Born to Serve

by Josephine Cox

Genres: General Fiction; Family Life; Historical Fiction; Sagas; Historical Romance

Synopsis

When her future is cruelly snatched away, can she ever hope for happiness again?

Josephine Cox writes a heart-stopping saga in Born to Serve, a tale of courage, fortitude and devastating jealousy. Perfect for fans of Rosie Goodwin and Kitty Neale.

'I can take him away from you any time I want.' Her mistress's cruel taunt is deeply disturbing to Jenny. But why should Claudia be interested in a servant's sweetheart? Jenny reckons without Claudia's vicious nature; using a wily trick she seduces Frank, who, overcome with shame, departs for a new life in Blackburn. Losing her sweetheart is just the first of many disasters that leave Jenny struggling to cope alone.

When Claudia gives birth to Frank's baby girl, she cruelly disowns the helpless infant and relies on Jenny to care for little Katie and love her as her own. Always afraid for the beloved child who has come to depend on her, Jenny is constantly called upon to show courage and fortitude to fight for all she holds dear. In her heart she yearns for Frank, believing that one day they must be reunited. When Fate takes a hand, it seems as though Jenny may see her dreams come true...

What Amazon readers are saying about Born to Serve:

'It is a heartrending story and is so well written that you feel so much for Jenny, Katie and Frank. It has many interesting twists and turns but remains a brilliant story throughout. A definite good read for a long afternoon!'

'I loved this book and it's definitely one of my favourites, I did not want it to end. The story grips you as soon as you start reading and I did not want to put it down to do anything else'

'Another spell-binding, unputdownable story from Josephine Cox'

Release date: January 19, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 317

Sample

Jenny Dickens boldly met the other young woman’s taunting gaze. She was a pretty young thing, with short fair hair and soft blue eyes that were easily given to smiling. But she wasn’t smiling now. In fact, her cheeks were pink with anger and her fists were clenched by her sides.

Seeing the effect her cruel words were having, Claudia swung round and laughed aloud. ‘Poor Jenny,’ she cooed sweetly ‘So pleased with herself because at last she’s got a man who’s promised to marry her. And not before time, is it? I mean, you’re five years older than me, aren’t you? And at twenty-three you’re almost left on the shelf.’

With her hands on her hips, she came across the room to stand before the other young woman. ‘Look at me,’ she invited, brazenly twirling about to display her magnificent nakedness. ‘Ask yourself how any man could possibly resist me.’

When Jenny remained still and silent, Claudia was enraged. ‘He might be your sweetheart, you little fool!’ she said in a cutting voice, ‘but he’s mine for the taking. All I have to do is crook my little finger and he’ll come running. I’ve seen him watching me. And if you weren’t so stupid, you’d know he can’t wait to bed me.’

In fact, the opposite was true. Claudia had tried everything she could think of to make Frank Winfield notice her but he was irritatingly aloof. Now, thinking of his strong broad shoulders and earthy good looks, she purred with pleasure at the idea. ‘That ring on your finger won’t mean anything if I decide to have him,’ she threatened with a wicked smile. ‘And I’m bored. There’s no telling what I’ll do when I’m bored!’

She enjoyed being cruel. It gave her a sense of power. Besides, she had a deep down yearning for Jenny’s young man, and it would be so good to humble this proud creature who had the nerve to look at her as though she was something that had just crawled out from under a stone. ‘Don’t stare at me like that,’ she warned, ‘or I’ll have you dismissed.’ After all, Jenny Dickens was only a servant in her father’s house.

Knowing that she was out of her depth, and aware that to antagonise this arrogant young woman was to jeopardise her position in this household, Jenny lowered her gaze.

‘That’s better. Now you can apologise.’ With obvious relish, she waited for Jenny to speak.

It took an effort of will for Jenny not to say exactly what was on her mind or she might have told the arrogant Claudia what a cheap and nasty trollop she was, and that Frank himself had said with disgust how there were few male visitors to this house whom she hadn’t enticed into her bed. ‘It’s her poor mother I feel sorry for,’ he’d said. ‘Elizabeth Marshall is a fine lady and shouldn’t be cursed with a daughter who’s no better than a whore on the streets.’

