She clutched the envelope to her. Her eyes closed from sheer exhaustion.

Mrs. Bagot took the envelope and, searching in it, took out a small dirty piece of newsprint obviously cut from a newspaper.

She held it out to Carina to read.

“London, England. November 3rd, 1901. Lord Lynche, Lord Lieutenant of Gloucestershire, died on October 23rd at the age of 75. He is succeeded by his son.”

“You see,” Mrs. Bagot said with something like relish. “That’s ’ow she knew that ’er ’usband had come into ’is inheritance.”

“It does not say where Lord Lynche lives,” Carina pointed out.

“Don’t worry, she ’as that, too,” Mrs. Bagot replied and from the envelope she took another cutting.

This time it was better printed and had obviously been cut from a magazine.

Carina read it slowly.

“Lynche Castle, the residence of the Lynche family, is one of the most famous houses in England. It stands on the edge of the Cotswolds looking across the Vale of Evesham towards the Malvern Hills. Built originally in Norman times, it has housed the Lynche family from father to son since 1092.”

“You see,” Mrs. Bagot said, “it’s a famous place you’re goin’ to, that’s a fact. What’s more, I’ve already made enquiries and the nearest Station is Moreton-in-the-Marsh. You go from Paddington. Now, shall I tell Agnes to run and fetch you a cab?”

“No – no, wait a moment!” Carina cried. “I can’t go off just like that. I have to collect my own luggage.”

“You can stop on the way,” Mrs. Bagot replied, as if Carina’s protest was too trivial to merit attention. “It will ease the poor soul’s mind to get the boy off on ’is journey and I don’t mind tellin’ you I’m ’opin’ perhaps ’is Lordship will come ’ere to see ’er. I’d just like to be present when she says to ’is face some of the things she’s told me she wants to say to ’im!”

“Oh – but – it’s really impossible!” Carina stammered.

“Nothing’s impossible,” Mrs. Bagot corrected her. “You’re goin’ to Lynche Castle and the sooner you’re on your way the better. They’ll tell you at the Station when the next train leaves for Moreton-in-the-Marsh, There’s good waitin’ rooms at Paddington if you do ’ave to wait an hour or so. There’s a fire in most of them and you’ll ’ave enough money to pay for what you want to eat.”

Carina looked at her helplessly.

“Well, I suppose there is nothing I can do except say ‘yes’,” she said at length.

“That’s the spirit!” Mrs. Bagot cried. “Now I will go and fetch Dipa. I wonder what the little imp is up to.”

She waddled away towards the door and Carina stood uncertainly not knowing whether to follow her or stay with Lady Lynche.