Read Dancing With Mr. Darcy: Stories Inspired by Jane Austen and Chawton House Library for Free Online Page A

was hiding something. But that was only part of the investigation. It was one thing to discover that a person was lying, quite another to discover why or what about. And delicacy was everything. It was time to take a different approach.
    She stepped towards the dovecote. ‘Mrs Worthing, may I please see your embroidery?’
    Mrs Worthing’s embroidery was, thought Mrs Ferrars, dully unexceptional, especially considering it was at the heart of such an intrigue. She had always found white stitches upon white muslin to be particularly tedious, and there was far too much feather stitch to render it truly interesting. Mrs Worthing, however, took great pride in showing it to her.
    ‘This part was worked by my hand. And this part,’ her fingers trembled as she touched it, ‘was worked by the ghost.’
    Mrs Ferrars held it up to the light. She feared that she would soon begin to need spectacles. Certainly, there was a difference between the two styles. Mrs Worthing’s was neat and reminded one of embroidery lessons in the schoolroom. The second hand showed more imagination, if less precision.
    ‘And is Miss Amelia Black’s embroidery close by?’
    Mrs Worthing blushed at the ungenteel concept of opening another lady’s work basket.
    ‘Pray, do not stand upon ceremony, Mrs Worthing,’ said Mrs Ferrars. ‘You may always complain to my husband if you disapprove of my morals.’
    Mrs Worthing reluctantly pointed out the basket and Mrs Ferrars examined the work within. Again, the style was different, but it did not match that of the ‘ghost’. Clearly, if Miss Black did know something, she was covering for another person. With a sigh, Mrs Ferrars went about examining the work baskets of the other ladies, Marianne included. Mrs Worthing was beside herself with horror.
    ‘If the ghost should be a lady whose work basket was once disturbed…oh, Mrs Ferrars, please desist!’
    Mrs Ferrars scowled. None of the styles of embroidery resembled the second hand on Mrs Worthing’s muslin. She could have Marianne question the servants again, but then there was the behaviour of Amelia Black to consider. Miss Black was unlikely to lie for a servant in someone else’s household. There had to be another possibility she had not considered.
    In circumstances such as these – when an investigation seemed to be going nowhere – Mrs Ferrars invariably consulted the wisdom of Dr Johnson. There were few subjects on which the learned Doctor had not held forth, and Mrs Ferrars found his influence both calming and instructive. In this instance, she recalled his words on the subject of knowledge.
    ‘Knowledge,’ Dr Johnson had said, ‘is of two kinds. We know a subject ourselves, or we know where we can find information upon it.’
    Mrs Ferrars considered how to apply these words to the case in hand. The only information upon the subject of Mrs Worthing’s embroidery lay with Amelia Black, but Miss Black was unwilling to give it up. She must therefore seek another source of information or endeavour to know the subject herself. She closed her eyes, temporarily ignoring Mrs Worthing’s gasps for the smelling salts. This was no time to dilly-dally. Common sense was at stake. She must know the ghost.
    ‘This is so exciting, Elinor,’ Mrs Brandon exclaimed, as she closed the drawing room curtain around her sister. ‘I’m sure the Colonel employed spies in the East Indies, but I never thought to be doing so myself.’
    ‘You are doing no such thing, Marianne. Spying is a most unladylike and un-English occupation.’ Mrs Ferrars drew the thick, woollen shawl around her shoulders, wishing that night air were not so very injurious to one’s health. ‘I am simply resting in the window seat for the time being, as I have trouble sleeping. Naturally, you will all be in bed while I do so. It was very kind of Edward to let me stay the night.’
    Kind it may be, thought Mrs Ferrars, as Marianne retired, but she was not at all sure that she wouldn’t