Page 60 of In Want of a Suspect

“That’s just it... it was practically empty.”

Lizzie let that news sink in. “But what does that mean?”

“It means someone has stolen it,” Darcy said darkly. “Or misplaced it.”

“But why would anyone at Pemberley have reason to take the file? This isn’t a Pemberley case—it’s our case!”

Darcy shook his head, and Lizzie had a sense that there was more he wasn’t sharing. But before she could press him on that, Elinor asked, “I presume you brought this brick for me to analyze?”

“Yes, please.” Lizzie turned her attention to the brick. “What is the message written in?

“Hmm, it could be a few things,” Elinor said, removing a pair of spectacles from her apron pocket. “Come on back.”

They followed her through a doorway leading to the back of the shop, which turned out to be Elinor’s workroom. Stepping through the doorway felt like being transported into another world, far from the bustling streets outside. The space felt like a combination of cozy parlor and laboratory, with an overstuffed couch and shelves of books on one end, and a stove, worktable,and cabinets and shelves stuffed full of glass beakers, jars, and various pots on the other. Margaret was slumped on the couch but perked up when Elinor came bustling in.

“It looks like soot,” Marianne said, peering over her sister’s shoulder.

“I don’t think so,” Elinor said. She picked up a half-burned log next to the stove and a metal instrument. She scraped a bit of the blackened end of the log into a small piece of scrap paper. “This is soot. It flakes easily, see?” It spread like fine dust.

She turned to the substance on the brick and repeated her actions on the dark line of theT. The substance didn’t flake like the soot had, although it did smear against the paper in greasy streaks. “And this... it’s definitely not soot.”

“Elinor... could it be graphite?” Lizzie had been up half the night, thinking about Mr. Hughes and his graphite mines.

“Oh! Like from a pencil?”

“Is that what pencils are made out of?” Lizzie asked.

“Yes, fine pencils—they’re very expensive. But let me run a few tests....” Elinor turned to her stove, muttering to herself.

“Lizzie,” Darcy said apprehensively. “Why do you think it’s graphite?”

“Because Mr. Hughes owns a graphite mine,” Lizzie said. “And last night at dinner, I learned that it is a highly valuable resource, guarded closely by the Crown, and it is a felony to possess it unlawfully.”

Darcy stared at her, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry—you found this out over dinner?”

“Yes, you can imagine how pleased my mother was about our choice of conversation. But Darcy—think about it. Mr. Hughes allegedly has a graphite mine that’s run dry. And we suspect that something suspicious is being run out of the Mullins Brothers storehouse. What if—”

“They were smuggling graphite,” Darcy finished. He was quiet as her absorbed this information. “But who set the fire? And who killed Leticia?”

“I don’t know, but it seems that we’ve gone from a dearth of suspects to a good many, except that there is no one clue that links them definitively to the crime.”

The party was silent as they pondered this, and then Marianne said, “You know what this calls for?”

“What?” Lizzie asked.

“A slate!” Marianne rustled through a pile of papers, books, and other miscellaneous items on a desk, and returned with a slate and a nub of chalk in hand. “When I am stuck, I write things down on a slate. It helps me to be able to puzzle through things more easily.”

“Also, Elinor said that she was running through the paper budget too quickly,” Margaret added.

“Shut up, you,” Marianne said fondly. “You go through more paper than any of us.”

Lizzie had not used a slate since she was small and learning her numbers, but she was willing to give anything a try. “All right, where do you want to start?”

“Your suspects,” Marianne said, laying the slate down on the table between them.

“Leticia Cavendish, Jack Mullins, Richard Hughes, and”—Lizzie looked at Darcy—“Josette Beaufort?”

He nodded, although he didn’t look happy about it.