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Baines understood. “Walk with us.”

They moved beyond the stables towards the paddock fence, where the wind carried their voices away from the open doors. A pair of horses grazed in the nearest field, their coats gleaming beneath the thin sunlight, while farther off the stone walls climbed steadily towards the low hills marking the northern horizon.

Will kept his cap in his hands. “Word has come from my sister’s husband in Newcastle.”

Judith’s expression tightened. “Is your sister safe?”

“Yes, miss. They’re both safe. It ain’t be that.”

“Then what?”

“He sent word because a man came to the printing shop yesterday, asking questions.”

Baines felt every wandering portion of his attention return at once. “What sort of questions?”

Will looked at him. “About messages.”

Judith went very still beside him.

Baines kept his voice easy. “What messages?”

“The man did nay say exactly. He asked whether my brother-in-law had received papers from this direction. Said he was looking for information that had been passed through the border counties. Troop movements, magistrates, that sort of thing.”

“Did he mention Blackthorn?”

“No, sir.”

“Did he mention Judith?”

Will shook his head quickly. “No.”

Baines glanced at her. She gave no visible reaction, but he knew her well enough now to see the relief she concealed. “What did your brother-in-law tell him?”

“Nothing. He jus’ said printers receive papers from half the country and he could nay remember every handbill or letter put through the door.”

“Sensible man.”

“He thought the fellow knew more than he was saying.”

Baines rested his forearms upon the paddock fence. “Why?”

“He was nay asking like someone searching for information. My brother-in-law said it sounded more as if he was checking whether something had arrived.”

Judith came closer. “As though he expected a message, do you mean?”

“Yes, miss.”

Baines looked towards the northern fields while the pieces rearranged themselves.

Someone listened inside Blackthorn, then recorded what he heard. Information then left the house and eventually reached radical printers or organizers. They had spent days treating that movement as a simple line, imagining a traitor gathering information and passing it directly into radical hands.

Perhaps there were more stages. “Describe him.”

“My brother-in-law never saw him before. Said he was perhaps thirty-five or forty, of medium height an’ brown hair, nothing remarkable about him.”

Baines looked back. “Clothes?”

“Good, but not gentleman’s clothes. Dark coat, plain waistcoat, clean boots.”