The room was as dark as it was dingy. He withdrew the candle and flint he had retrieved from Willard a short while before and lit it, giving the room a rather eerie glow. Made more so by what it revealed.

There was only one thing in the room. One item that sat in the middle of the narrow chamber. A trunk. The trunk.

The last remnants of his brother’s most treasured items. Reynolds had packed it up after Solomon’s demise, assuring Jasper that he would be extra careful with any very personal items or those that had value. He’d tried to pass a few of the heirlooms along, but Jasper hadn’t taken any. He didn’t want anything to do with those things.

He still didn’t and the sight of that trunk in the middle of the room, rather like a coffin arranged for viewing in a rotunda, turned his stomach.

He shook his head as he broke his gaze from the trunk. He looked around the room a bit more. “My brother locked me up here once,” he mused, thoughts going back to his childhood. “I was five and desperately afraid of the dark. He was eleven and thought it was the best joke. I could hear him laughing as he walked away while I screamed. One of the servants found me a few hours later, huddled in the dark. Was it this room? Perhaps another—they look very much alike.”

Thomasina bent her head. “I’m so sorry, Jasper.”

He shrugged, though the memory meant more than he decided to let on to her. She knew it, of course. That was what she did…knew things. Even things he didn’t want to share.

No wonder he loved her. No wonder the idea of that love was so…troubling.

“Let’s get it over with, shall we?” he said, moving a step toward the trunk. He stopped, still three feet away. He stared again at the old, battered box, sealed shut by two rickety buckles that held heavy leather straps around the circumference of the trunk.

She tilted her head, watching him, then Thomasina stepped forward. Her tone was falsely bright as she knelt before the suitcase. “Why don’t I open it and hold up each item for you to access? That seems a better use of my hands than of yours.”

He grunted his acquiescence because he could find no other words. He held his breath as her delicate fingers loosened the stiff leather straps, sliding them through the buckles one by one and finally lifting the trunk lid.

It creaked like the door had, signifying the lifetime this case had been here. Or was it only a year? It felt like a lifetime. Everything always felt like a lifetime when it came to memories of his brother.

She reached into the trunk and withdrew the first thing she found. He flinched, turning his head.

“My brother’s pocket watch,” he said, and when he shut his eyes, he could see the intricately etched gold case and the carefully built face of the watch. Even though it wasn’t wound, he could hear the echo of its tick as the seconds passed by.