The messenger, so cowardly that he had likely dropped it in his hasty retreat, abandoned all hope of delivering it to its recipient. He’d looked for the note or letter that had to have gone with it but hadn’t found anything. He had to admit, he’d been too exhausted to search properly that night.
A fly buzzed around the freshly baked honey bread, irritating Christopher. He swung his hand across the table to chase it away just as his brother, Henry, stepped through the door.
“Good morning, oh hero of the streets of London.”
Christopher gave his brother a weak smile and nodded toward the empty chair.
“Join me, will you?”
“Don’t mind if I do. It appears all this delicious food shall go to waste if I do not. Has your appetite deserted you, brother?” Henry took a seat and immediately set about cutting a large slice of honey bread from the loaf. He smeared it with butter and a generous helping of elderberry jam and took a bite.
I have never known one with such an appetite who remained so trim of figure.
“Have you decided what to do about that?” he nodded toward the necklace on the table.
Christopher shrugged his shoulders and winced. With his left hand he rubbed his right shoulder.
“Still aches? Perhaps you should have seen the physician after all,” his brother suggested before biting into an apple.
“It is nothing. I’ve had worse just falling off a horse. As will you if you decided to go in the military.”
Being the younger of two, there were no lands that awaited Henry and the young man had to make a life for himself. Christopher knew that he had his heart set on joining the military. A fine option for a young man, and with the dark days of the Napoleonic Wars behind them, a far less worrying one.
Yet, Christopher knew that his brother had been delaying his decision to join in order to help Christopher achieve his quest to rebuild their fortunes.
Henry held out his hand and bent his index finger, requesting the item. He dropped it into his brother’s hand and finally turned his attention to the honey bread on his plate.
“To my Darling Daughter, my Beautiful Rose. Your Loving Father.” Henry read the inscription out loud, his soft voice full of wonder. “Not much of a clue at all.”
Christopher crossed his legs.
“No, not at all. I have spread word at Parliament to see if anyone was in expectation of a messenger, but no results thus far.”
Henry frowned. “Why are you so determined to find the rightful owner? Judging by the material, the father is rather wealthy and can easily replace the item for his daughter.”
It was true, the chain itself was made of gold. The pendant, rectangular and with smooth edges, appeared older. The front contained a painting of three roses, intertwined to show one stem. Unusual.
“The father took great pains to create this. Surely it is important to him. And to his daughter.” He paused and locked eyes with his brother. “Imagine if Mother’s handkerchief had been lost.”
Henry’s green eyes darkened, and he dropped the apple he’d been eating on the table with a thud.
“I do not like when you invoke Mother.”
Christopher shrugged. “Like it, don’t like it. It is the same. Now. I shall go out and take a walk around Half Moon Street and the area, perhaps the letter which surely accompanied this pendant can still be located. Will you accompany me?”
Henry nodded. “The street sweepers are likely to have got to it, if it was ever there, but certainly. But only if a visit to Brook’s is in the cards.”
Christopher groaned. “Brook’s is for the Whigs. We’re Tories. White’s it is, or nothing.”
The brothers rose. “We are only Tories because Father was and Uncle Nestor is. We might make up our own minds as to what we believe in. Besides. Brook’s has much better wine than White’s.”
They made their way toward to their chambers to ready themselves for the ride just as Uncle Nestor’s voice could be heard.
“As long as we have to share Uncle Nestor’s house, you would do well not to mention Brook’s again,” Christopher said with a grin.
Henry rolled his eyes and a moment later, they parted ways.
* * *
