She added up all the time they’d actually spent together as a married couple.

Somewhere between five and six months. Out of five years.

Barely any time at all, when you get right down to it. She had mentioned that to Dr. Milford, and he had shaken his head in sympathy.

“The pity of it is, you weren’t together long enough to have a normal human experience,” he pointed out. “He died before you learned all of his flaws, so he’s a paragon forever. That may be what’s holding you back from starting over again.”

“The bar’s set too high?”

“Perhaps.”

The telephone jangled, startling her out of her misery.

“The Right Sort Marriage Bureau,” she said. “Mrs. Bainbridge speaking.”

“I’m calling for Oona Travis or Catherine Prescott,” said a man’s voice.

Her alarms went off. Patience hadn’t said anything about anyone else knowing those names.

“I am afraid you have the wrong number,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

She hung up. A moment later, it rang again. She answered after the first ring.

“Sorry, Gwen,” said Lady Matheson. “A tiny little test. You passed.”

“Really, Patience, I should think we’re beyond these games by now.”

“Is Iris with you?”

“No. She’s pursuing a lead. She should be back by lunch.”

“A lead? That sounds interesting. Look, I hate to put you on the spot, but have you come up with anything by now?”

“A theory,” said Gwen reluctantly. “A plausible possibility for what your letter-writer may be trying to do.”

“Tell me,” said Lady Matheson.

Gwen laid out the essentials. When she was done, there was silence on the other end of the line that lasted for a while.

“I may have to put you in my book under ‘Prophetess’ after this,” said Lady Matheson finally.

“What happened?” asked Gwen. “Has there been another letter?”

“This morning,” said Lady Matheson. “It contains demands and instructions. And there was a second letter with it. An older one, dated from 1919. Addressed to Princess Alice.”

“My God,” said Gwen, her heart racing. “Is it authentic?”

“Impossible to say. It was signed with only a single initial, and we have no others to which to compare it.”

“And the demands? The instructions?”

“Have you any appointments this afternoon?”

“None.”

“No one looks for wedded bliss on a Friday afternoon,” Lady Matheson said, sighing. “Good. Clear your decks from two thirty on. We’re coming over.”

She hung up.

Gwen sat frozen, the handset still in her hand, then slowly took a pen and crossed out the afternoon slots in their appointment book. Then, before she could forget, she wrote “HAMLEYS” in her lunch break.

Iris glanced at her watch. She had been maintaining her vigil for nearly an hour. Whenever an auto approached, she walked down the street until it passed, then returned to the chestnut tree that shielded her from view of the house. A woman walking an Airedale terrier looked at her curiously, the dog even more so, but Iris squatted down and made cooing noises as she rubbed his head, and they parted without aroused suspicions.