‘Well, I’m waiting!’ Claudia’s icy voice cut through Jenny’s thoughts. ‘An apology, I said.’

Taking a deep breath, Jenny raised her clear blue eyes and looked the young woman in the face. In a firm voice she said, ‘Sorry, Miss.’ But what she thought was: You’re a shame and a disgrace, Claudia Marshall, and it’s you who should be apologising to me.

Claudia was not altogether satisfied, for she detected a rebellious note in Jenny’s voice. However, she had done what she set out to do, and that was to cause turmoil. It was plain from the pained and defiant look in those blue eyes that Jenny was upset by this little episode. ‘Help me dress, then you can go,’ snapped Claudia impatiently. ‘After that you had better keep out of my way for the rest of the day.’

Keeping her thoughts to herself, Jenny gathered the discarded silk slip from the carpet and placed it on the chair ready for the wash. She was burning with anger at Claudia’s wanton behaviour; downstairs the wash-tub was already bursting at the seams, and it went against the grain to fill it with clothes that were hardly used.

Half an hour later, at precisely ten o’clock, Jenny laid the silver-backed hairbrush on the dressing-table and stepped away. Claudia remained seated on the stool, admiring her long sweep of brown hair that shone from Jenny’s vigorous brushing. ‘I always look lovely in this dress, don’t you think?’ she remarked, cocking her head to one side and examining the emerald green dress with its loose cowl neck and scalloped sleeves. She stood up and ran her two hands over the smooth material, her fingers sensuously following the lines from the straight skirt to the hem, which fell just below her knees. ‘You think I wear my clothes too short, don’t you?’ she demanded when Jenny looked away in disgust.

‘It isn’t for me to say, Miss.’

‘Too damned right it isn’t!’ Flicking her hair back from her face, Claudia glared at Jenny with hatred. ‘Get out!’ she spat.

Without another word, Jenny thankfully departed. ‘Little cow!’ she muttered as she went down the stairs. ‘Mark my words, Miss High and Mighty, one of these days you’ll get your comeuppance.’ Only that fervent hope, and thoughts of kindly Mrs Marshall, persuaded Jenny to remain in this house.

As she came to the bottom of the stairs, the bell above the front door clanged loudly. It was the postman. Hurrying across the wood-panelled hallway, Jenny swung the great door open. Bill Saxon was a local man with a splendid physique and an attractive smile, but few brains. ‘Miss Claudia not up yet?’ he asked, withholding the letter as though he might snatch the opportunity to hand it to the young mistress herself. She had often given him the glad eye but as yet he hadn’t found full favour with her, though he knew one or two who had. And from their graphic descriptions, he couldn’t wait to get his share.

Snatching the letter from his hand, Jenny told him sharply. ‘You’d do well to mind your own wife instead of making eyes at other women. Shame on you, Bill Saxon.’ With that, she closed the door in his face. ‘Better to be insulted by me than ruined by her,’ she told his departing footsteps.

Outside, Bill paused and turned around to look at the house. At one time the dwelling had belonged to the local squire, but he was long gone. It was nearly five years now since the Marshalls had moved here from London; 1914, the same year war started. It was said that Mr Marshall was a high-ranking officer in the forces. There had been certain rumours since the war had ended, unkindly whispers that spoke of his having deserted his wife and daughter. It was true that folk expected to see him round these parts once the war was at an end, but there had as yet been no sighting of him.

It was also said that he had fallen on hard times and lost the fortune his father left him. And that was why there were now only two servants at the big house, Jenny and a scullery girl. But rumours were rumours, and often they came to nothing.

