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“That is an answer to a different question.”
“It is also the answer to yours.”
A groom led out a chestnut mare, and Judith took the reins with the easy competence of someone who had spent half her life in a saddle.
“I thought you had work to occupy you.”
“I do.”
“And yet?”
“I ride every morning when weather permits. I find exercise necessary for me to maintain my reason. You cannot expect me to abandon all rational habits merely because my uncle has filled the house with irrational people.”
“Certainly not.”
She glanced at him. “You are included in that description.”
“Naturally.” He mounted, and Judith, having climbed a stone mounting-block, did the same with an ease which confirmed that horses, unlike men, did not require constant management.
They rode out through the stable yard and turned north along a narrow lane bordered by old stone walls, beyond which the land rose gradually towards the moors. Although still wearing much of winter’s brown severity, the slopes were softened here and there by new grass and the first yellow of the gorse. Farther north, the hills folded one behind another beneath a pale March sky until distance blurred their edges and Scotland seemed less a separate country than a continuation of the same wild ground.
For several minutes they rode without speaking, and Baines discovered that the silence was not uncomfortable. Indeed, it was remarkably companionable, which was considerably worse.
He decided to remedy the matter by annoying her. “You were very interested in military reductions this morning.”
She did not look at him. “You were very interested in the fact of my being interested.”
“Observation is a professional necessity,” he answered.
“So is suspicion,” she countered.
“Very true.”
She turned her head then. “You were lying.”
Baines smiled. “Was I? What about?”
“The troop reductions. You gave Cranford one answer and watched me for the reaction. The information itself mattered less to you than whether or not I believed it.”
He inclined his head. “Very good.”
Judith’s mouth tightened. “You are insufferable.”
“I have been told so.”
“Frequently, I expect.” Her tone was waspish.
“Only by perceptive women,” he responded, giving her a lazy smile.
She urged her mare slightly ahead, but Baines followed with ease.
“Why do troop movements concern you?”
She looked back at him. “Why should they not?”
“Because most women at house-parties concern themselves with gowns, engagements, and whether jewels are paste or real.”
Judith slowed as they reached the crest of a low rise, and the reason became apparent at once. Below them stood a cluster of cottages beside a narrow stream, perhaps a dozen in all, with smoke lifting thinly from chimneys into the cold air. Although several children played near a stone wall, one little girl sat apart with a younger child in her lap.
