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door.
    ‘Could I read it, too, Rosie?’ she asked cheerfully, holding out her hand to Maud. If the story was what she guessed, the sooner it was burned or at least securely hidden from either the housekeeper or Great-Aunt Lizzie herself, the better. Both would be shocked to the core and Rose would be in deep trouble.
    ‘ Juvenilia by Child Genius Collected by Elder Sister. Has Another Jane Austen Been Uncovered? ’ said Rose happily as Maud handed the sheets of paper to Daisy.
    ‘Come and help me,’ said Daisy, smiling reassuringly at Maud, but the scullery maid just scuttled away through the door that led to the basement.
    ‘You’re embarrassing that poor girl,’ said Daisy reprovingly, suppressing the thought that she sounded like Great-Aunt Lizzie.
    ‘You’re the one who is embarrassing her,’ pointed out Rose, and Daisy laughed. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said. ‘Now spread that rug over the table for me.’
    The dark blue background was just right, she thought, but she did not arrange the photographs on it until after she had sent Rose out to summon the rest of the family.
    And then she stood back and waited for their reactions.
    The photographs were nearly all the same, but nevertheless one stood out from the rest, and that was the one that Daisy had taken after Justin arrived. Violet had been reading the lines of poetry about Sir Lancelot and his ‘coal-black’ curls, had looked over Daisy’s shoulder, and had seen the dark-haired young man as if he were a figure from the poem.
    One by one her father, Poppy, Rose and Violet picked out this photograph and then everyone looked at Great-Aunt Lizzie.
    ‘Not that one,’ she said slowly. Elderly though she was her voice, as always, was clipped and assured. ‘Not that one,’ she repeated. ‘We must remember that the Duchess of Denton has her own daughter to bring out.’ She paused for a moment, visibly weighing up whether more need be said or not and then coming to a decision.
    ‘This one, dear,’ she said firmly and picked up the first photograph. ‘The other one, that you all like, should be hung in the gallery.’
    ‘That’s not the best one – you’re right about that,’ said Poppy as a disappointed Daisy wrapped Great-Aunt Lizzie’s choice in tissue paper and placed it in a cardboard box and Violet penned a little note to her godmother.
    ‘I don’t care as long as she invites me to London,’ said Violet. She folded the piece of stiff, embossed writing paper and placed it on top of the portrait. ‘I just want to be presented and have some fun like other girls. And marry someone rich,’ she added. ‘I don’t think that I could bear to be poor again. I’m just so sick of it. And if you and Daisy help me, then I’ll find husbands for the two of you when you come out in 1925. I promise,’ she added.
    ‘And me?’ asked Rose.
    ‘And you,’ Violet assured her. ‘But I have to get away from this place or I’ll go mad. I just can’t stand it – nothing new, everyone talking about being poor, and it’s so cold and damp.’
    ‘That’s because you weren’t born to it,’ said Daisy wisely. ‘You can remember times when Father and Mother were rich and there were fires in every room. Poppy and I can’t really remember those times – neither can Rose.’
    ‘Ah, but I have an imagination,’ said Rose. ‘I can feel in my bones what it must have been like. I think that Violet should make the ultimate sacrifice for her sisters. She must marry money. Otherwise I may fall into a decline and fade away.’
    ‘I would, like a shot,’ said Violet broodingly. ‘The only trouble is that so far I don’t think I’ve met anyone with money. When I asked Great-Aunt Lizzie for money to post this parcel, she went to her desk and handed out stamps one by one. Look at them – rows and rows of penny stamps from the time of Queen Victoria. I’d be embarrassed to take this to the post office. I’ll ask Morgan to take it for