However, it was true that he had returned from the fighting some two years ago, a hero but badly wounded. Mrs Marshall herself had told that to the vicar’s wife, and it was borne out by the letters which various postmen had delivered, because on the backs of the earlier ones was written the address of a certain military hospital. The impressive handwriting on the front was very striking and bespoke a man of authority. Nowadays the letters were fewer and there was no hospital return address. The only clue to Mr Marshall’s whereabouts was a London postmark.

‘It’s a funny kettle o’ fish and that’s a fact,’ the postman muttered. He wondered whether Mr Marshall was quietly planning on taking the family back to London. He hoped not. At least, not yet. He chuckled, glancing again at the proud house. Certainly Mr Marshall couldn’t have done better than to fetch his family here. This was beautiful, peaceful countryside, and Tall Gables was unquestionably the best house in the village of Woburn Sands, perhaps the finest in the whole of Bedfordshire.

It was a grand place, with high black and white wooden gables and a look of splendour about it. The Marshalls owned land all around this beautiful Tudor place, with more than fifteen acres of open fields extending beyond. Sometimes, in the early hours, the magnificent Claudia could be seen astride that big bay stallion of hers, driving it mercilessly over the rough ground. Every time he’d seen her whipping that horse and squeezing it with her legs, he’d longed for it to be him beneath her. But it never was.

As he prepared to move away, his attention was attracted by someone at an upstairs window. It was her! She smiled at him. Astonished, he waved back. Happen she was coming to fancy him after all. By! If he got a chance to bed her, he wouldn’t turn it down, no matter what Jenny Dickens said. Besides he knew Jenny was a good sort and would never tell tales. And, what his wife didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

As he went away, merrily whistling, it was a pity he didn’t hear Claudia’s cruel laughter. But it was he who would have the last laugh, for at some time in the future, and because of unfortunate circumstances, Bill Saxon would get his just rewards.

The thought of seeing him across the kitchen table, when the two of them could sit and have a quiet chat, brought a smile to her pretty face. He’d be back from Bedford by midday, rightfully expecting a bite to eat. ‘And my own tongue’s hanging out for a cup of tea!’ she muttered, tapping on the drawing-room door with unusual vigour.

‘Yes?’ Elizabeth Marshall’s voice enquired.

Gingerly, Jenny pushed open the door. ‘There’s a letter for you, Mrs Marshall,’ she said, coming into the room.

Elizabeth was seated in the tall-backed chair to the left of the firegrate. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said, looking up with a warm but weary smile. When the letter was put on the low table beside her, she glanced at it and the smile faded from her face. A troubled frown creased her pale forehead as she recognised the handwriting. Charles was due to come home tomorrow, and so she was not expecting a letter from him. She couldn’t hide her despair as she imagined the contents. Her hands rose to cover her eyes before, with trembling fingers, she took the letter and pressed it close to her breast. ‘Oh, Charles,’ she murmured forlornly

‘Are you all right, Ma’am?’ Jenny had seen the colour drain from Elizabeth’s face, and was genuinely concerned.

At once Elizabeth regretted showing even the smallest sign of emotion before the perceptive maid. In her usual forthright manner she asked, ‘Is my daughter out of bed?’ Slipping the letter into her skirt pocket, she waited for Jenny’s response. At forty-two years of age, Elizabeth Marshall was some three years older than her husband. She was a handsome woman, small and slim, with masses of rich auburn hair and vivid green eyes. She was known hereabouts as a warm and gentle person, a ‘deep thinker’ who bore her troubles with quiet dignity.

‘I’ve just this minute left Miss Claudia,’ Jenny replied. ‘She had her breakfast in bed and now she’s washed and dressed. I’m sure she’ll be down any minute.’

Elizabeth sprang out of the chair. ‘Oh, Jenny!’ She clenched her fists. ‘I gave instructions that she was not to have her breakfast in bed. If she can’t come down in the morning and sit at the table with me, then she must go without.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Jenny was reluctant to reveal how Claudia had threatened to ‘turn this house inside out’ if her breakfast wasn’t taken to her room. But the truth must have betrayed itself in Jenny’s pretty face, because now Elizabeth’s green eyes were studying her hard.

