, a large wooden cupboard, holding crockery and a biscuit tin, and a table. In the corner she could see an ancient gas stove and a tiny sink. Everything was so clean it sparkled.

‘Sit down,’ Mrs Dearing said, as she removed her coat and hat.

Jenny sat down and waited, feeling sick with apprehension.

‘Now what kind of work are you looking for?’

‘Anything, ma’am. I know ’ow to be a lady’s maid.’ When Mrs Dearing looked up sharply, Jenny thought she might have overdone the accent.

‘I haven’t any vacancies in that line at the moment. If you’d like to come back next week …’

‘Oh, I can’t do that,’ she blurted out. ‘I’ve got to find a job today so I can start tomorrow.’