“She is, poor soul,” Mrs. Bagot answered, “there’s not a chance in ’ell of savin’ ’er. She knows it ’erself, mark you. Knew it when she arrived ’ere. Just skin and bone, she is. Them dancers never ’ad much stamina, you can take it from me.”

“Was she a famous dancer?” Carina asked interestedly.

“I should say she was,” Mrs. Bagot answered. “I’d never ’eard of ’er, mark you, but you should see some of the things the newspapers said about ’er. She ’as the cuttings all stuck in a book.”

“And what – what nationality is she?” Carina enquired.

She felt it was wrong to be asking questions in this curious way about her future employer and yet it was impossible to question Lady Lynche and she could tell that Mrs. Bagot was not the type to resent her curiosity. In fact, she was only too anxious to give the answers.

“Well, that’s a difficult one,” Mrs. Bagot said. “She says ’er mother was Javanese and ’er father was a Dutchman. He might have been or he might not. There’s a lot of mixed blood in them sorts of people. Anyhow, whatever the combination, she’s been a good-looker.”

“I thought that too!” Carina exclaimed. “I can see that she has been beautiful even though she looks so ill.”

“Chest, ’eart, lungs – all gone,” Mrs. Bagot said almost with relish. “The doctor says there’s not a thing about ’er that’s not affected, rotten through and through. A few days is all ’e gives ’er and she knows it – God rest ’er when the time comes.”

“Ought we not we to send for Lord Lynche?”

“No, she won’t do that. Besides, there’s no sayin’ ’e would come. ’E left ’er, you see, nearly six years ago. Kicked ’er out, that’s what she said ’e done, after ’e had made ’er give up ’er dancin’ and told ’er that he loved ’er more than anythin’ else in the world. Blast men, they’re all the same!”

“Then, why – ?” Carina began.

“She wants ’er revenge,” Mrs. Bagot interposed, knowing what Carina was about to ask. “That’s why she ’as brought the child over ’ere. They ’ave been travellin’ for nearly nine months. She’d got enough money to get so far and then she’d dance or find some man who’d pay for ’er for the time bein’. And after that, she’d start off again. A real pilgrimage it’s been, that’s what I said to ’er, it’s a pilgrimage!”

“But – Lord Lynche – does he know about the child?”

“Not that I knows of,” Mrs. Bagot answered. “And I doubt if she wrote many letters to ’im. He was gone before it was born, you see. But she told me ’ow she worked for ’er baby. Nice little chap ’e is too.’E’s downstairs now playin’ with my cat.”