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Mrs. Reynolds pushed the copy toward her.

The entry concerned a woman brought to the old house because her own roof had let in rain. A child had been born; the mother had lived. There were quantities of cloth and a sum for candles, then a line about warm hands and the thread. Elizabeth read it twice.

“It does not explain what to do.”

“No. Grandmother complained of that. She said Mara wrote as if everybody reading it had stood beside her.”

“Perhaps she wrote it for herself.”

“Perhaps she did.”

Elizabeth examined the drawing. The little finger was only a crooked stroke, and one thumb had been corrected. Nevertheless, she recognized the loop held between finger and thumb. She had seen it across her own palm in the dream.

“Who is Elspeth?” she asked, following the next line.

“The woman Mara helped. Elspeth was married to Nicholas Darcy. There is his name.”

Elizabeth read it. Nicholas Darcy. A little farther down, Elspeth was named again, followed by the words my mistress.

“The woman in the story?”

Mrs. Reynolds did not pretend to misunderstand. “The woman they speak of, yes. Though there is a great deal in these papers which nobody at an inn would trouble to repeat.”

She turned a page. There were accounts of cloth washed, broth sent to a cottage, and a woman who had been able to sit up after several days in bed. Another page named a child whose father had brought a sack of meal in thanks. These people had possessed names and needs. Elizabeth had heard only a tale about a wronged woman and a terrible revenge.

“Have you tried it?” she asked.

“The words? Often enough when I was young. My grandmother showed me the movement. Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened when I tried the ribbon again.”

Mrs. Reynolds glanced toward the work upon the bed. “May we see?”

Elizabeth felt an immediate wish to refuse. Failure would be humiliating; success would be worse. But she had told the housekeeper because she wanted another person to help her understand what had happened. She could hardly complain now that Mrs. Reynolds wished to look.

They used a short length of plain thread. Elizabeth tied a loose knot and placed it upon the table. She repeated the words.

The thread remained still.

“There,” she said, with a laugh which satisfied neither of them. “I have made an excellent beginning.”

Mrs. Reynolds studied the drawing. “Were your fingers like this?”

“I think so. In the dream.”

Elizabeth held the loop, then stopped. She could untie it herself in that position and learn nothing whatever. She laid the thread flat again and held her hand a little above it, attempting the movement without touching anything.

The knot drew tight.

She snatched her hand back.

Mrs. Reynolds caught the edge of the table. Neither spoke.

Elizabeth looked from the thread to the housekeeper. “You saw that?”

“Yes.”

“I did not touch it.”