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The answer to that question, Baines reflected with irritation, was the difficulty.

The stories had been placed in different rooms at different times. Cranford had heard his in Sir Lionel’s study shortly before luncheon. Pembroke had received his while walking with Baines from the billiard room towards the library. Lady Beckenham had heard hers in the blue drawing room while Judith arranged flowers and Lady Dunsmore complained that Blackthorn’s draughts were personally directed at her.

There was no obvious common guest. There were, however, people who moved through all those spaces without attracting notice.

“Servants,” Fielding said.

“Possibly, though I do not want to decide that merely because they are convenient,” Baines replied. “Blackthorn has passages enough to hide a regiment. Someone may be listening from a place we have not considered.”

Manners folded his arms. “Old house, is it?”

“Ancient, with a series of eccentric owners.”

“Then there will be hidden passages.”

Baines thought of the narrow staircase Judith had once shown him behind the linen cupboards, a remnant of some earlier arrangement of the house. Blackthorn had been altered by successive generations of Finches, none of whom appeared to have felt constrained by what the previous generation had built.

“I need to return.”

Renforth nodded. “Have Miss Finch assist you.”

Baines glanced at him.

Renforth’s expression remained perfectly composed.

“Yes, sir.”

Manners looked suddenly interested, which Baines considered intolerable.

“Do not say a word.”

“I have said nothing.”

“You were preparing to.”

“I was thinking.”

“Pray, do not.”

Chum laughed, and even Fielding smiled.

Renforth began folding the papers. “Stuart remains in the village. Fielding continues watching Newcastle, and Chum will stay with the Berwick route. Manners returns to Harcourt and may continue to accept Sir Lionel’s hospitality whenever it is offered. Baines, determine whether there is a place within Blackthorn from which more than one of those conversations might have been overheard.”

Baines reached for his coat.

Manners waited until he had almost reached the door. “Do give Miss Finch my regards.”

Baines turned slowly.

Manners smiled. There was something in that smile Baines did not like.

Baines considered throwing something at him, but knew it would only worsen matters. In fact, they were behaving exactly as he had toward them in similar circumstances. Instead of retaliation, therefore, he swung open the door and left.

Judith was in the morning room when he returned to Blackthorn. She was sitting on a sofa with a household ledger open upon her lap, her head bobbing as she fought sleep and Lady Dunsmore’s spaniels snoring on either side.

Baines stopped in the doorway. There were moments when a man ought to remember that armed radicals potentially faced soldiers, that someone at Blackthorn was passing information capable of worsening the unrest, and that Colonel Renforth had given him a direct order less than an hour earlier. However⁠—

She opened her eyes and saw him. As a shy smile of embarrassment curved her lips, her cheeks bloomed rosily.