Page 94

“So we have followed the wrong parcel,” she said matter-of-factly.

“No,” Baines said quietly. “We followed the route.”

Judith looked again at the clasp.

Chum picked it up and pressed his thumbnail against the central flower. Nothing happened. He rotated the outer rim instead, then pressed again.

The clasp separated. Inside was a cavity scarcely wider than a quill. Chum tipped the clasp over his palm. A narrow curl of paper slid out.

Renforth unfolded it with the care of a man handling something far more dangerous than its size suggested and laid it flat.

Judith recognized the words immediately.

Renforth at Blackthorn tomorrow. Northern magistrates attending. Government prepared to discuss concessions if strike collapses.

For several moments nobody spoke. The room seemed suddenly smaller. Judith read it again, although there was no need. Those were the particulars she and Baines had invented with Renforth less than twenty-four hours earlier. The false intelligence had left Blackthorn.

The proof was damning.

“Who gave the clasp to the man at the inn?” she asked.

Fielding’s expression tightened. “That is the difficulty. I did not see him arrive. He was already there when the carrier stopped, and he left by the rear yard before I could follow without exposing myself.”

“Can you describe the man?” Judith asked.

“Middle-aged. Brown coat. Ordinary hat. Nothing memorable about him, which was no doubt deliberate.”

“Where did the clasp go after that?”

“North,” Chum said. “I took over at the crossroads. The carrier handed it to another man travelling towards Berwick. We followed long enough to establish the direction, then recovered it before we lost the evidence entirely.”

Judith touched one finger to the silver edge. “Someone at Blackthorn placed that paper inside…”

“Yes,” Renforth said.

“Yet not necessarily inside this clasp.”

Renforth’s gaze sharpened.

Judith looked at Baines. “Think of the route. Lady Dunsmore sends a brooch to Pearce. A boy leaves the shop with several parcels. Somewhere between Blackthorn and the carrier, the information enters the chain. We still do not know whether it left the house concealed in the jewellery or whether someone in the village placed it there.”

Baines nodded slowly. “The previous necklace matters more now.”

“Lady Marwood’s, you mean?”

Manners looked from one to the other. “What necklace?”

Baines explained Lady Beckenham’s recollection of the earlier gathering, when a phrase spoken privately at Blackthorn had later appeared almost word for word in a radical pamphlet. Lady Marwood’s necklace had broken that same evening and been sent away for repair.

Fielding leaned over the table. “To Pearce?”

Judith searched her memory. “I do not know.” The admission frustrated her. She remembered the evening, the guests, the servants complaining that Lady Marwood had rung three times because she could not decide which shawl to wear, but the necklace itself had meant nothing then. “I can find out.”

Renforth shook his head. “Not openly.”

“I need not ask openly. Blackthorn keeps household accounts. If a servant was sent into the village, there may be an entry for the charge.”

Baines looked at her with unmistakable admiration. “Have I mentioned lately that you are terrifying?”