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“She is the traitor,” Judith called. “I found the account book and some correspondence. She took the book from me before locking the door.”

Baines looked towards Renforth, whose expression told him that the significance of Judith’s discovery had not escaped him.

Renforth turned to Manners. “You and the others stop Lady Dunsmore. I will assist Baines here.”

Manners hesitated, glancing towards the concealed door.

“Go, Arch,” Baines said. “We have found her. See that the woman responsible does not escape.”

Manners gave a sharp nod and hurried from the room.

Baines returned his attention to the panelling. “Judith, can you tell us how to release the fastening?”

“There is a catch beneath the right side of the mantel,” Judith called. “Press the carved rose, then lift slightly.”

“The carved rose?” Baines examined the moulding. “There are enough flowers upon this wretched mantel to furnish a conservatory.”

“The one nearest the hearth!”

Even through the panel, he could hear the impatience in her voice. Under other circumstances, he might have smiled.

Baines found the rose concealed among the decorative mouldings and pressed it. A faint click sounded, but the panel remained stubbornly in place.

“It has released something,” he said.

“You must push,” Judith called. “My aunt showed me how it worked years ago.”

Baines grasped the lower edge and pulled, but the wood refused to move.

“Push!”

Baines pressed the carved rose again, harder this time. The catch moved beneath his thumb, and he felt a slight shift in the panelling.

“Now,” he said.

Renforth grasped its lower edge, and together they pushed until the concealed fastening gave way.

The panel rose a fraction, then swung with a groan of reluctant hinges. A narrow opening appeared beside the fireplace, revealing a darkness so complete that Baines could distinguish nothing beyond its threshold.

“Judith?”

“I am here.” Judith stood in the cramped darkness beyond, her gown dusty and her hair escaping its pins. She blinked against the sudden light, but before she could speak, he caught her in his arms.

For an instant she stiffened in surprise, then her arms slipped around his waist and she held him with an urgency which told him more about her ordeal than any explanation could have done.

He had imagined a hundred dreadful possibilities during his search that morning, each more unbearable than the last. Now she was warm and breathing against him, and for several moments he could do nothing but hold her.

He rested his cheek against her hair, scarcely trusting himself to speak. He had heard her voice through the wall, had known she was alive, yet only now, with her safely in his arms, did he begin to believe that the dreadful uncertainty of the morning had ended.

Judith drew back a little, although she made no attempt to release him.

“Are you injured?” he asked at last.

“No, merely rather cold and exceedingly cross.”

He drew back sufficiently to examine her face. “Did she hurt you?”

She shook her head. “I suffered nothing worse than an affront to my dignity.”