Page 78 of In Want of a Suspect

“Toward the back, I think,” Lizzie said. “We can go looking there next.”

“Priorities,” Marianne reminded them with a grunt as she leveled her weight onto the crowbar. The lid gave way with a loud squeak and all three ladies pressed close, eager for a good look.

“Careful of the nails,” Elinor warned as Marianne lifted the lid and Lizzie hoisted the candles, only to reveal...

“Cloth,” Marianne said dryly.

“All right,” Lizzie said. “So, he’s a dealer in wool. Well, we knew that. I mean, of course there is cloth here.”

“We don’t have time to open every crate,” Marianne said.

“Let’s keep looking,” Lizzie said, afraid that Marianne was right.

From there, they split up. Lizzie tried to focus on what she could see, making note of how many crates were stacked on the main floor, memorizing the painted labels on the sides of the crates, and noting their position. Toward the back of the storehouse, soot streaked the brick walls of the perimeter of the building, and tools and building supplies were stacked near a brand-new desk, table, and cabinet. It was a makeshift office, and Lizzie guessed that the builders hadn’t had time to erect walls and a door here yet. Marianne tried to open the cabinet, but it was locked, and there was nothing to find in the desk drawers. Elinor walked very carefully, almost catlike, around the perimeter of the storeroom, almost as if she were hoping to get a clear view of the entire operation.

It was when Elinor had disappeared from view and Lizzie was growing more and more frustrated that she heard what sounded like a faint crunching. Then Elinor’s voice called out in a loud whisper, “Here! I think I found something!”

Marianne and Lizzie both hurried toward her. Elinor was in the far corner of the storehouse, near a contraption that looked like a large box encased with ropes that hung from the ceiling. Lizzie lifted her candle and tried to look up to see where the ropes were attached, but her flame was too feeble.

“There’s a bit of broken glass back here,” Elinor said, drawing her attention to the back wall. “And see here, all the floorboards have been replaced? I think there might have been a wall concealing all of this at one time—do you see where there used to be studs here?”

“Scorch marks on the brick here, too,” Marianne added, looking at the back wall.

Elinor held up a shard of glass, and beneath the soot, it glinted in the candlelight.

“It looks like a bottle?” Lizzie asked, uncertain.

“Indeed,” Elinor agreed. “And there’s more.”

The ladies peered at a pile of rubbish that had been swept aside, beyond the scorch marks on the brick and the freshly replaced wooden floors. There were charred hunks of wood, a few broken bricks, and heaps of broken glass, all appearing to be from bottles. Some of it was burnt, but Marianne plucked one piece that wasn’t.

“This remind you of anything?” she asked them.

Lizzie stared at the broken bottle. “Well, a bottle, of course.”

“But what sort of bottle?” she asked.

Lizzie looked at the sisters. “A spirits bottle,” Elinor said.

“Oh.”

Marianne’s triumphant smile flashed bright in the weak light. “Exactly. What sort of storehouse of linen and broadcloth would have this much broken glass?”

“It’s not totally unreasonable to findsomebroken glass,” Lizzie said, but her heart was beginning to thump with excitement. “In fact, anyone could argue that a group of working men kept a store of spirits for after the workday. Perhaps not the most prudent move, but hardly illegal.”

Marianne raised the shard to her nose and snuffed. “Spirits for certain. But I think... maybe brandy?”

“How can you tell?”

“Marianne has a very keen sense of smell,” Elinor explained, as though it pained her.

“And it’s saved my life before, thank you!” Marianne looked about. “I am fairly certain that this is a brandy bottle. Good brandy, too. Now tell me, why would a storehouse keep a large collection of fine brandy? Not for their day laborers.”

“Perhaps they’re distilling it?” Lizzie suggested. She couldn’t believe that she’d been wrong and there was no evidence of graphite here. What if they’d taken this terrible risk of breaking in for nothing?

“I don’t see a distillery,” Elinor whispered. “But I think there’s something upstairs.”

“Why do you say that?”