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Baines considered this. Judith might have gone into the village. She frequently visited families whose circumstances concerned her, and she had never considered it necessary to announce every errand to the household.

“Has anyone taken a horse or carriage out, do you know?”

“Not to my knowledge, sir, though Mr. Simmons would be better informed on that score. Miss Finch often walks, you know.”

He thanked her and returned to the hall. Simmons was speaking with a footman near the entrance.

“Has Miss Finch gone into the village?” Baines asked.

“I have received no instructions concerning an outing, sir.”

“Then perhaps someone saw her leave?”

Simmons turned towards the footman. “Have you seen Miss Finch this morning, Briggs?”

“No, Mr. Simmons.”

“Ask the other servants whether anyone knows where she has gone.”

“Yes, sir.”

Baines watched the footman depart. He was beginning to dislike the number of people who could offer no account of Judith’s movements.

There was still no reason to suppose anything had happened. Blackthorn was a large house, and Judith knew its hidden passages and neglected rooms better than anyone. She might be examining a troublesome chimney, settling a dispute among the servants, or searching for an item one of the guests had mislaid. He could imagine her expression if she discovered he had begun making enquiries merely because she had failed to appear at breakfast.

She would be insufferable… he found the prospect unexpectedly reassuring.

By late morning, the reassurance had faded. Baines had searched the library, the morning room, the conservatory, and the small sitting room Judith favoured when she wished to work without interruption. He had spoken with her maid, who confirmed that her bed had been slept in but that she had not been present when the maid arrived to assist her dressing.

Judith was not in the habit of leaving her room without arranging her hair and clothing, particularly when guests were in residence. Yet her maid insisted that the green gown she had worn the previous evening remained hanging in the wardrobe, while the clothes she had selected for the morning were missing.

She had dressed. She had gone somewhere—and no one could tell him where.

Baines found Sir Lionel in the library, examining a letter from his steward.

“Sir Lionel, I must ask whether you have seen Judith since last evening.”

The older gentleman looked up. “Still searching for her, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Good heavens, Baines, she cannot have gone far. Perhaps she has taken one of her charitable excursions.”

“Without informing anyone?”

“She frequently does.”

“Not without telling Mrs. Partridge or Simmons where she may be found.”

Sir Lionel considered this. “No, I suppose she generally leaves word.”

Baines crossed towards the window. “Has she mentioned any intention of visiting Fletcher or travelling towards Newcastle?”

“Certainly not. She knows perfectly well that Renforth wishes her to avoid further correspondence until this business is settled.”

“Then where might she have gone?”

Sir Lionel set aside his letter. “My dear fellow, Judith has been managing this house since she was scarcely more than a girl. I have never made a practice of demanding an account of every hour of her day. Besides, she may be somewhere within the house. Blackthorn has enough rooms to conceal half the population of Northumberland.”