A Change of Fortune (3 page)

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 came 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.’