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when a ghostly presence comes each night to my work basket and works on my embroidery – my very own embroidery – while Delaford Park lies in slumber.’
    Mrs Ferrars stiffened slightly. ‘Lies in slumber,’ had sealed her opinion of Mrs Worthing.
    ‘Only think of it, Elinor,’ said Mrs Brandon, helping herself to a Banbury cake behind their guest’s back. ‘All this time I have been living in a haunted mansion. I’m sure I shall never sleep again at the thought of something so horrid. And to think that Colonel Brandon never told me.’
    Mrs Ferrars secretly suspected there was nothing her sister would like more than to live in a haunted mansion, but now was not the time to mention it.
    ‘Oh come, Marianne,’ she said. ‘Colonel Brandon has enough ghosts in his past without bringing them into his house. Have you questioned the other house guests? The servants?’
    ‘Of course,’ Mrs Brandon eyed the last remaining cake with longing. ‘And they all say the same thing. No one has seen or heard anything. Only the Misses Hart do say they can feel a ghastly chill around the basket.’
    Mrs Ferrars sniffed. She could imagine well enough how effective Marianne’s questions had been. She looked back to Mrs Worthing with a twinkle in her eye.
    ‘You know, you could always take your work basket to bed with you.’
    ‘And never discover what ails the poor, tortured soul? Oh, Mrs Ferrars, do not suggest such a thing.’
    As Mrs Worthing applied the handkerchief yet again, Mrs Ferrars thought of several things she could suggest – a more instructive diet of reading for one thing – but she resisted. It was certainly time for the light of reason to be shed on Delaford Park.
    ‘Mrs Worthing, leave the matter to me,’ she said.
    The house guests at Delaford Park, although unknown to Mrs Ferrars, were not unlike the guests at any country house, and private conversation with each about the embroidery yielded only fantastical supposition on the part of the ladies (Mrs Worthing and her two rather empty-headed sisters, the Misses Hart) or total lack of interest on the part of the gentlemen. These comprised Colonel Brandon, Mr Worthing (who appeared to take no interest in anything beyond coarse fishing and eating) and an army friend of the Colonel’s named Major Black, a pale, quiet man not unlike the Colonel himself. No one was prepared to offer anything useful. They had seen nothing, nor did they have any suggestions as to why Mrs Worthing’s embroidery seemed to have decided to finish itself.
    Mrs Ferrars hoped to have better success with Miss Amelia Black, the Major’s sister. There was something in her eye which suggested rather more of quickness than the other ladies, and Mrs Ferrars was glad to approach her in the privacy of the walled garden.
    ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Ferrars.’ Miss Black looked up and curtseyed. ‘Mrs Brandon has told me all about you. I am most impressed. Generally, if a woman knows anything, she should conceal it as well as she can. To make use of your intellect as you do is a bold thing indeed.’
    ‘I only make use of it privately.’ Mrs Ferrars did not wish to be thought inappropriate. ‘And only in cases which concern ladies, as with this matter of the embroidery. Now tell me, Miss Black, what do you know? You do not give credence to this tale of a ghost, do you?’
    ‘Oh, no.’ There was just a hint of something in her eyes as she spoke. Perhaps fear, Mrs Ferrars thought. She had believed Miss Black to be calm and rational when she first began to speak, but now Mrs Ferrars noticed she was plucking at her sleeve, although she kept smiling. ‘Perhaps Mrs Worthing completes it herself, for her own amusement.’
    ‘Perhaps. Yes, perhaps that is it. If you are quite sure you have not worked on it yourself, or seen another do so.’
    ‘No, not at all.’ Miss Black curtseyed again. ‘If you will excuse me, Mrs Ferrars.’
    Mrs Ferrars now felt she had the full measure of Miss Black. She