‘I understand,’ she said presently. Her voice was soft and forgiving. ‘And I’m sorry she’s so difficult.’ She looked away and her spirits fell as she remembered the letter in her pocket. So many letters. So much disappointment. Suddenly she felt Jenny’s sympathy and it shamed her. When she looked up again she was smiling, beaming at Jenny as though she hadn’t a care in the world. ‘I know you have a great deal to do, so I won’t keep you,’ she said brightly. ‘If you see Claudia before I do, would you ask her to come and see me?’

‘Of course, Ma’am.’

‘And you are not to serve her breakfast in bed again. Not under any circumstances.’ She smiled knowingly. ‘Not even if she threatens to burn the house down.’

Jenny’s smile was equally knowing. ‘Very well.’

‘Has Meg arrived?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then Claudia must help with the housework.’

Jenny was speechless for a moment, unsure whether she’d heard right. Quickly recovering herself, she said in a firm voice, ‘I’m sure that really won’t be necessary, Ma’am.’ She was horrified at the thought of Claudia’s being made to work alongside her. What! It would be unbearable. ‘Meg will turn up soon, I’m certain. I can manage ’til then,’ she frantically assured her mistress.

‘Nonsense. You’re shockingly overworked as it is.’ Elizabeth regretted having to dismiss the cook and house-keeper recently, but financial uncertainty had given her little option. More than once she had given thanks for Jenny but it hurt Elizabeth to think that this fine young woman should be saddled with so much responsibility, though she did seem to thrive on it and never complained. If only her own daughter had been blessed with the smallest part of Jenny’s admirable qualities, there might be hope for her. As it was, she had shown herself to be bone idle and too full of her own importance. Some of the blame for that must lie with her father. He had treated that young madam as though she was royalty itself, and now he had created a monster. ‘If Meg isn’t here within the hour, you must inform me.’ She seated herself in the chair, a sign for Jenny to leave her alone.

Stunned at the idea of Claudia’s reaction to her mother’s unthinkable suggestion, Jenny quickly departed, heartily praying that Meg would soon show her face. ‘I’d best get a move on and see all the work done,’ she told herself, ‘or there’ll be murder in this house!’ The thought made her shiver. It was almost as though she had felt a premonition.

Frank made a fine figure of a man as he manoeuvred the horse and wagon into the cobbled yard. Though the month was December, the sun was shining down. His thick mop of fair hair and warm brown eyes glinted, and his strong features broke into a wide smile as he jumped down on the cobbles, his loving gaze fixed on Jenny’s face and his arms open to her. Frank Winfield was twenty-four years old, mature and reliable. A man among men, he worked close to the earth and was part of nature itself He was rugged and straight, proud yet humble. And Jenny adored him.

Wiping the suds from her arms, she sped across the kitchen, up the stairs and out through the back door. He was about to unload the wagon when she ran full pelt into his arms. ‘I thought you’d never get back,’ she cried. When he swung her round in his embrace, she laughed with sheer pleasure. And when he pressed his lips to hers, she clung to him as though she would never let him go. She hadn’t forgotten what Claudia had said: ‘I could take him away from you any time I wanted.’ Suddenly her happiness was cruelly curtailed.

‘Well now! If that’s the kind of welcome I get when I fetch your supplies, I’d best do it more often.’ Frank laughed. He had not seen the dark shadow pass over her bright blue eyes.

‘Did you get everything?’ she wanted to know. Going to the front of the wagon, she stroked the horse’s long soft face. Not too long since there had been four work-horses. Now there was only one.

‘Are you saying I haven’t done the job right?’ he asked with a twinkle in his eye. When she laughed, he suggested, ‘What say you get away in and put the kettle on for a thirsty man while I load this little lot into the pantry?’ No sooner had the words left him than she was on her way. He watched her pretty trim figure until it disappeared into the house. ‘Aw, Jenny lass, yer a real beauty and it won’t be long before I make an honest woman of you,’ he promised lovingly.

