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He looked towards the northern fields, where mist still clung to the higher ground, then back at Judith. “Very well, but if Renforth objects, I shall explain that I attempted to stop you.”

Judith smiled and turned her mare towards the north. “You may rest easy.”

They rode without haste, following the wall beyond the Home Farm until Blackthorn disappeared behind the rise. The morning rain had softened into a fine mist, leaving the countryside washed in muted greens and browns beneath a pale sky. Sheep scattered reluctantly before them, and somewhere beyond the low hills a church bell marked the hour.

Baines found himself oddly content. Only a week earlier, he would have regarded the journey as an interruption between himself and the business at hand. Now, Judith’s presence seemed to belong naturally beside him. She did not fill silence simply because it existed, nor did she expect him to entertain her. When she spoke, it was to point out a tenant farm beyond the ridge or explain where an old track joined the Newcastle road; otherwise she rode easily at his side, leaving him to his thoughts. It was a dangerous sort of comfort.

The old shepherd’s cottage stood beyond a narrow copse near the northern edge of Sir Lionel’s land. Built of the same dark local stone as the boundary walls, the cottage crouched against the slope beneath a pair of wind-bent ash trees. No shepherd had lived there for years, and several slates were missing from the roof, yet a faint thread of smoke curled from the chimney.

They left the horses beneath the shelter of several trees and approached on foot. Baines opened the cottage door without knocking and found Renforth standing beside the small hearth, one hand resting upon the mantel while he read a folded dispatch.

He looked up at their entrance. His gaze passed over Baines, settled upon Judith, and remained there long enough to convey a considerable amount of disapproval without requiring him to expend a single word upon it. “Good morning, sir.”

“I told you to come alone.”

“Yes, I remember thinking the instruction unusually clear.” He looked knowingly at Judith as he shut the door against the damp.

Judith removed her gloves as she entered. “The fault is mine, Colonel. Major Baines did not invite me.”

Renforth folded the dispatch and tucked it inside his coat and regarded him for another moment before turning to Judith. His expression softened slightly, though Baines suspected this owed less to forgiveness than to Renforth’s acceptance of circumstances which could no longer profitably be altered. “Miss Finch, I had hoped our next meeting would occur under less peculiar conditions.”

“So had I, Colonel, although Blackthorn has lately made ordinary meetings rather difficult to arrange.”

“Your uncle is well?”

“Perfectly, thank you. He does not know where we are, and I should prefer to keep it so until we have something useful to tell him.”

Renforth’s eyes shifted briefly towards Baines. The glance held no surprise at finding Judith involved, because Renforth already knew perfectly well that she was, but assessment of how much further Baines had allowed that involvement to proceed.

Baines met the look without apology. “Before you begin, sir, she knows about the disclosures, the circular and the false reports we planted yesterday. She also knows more about the roads, servants and habits of Blackthorn than either of us ever will. Sending her away now would accomplish nothing beyond offending the most useful person presently involved in the investigation.”

Judith glanced towards him, and something in her expression made him conscious that he had perhaps said more than necessary.

Renforth, of course, noticed that as well. “I was not going to send Miss Finch away.”

Baines frowned. “You were glowering at me.”

“I was considering whether there remains any purpose in giving you instructions.”

“Ah. That is an entirely different matter.”

“Quite.”

Judith’s mouth curved, but she spared Baines the indignity of laughing. “If it offers any consolation, Colonel, he did tell me several times that I could not come.”

“And yet here you are.”

“I have discovered that Major Baines’ objections are sometimes intended more as warnings than prohibitions.”

Baines looked at her. “That is a dangerous interpretation.”

“Is it inaccurate?”

Unfortunately, it was not, as he was well aware. Renforth moved towards the rough table in the centre of the cottage, where several folded papers had been laid beside a map of the surrounding country. “Since you are both here, we may as well make use of the fact. Matters in Scotland are moving more quickly than I like.”

The remaining humour disappeared.

Baines stepped towards the table. “How quickly?”