It all started when I was left on my own, per se.

One night, a great fire burst in the larder that swallowed the entire house. By morning, both my mother and father were dead. My sister and I couldn't believe our eyes.

Only when we saw them buried did we acknowledge the fact.

The Darcys accommodated us at Pemberley for some time, but very soon my sister, Kitty married the honourable Colonel Fitzwilliam and I was left in that great, big house at the mercy of my sister and her husband's family. My pride was a very silly thing. I couldn't sleep at night thinking I was here on pity, because I had no home of my own, no prospects.

After a year, Elizabeth gave birth to a little girl. I was appointed as the new governess of the child, against my silent will. Only when they tried to marry me to the village's parson did I finally voice my refusal.

So, I took all my belongings and left the Darcys, beginning a new life, far away from what was left of my family. I took the train to London and after arriving in the busy town I started looking for an occupation. I had little to no money so there were many nights when I slept in parks or in train stations, like a common wreck. I did not feel ashamed. My parents' death made me feel I could do anything.

I walked around town looking left and right, somehow afraid someone would recognize me and shout at me, though I knew no one. I didn't have the heart to steal, else I would have quenched my hunger. All I could do was stare avidly at book shops.

I didn't fancy dresses and ribbons, I was indifferent to fans and perfumes, or parasols, or powders and paints, or even good, warm food.

All I wanted was books, loads and loads of books to make me feel complete. I walked through those stores, touching every volume, picturing it in my pocket, wondering when I'll have a good penny to buy one.

I didn't care much for what happened. I was free, truly free. No one told me what was right or wrong and I didn't know what was right and wrong. I lived as I wished. It was a stupendous comedy.

After two weeks though, I was ready to give up. Having found no job, though I had knocked at various schools and houses for a place as teacher or governess, I decided to try other kinds of jobs. I went to bakeries and inns, but I was a terrible cook and a worse server.

Then I tried hiring myself as a scullery maid, but it seemed every young girl was looking for such a position and others were better qualified. They didn't care if I knew Latin or Ancient Greek; they needed someone to sweep the silverware and wash the stairs.

I wasn't strong enough for manly work either.

At length, I got a small job selling newspapers. I took this chance to peruse them for better offers. At the bottom of a murky page I saw once a little announcement, hidden obscurely.

We hire young girls. Lindon's street, number 4.

That was all it said. I was tempted to try anything. I was a young girl.

I should have known what the ad was about. I know now, but then I had no experience. I didn't know the language.

I presented myself at Lindon, number 4 one sad, rainy morning. I discovered it was a sinister, yet interesting alley, full of squat houses and narrow pathways that led…nowhere.

Not many people were up and about that time of the day.

I reached a paved court surrounded by thick walls full of plants and vines. I climbed some stairs and rung the bell.

A tiny young girl, wearing a very vaporous blue dress welcomed me in and made me sit in a very cosy little drawing room.

'Are you alone, Miss?' she asked me.

'Yes.'

'Are you married or engaged?'

'Not that I know of.'

'Very well, I shall call Madam Morceau.'

I was tempted to ask what it was all about, but I stayed quiet and looked at the roaring fire in the fireplace. After waiting what seemed like ages, a kind-looking elderly woman, smudged with the most shining red over her big lips and dressed in a black and yellow piece with frilly hems entered the room, squeezing herself in a petite sofa.

She peered at me under her spectacles and gave a considering "hm!"

'Good evening, madam,' I started.

'You look bedraggled. On the streets, I suppose? You know the hard life?'

'I…think so, madam. But I lived in the country most of my life with my family.'

'Why aren't you with them now?'

'They…passed away. My sisters are all married.'

'How picturesque. And you came to London and starved and now you need a roof over your head.'

'To be honest, yes,' I said getting red.

'Well, you don't really have the looks dear, but we shall see what we do about it. I think you have something, a twinkle in your eye, a certain attraction that could promote you. But the clothes are a nuisance. Now, tell me more about you.'

I enumerated my feeble abilities which related more to academics.

'That's very nice, dear very nice. Intellectuals say a lot to me. Are you a maiden? Were you spoilt?'

'Pardon?'

'Did you ever lie with a man?' she asked me bluntly.

'Of course not! I don't understand. Madam Morceau, can you please tell me what I am to do?'

She started laughing copiously, holding her chest with her palms.

'Oh, dear, you didn't even know what you were coming for?'

'I suppose, to be a kitchen help?'

'Kitchen help! Oh, you are hired dear, since I find you so amusing. Your innocence and vanity are charming.'

'Oh, but I don't even know…'

'Here you are a courtesan. My house is a brothel.'

That is how I became a call girl and…that is how my life changed entirely.