“He shall pay for his heir, for all he denied me and for all the promises he never kept. You will take my son to his inheritance?”

Now she was pleading, the snarl had gone from her voice and the dark almond-like eyes deeply lined with pain were staring up at Carina.

“Yes, of course, I will take him,” Carina answered gently.

She had seen people die before and she knew that this woman was speaking the truth when she said she would not live very long.

“Thank you – thank you. That’s all I wanted to know. Go to the door, call for Mrs. Bagot and tell her I want her.”

Carina picked her way amongst the gaudy piles of silk and satin, opened the door and went out into the passage.

It seemed deserted and then she heard the murmur of voices from the basement below and saw that there was a stone stairway running down to what were obviously the kitchens. She went to the top of them and called a little nervously, feeling that Mrs. Bagot might well resent being summoned in a peremptory manner by a stranger.

“Mrs. Bagot!” Her voice seemed to be thrown back at her and there was a strong smell of onions. “Mrs. Bagot!”

“Mornin’,” cried a cheerful Cockney voice and a large buxom figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs and started to climb slowly up them.

Carina waited until she reached the top step.

“Lady Lynche asked me to call you,” she explained apologetically.

“You’re from Macey’s, aren’t you? The girl told me someone ’ad come. Will you do as she wants?”

“If you mean will I take the child to his father – yes, I have promised her I will.”

“Good. It’s been a-worryin’ her.”

Mrs. Bagot stepped into the passage close to Carina and Carina realised that she too had been recently sampling the brandy bottle.

“Well, you look the part all right,” Mrs. Bagot remarked, looking her over. “Ladylike and trustworthy. That’s what I asked for, but I know those Agencies. Palm you off with any old trollop if they gets the chance. I told them what I wanted and I must say for once we seem to ’ave got what we asked for.”

“Thank you,” Carina said with a smile.

Mrs. Bagot’s fat face also relaxed.

“Don’t you take any notice of me, dear, I says what I thinks! Ma Bagot, that’s what they call me. And ‘Mother’ I am to half the theatrical profession.”

“Is Lady Lynche really going to die?” Carina asked in a low voice, glancing towards the bedroom door as she spoke, half-afraid that she had left it open and the woman on the bed could hear her.