“No, no—it can’t be. And yet—and yet, there is a look. My father’s—son?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you known this?”

“Since Lady Alicia died.”

“My grandmother knew?”

“Everything.”

“Is there evidence to support this—a—affirmation?”

Fishpingle put his hand into his pocket and produced a bundle of letters.

“These.”

He moved to the desk and handed them to the Squire, continuing in the same quiet voice: