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“And they’re of comparable social background, say, middle class?”

Montagu nodded.

“That fits,” he said.

“Is there any particular time frame for these letters?” the Duchess said.

Montagu looked to Niven and Fleming for their thoughts.

“They should be relatively fresh,” Niven said. “They’re newly engaged, and have rushed to it because of the war.”

“That could be one theme in the letters,” Fleming added, “where friends or relatives are cautious of a war wedding.”

Niven nodded. “But as to timing, I would say no older than two months. The Seraph sets sail—”

“April nineteenth,” Montagu provided. “Plan is to put Major Martin in the water on April thirtieth.”

“So taking that into consideration,” Niven said, “we must backdate our letters accordingly. Say, nothing before March first.”

“Shouldn’t these letters of hers be very new?” the Duchess said. “Maybe written at her most anxious moments, right before he leaves?”

All the men smiled at once.

“That kind of lively thought, my dear,” Niven said, “is why we came here.”

The Duchess smiled softly.

Montagu reached down and opened the big box that was under the table. He pulled some blank sheets of typing paper and two pencils from the box and gave them to the Duchess and Charity.

“Would you please write your name on the sheet?”

They looked curious at the request but went along with it.

Montagu took the sheets, quickly reviewed them, then passed them to Fleming. They then made their way around the table.

“The letters from the girlfriend should be handwritten,” Montagu explained. “And, no offense, Charity, but, as I expected, the Duchess has the natural British lettering necessary.”

“That’s understandable,” Charity said, her tone agreeable.

Montagu then reached into the box and produced some off-white stationery with letterhead in black ink that read THE MANOR HOUSE, OGBOURNE ST. GEORGE, MARLBOROUGH, WILTSHIRE.

“This is from a nice little getaway where I once stayed,” Montagu explained. “When I was there, I noticed a couple of mothers and daughters enjoying the weekend. In my mind’s eye, I could see Major Martin’s fiancée—”

“She doesn’t have a name!” Niven interrupted. “Let’s call her…oh, Pamela!”

“I could see Major Martin’s Pam,” Montagu went on, accepting the name without discussion, “there with her mother, discussing the pending marriage.”

Charity nodded. “With her mother and sister.”

?

??Even better,” Montagu said, sliding the letterhead to the Duchess.

“The Duchess’s lively thought just now about the letter needing to be anxious proves, I think, that it shouldn’t be drafted,” Montagu said. “It should be written at once, from the heart.”

“I agree,” Fleming said, nodding.

The Duchess’s eyes went up. “Well, that certainly puts one on the spot!”