It seemed to me that she flushed slightly, and she dropped her gaze. “I … I have one, but I left it in London. I didn’t … foresee needing it.”
“Of course. Well, I’m certain there must be some explanation for all of this. Rest assured, we shall get it sorted out in no time.”
“Yes, I … thank you, Mrs.… Mrs.…” She couldn’t quite bring herself to call me by the name she had thought now belonged to her.
“Why don’t you call me Amory,” I said. “It will make things easier.”
She drew in a relieved breath. “And please call me Imogen.”
“Very well. Now that that’s settled, perhaps we ought to come up with some sort of plan. The first thing we need to do, of course, is speak to Milo about all of this. He’s in London now, but I should be able to contact him and tell him to come home.”
She looked aghast at the suggestion. Her face grew a shade paler before my eyes. “Perhaps … perhaps it would be better if you were to speak to him without me.”
I could see that she didn’t relish the idea of some kind of dramatic scene. Despite my suggestion she had been deceived, she still thought we were talking about the same man. The only way to rectify that would be to have her meet Milo. I felt bad that Imogen was soon to learn she had been led astray by some rotten imposter.
“I can certainly speak to him alone first,” I said. “But I think you’ll find that my husband is not the man you met. What you have told me is a very serious matter. I must believe that there has been some kind of mistake, that someone is claiming to be Mr. Ames for some unknown purpose.”
She nodded, though I could see that there was some little hint of doubt in her clear blue eyes.
An idea struck me suddenly. She might not have a photograph, but I did. I got up and crossed to the fireplace. There was a photograph of Milo and me there in a small gilt frame. We could clear up at least the question of his identity immediately.
I picked it up and walked to her. I expected, as I handed it to her, to see a look of confusion cross her face. But, instead, she looked up at me, her expression both miserable and pitying. “Yes. That’s him.”
2
I FELT A little surge of surprise followed by a sinking feeling in my stomach. I had been so sure this was all some sort of mistake, a case of stolen identity or some such thing. But it seemed rather improbable that someone might have stolen both Milo’s name and his face.
There was, of course, the possibility that this young woman was operating some sort of scheme. Perhaps she had seen our picture in the gossip columns, read of our past marriage troubles, and assumed that I would pay her off to end the matter. It seemed the only possible solution.
But I looked at her, and, try as I might, I could not bring myself to believe that there was anything sinister in her motivations. One could feign sorrow and distress and even tears, but there was something in her whole attitude that made me believe that, whatever the true situation, she had been deeply affected by the experience.
Inwardly, I sighed. What a mess all of this was. I needed Milo to come home at once.
Until then, there was nothing that could be done. Although, I supposed I could at least help this young woman in the meantime.
“Where are you staying, dear?” I asked.
“I … I hadn’t thought about it.”
I realized belatedly that she had no doubt intended to stay here when she met up with her erstwhile husband. How very awkward this was becoming.
“You must stay here,” I offered, though some part of me was very much hoping she would decline. Whatever the truth behind this situation was, things were bound to get even more uncomfortable than they were now. Granted, Thornecrest was large enough to accommodate a great many people without pushing them into one another’s company, but the fact remained that I was not particularly looking forward to playing hostess under the circumstances.
“Oh, no!” she said quickly. “I couldn’t. Is there, perhaps, a hotel nearby?”
“There’s an inn in the village, the Primrose Inn. And there’s an elderly lady, Mrs. Cotton, who lives in the blue house next to the apothecary shop. She offers short-term room and board.” I rattled off the list of available lodgings a bit too quickly, perhaps, but I was very much relieved. I liked to consider myself a hospitable woman, but there were limits, after all.
“That will do nicely. Until … until things are resolved, I’ll register under my own name: Prescott.”
This was another relief. What a thoughtful girl. I could only imagine the talk that would spread amongst the villagers if she were to register as Mrs. Milo Ames.
“I’ll have my driver take you there,” I offered.
“Oh, no. I can walk.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“Yes. I … I need some time to think.”
I imagined that both of us would be doing a good deal of thinking over the next few days.
“I’ll ring you when Milo gets back.”
She nodded, her expression miserable. “You’ve been very kind. I’m so sorry to have come here and caused so much trouble.”
“You haven’t caused any trouble,” I assured her, though we both knew that this wasn’t precisely the truth.
“I … I just can’t understand it,” she said softly.
“I know, dear. But don’t worry. We’ll sort it all out.”
She took her leave then, and I rang for Grimes.
“Yes, madam?” he asked when he arrived in the doorway. I was certain that he must be curious about my encounter with the other Mrs. Milo Ames, but his expression gave nothing away.
“Will you please see if you can locate Mr. Ames and tell him to come home as soon as possible?”
* * *
THE WAIT FOR Milo’s return would no doubt be a long one, so I was glad that I had an afternoon engagement to keep me occupied. The Springtide Festival was to be held next weekend, and I was a member of the committee of ladies who were overseeing the preparations.
The annual village event was held on the grounds of Bedford Priory, the home of Lady Alma Bedford, one of our local eccentrics. The youngest child of the Earl of Endsley, she had purchased and restored the Priory, the property of which abutted Thornecrest, nearly thirty years ago, after her father’s death. Now nearing fifty, she was a striking woman with strong features, short iron-gray hair, and sharp, dark eyes. She had a direct but not unfriendly manner and spent all her time and a good deal of her fortune on her stables.
If there was anyone in Kent who was as enthusiastic about horses as Milo, it was Lady Alma. She had never married but referred to her horses as her children. She seldom wore anything other than riding clothes and was often seen galloping about the countryside in all manner of inclement weather.
The first festival, a small gathering to celebrate the beginning of warmer weather with friends, food, and horse racing, had been her idea. With the initial backing of her wealth and her forceful personality, it had occurred annually ever since, growing in size and significance. We now had a fully formed committee with an allotment of local charitable funds to support the enterprise.
The Springtide Festival was a source of great excitement and pleasure in Allingcross, a chance for the locals to pit their best horses against one another in a race and hedge-jumping course, to eat and be merry, and to be outdoors and enjoy the sunshine now that winter was passing.