Soon his voice was raised in a merry Irish ditty as he finished the unloading. His father had been Irish, but his mother was born within the sound of London’s Bow bells, Folks said he had his daddy’s beautiful singing voice and winning ways, and was blessed with his mammy’s deep love of life. His parents were long gone now and, like Jenny, who had fled a brutal father, he was alone in the world.

He sang as he put the horse into its stable. He sang all the while he loaded the goods into the pantry, and was still softly singing when he came into the kitchen. Pausing at the door, he sniffed the air. ‘By! Something smells good,’ he declared, going to Jenny and wrapping his strong arms round her waist. Lifting her clear off her feet, he kissed her full on the mouth. ‘What else could any man want?’ he asked. ‘But a grand-looking lass who can fill a kitchen with delicious smells to turn a man’s stomach . . . then greet him with a kiss exciting enough to turn his happy heart?’

As always when he flattered her with such blarney, Jenny’s face went all shades of pink. ‘Away with you, Frank Winfield!’ she told him with a girlish giggle. ‘You’re only after the scones I’m baking for tea.’

Hugging her harder, he whispered in her ear, ‘I can promise that ain’t all I’m after.’

Laughing, she pushed him away. ‘Well, one small scone is all you’re going to get,’ she said. ‘And you can think yourself lucky. Happen when the shortage is over and the shops are stacked with good food, I might let you have two.’

‘Jaysus, but yer a cruel, heartless woman,’ he groaned. With a face that told of tragedy, he dropped into a chair and, leaning his arms on the table, looked up at her with soulful brown eyes. ‘Have you no pity at all?’ he asked in a sorry voice. ‘And here’s me in terrible agony after lifting them heavy groceries.’ He rubbed at his shoulder and winced with pain. Then, when she seemed unsure as to whether he was play-acting, he burst out laughing and she threw the wet dish-cloth at him.

In no time at all, the two of them were seated at the table with a fresh baked scone and a steaming mug of tea before them. ‘Five minutes,’ Jenny told him in a stem voice, ‘then I’ve to get back to my work. Mrs Marshall’s threatened to send Claudia down to help me, so I’ve to get it all done before that lazy article decides she’s had enough of admiring herself in the mirror.’ Her blue eyes rolled heavenwards. ‘Dear God! Can you imagine that one up to her armpits in potato peelings?’

The idea brought a smile to his face. ‘Heaven forbid,’ he remarked. Then he grew serious. ‘Did Mrs Marshall really say that she would get Claudia to help with the housework?’

‘She did.’

He shook his head and thoughtfully sipped his tea before saying in a hushed voice, ‘By! Things must be going from bad to worse.’

‘She had a letter this morning.’

‘Oh?’

Jenny took her time buttering a scone. She didn’t like to discuss the family’s affairs, although Frank would never repeat anything she told him. The butter melted away and she took a bite. Presently she revealed, ‘Judging by the writing; I reckon it was from Mr Marshall.’

Having finished his tea and scone, Frank collected his plate and mug and carried them to the sink where he put them into the sudsy water. ‘I suppose that means he won’t be coming home tomorrow? That’s a shame.’ He turned to face Jenny Taking out both pipe and baccy from his coat pocket, he bit the pipe between his teeth and proceeded to pack it. ‘She’ll be disappointed and no mistake.’

Jenny brought her own cup and plate and sank them in the bowl. ‘What’s going to become of us?’ she asked. Lately, there were things going on here she daren’t think about.

Absent-mindedly taking the tea cloth and proceeding to wipe the dishes which Jenny put on the drainer, Frank thought for a moment, then puffed hard at his pipe and was lost in a billow of sweet-smelling smoke. After a while he answered in a sombre voice, ‘There’ll be trouble, I reckon.’

