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Her anger faltered. “Are you sincere? You would contribute?”

His expression became almost offended. “Must every decent action conceal strategy?” He sighed. “Yes, I would, because I have seen hungry soldiers, hungry civilians, and what happens when men are asked to remain reasonable whilst their children have nothing to eat. You are not wrong that misery makes poor soil for obedience.”

Judith had not expected that answer. For once she had no retort ready.

Baines looked at her. “Your silence is deeply gratifying. I treasure rarities.”

Judith shook her head, though she could not prevent another reluctant smile. She turned and left him before the conversation could become any more dangerous.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a whirlwind of practical activity. By dinner, Judith was exhausted enough to hope she might be immune to Major Baines.

He sat three places away and somehow managed to be present in her awareness throughout the meal without speaking directly to her. He made Lady Dunsmore laugh, persuaded Lord Cranford to reveal an absurd story about a parliamentary dinner, and rescued Mrs. Pembroke from Sir George’s lecture on horse breeding by asking whether she preferred Italian opera.

Judith watched despite herself.

He was good with people. He knew who required flattery and who mistrusted it, who wanted an audience and who needed rescuing from one. He gave Lady Dunsmore argument, Mrs. Pembroke attention, Sir Lionel humour, and Edward enough mockery to establish immediate friendship. What did he give Judith?

Challenge, she answered her own question. The thought stayed with her.

Across the table, Sir George had turned the conversation towards Scotland again, with Lord Cranford offering opinions.

“If Glasgow stirs again, they cannot reinforce it indefinitely from Carlisle,” Cranford said, lowering his wine-glass. “They will have to draw men north from Yorkshire, and Yorkshire can scarcely spare them. We shall be playing whist with the country—strengthening one hand by leaving another exposed.”

Baines’ gaze lifted briefly from Lady Dunsmore, though his expression remained pleasantly indifferent.

Sir George frowned. “The greater concern is another organized rising. I have heard the magistrates intend to be less patient next time.”

“How much less?” Pembroke asked.

Sir George hesitated before replying. “If the reports are accurate, they mean to wait until the principal men gather and take the lot of them in a single night rather than warn them by making arrests piecemeal.”

Judith tried to control her reaction. “That seems remarkably specific information to share.”

Sir George’s colour rose. “I am hardly making a public announcement.”

“No,” Baines said mildly from farther down the table, “though information does have an unfortunate tendency to become public.”

Time would tell, Judith reflected darkly.

CHAPTER 7

Men have infiltrated the workers. The others will be in place by the morrow; troops are marching north from the border. Intentionally have allowed some radical actions to progress so we could trap and identify the movement’s leaders. I want to catch the traitor. I am near.

Renforth

Baines had always considered direct questions the refuge of men who lacked patience. People rarely told the truth when asked for it. They became cautious, defensive, offended, or in the most tiresome cases, loquacious. Give a man a glass of port and allow him to believe himself amusing, then suggest that someone else in the room possesses an opinion inferior to his own, and one might learn more in ten minutes than an hour of formal interrogation could produce.

Blackthorn Hall offered excellent conditions for Intelligence. It also offered kippers, three varieties of pork, chocolate, coffee, rolls still warm from the kitchen, and a quarrel between Lady Dunsmore and Sir George concerning whether Scotsmen or Englishmen made better soldiers. One could hardly ask for more.

Judith sat halfway down the table, beside her uncle, absorbed in what appeared to be a discussion about grain. Baines permitted himself one glance, which became two because she had abandoned the atrocious cap for the morning and he was a man, not a saint.

However, he had resolved not to spend the entire day thinking about Miss Finch.

The resolution lasted until she looked up, caught him watching her, and narrowed her eyes. Baines smiled. Judith looked away and he felt absurdly victorious.

Then Sir George said, “You disagree, Major?”

Baines turned back. “With what?”