“Yes, perhaps they will,” I answered vaguely.
Though I was sympathetic to Marena’s situation, I was very much preoccupied with my own family difficulties.
“… and with Marena’s new position at the inn, it’s been easier for her to stay here, but still…”
I nodded, but my thoughts had shifted back to Milo. I wondered if he was on the train yet. Grimes had reached Milo and confirmed that he would arrive home that evening. It had occurred to me more than once that I ought to have rung up Milo myself, but I didn’t want to talk to him about the matter over the telephone.
As my thoughts switched to Milo, so, it seemed, did Mrs. Busby’s.
“And what of Mr. Ames?” she asked. “How is he feeling about the arrival of the baby?”
She had always been very careful when she spoke to me about Milo, tiptoeing around mentions of him as someone might of a person with some dreadful disease. Sin being the prevailing ailment in his case.
“I think he’s very much looking forward to it,” I said.
“I’m glad. I saw him in the village this morning, but it was from a distance, and I didn’t have the chance to speak with him.”
Milo had been in London for two days, so it must have been another morning, but I didn’t bother to correct her. My mind was still preoccupied by her question and my answer to it. Milo had given every indication that he was ready to be a father.
Unless, that is, he had married another woman in Brighton.
* * *
I AT LAST bid Mrs. Busby farewell and returned to Thornecrest where I ate dinner alone and then went to my room to read, studiously avoiding looking at the clock.
I tried not to worry about the situation with Imogen, but it was very hard not to. The truth of it was, Milo and I had had a somewhat rocky relationship for much of our marriage. It was only in the past two years that things had begun to grow better between us. While I really didn’t believe that he would have committed bigamy, I couldn’t help but feel that there was something amiss here, for I couldn’t quite discount Imogen’s teary-eyed sincerity.
He arrived home quite late. I was sitting in our bedroom, my eyes trained on the same page of a book that they had been rereading for ten minutes.
“Hello, darling,” he said, his gaze sweeping over me in that way he had of late of assessing my condition whenever he saw me. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. That is … I’m not quite sure.”
“Do you feel unwell?”
“No, no. I’m quite well.”
“Grimes said that you weren’t ill, but I was concerned, just the same.”
Though perhaps it wasn’t quite nice of me, I had been counting on that reaction to a certain extent. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve taken his time about coming home; he certainly would’ve waited for the morning train rather than returning at this hour.
“I’m sorry if I worried you,” I said, a tad facetiously.
“Well, I’m glad to be home anyway. The flat always seems so empty without you.”
He came and sat down on the bed, pulling at his necktie with a sigh. “So what was the reason for the summons? Did you miss me?”
“You didn’t happen to marry another woman in January, did you?” I asked lightly.
He turned to look over his shoulder at me. “I beg your pardon?”
I gave him the faintest smile. “It’s a simple enough question.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
I tried to gauge his reaction, to see if there was anything telling in it. There wasn’t the faintest glimmer of guilt or even unease in his bright blue eyes, but I knew from experience that this was not conclusive proof of innocence.
I continued in a casual tone. “A very pretty young woman named Imogen Prescott came here today and said she married you three months ago in Brighton.”
He laughed.
I searched his face, still trying to detect any sign of deception. It was very difficult to tell with Milo, for he was excellent at hiding his thoughts and, as a general rule, suffered little remorse for his misdeeds. But I was fairly certain that he was genuinely amused at the suggestion, and a bit of the weight I had felt on my chest since this afternoon seemed to lift.
Since I had said nothing, he seemed to realize that I was in earnest, and his brows rose. “You’re serious.”
“Quite serious. She identified a photograph of you.”
His answer was swift and unequivocal. “Then she’s lying.”
“You’re quite sure?”
He looked at me as though I had said something very silly indeed. “Yes, darling. I’m quite sure I did not marry a young woman in Brighton in January.”
I let out a little sigh. “I had rather hoped you’d say that.”
“You don’t mean to say you believed her?”
“I didn’t know what to believe,” I admitted. “It didn’t seem likely to me, but she was very convincing.”
“Whatever she was, you ought to have known better than to think I would commit bigamy, of all things. One wife is more than enough to contend with.”
I gave a little laugh. “Somehow I thought you might consider it from that angle.”
“And, of course, I wouldn’t want another wife when I’ve got you,” he added belatedly.
“Oh, how you flatter me.”
“What else did this young woman have to say?”
I related to him the details of Imogen’s visit. He listened with his usual unreadable expression; nothing ever really shocked him.
“I suppose someone’s been using your name,” I said when I had finished.
“That does seem a possible explanation, though I don’t know why anyone would want to go to all that trouble.”
“Obviously someone was toying with that girl.” I felt a surge of indignation. “They gave her a false name, convinced her that they were married, and now she’s been … compromised.”
“It seems a bit far-fetched. It’s more likely that it’s some sort of ruse. It sounds as though she came here hoping to get money out of you. Perhaps she thought you’d pay her to go away without ever saying anything to me.”
“The thought had occurred to me,” I admitted. “But there was something very genuine about her. She doesn’t seem to be that sort of person. Once you’ve met her, you’ll see what I mean.”
“Oh, I doubt very much that I’ll ever meet her. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if she has mysteriously disappeared from the inn by tomorrow. She’s probably already back in London by now.” He reached across the bed and patted my leg before rising. “She may have looked young and innocent, but there are a lot of excellent liars in the world, my sweet.”
He went then to bathe and dress for bed, and I went back to my book. I found, however, that I still couldn’t seem to concentrate.
I had the uneasy sensation that there was trouble on the horizon.
3
THOUGH I KNEW it would be best to straighten things out as soon as possible, I put off ringing the inn for Imogen the next morning. Perhaps I was not quite ready for the emotional upheaval I knew it was likely to cause.