Riches to Rags Read online

  ‘I always told him what he was doing was too risky, but he wouldn’t listen to me.’ Aunt Gertrude looked superior. ‘He should have invested some of his money in property and gold like all sensible people, but he gambled and lost. You’re lucky to have someone like Albert to take you in because you’re now destitute, Eugenie. You’ll be moving out of here in three days. Go to your room and start packing. You may remove only your personal things from this house. Everything else has to remain.’

  Eugenie ran from the room, anxious to get away. She needed time to think. Once in her own bedroom she flung herself on to the bed and allowed her grief and fear to overflow. She would mourn her father in private, and then she must decide what to do. One thing was certain, though: she would not go to that horrible man.

  There was so much to grieve for: the loss of her father, her home, her school and her friends. She sobbed freely and remembered the game they played in the dormitory at lights-out with the aid of a torch. There were four of them: Alice, Paula, Mary and herself. They drew a circle on a large sheet of cardboard and divided it into four sections, one for each of them, then they had spun a coin and if it fell tails up in your space, you had to do a forfeit. They’d got up to all sorts of innocent things, like creeping up to the head’s door and leaving finger marks on the highly polished brass handle, or squeezing through a window at night to bring back a flower or leaf. Leaving the dorm at night was strictly forbidden, and they’d had great fun carrying out the forfeits.

  She dried her tears and sat up, hugging her knees. The coin had spun into her space and fallen as tails. Everything stable and secure in her life had been forfeit. She was so frightened!

  2

  An hour later Eugenie was still sitting in the same position, no nearer to deciding what to do and fearful for her future. If only she were a few years older it might be easier, but at sixteen she was still considered a child by her family and society in general. She stood up and turned round to face the mirror. She was quite tall and could probably pass for nineteen – well, seventeen at least – but what could she do? Her aunt was right about one thing: as lovely as the school had been, it had taught nothing that might be useful in the outside world. You had money if you attended the Templeton School, so you were expected to move in the circles of the wealthy. But she no longer belonged to that section of society. She’d better start trying to sort herself out, because there were only three days and she would have to decide quickly.

  She washed her face and combed her long dark hair, all the time fighting to clear her mind. If she panicked, she would end up with that dreadful man. She couldn’t let that happen.

  The tears welled up again, but she brushed them away. She had to think. Her father was dead, and, painful though it was, that was something she had to accept. They were also penniless. Her mother was too upset to help, and that left Aunt Gertrude, their only relative, in charge. Her aunt was, with obvious reluctance, going to take her sister in and give her a home, but she’d never had any time for Eugenie. That left Albert Greaves. Because he was immensely rich, her aunt and mother had always fawned over him, but there was something about him that made her stomach churn when she was near him.

  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.’

  This was hard to believe. All her mother seemed to be concerned about was her own personal loss of position. ‘Mother,’ she snapped, ‘Father must have relatives in America. Why can’t I go there?’

  Mrs Winford sat up then, glaring at her daughter. ‘He had a mistress and two boys by her, and they certainly won’t want you. Had the nerve to call herself Mrs Winford! I’ll bet the beast hasn’t left them penniless!’

  The shock nearly knocked Eugenie off her feet as the room swam before her eyes. She was learning new things about her father. It was hard to believe this was the same person she’d adored. ‘You knew? Didn’t you mind?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. I refused to have any more children after you; this other woman kept him out of my bed.’

  ‘You only wanted his money.’ It wasn’t a question but something that Eugenie had long suspected. She’d never heard her mother speak so openly, but they’d had biology lessons at school and she knew what her mother was talking about. They’d also learnt about sex from the gossip of other girls. Some of them seemed remarkably well informed, Eugenie remembered.

  ‘What else do you think I married him for?’ Mrs Winford’s expression was as hard as her sister Gertrude’s. ‘I did my duty having one child. I wasn’t prepared to have another squalling baby.’

  The last illusion that she held about her parents’ marriage shattered. She knew her mother had engaged a nurse as soon as Eugenie had been born, so when had she ever had to get up in the night to deal with a crying baby? Their marriage had obviously been a sham. No wonder her father had spent so little time in this country. The visits and gifts had been for appearances only. All respect she’d had for her mother drained away. Although she was shocked by what she’d just heard, the love she had for her father couldn’t be destroyed.

  She turned slowly and walked out of the room, knowing that she was going to have to grow up quickly. She was on her own. Time to find out more details if possible, and the people who would know were the staff. They were, after all, about to lose their jobs and would have been told the reason.

  The talk stopped immediately when she walked into the kitchen, and the warmth and smell of freshly baked bread wrapped itself around her like a blanket. It was so comforting, so normal. Her bottom lip trembled as she c
ame close to losing control again. She mustn’t do that. There was so little time.

  ‘Come in, miss,’ the cook, Mrs Dobson, urged. ‘We’re so sad to hear about your poor father.’

  Eugenie breathed in deeply, wiped a hand across her eyes and said, ‘Do you know what really happened? I didn’t understand what I was told.’

  ‘Ah, Gerry’s your man.’ Mrs Dobson sent the kitchen maid to fetch him. ‘He’s got a good head on him. Understands these things, he does.’

  Gerry, the footman, arrived almost immediately. He was a tall man, around twenty-two, quite good-looking, with large intelligent blue eyes.

  ‘Tell Miss Winford what’s happened in America.’ The cook made a fresh pot of tea as all but the scullery maid sat around the large well-scrubbed table.

  Eugenie gazed at them with troubled eyes. Here were the butler, gardener, cook, chauffeur and footman. How must they be feeling at this moment? ‘I’m sorry you’ve all lost your jobs.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about us. There’re jobs around for good staff.’ The cook patted her hand and pushed a plate of freshly baked apple tarts towards her. ‘Now, you ask your questions and we’ll tell you what we know.’