Jenny swung round, her bright blue eyes big with surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, lass, think of it,’ he prompted her. ‘The war’s over . . . armistice was signed on the eleventh of November, more than six weeks back. Them as fought and were left able like myself, thank God, are coming home and trying to pick up their ordinary lives. Even them as were wounded are beginning to return from France, determined to forget what they’ve been through.’ He bowed his head. ‘But I dare say not all of ’em will make it. It’s especially hard for some.’

‘You’re getting at Mr Marshall, aren’t you?’

‘No, sweetheart. I’m not “getting at” him. He’s a good man. When I could find no work, he was quick to set me on here. I’ll always be thankful for that.’ His smile was wonderful. ‘After all, if I hadn’t come to work here, I would never have met you.’

She came to him then and they embraced in poignant silence; Jenny thinking how empty her life would be without him, and Frank wondering whether the officer who had seen his men through bad times would ever be well again. ‘Do you think hell come home soon?’ asked Jenny, as though reading his thoughts.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who knows? No man can easily shake off the horrors of war.’

Even now, Frank would wake in the night, sweating and terrified, thinking himself trapped in a darkened trench with the awful sounds of killing echoing from all sides, and the bodies of his friends rotting beside him. ‘Captain Marshall was badly wounded. It takes time.’ Suddenly the carnage was too alive in his mind. Gently he pushed her away ‘We’d best get on, lass. There’s a deal to do.’ When she looked up at him, he kissed her tenderly on the mouth. ‘If you’re not careful you’ll have Claudia finishing that washing-up for you.’ His smile widened, then it became a soft laugh. ‘Go on,’ he told her, making for the door. ‘I’ll see you later, eh?’

Before he went, she had to voice what was on her mind. ‘You don’t think he’ll ever come home, do you?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, and that’s the truth.’

‘If he doesn’t come home, do you think the family will move back to London?’ Suddenly she was afraid for the future. ‘If they do, we’ll be out of work.’

He came to her in a stride and, placing his two hands on her shoulders, said in a firm voice, ‘I’ve told you before, you’re not to worry your pretty head about such things. We’ll cross that bridge if we ever get to it. All right?’

She gave no answer and he knew she was not altogether appeased. Feeling the need to lighten her mood, he asked, ‘Do you want me to call at Meg’s house and find out what’s keeping her?’

‘No. She’ll be along, I’m sure. Being late is becoming a habit with her.’

‘Then you’ll have to speak sharply to her.’ His mischievous smile belied his true feelings. ‘Unless you want Mrs Marshall to give the job to Claudia?’

‘If that’s all the comfort you can give me, then you’d best take your leave,’ she told him, but she was sorry when he did.

A short time later, the kitchen door opened to admit a plump young girl with flyaway dark hair and small frightened eyes. ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she moaned in a breathless voice, ‘only me mam and dad were fighting all night and I didn’t get a wink of sleep.’ She slung her coat off and hung it in the pantry. ‘I’m ever so sorry,’ she kept saying over and over.

Coming out of the pantry, she presented herself to Jenny who had finished the washing-up and was on her knees at the sink cupboard. Without immediately answering the girl, she took out the box which contained the polishing materials, then she closed the doors and scrambled to her feet, with the box in her hand. ‘Oh, Meg!’ she said, shaking her head. ‘that’s the best excuse yet.’ Everyone knew how devoted Meg’s parents were to each other.

‘It’s true. Honest to God!’ she cried. And for a minute Jenny thought the girl was going to burst into tears.

‘We’ll talk about it later,’ she said. ‘Right now, the dining room needs polishing out.’ She thrust the box of polishing rags and such into Meg’s hands. ‘You’d best be quick,’ she warned, ‘or we’ll not get through it all before this time tomorrow.’

‘But I can’t polish ’til I’ve emptied the grate and laid the fire.’

‘I’ve done that.’

‘The breakfast things?’

‘I’ve already cleared them away.’

‘Oh. And what about the bedrooms?’

