“Don’t be a fool, Justin, it’s the only possible course. We cannot send the child away. He has to stay here and the one thing that is imperative is that no one shall know who he is. And if, indeed, he is who he pretends to be. Well, personally, I shall never believe it.”

As she spoke, the Dowager put out her claw-like hands towards the Certificates that lay on the white ermine bedcover.

It was obvious what she intended to do, but Lord Lynche was too quick for her.

“No, no, Mama!” he said, picking up the Certificates before she could destroy them. “They must be kept and I will put them in a safe place.”

“Burn them!” the Dowager commanded him. “Do as I tell you and burn them! Put them on the fire here and now!”

Lord Lynche shook his head.

“No, Mama, I shall keep them.”

Mother and son glared at each other but now, to Carina’s surprise, it was the Dowager who looked away first.

“Very well,” she conceded. “What difference does it make? What is important is that we must have some explanation as to why the child is here. What did you tell Sir Percy?”

“I told him merely that they were visitors for you.”

“Good, good, you have some intelligence,” the Dowager admitted. “That is exactly what they are. Many years ago, when I was travelling with your father, we visited the King of Singora. This can be one of his grandchildren, paying a return visit to Lynche Castle. I shall announce to the household that he is a Prince and is to be addressed as ‘Your Highness’.”

“But, Mama, the child is Javanese or rather half-Javanese.”

“Who is to know the difference?” the Dowager asked brusquely. “To the ignorant, all yellow men are Chinese and the servants are not likely to know the difference between a Singorese, a Javanese, or a Chinese laundryman!”

“It’s an impossible scheme!” Lord Lynche protested.

“Why is it so impossible?” the Dowager asked. “Who is going to question what we say or be interested in a small child of six who happens to be staying here? I, for one, am certainly not interested.”

She glared at Carina.

“You keep him away from me, do you hear? I don’t want to set eyes on the little bastard!”

“Mama, he is legitimate,” Lord Lynche said quietly.

“So that remarkable little piece of paper says,” the Dowager answered. “I told you I do not believe that he is my grandson and nothing will ever make me believe it. A Lynche – a line going back to Norman times! Oh, God! If it was not so tragic, it would be funny.”

“That is exactly what I thought,” Lord Lynche said.