Gabriel sighed and went off to fill in the paperwork, which Lucy had guessed would be extensive. It was an hour later that she finally emerged into the sunshine with the key properly wrapped in approved museum packaging and boxed up, and papers signed in triplicate. She could only be grateful that Hazel at Chastleton had arranged insurance.

Finn was waiting for her outside in the Land Rover.

“Thanks so much for dropping everything to come with me,” Lucy said, leaning in for a kiss. “It feels important that you should be there.”

“No problem,” Finn said. “I’m thrilled to hear Verity’s back, by the way,” he added. “It’ll be great to see her and there’s so much I want to discuss with her.”

“She’s sleeping off some of the jet lag now,” Lucy said, “but she mentioned coming up to the cottage to chat to you and Johnny later, if that’s okay.”

Chastleton, when they reached it forty-five minutes later, was basking in the sunshine like an elegant cat. “What a stunning house,” Finn said, staring. “I love the way they’ve recreated the gardens as well.”

“It’s lovely to see you again.” Hazel, the curator, was waiting at the door and shook Lucy’s hand warmly. “And to meet you, Finn.” Her smile dimmed. “I was very sorry to hear about your brother. Such a tragic accident and a great loss. He sounded like a tremendous young man.”

“He was, thank you,” Finn said, giving her his rare, heart-shaking smile. He squeezed Lucy’s hand.

Hazel gestured to them to precede her into the Chastleton library. The house was closed to the public that day; a smell of old dust and beeswax polish permeated the air and without the noise of visitors it felt shuttered and too silent, as though all the ghosts of the past four hundred years might step out of the paneling at any moment.

“It blows my mind that this house was built by a man who knew Robert Catesby,” Lucy said, looking around, “and we’re standing here now four hundred years later.”

Hazel smiled. “I feel like that every day,” she said. “All those layers of the past—they are almost tangible in a place like this.” She gestured to a long wooden table that was covered in documents. A small wooden box stood in the middle. It didn’t look much like the box Lucy had seen Catherine holding. The wood looked dull and battered, all polish and shine lost. The edges were splintered a little with age and wear.

Hazel saw Lucy looking at it. “I’m sorry it doesn’t look like much,” she said, almost apologetically. “It was deprioritized for restoration because we couldn’t find the key and there were so many other items in need of work. But I rather liked it so I displayed it discreetly in a corner of the nursery. I’m surprised you noticed it actually,” she added. “It’s not very eye-catching.”

“That’s probably why it took me ages to remember where I’d seen it,” Lucy said.