“Inches make all the difference, you know.” A clod of earth flew up from where Sheridan’s voice came. “Off by one and you find nothing.”

Hours? Days? Libby reached into the sack and pulled out a chocolate. “We don’t have that long.”

“We’ll have as long as we need.” Oliver accepted a chocolate, too, and turned to the sea. “The Lord didn’t bring us all together just so that we’d fail.”

Bram lifted a sardonic brow. “Does he always speak so?”

Libby smiled. “Yes.”

“And you don’t find it off-putting? Or ridiculous?”

“Actually, no. I find it . . . encouraging. And something to emulate.”

She was rewarded with Oliver shooting her a smile.

“There’s something here!” Beth’s voice came more quietly than Libby would have expected, almost reverently.

“Probably a stone.” Bram shook the bag of chocolates and peered inside. He took a full minute, sometimes, picking the perfect one. Though what made one perfect in that moment, she couldn’t say, since he’d end up devouring them all within an hour, each selected with the same ridiculous care.

“Wood, actually.”

Sheridan’s clarification didn’t stir Bram from his study. “An old timber, then. Careful you don’t bring some ancient foundation caving in around you, prodding at its support as you probably are.”

“It isn’t a timber. The size of the planks is all wrong,” Beth said.

Libby moved closer, her curiosity outweighing any Bram-inspired doubt that they could have possibly found something so quickly.

They’d dug down only about a foot, and the hole was only a few inches wide. Given how they crowded the hole, she couldn’t see much past them, but they were working rather efficiently now—Sheridan loosening the sod with a practiced shovel, picking it up like a square of green carpet, Beth going in underneath and moving the dirt into a neat pile. Soon, enough was visible that Libby could see what Beth had meant about the plank size. This was definitely no ancient timber—it was slender planking, thin, with the wood rotted by soil and moisture enough that the shovels could probably crack it away.

“Look.” Beth breathed the word with awe and rocked back onto her knees so they could peer over her shoulder.

It looked like a crate. One with Mucknell branded across the top.

Libby gripped Oliver’s arm. “It’s actually there. Right there.”

Bram, chocolate now in his mouth, moved to her other side. “Probably filled with nails. Lead shot. Moldy clothing—”

“Do shut up, Telly.” Sheridan scraped more dirt away. “Could break though. If we try to pull it out, I mean. We’d have to excavate all around it. Or . . .” He grinned over at Beth. “Ladies first?”