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What little was left of my parents estate was converted to cash, and that was sent to my Aunt for the keeping of me.
I never went back to the town I'd grown up in. I never even received the remembrances I'd left behind. I can only imagine that they too, were converted to what little funds they might muster.

My Aunt, you must understand was not abad woman. She just had a weakness for sherry and cards, and perhaps was cursed with less brains than the avrage sheep. She never thought that she was doing anything more than having a good time, and didn't pay any attention to the acuring debt. Her winnings had always in the end, matched her losses, even if some months she had to give the bucher promises instead of notes.
And when her heart gave out, I was left alone, in London, with no home to call my own, and nothing but a few books, a mourning suit, and an incomplete over-my-class education.