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It was a very modest ambition. She had no intention of producing anything which required carrying away in a basket.

They tried three knots without success. Somebody knocked at the office door, and Mrs. Reynolds went to answer it. She returned a moment later, saying they had a little more time. At the fourth knot, Elizabeth thought she felt a faint warmth in her fingers, but the thread remained precisely where she had placed it.

“Perhaps you should rest a little, miss.”

“I have done nothing to tire me.”

“You have frowned at it for a quarter of an hour.”

Elizabeth laughed and sat back in her chair. Sir, who had followed them in, lifted his head from his paws. She had hoped his company might keep her from making too much of their experiment. He regarded all their proceedings with such indifference that it was difficult to feel either powerful or alarming in his presence.

Mrs. Reynolds went into her office to fetch another piece of thread. Elizabeth rested her right arm upon the little cushion beside her and noticed a loose edge at her cuff. Sally had mentioned it that morning. A few stitches would put it right, if Elizabeth could remember to do them before dressing again.

She pressed the edge into place with her left hand.

The warmth returned so suddenly that she drew a breath.

Something tugged at her wrist.

Elizabeth lifted her arm. The cushion rose with it.

“Oh, that is very well done,” she told herself.

Sir stood.

“No. Stay where you are.”

He came to examine the cushion.

Elizabeth tried to ease the two fabrics apart. A little fringe of thread had caught her cuff and drawn itself into a tight knot. Pulling only gathered more of the sleeve into the join. She stopped at once, remembering what Mrs. Reynolds had warned her about making a knot harder to release.

Sir placed a large paw upon the cushion. Elizabeth’s arm dropped back against the chair.

“I am not offering it to you.”

“Does he disagree?” Mr. Darcy asked from the doorway.

Elizabeth looked up. Mrs. Reynolds stood behind him with a length of cotton in her hand.

“He appears to think I have no further use for my arm,” Elizabeth said.

Darcy came nearer. She was grateful that he looked at the dog before examining her sleeve.

“Houndsmere.”

Sir wagged his tail.

“That is not an answer. Take your foot away.”

The dog obliged, but put his nose beneath Elizabeth’s wrist instead. The cushion tilted. Elizabeth caught it against her knee with her free hand.

Darcy’s eyes travelled from the knotted threads to her face.

“Shall I negotiate for your release, or would you prefer that I remove him without terms?”

“I should be obliged if you did not offer him a reward. He will begin detaining everyone.”

Mr. Darcy took Sir by the collar and drew him away. The dog submitted with the injured patience of a creature whose helpful intentions had been entirely misunderstood.