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“You know everyone.”

“I grew up here.”

“That does not explain it.”

She looked at him. “No?”

“No. Many landowners grow up surrounded by tenants without ever learning the name of the woman who scrubs their floors.”

“Then they are fools.”

“Agreed.”

The answer appeared to surprise her.

Baines considered silence, then abandoned it. “You pass information because of people like the Bells.”

Judith’s mare stumbled slightly, enough that her hand tightened on the reins but not enough to threaten her seat.

Baines kept his gaze forward.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“I believe you heard me quite well.”

“I heard an accusation.”

“No. You heard an observation.”

“Your observations have become tiresome.”

“Most do when they are accurate.”

Judith reined in so abruptly that Baines had little choice but to do the same.

They faced one another in the middle of the lane while the wind moved over the open ground. “You know nothing about me,” she said.

“I know you handed a note to a groom last night.”

Her face became very still. There was no denial.

Baines’ amusement disappeared. “I do not know what the note contained.”

“And yet you question me, sir, like a criminal.”

He accepted the rebuke because it was fair. “What did you send?”

“No.”

One word, delivered with the calm finality of a door closing. “You do realize that refusing makes you appear more suspicious, do you not?”

“I realize that answering would encourage you.”

“Or silence me.”

She turned her mare away and resumed the road towards Blackthorn. Baines caught up easily.

“You are not helping yourself.”