‘Yes, I’ve been well trained.’ Her smile was wide as she glanced at each person around the table. She hoped they didn’t look at her eyes, for she was sure that her distaste would be showing in them. She lowered them quickly, just to be on the safe side.

Greaves leant across and ran a hand over her short hair. ‘You’ll make a splendid wife – when you’re older, of course. And you must let your hair grow again. I like long hair.’

The laugh he gave made her shiver. There was something not quite right about this man. She watched him drain his glass and hold it out to be refilled. The butler carefully poured until it was full to the rim with red wine. Before walking away, Jessop frowned at Jenny, obviously shocked by what he’d heard. She gave no indication that she was anything but pleased. They would all know by morning that she had run away.

She fixed her gaze on her mother, then a pain raged through her. She had never been an affectionate mother, but nor had she been unkind – until now. She was prepared to give her daughter to this awful man. That was hard to forgive or understand.

Jenny’s lip trembled as the enormity of what she was planning swept through her. A secure comfortable life was all she had known. Now that was finished, and she was about to become a servant. It was a terrifying prospect. She bowed her head to concentrate on stirring her coffee until she could force a smile back on to her face. She mustn’t weaken. She was too close to success.

It was a relief when the meal ended and she could escape to her room. Half an hour later she heard her aunt and Greaves leave. She already had on her coat, and, giving one last, sad glance around her pretty bedroom, picked up her case and crept down the stairs. To her horror Jessop appeared just as she reached the front door. The look she gave him was full of pleading. Don’t give me away!

He took in her shabby coat and battered suitcase, and then, with a look of utter sadness on his face, opened the door for her, bowing her out. She knew he understood because he’d heard the talk at dinner.

‘Good luck, Miss Winford,’ he whispered as he closed the door silently behind her.

Her mind was in turmoil as she caught the bus to her new life. Was she doing the right thing? Would she fit in as a servant without being discovered? She sat with her small case on her lap, her knuckles white as they gripped the handle.

She arrived at the Bruton Street house and was taken straight to the housekeeper.

‘Just in time,’ Mrs Douglas said, heading for the kitchen.