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She left before he could improve upon the insult. The day was cool but bright, with a brisk wind moving across the fields and enough warmth in the sunlight to suggest that spring had finally decided Northumberland deserved some consideration. Judith followed the lane towards the village, grateful for the exercise and even more grateful that no one walked beside her, demanding answers. Unfortunately, solitude did nothing to prevent Major Baines from accompanying her in thought.

She had resolved to avoid him because avoidance was the most sensible response to a gentleman who knew perfectly well how attractive he was and appeared determined to make use of the fact. At first she had assumed his danger lay chiefly in charm, which ought to have made him manageable. She had encountered charming men before and had never found them particularly difficult to dismiss.

The trouble was that Baines refused to be merely charming.

He was intelligent, observant, maddeningly quick, and capable of becoming serious without warning. He listened when she spoke; he disagreed without condescension; and what was worse, he had given money to Sir Lionel’s relief fund without making a performance of generosity. Judith lengthened her stride. She had come to the village not to think about Major Baines.

She had come because somewhere between Blackthorn and the circulars appearing in Edinburgh and Newcastle lay a route she did not yet understand.

Her own route was simple enough. She gave letters to Will Fletcher, who passed them onward, when opportunity arose, through his sister, whose husband had connections with a Newcastle printing office. What Judith sent concerned wages, food prices, working conditions, parliamentary indifference and the occasional hypocrisy of gentlemen who complained loudly about unrest while privately pursuing policies almost guaranteed to increase it. This time she had voiced opposition to taking up arms. Would they print it?

She had never sent details of troop movements, named informants or revealed military dispositions or government plans. Until recently, that distinction had seemed sufficient.

Now, she was no longer certain. What if she was partly liable for an uprising? If she had incited armed rebellion she would never forgive herself. Men would die. That was the opposite of her intent.

The village appeared beyond the rise, its grey stone cottages gathered around the church and narrow main road. Judith knew all of the families who lived there and could remember when many of the men now standing idle had worked regularly at the mill. If only there were a way to reopen the mill…

She passed Mr. Harris, busy repairing a gate and stopped to ask after his eldest boy, recently apprenticed in Alnwick. Then Mrs. Carter caught her outside the baker’s and complained about the inadequacy of parish relief. By the time Judith reached the small grocer’s shop opposite the church, she had acquired two requests for employment and food.

She found Mrs. Bell outside the shop with Annie beside her. The child saw Judith first and ran towards her. “Miss Finch! Papa has work now, two whole days at Fenwick’s, and Mama says perhaps there will be more if he does well.”

Judith smiled. “Then I hope Mr. Fenwick has enough sense to recognise a good man when he has one. Two days is certainly better than none.”

Mrs. Bell approached, looking tired but happier than she had the previous morning. “We heard this morning, miss, and I cannot tell you what a difference it makes, knowing there is some money coming in.”

“I am very glad, though I hope there will be more after the two days.”

“Thank you for what you sent from Blackthorn, Miss Finch. I know you will say there is no need, but there is, because while we would have managed somehow, managing somehow is a poor way to live.”

Judith disliked gratitude when the assistance had been so small, but she knew refusing it could become as ungracious as demanding it. “You are welcome.”

Annie tugged at Judith’s hand before she could say anything more. “Did you keep my flowers?”

“I did, and they look very pretty in a glass where I can see them when I awaken.”

Annie appeared to consider this a satisfactory answer, and skipped ahead. Judith asked after the younger children, promised to pray the two days of work would lead to more, and finally extricated herself only after convincing Mrs. Bell she could not accept two small apples from a basket she plainly could not afford to diminish.

Judith walked away, carrying a familiar mixture of gratitude and irritation. It was impossible to persuade people who had very little that generosity ought to flow in only one direction, and perhaps that was the difficulty with charity altogether. Those who possessed the least often understood obligation better than those who had more than enough.

She had nearly reached the Black Lion when the door opened and Major Baines stepped into the street. Judith stopped. For one ridiculous moment, they merely stared at one another.

Baines held a folded newspaper beneath one arm and wore the expression of a man who had been enjoying himself immensely until something had interrupted the amusement. His dark hair had been disturbed by the wind, his coat hung open, and there was enough colour in his face to suggest either a brisk walk or a respectable quantity of ale.

His eyes warmed immediately. “Miss Finch. I begin to suspect you follow me.”

“That would require knowing where you intended to go, sir, which would demand more interest in your movements than I possess.”

“A devastating answer. I had hoped for at least a little curiosity.”

“I have plenty of curiosity—it simply was not employed with you as the subject.”

Baines glanced at the basket over her arm. “And yet here you are, standing outside a public house, speaking to me.”

“I was visiting Mrs. Bell.”

“Then my self-regard survives intact.”

She ought to have continued walking, but something in his expression stopped her. The smile remained, yet it seemed to have been placed there by habit rather than feeling.