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Renforth approached Baines. “He is displeased.”

“That is hardly unusual.”

“He demanded to know whether I was accusing one of his servants.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I had named no one and intended to proceed with discretion.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He informed me that Mallory had served him faithfully for years and that he would not tolerate unfounded allegations against his household.”

Baines frowned. “You did not mention Mallory, did you?”

“No.”

“Then why did he?”

Renforth’s expression remained grave. “An interesting question.”

Across the room, Cranford had turned towards the doorway, apparently searching for someone.

Mallory stood just beyond the threshold, waiting with the unobtrusive patience of a valet accustomed to being summoned at inconvenient moments.

Cranford beckoned. The servant approached, received a few quiet words and bowed.

Baines could not hear what passed between them, but he noticed Mallory’s eyes cast briefly towards Renforth before the servant withdrew.

Renforth had seen it too. “Do not follow him yourself,” the Colonel murmured. “Fielding has the passage, and Stuart is watching the servants’ entrance.”

Baines nodded his understanding. The trap had begun to work.

Dinner was announced shortly afterwards, and the company moved towards the dining room in a cheerful confusion of silk, polished shoes and competing conversations. Sir Lionel offered his arm to Lady Stanhope, and Harcourt escorted Lady Dunsmore whilst Manners contrived to make the lady laugh by assuring her that Horatio possessed the bearing of a cavalry officer.

Judith had placed Baines beside Lady Beckenham, an arrangement he suspected was intended to provide him with an opportunity to observe her without appearing to do so.

He would have preferred to be seated beside Judith.

He would have preferred a great many things that evening, none of which appeared likely to occur.

The first course arrived beneath silver covers, and conversation soon rose around the table. The candlelight softened the faces of the guests, while the fire in the great hearth cast a warm glow upon the dark oak panelling. Beyond the windows, rain continued to fall, pattering against the glass and turning the gardens into a shifting darkness.

Baines listened to Lady Beckenham discuss a recent visit to London while watching Cranford at the far end of the table. The nobleman appeared distracted.

Twice he glanced towards the dining-room door, and once he interrupted Sir Lionel to ask whether the servants would remember to bring a message he expected.

Sir Lionel looked bewildered. “What message?”

“A letter. I had thought Mallory might have brought it.”

“I know nothing of it, but you can rely on Simmons.”

Cranford returned to his dinner, although he ate with considerably less enthusiasm than Baines would have expected.

As he chewed his own roast fowl, a faint sound reached him from beyond the western wall. It was scarcely more than a dull thump, easily mistaken for the movement of furniture or a servant setting down a heavy tray. Baines continued chewing.

Lady Beckenham resumed her conversation beside him.