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Baines looked at her as a memory stirred. Lady Marwood’s necklace had broken during one of the previous gatherings. Lady Beckenham had mentioned it almost incidentally when describing the evening.

He did not seize upon the thought. Blackthorn seemed to produce broken jewellery, torn gowns, lame horses and misplaced possessions with astonishing regularity. A single damaged necklace proved nothing.

Renforth considered the map and drew his finger along the road leading south from Blackthorn. “Then we watch objects as well as people.”

“We should also give our traitor something worth carrying,” Baines said.

Judith met his gaze. “Something which cannot cause harm if it reaches the wrong hands.”

Baines understood immediately. That concern had become central to every argument they had shared about the disclosures. Judith believed information ought sometimes to escape the drawing rooms of powerful men, but she had never intended to place soldiers or reformers in danger. Whatever trap they devised could not become the very thing they were trying to prevent.

“No troops,” he said, “and no arrests, roads, weapons or military dispositions. We give them politics instead.”

Renforth listened and waited.

Baines considered the possibilities. “A meeting, perhaps—something private enough to be valuable but harmless if repeated. Let it be known that a government representative intends to meet several northern magistrates to discuss the disturbances and the possibility of concessions.”

“Where?” Stuart asked.

Judith looked down at the map and then lifted her eyes. “Blackthorn.”

For a moment no one spoke.

Then Baines smiled. “That is very good.”

“If someone has chosen Blackthorn because important people speak too freely beneath its roof, we give him the most tempting conversation yet. My uncle can complain that the meeting inconveniences his guests, which will ensure the entire house knows of it by dinner without anyone appearing to spread the information deliberately.”

Stuart looked impressed. “Does Sir Lionel commonly disclose secrets by complaining about them?”

“My uncle can disclose almost anything by complaining about it.”

“Agreed,” said Renforth. “The meeting will be tomorrow evening. I shall remain out of sight until then. Baines returns to Blackthorn and behaves precisely as he has since his arrival. Miss Finch controls how the information enters the household and watches for any unusual movement afterwards. Stuart remains at the Black Lion, Fielding and Cholmely continue covering the roads, and Manners will find some plausible reason to call upon Blackthorn tomorrow.”

Judith looked at Stuart. “If you mean to remain inconspicuous, Major, I recommend asking fewer questions about our servants.”

“I shall take the advice, ma’am,” he responded, with a polite inclination of his head.

“And if you truly intend to pretend to buy hunters, speak to Hale before Harland. Harland has never owned anything more spirited than a cob and already thinks you are a fool.”

Stuart stared at her.

Baines smiled broadly. “I am beginning to enjoy this operation again.”

Renforth gathered up his papers. “Then perhaps we should end the meeting as soon as may be.”

They remained another quarter of an hour, establishing the details before Stuart left first, taking the narrow path through the woods towards the village. Renforth intended to remain at a small inn several miles to the east until the following evening, close enough to direct matters without allowing anyone from Blackthorn to see him.

Judith had gone to untie the horses when Renforth stopped Baines at the cottage door.

“Do you trust her?”

There was no need to ask whom he meant. “Yes.”

“Your judgement is ordinarily sound where operations are concerned, but this is no longer entirely an operational judgement.”

Baines glanced towards the trees. Judith stood beside her mare, one hand smoothing the animal’s neck while she waited for him.

“No,” he admitted.