Jenny was rapidly losing patience. ‘No, I’m sorry, but all I’ve managed to do since getting out of bed at five o’clock this morning is clean my own room, cook and serve breakfast, taking her ladyship’s up to her room, clean out the drawing-room grate and light the fire there. And I’ve cleaned and prepared the grate in the dining room, and delivered a letter to Mrs Marshall. I’ve washed the breakfast things and scrubbed the kitchen floor too. Now! do you think you could do what you should have done hours ago? After that, we might just get the bedrooms done before it’s time to serve lunch.’

One look at Jenny’s flustered face told the girl she had better make herself scarce. While she herself had been lazing in bed, dreaming of her new boyfriend, it was plain that Jenny had been working her fingers to the bone. ‘I’ll be quick as I can,’ she promised. Without further ado, she clutched the box to her and went smartly out of the room, leaving Jenny flushed with shame for having been so sharp.

When she first opened the envelope and tore out the letter, she had prayed her suspicions were wrong. Now, with the opening words written on her heart, she couldn’t bear to read past those first two lines. They told her all she needed to know.

For a while she just sat there, staring, her face set like stone. Then, at the sound of someone’s footsteps approaching, she stiffened and sat upright. ‘Claudia!’ However unpleasant, the girl would have to be told.

The footsteps came closer, striking the tiled hallway with sharp angry clicks. Elizabeth’s hand flew to her throat in dismay Hurriedly, she wiped her eyes and nervously straightened her dress. ‘Don’t let her see your weakness,’ she muttered. She knew instinctively that Claudia would tear her to shreds if she ever thought herself the stronger of the two. Lately, she had seen a side to her daughter that was deeply disturbing.

Forcing the ghost of a smile to her face, Elizabeth rose from her chair and thrust the letter deep in her pocket. Afterwards she went to the fireplace where she picked up the poker and feverishly prodded the coals. She felt unusually cold, surprised to find herself shivering.

She had only just replaced the poker, when the door burst open and in rushed her daughter. She remained at the door for a moment; Elizabeth couldn’t help but think what a strikingly lovely creature Claudia was, with her gleaming brown hair tumbling over her shoulders, and wicked elfin face. Her long slim fingers curled and uncurled around the door-knob as she boldly regarded her mother through suspicious grey eyes. ‘You’re hiding something, aren’t you?’ she asked in an aggressive voice. ‘I know there was a letter,’ she continued, scowling as she entered the room and closed the door behind her. ‘I saw it being delivered.’ Her hard eyes went from her mother to the table, then to the fire. ‘What have you done with it?’

Elizabeth was not intimidated. With equal boldness she faced her daughter. ‘Explain yourself,’ she demanded. As always, she felt the confrontation with her daughter was a test of her strength, and she must not be seen to be afraid.

‘You know what I mean,’ Claudia retorted angrily. ‘I know you’ve had a letter from Father, and I think you’ve burned it.’

‘Oh? And why would I burn it?’

‘To keep me from seeing it.’

Elizabeth kept her waiting. There were times when she could have taken that brazen young woman and shaken her by the throat. ‘You’re right about one thing. There was a letter from your father.’

‘I knew it!’ Claudia’s smile was triumphant.

‘When you know what it says, you may not be so pleased.’

Something in her mother’s tone made Claudia think. For many long months now she had waited patiently for her beloved father to return, until at last he had sent news some weeks ago that he was arriving home on 29 December, in time for New Year. Today was 28 December. So why should he be writing, when he could tell them everything tomorrow? ‘What are you trying to say?’ Her hard grey eyes froze with anger.

Just for a brief moment Elizabeth’s heart went out to her daughter. Charles was her father and she idolised him, but he had hurt her too. ‘Your father isn’t coming home for the New Year.’

‘I don’t believe you! You’re a liar. Why should I believe anything you say? You tell me that we have less money to live on, and that we have to cut down on everything. You’ve dismissed all the servants except that stupid scullery girl and that awful Jenny Dickens. I want my own personal maid back! If things aren’t rectified, I shall make it my business to let Father know what you’re up to. I don’t suppose he knows anything of what you’re doing. You’re making my life a misery with your penny-pinching. I want a