  ‘What was so bad that my father’ – she gulped – ‘felt he couldn’t go on living?’

  ‘It’s like this, miss.’ Gerry pitched in with the explanation. ‘There’s a place in New York called the Wall Street stock exchange. It’s where shares in businesses are traded. On 29 October the prices on the stock market collapsed completely. Many people have lost fortunes, including Mr Winford.’ The footman gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Some have lost everything, and your father is not the only one to have committed suicide.’

  ‘But if that’s happening in America, why are we losing our house?’ Eugenie was confused; she didn’t understand this talk about shares. Her father had tried so hard to explain it to her, but to her mind it just didn’t seem to make sense. All they seemed to do was deal with numbers on bits of paper. Tickertape, her father had explained.

  ‘The effects of such a disaster will be felt everywhere. Mr Winford must have had great debts. Everyone’s panicking and the banks will take what’s owed them any way they can.’

  She gazed at the young man in wonder. ‘You’re very knowledgeable – why are you working as a footman?’

  Gerry shrugged. ‘It was the only job I could get. I don’t intend to stay a servant all my life, though.’

  ‘I suppose you’ll be living with Mrs Osborne when the house goes.’ Mrs Dobson’s look was inquiring.

  ‘I expect so.’ Eugenie didn’t know why she’d lied. They obviously didn’t know about the plan to eventually marry her off to Albert Greaves, so she’d keep that bit of news to herself. Gossip was rife among servants, and she didn’t want them talking about this when they took up new places. She stood up. ‘Thank you for explaining. I hope you all soon find employment.’

  ‘All the best for the future, miss.’ The butler smiled and held the door open for her.

  By the time she had reached her bedroom and closed the door behind her, Eugenie had made up her mind. There really was only one thing she could do, and that was to find a job. It would have to be something with accommodation, and she had only three days.

  The panic sweeping through her was so overwhelming that she leant against the wall and sank down until she was sitting on the red Persian carpet. Even if she could find something in such a short time, what could she do that would put a roof over her head and food in her stomach? What skills or talents did she have? Very few was the honest answer. She’d been taught how to arrange flowers, set a table for a dinner party, how a meal should be served …

  She leapt to her feet. Of course she didn’t have any business skills, but she could go into service. What was it Gerry had said? He was a footman because that was the only job he could get. If she could find a place in a large household, it would be a start. Perhaps a governess?

  The sight of herself in the mirror, still wearing the light grey and maroon school uniform, was enough to convince her that she was too young. They would want someone more mature. However, she was fired up with the idea now. It would be a solution to her immediate problem and would keep her away from that awful man. Even scrubbing floors would be better than that!

  Eugenie had always had a methodical mind – everything in its place, and a place for everything – so she began to lay her plans. It wasn’t going to be easy, she knew that, but all she had to do if she became discouraged was to think of Albert Greaves. That would stiffen anyone’s resolve.

  She was going to have to make herself look like a servant. Holding her long hair up and away from her face made her look plainer and a little older, so it would have to be cut short. She would need different clothes and that would take money – something she didn’t have. Her aunt had said that nothing could be removed from the house; she would have to sell her own things. How she longed to have someone she could go to for help, but this had to be kept a secret. When she walked out of the house in three days’ time – and she was determined to do that – no one must know what she was doing or where she was going; otherwise her aunt would find her. And however hard her life was going to be, that mustn’t happen.

  Tremors rippled through her as she thought of what she was planning to do. If she failed, years of belonging to that man faced her; if she succeeded, a life of what? Drudgery, hard work and loneliness, but that would be preferable to the alternative. Her mother didn’t care what happened to her and would be glad to be rid of her. It was a bitter realization, and something she had shied away from admitting before.

  The boom of the dinner gong made her jump. A quick glance at the clock on her mantelshelf told her that it was eight thirty. She hadn’t even noticed it getting dark; she’d been preoccupied with her planning. Her mother would be cross about her still being in her school uniform, but there wasn’t time to change now. To arrive late was an even greater crime.

  She quickly straightened the grey woollen stockings, made sure the sensible lace-up shoes were clean, put on the maroon jacket and hurried down the stairs just as the second gong sounded. The last thing she felt like doing was eating; yet she must make the effort.

  The dining room was empty expect for the butler. ‘Mrs Winford will be dining in her room,’ he informed her solemnly, while holding out her chair at the long table set for only one.

  ‘If I’d known I would have done the same and saved you from going to all this trouble for me.’

  ‘It’s no trouble, miss.’

  She sat down and made a pretence of eating, as each course was set before her. She was hurting too much, and it was an effort even to swallow. To lose her father was a terrible disaster; to find that they were penniless and that she was expected to go to Greaves was terrifying. The tears gathered again and she stared down at her plate, not knowing or caring what was on it. If she put too much inside her, it would refuse to stay there.

  At the end of the meal she said, ‘Please apologize to Mrs Dobson for me. The meal was excellent, as always, but I’m not at all hungry.’

  ‘Cook will understand.’ He poured her a cup of coffee.

  ‘Do you have somewhere to go when you leave here?’ she asked.

  ‘Mrs Dobson and myself have already obtained new places with Lord and Lady Buckheart. They have a fine house in Surrey, and we’re looking forward to working in the country for a change.’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful.’ She really was pleased for them. ‘What about the others?’

  ‘They all have interviews within the next two days. I expect they will soon be suited.’ He lifted his head proudly. ‘Superior servants are always in demand.’

  ‘Er …’ She hesitated for only a moment as she schooled her expression and tone of voice to sound casual. ‘How do you go about finding domestic work?’

  ‘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.