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“From last autumn?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because people return. Lady Dunsmore refuses any room facing east because she claims morning sunlight produces palpitations, Colonel Bosworth cannot sleep above the kitchens, Mrs. Pembroke dislikes sharing a wall with her husband when he snores, although she will not admit it, and Lady Dunsmore requires a room sufficiently near the stairs for the spaniels.”

Baines leaned one hip against the table. “What does Cranford require?”

“He prefers the Blue Chamber.” She pushed a ledger towards him. “Read.”

They worked for the better part of two hours while the room slowly filled with pale morning light. Shelves covered two walls from floor to ceiling, burdened with household accounts dating back through several generations of Finches. The room smelled of paper, sealing wax and old leather, and a scarred oak table occupied the centre beneath a window overlooking the stable court, its surface disappearing beneath Judith’s methodical assault upon the past.

Baines proved unexpectedly useful because he did not read names merely as names. He looked for repetitions, absences, changes in routine and people whose presence did not immediately appear significant.

“September,” he said, running his finger across a page. “Cranford brought a valet and groom.”

“Mallory and Dawes.”

“You know their names without looking.”

“Mallory complained about the mattress, and Dawes attempted to court one of the kitchen maids.”

Baines shook his head. “Renforth sent the wrong person to investigate Blackthorn.”

“I have been telling you that since you arrived.”

They compared September with November, November with January, and January with the gathering three weeks earlier. Judith produced bedroom lists, stable accounts and finally the servants’ meal books, at which Baines stared as though she had presented evidence of a previously unknown branch of government.

He ran one finger down a column. “Seventeen visiting servants consumed thirty-four pounds of beef.”

“Eighteen.”

“Servants?”

“Pounds of beef.”

“I am relieved.”

“Cook complained for three days.”

His laughter disturbed a little dust from the papers, but the pattern they sought remained elusive. Cranford’s valet appeared at several gatherings but not all. Lady Beckenham had changed maids after Christmas. Lady Dunsmore travelled with an astonishing number of servants, none of whom appeared consistently, while Pembroke’s valet had attended twice but had remained behind on another occasion after injuring an ankle.

After another quarter of an hour, Judith sat back and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“There is no single pattern or person that I can see.”

“Not among the obvious ones, no.”

Baines had stopped smiling. He arranged four sheets side by side and studied the dates, which corresponded approximately with the appearance of disclosed information but produced no visiting servant common to every gathering.

“Unless the same person served different households,” Judith said.

“That is possible, although unlikely without leaving some trace.”

“Then we are still asking the wrong question.”

Baines tapped one finger against the table. “Perhaps the important question is not who attended but who had access.”