Bennet took a long draught of his pipe and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the late autumn sun on his face. He had found a sunny corner of the kitchen garden to take his ease, and he considered that life had definitely taken a turn for the better.
‘Mr. Bennet.’
He opened his eyes. Peter Thompson stood in front him, holding a battered tin box out before him.
‘What’cha got there, boy?’
Peter swallowed. ‘The men who was tearing down the stables found it hidden behind a loose brick in a wall,’ he said. ‘I think it was Amy’s. I used to see her with it when she thought no one was looking.’
Bennet considered the object, a sad remnant of the girl’s life.
‘Nice it was found,’ he said.
Peter held it out. ‘I want you to take it to his lordship,’ he said. ‘There’s things in there. I don’t know what they are, but he will.’
‘What sort of things?’
Peter just shook his head and shoved it at Bennet before turning on his heels and running away.
Bennet looked at the object on his lap and opened the lid. The contents looked like the sort of detritus he would expect of a young girl’s life: ribbons, dried flowers, the sort of cheap trinkets pedlars at a fair would sell and, hidden in a corner, a small, apparently insignificant object.
Bennet fished it out and held it up.
He let out a low whistle.
Sebastian pouredtwo glasses of French brandy and handed one to Harry. Harry swirled the liquid and took an appreciative sniff of the fumes that rose from the glass.
‘When’s the wedding?’ he enquired.
‘March,’ Sebastian said.
Harry cocked an eyebrow. ‘Have to say, old chap, I’m a bit hurt you haven’t asked me to stand by you.’
Sebastian set his glass down. ‘I have my reasons.’
Harry frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
Sebastian crossed to his desk and opened the cigar box that stood on the table. He stood looking down at the little silver button… an officer’s button from the 40th Regiment of Foot—the number 40 encircled by a laurel wreath.
He handed it to Harry.
Harry tossed it in his hand. ‘Collecting buttons from the old regiment, Alder?’
‘So you recognise it, Harry?’
‘Of course I do. It’s an officer’s button from the Fortieth. Hanging on to it for sentimental reasons, Alder?’
‘It’s not mine. It was found in a box, hidden behind a brick in the old stables.’
Harry stiffened and set the button back on the table, recoiling from it.
Sebastian continued. ‘The box belonged to a housemaid here at Brantstone, Amy Thompson. Did you know her, Dempster?’
The faintest hesitation gave lie to the words that followed. ‘How the hell would I know a housemaid from Brantstone?’
‘Perhaps you can tell me? Did she accompany her father over to Fairchild Hall? Did you see her in the village? Did you meet her at Brantstone?’
Harry picked up the button, turning it by its shank. His shoulders sagged and he shook his head.
