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rather be in her own bed at the Parsonage with Edward than waiting on a window seat for a mysterious embroiderer. Supposing the lady in question should be of a desperate nature? No, she felt sure that anyone who worked satin stitch with such delicacy could only be respectable. She would simply have to wait and see.
    A light tread in the passageway caused her to stiffen. The drawing room door was opening. A more muffled tread indicated that someone was crossing the turkey carpet. Mrs Ferrars heard the slight creak of a sofa and the rustle of a work basket being opened. Then there came a sigh, a sigh in a rather lower register than Mrs Ferrars would have expected.
    She peered around the curtain. Seated on the sofa was Major Black. His lips were pursed in concentration and he was squinting by the light of a candle he had carried in himself. He was embroidering on Mrs Worthing’s muslin and – as far as Mrs Ferrars could make out – doing so with considerable skill. In fact, if her examination that afternoon was anything to go by, his work was slowly transforming a dull, schoolgirl piece into something remarkably artistic.
    Mrs Ferrars dropped the curtain and hugged her knees in silence. Her investigation was at an end (if an unexpected one) but she was left with a dilemma. Obviously, Miss Black did not wish it to be known that her brother secretly indulged in embroidery any more than he would wish it to be known himself. Mrs Ferrars saw no need to create social embarrassment within the Delaford household. On the other hand, she needed to lay the ‘ghost’ to rest before Mrs Worthing, Marianne and the Misses Hart became any more excitable. She fingered her shawl while Major Black tutted over his French knots. Perhaps there was an answer.

    ‘And I hope you will allow me to make you this gift, Miss Black,’ said Mrs Ferrars. ‘You will know where to make the best use of it, I am sure. I have informed my sister and Mrs Worthing that the ghost will cease to trouble them in future. It is a pity I never clearly saw the person who worked those remarkable stitches. As I said to Marianne, I fear I shall soon need spectacles. But I would say they had a true talent for needlework. It would be a pity to let it go to waste for lack of a suitable outlet.’
    ‘I’m sure I am most grateful to you.’ Miss Black’s curtsey covered her confusion, but there was something in her step as she left that suggested greater peace.
    The parcel from Mrs Perkins’ haberdashery had cost rather more than Mrs Ferrars’ small allowance really stretched to, but it was worth it. If Major Black wished to pursue his embroidery, then having materials of his own would make it much more convenient. She was sure his sister would know how to make the gift in a suitably discreet manner.
    Of course, Mrs Worthing and Marianne were still not entirely satisfied with Elinor’s report that she had seen nothing whatsoever but was convinced that the ghost would leave within two days of all the ladies taking up an instructive course of sermons and essays.
    ‘There’s still an air of mystery about this,’ Marianne had insisted in whispered tones over breakfast.
    Still, that was nothing that a private word with Colonel Brandon could not ease. It was not inconceivable that he had some idea of his former subordinate’s skill with a needle. And when she impressed upon him the fact that mystery was, of all things, the most damaging to his wife’s health in her condition, she felt sure he would lay down the stamp of reason as firmly as could be wished for.
    It was a debatable conclusion, thought Mrs Ferrars, as she arrived back at the Parsonage, to be greeted by a kiss from Edward and a tirade of questions from the maid about the best way to restore fine lace. There had been some deceit involved, which she was not sure was fitting for a parson’s wife. But then again, order and reason had been restored and reputations saved, which had to be a good thing.
    She turned