Sheridan nodded. “Ever since I learned of the prince as a lad. Who wouldn’t? I mean, a pirate prince! For a relative! I’ve made no secret of it. That is, I’m always on the hunt for more information. In fact—don’t you remember, Telly? I contacted the British Museum years ago, asking if they had anything in their archives that would be of interest. Inspired, actually . . .” He cleared his throat and stole a glance at Mabena, of all people. “Well, when you hired Moon and said she was from the Scillies, it stirred the memory, you know. Of Prince Rupert. That was when I asked the museum for any information.”

Bram grunted. “And offered to fund any promising ventures, no doubt.”

“Well, archaeologists and historians need to eat, you know. Funding is required.” Sheridan faced Beth again. “It was, oh, two or three months ago that Lord Scofield got in touch. Said—what were his exact words? Oh, never mind. But the gist was that he’d found a lead. You, Miss Tremayne. I expect, anyway. He didn’t give me your full name, of course. Just said a friend of his daughter’s named Elizabeth—that would be Lady Emily. That she—you, I mean—was from the Scillies and had happened upon something.”

Beth’s fingers were white around the chair back, and her cheeks ashen too. “You. You’re the one they sold it to. Give it back! I never gave them permission to sell it.”

Sheridan seemed to know exactly what she was referring to—which was more than Libby could say. He lifted his chin, eyes flashing. “I bought it. It’s mine.”

“It was no better than stolen goods! I asked them to authenticate it as his crest, not to sell it!”

“Wait.” Oliver held up a hand, his brows knit. “What exactly is it?”

Beth turned to him. “The old trinket box that Mother gave me, with the gold-leaf coat of arms embossed on it—you remember it, don’t you? She said it was passed down through the family, left with some great-great-grandmother when her true love, a nobleman, left and went to sea. The Scofields asked me to keep an eye out for anything with Prince Rupert’s coat of arms on it, and they sent a drawing of it. I recognized it at once and sent them the box—to look at, not to sell.” Here she glared at Sheridan again. “Which I made perfectly clear.”

Libby pressed her lips together. Was that the drawing Darling had found under her bed? She’d not given it a moment’s thought since that night.

Sheridan folded his arms over his chest. “It wasn’t made clear to me. I paid good money—”

“Irrelevant! It was not theirs to sell. And they never even paid me—”

“Actually.” Oliver cleared his throat. “They sent payment last week.”

“Then return it to his lordship, so that he has no argument.”