But before she could touch the earth again, the nearest shelf gave a low crack from the damp-swollen wall.
That was sufficient.
Elizabeth rose at once and went back to the ladder, clutching the coin in one hand and the lantern in the other. By the time she emerged into the cellar, her gown was filthy, one shoe was nearly black with river mud, and Susie looked as though she had aged five years in five minutes.
Elizabeth opened her hand.
The gold coin lay in her palm between them.
For several seconds neither woman spoke.
Then Susie whispered, “Good heavens.”
Elizabeth looked back toward the dark opening in the floor. “Yes,” she said softly. “I believe I have found something.”
The solemnity of the moment held for perhaps two seconds.
Then Susie let out a laugh that sounded almost hysterical, and Elizabeth, who had been holding herself together by sheer force since the rotten plank had given beneath her foot, began laughing as well. It was not precisely amusement. It was nerves, relief, terror, exhaustion, and the absurdity of standing in a cellar covered in mud with what appeared to be ancient gold in her hand while the house above them still needed linens sorted and supper planned.
“Oh, look at me,” Elizabeth said when she could speak again, glancing down at her ruined gown. “I have discovered treasure and destroyed a perfectly serviceable dress. Mama would find one of these events far more interesting than the other.”
Susie pressed one hand to her mouth, still half laughing and half horrified. “Miss Lizzy, I thought you were going to break your neck.”
“I very nearly broke only my shoe, which is not at all the same thing.” Elizabeth wiped the edge of the coin carefully against the least muddy portion of her sleeve, then looked back toward the opening. “There is more down there.”
Susie’s smile vanished. “No.”
Elizabeth had already taken one step toward the trap door, but Susie caught her arm with surprising strength. “No, Miss Lizzy. You were fortunate enough the first time.”
“But if there are more coins—”
“Then they will remain there,” Susie said firmly. Her face was still pale, but her voice had recovered its housekeeper’s authority. “Whatever it is, it has been beneath this house for goodness knows how long. It will still be there in an hour. There is no need to hurry yourself into a grave.”
Elizabeth looked longingly toward the opening, then down at the coin in her hand. Susie was right, which was the most aggravating sort of argument because it left no room for useful contradiction.
“I detest patience,” Elizabeth said at last.
“I had observed as much.”
“It is an overrated virtue.”
“Only by those who do not possess it.”
Elizabeth gave her a sidelong look. “You have been housekeeper for two months and already moralize like Mrs. Hill. It is a dreadful warning of what authority may do to a person.”
Susie might have answered, but at that moment the sound of the front door opening echoed faintly from above, followed almost immediately by Mr. Philips’s voice.
“Lizzy?”
Elizabeth turned toward the cellar stairs. “Down here!”
There was a brief silence, and then several sets of boots began clattering downward with far more haste than dignity. Mr. Philips appeared first, his usually composed face sharpened with alarm, John following close behind him and looking both guilty and breathless.
“What on earth has happened?” Mr. Philips demanded. “John came to tell me you had found some sort of hidden door. Lizzy, what have you done to yourself?”
Elizabeth looked down at her mud-streaked gown, filthy hem, and one blackened shoe. “I have made a discovery!”
“You look as though you were dragged through the Thames.”
