‘Julian might change his mind,’ Daisy said hopefully. ‘I’m sure his mother knew something, and maybe she persuaded him that he was making a mistake.’

‘To be swayed so easily is not a good sign. He sounds like a weakling. You’d be better off with a decent local man than a milksop who’s afraid to stand up to his mother.’

Daisy gazed at the daguerreotype on the mantelshelf portraying her parents on their wedding day, which was the image that she had clung to during her childhood. She could see how pretty and appealing dark-haired, dark-eyed Marguerite must have been to young James Marshall, and Aunt Eleanora swore that Daisy was the image of her late mother. Daisy never quite believed her aunt, but she loved to hear the story of how her parents had met. In fact she had heard it so many times that she could recite it word for word. It was a true romance of a young woman whose family considered themselves to be upper middle class and a man whose family were in trade. James had come to their house in Finsbury Square to deliver a new saddle, and it had been pure chance that had led him to the front door instead of the tradesmen’s entrance at exactly the moment when Marguerite Gifford had just returned from a shopping expedition. It was, as Eleanora was fond of telling her niece, love at first sight. After that the young couple had met secretly, and in the face of much opposition from both families they had eloped to Gretna Green. Daisy studied the smiling faces of her parents in their bridal finery. Perhaps she would never know the love and happiness they had shared, albeit so briefly, but she owed it to their memory to stand firm. She would not waste her tears on someone who was too weak to fight for the woman he loved.

‘You’re right, Aunt. But now I must look for another position. At least Mrs Carrington was fair enough to give me a good reference.’

‘A sap to her conscience,’ Eleanora said with a wry smile.

‘And I’m fortunate to have you and Uncle Sidney and a nice home,’ Daisy added hastily. ‘You’ve always been good to me, Aunt. Both Toby and I know how lucky we’ve been.’

Eleanora sank down on the nearest chair. ‘I have something to tell you, Daisy. Take a seat, please. Looking up at you is making my neck ache.’

‘What is it? You seem upset.’ Daisy perched on the edge of a chair. Surely there could be nothing worse than the news she had received earlier that day?

‘Your uncle has sold the business and we intend to retire and move to the country. There, I’ve said it. Don’t look at me like that, Daisy. We were going to break it more gently, but you’ve forestalled us by leaving the Carringtons.’

‘It wasn’t my choice, Aunt.’ Daisy hesitated for a moment as a confused jumble of emotions threatened to overcome her. The apartment above the shop had been her home ever since she could remember; she knew all the shopkeepers in the vicinity, and the names of all the residents of Meggs’ Almshouses, who benefited from Aunt Eleanora’s generosity at Christmas and Easter. She had enjoyed theatrical presentations at the New Royal Pavilion Theatre, including pantomimes, and she had taken omnibus rides to the West End, where exciting department stores were being opened. Daisy’s lips trembled – it was all too much to bear, and it was Christmas.