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Sir George stared at him. “You have not heard a word.”
“On the contrary, I merely hoped you would forget the question.”
Judith laughed into her coffee. Sir George did not.
Baines had already begun assigning private categories to the guests. Lord Cranford remained an obvious possibility for the spy. He knew more about military matters than most civilians should, spoke carelessly, drank generously, and possessed the confidence of a man who believed himself clever enough to manage every risk. Unfortunately, obvious suspects were frequently useful only because they distracted attention from better ones.
Lady Beckenham interested him more. She was politically connected, calm under scrutiny, acquainted with Renforth, and entirely too quick to recognize the possibility that Baines had come north for purposes other than amusement.
Mr. Pembroke remained unlikely, though not impossible. He possessed reformist sympathies, poor judgement, and an unfortunate tendency to explain himself at length, all of which made him either the worst conspirator in England or the perfect one.
Sir George Penrose presented another matter entirely. Dull men were dangerous because everyone ignored them. Baines therefore turned his attention to Sir George. “I was merely wondering whether any army composed chiefly of men who dislike being ordered about can ever be called reliable.”
Lady Dunsmore slapped the table. “There! You see? Scottish blood.”
Sir George gave Baines a cool look. “Discipline has nothing to do with national character.”
“Then you believe Englishmen and Scots equally disobedient?”
“I believe soldiers obey orders because they are trained to be disciplined.”
“How refreshingly naive.”
Sir George looked faintly irritated.
Baines leaned back in his chair. “You have spent time with the militia, I understand.”
“Some years ago.”
“In Yorkshire?”
“Yes, among other places.”
“Then you must have found the present disturbances concerning.”
Sir George buttered toast with care. “Concerning is not the word I would choose.”
“Alarmingly theatrical?”
“Dangerous.”
“Ah.”
Sir George looked at him. “You disagree?”
“I have not yet decided.” That answer was true enough to be useful.
Sir George glanced towards Cranford, who was involved in another conversation.
“Men who have not seen civil unrest tend to romanticize it,” he said. “There is nothing romantic in a mob.”
Baines watched him carefully. “Nor yet in cavalry riding into one.”
Sir George’s jaw tightened. “Sometimes order must be restored.”
“Certainly.” Baines smiled and reached for the marmalade.
Sir George had military sympathies, but sympathy alone proved nothing. What mattered was whether or not he possessed access to the sort of information appearing in the northern circulars.
