She began to pace the room, anger rising once again through her distress. How dare they give her to him! Oh, Father, she cried silently, I loved you so much. How could you kill yourself? I wouldn’t have minded if we didn’t have money. You were so clever – you would soon have found some way to earn a living. You could have taken me to America to live with you. I wouldn’t have been any trouble. I would have helped and looked after you. I loved you so much. I don’t understand why you did this!

Her fists clenched and hammered on the dressing table, making the array of trinkets and boxes jump up and down. They were all presents from her father. Every time he’d arrived from America he’d brought her a gift. He would hug her and laugh at her delight in the small piece of jewellery or fancy box. He’d been such a gentle man, in sharp contrast to her cold mother.

She caught her breath. He must have relatives in New York. Perhaps she could go there. She’d always begged him to take her with him, and he’d promised he would when she was older …

Rushing down the stairs, she found the drawing room empty. ‘Jessop,’ she called.

The butler appeared at once. ‘Yes, Miss Winford?’

‘Where is everyone?’

‘Mrs Osborne and her guest have left.’ The butler always showed his dislike of Albert Greaves in small ways by never calling him by name. ‘Your mother has retired.’

‘Thank you.’ She sped upstairs, knocked on her mother’s bedroom door and entered the room.

Her mother was propped up in bed, only opening her eyes as her daughter entered. It was like stepping back into an earlier period. The huge four-poster bed was swathed in rose-coloured floating silk curtains that could be pulled around to hide the occupant of the bed. They were pulled right back now, though, so that anyone coming in could have full view of the distressed woman. Playing for sympathy, Eugenie thought uncharitably. The rest of the room was just as hideous, crammed with ornate furniture, which now all belonged to the bank.

‘Go away, Eugenie.’ She lifted the smelling salts to her nose and moaned.

Something inside Eugenie snapped. She didn’t believe her mother had loved her husband. ‘We have to talk, Mother. I will not go to live with that awful man – and I refuse to marry him. The whole arrangement is cruel and distasteful.’

Mrs Winford opened her eyes wide at this defiance. ‘You will do as you are told, my girl. At least you’ll have a future. Your father has left me with nothing! Nothing!’ She slumped back against the pillows and moaned. ‘Oh, the disgrace.’