There was heavy sarcasm in Lord Lynche’s voice as he said the last sentence.

His mother shot him an almost murderous glance as she said sharply,

“Sir Percy again! I can well understand it is not the child he wanted to see at luncheon. Miss Warner and her charge will in future lunch upstairs.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Carina said gratefully.

“And now you can all go,” Lady Lynche informed them abruptly. “I am tired and want my sleep before tea. Send Matthews to me and I will tell her to give you back your thermometer, Mrs. Barnstaple. It seems ridiculous to me that in a place this size there is only one thermometer to be shared around as if we are orphans with a charity cup.”

“I agree, my Lady,” Mrs. Barnstaple said. “It would be much more convenient if Miss Matthews had one of her own.”

The Dowager leant back a little against her pillows.

“See to it, see to it,” she said testily and then to her son as he moved across the room, “remember what I have said, Justin – that man is to go.”

“I doubt if I have the power to compel him to do anything he does not want to do,” Lord Lynche said easily and then, as he saw the darkness on his mother’s face, he added quickly, “all right. Mama, I will do my best.”

He stood aside to let Carina precede him through the door and then followed her, leaving Mrs. Barnstaple behind.

“I am sorry you did not enjoy luncheon downstairs,” he said and Carina guessed that he had seen through her subterfuge to make Dipa the excuse for other non-appearances.

“No,” she answered, “I disliked it.”

“Just as you dislike Sir Percy,” Lord Lynche said, making it more of a statement than a question.

“Your mother is right,” Carina answered and added indiscreetly, “I am sure he is a bad man.”

“I suspect that what you say is correct,” Lord Lynche replied, “but bad men are better company than good when one wants to forget.”

For a moment Carina felt sorry for him and then she remembered that what he wanted to forget was his wife, dying alone in a London boarding house and his child whose appearance showed only his Eastern blood and none of his English.

The sympathy that she had felt for a moment for anyone who might be in trouble faded and she said in a hard voice,

“Perhaps some things are better remembered.”

They had reached the stairway that led up to the nurseries and, as Carina turned, Lord Lynche put out a hand as if to stop her.

She looked round at him, realised that they were alone and that Mrs. Barnstaple, if she had followed them from the Dowager’s room, had obviously gone in search of the lady’s maid.