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Lady Stanhope sat near the fire, her expensive shawl arranged carefully over her shoulders. She was explaining to Lady Beckenham why the damp climate of Northumberland was responsible for an astonishing variety of ailments, although she appeared perfectly capable of enduring it herself.

Lady Dunsmore occupied a chair near the window, with Horatio curled at her feet and Ptolemy watching the breakfast table in the hope that someone might drop him a sausage. Miss Hammond sat beside her sister, looking pale and rather tired.

Judith was not present. He told himself there was nothing remarkable in that. She was frequently obliged to attend to matters the guests assumed occurred without human intervention. Nevertheless, he had hoped to see her. He approached the table and took a seat beside Mr. Pembroke.

“Good morning, Major,” Pembroke said. “I trust you enjoyed your ride.”

“Very much, thank you.”

“The roads must be dreadful after last night’s rain.”

“They have suffered considerably.”

Pembroke smiled. “Then I admire your dedication to exercise.”

Baines returned the smile and looked at Sir Lionel. “Has Miss Finch already breakfasted, sir?”

Sir Lionel glanced up from his newspaper.

“Judith? I should think so. She is usually about the house before any of us have opened our eyes.”

“Have you seen her this morning?”

“Not that I recall. Why?”

“No particular reason.”

Lady Stanhope lowered her cup. “I believe Miss Finch was occupied with the servants. Someone mentioned a difficulty with the linen.”

“That was yesterday,” Lady Beckenham replied.

“Was it? Then perhaps I am thinking of the chimney.”

“That also occurred yesterday.”

Lady Stanhope looked affronted. “My dear, this house produces so many difficulties that one can hardly be expected to distinguish them.”

Baines smiled politely.

Lady Dunsmore looked up from the morsel of ham she had been attempting to conceal beneath her napkin. “Miss Finch is forever running about the place. I have never understood why Sir Lionel permits her to burden herself with every domestic concern. A young lady ought to have better occupations.”

Sir Lionel folded his newspaper. “I have repeatedly suggested as much, Augusta, but Judith will insist upon making herself useful.”

“And a very fortunate thing for all of us,” Lady Beckenham observed. “I doubt Blackthorn would survive a week without her.”

Baines privately agreed. He drank his coffee and allowed the conversation to move on, although he continued to glance towards the door. Judith did not appear.

An hour later, Baines had exhausted his patience with breakfast and begun to search for her.

He found Mrs. Partridge in the servants’ hall, supervising the preparation of several trays intended for the upper rooms. The housekeeper looked surprised to see him. “Major Baines. Is there something you require?”

“Only a word with Miss Finch. Have you seen her?”

Her wrinkled face looked dismayed. “Not since yesterday evening, sir, now that you ask.”

Baines frowned. “She has not spoken with you this morning?”

“No, sir. I thought it a little unusual, but Miss Finch occasionally attends to her correspondence before breakfast.”