Chapter Eight

‘I'll have to put a stop to it,' Peter declared heatedly. ‘It's what my father would want me to do.'

‘Aye, but not at the expense of yer own safety,' Malcolm countered.

Peter frowned. ‘I'm no foolish boy, Malcolm, though you might believe me so.'

‘I did'nae say that, Peter. But yer father sent me to gae ye advice, and I'll gae it whether ye want it or no.'

Peter sighed, absently noting how much stronger the stubborn Scot's accent had become since he'd come home. ‘Your counsel as always is invaluable, Malcolm. But I cannot in all conscience sit here and do nothing while children are being murdered less than ten miles from our door.'

Brendon watched the exchange in silence. When he'd arrived with Finn an hour ago, he was pleased to note that the only expressions exhibited had been horror at the boy's plight. He'd been taken straight to the kitchen for some food. Once the lad had eaten his fill, only then would the housekeeper see to cleaning him up.

Brendon hadn't seen Jennifer, and he was surprised at the feeling of disappointment her absence provoked. When he'd enquired after her wellbeing, the Viscount had drily announced that his sister was fine, though the horse was still recovering. Brendon fought and failed to suppress a grin and for a second the two men were in perfect accord. But then it had been down to business.

With the unexpected arrival of Finn, the interview for the new steward had been replaced by concern for the boy. Who he was, where he'd come from and most important of all, why he'd been in such a sorry state.

Taking a deep breath, Brendon had finally voiced what he'd inadvertently seen three months ago.

‘It's an evil place wi' a clan chief who's nae' the full shillin. Ah kenned aboot the gold mine, but there were tell it closed two years back.'

He grimaced and shook his head. ‘The MacFarlane bade me fetch supplies frae Mosslea. It were late afore ah loaded the horse so ah thought tae take a short cut through the quarry thinkin' it were deserted.' He paused and swallowed, remembering the horror of the next hour. ‘As ah were cuttin' through, ah heard shoutin' near the pit entrance. There shouldnae hae been anybody there, so ah left ma horse aback agin the trees an' gaed tae hae a look.'

‘Ah gaed in the direction o' the noise and hid aback one o' the auld bothies. Front o' the mine entrance there were three wee bodies laid out on the ground. Bairns all.

I watched as the bastarts brought another three up out o' the pit, then loaded all six ontae a cart.' He gritted his teeth at the memory, then sighed. ‘Ah realised the poor wee bairns haed been doon in the mine an' somehoo crushed. At first ah thought they'd been where they shouldnae, but then ah heard twa o' the bastarts speakin. The bairns had been workin' in the pit and frae what ah heard, there were still more doon that hell hole.

‘At that moment, ah kenned if they saw me ah'd be deid, so ah crept back tae ma horse and left as quick as ah could.'

Brendon stopped and rubbed his hand wearily across his face. ‘The next day ah left. Ah didnae ken what tae dae, but ah couldnae stay there wi' that monster.' He looked over at Peter before adding honestly, ‘In truth, ah was hopin' the Duke'd be wi' yer.'

And now as Brendon watched the impassioned Viscount, he couldn't help feeling sympathy. It was evident that the young man had grown and matured tenfold, and he was so keen to do the right thing, it was almost painful to watch. But Brendon knew Malcolm Mackenzie was right. The Duke of Blackmore's heir apparent could not risk his own life for the sake of a few nameless foundlings. Harsh, but true, nonetheless.

The risks would have to be taken by others.

‘Ah'll dae whatever ye want me tae,' he declared. ‘Like ye, ma lord, ah cannae sit by whan bairns are dyin'. Ah'm ashamed I didnae act sooner, but ah'm one man an' the MacFarlane would hae seen me deid like that.' He clicked his fingers.

‘Ye should hae spake ter me, lad.' Dougal's voice was subdued. Strangely enough, the old Scot hadn't been thrown out on his ear and was actually sitting next to his earlier adversary absently stroking Flossy who was curled up on his knee.

‘It's a deuced evil practice to use children so,' the Reverend declared gruffly. ‘Were he here, Nicholas would indeed put a stop to it. Of that I'm certain.'

‘I'm here as my father's representative,' Peter insisted stiffly. ‘While I don't have my father's experience, I'm not a complete…'

‘…cake?' supplied a lone female voice. Brendon looked up and drew in his breath. Jennifer Sinclair had changed into a pale orange tea gown which brought out the burnished copper of her hair, currently held back with a simple ribbon. Behind her was an older woman he'd not yet met.

Malcolm indicated two unoccupied chairs around the dining table they were currently sitting at. ‘How are ye feelin', lass?' he asked Jennifer as she seated herself. ‘Twas a lucky encounter Brendon had wi' Flossy.'

‘I'm perfectly well, thank you, Malcolm.' Jennifer cast a quick glance toward her rescuer, her lips quirking.

Climbing to his feet, Gifford went to find the housekeeper, thinking they might all benefit from a little sustenance. He'd check on the bairn while he was at it.

‘Felicity, this is Brendon Galbraith. He's applyin' for the position of steward to Caerlaverock.'

Brendon stood up hastily and inclined his head. ‘Pleased to meet ye,' he murmured.

‘My wife, Felicity Mackenzie,' Malcolm informed him, pride evident in his voice. Mrs Mackenzie gave Brendon a warm smile before turning enquiringly towards Dougal.

‘Ma father, Dougal Galbraith,' Brendon explained, hoping the lady wouldn't request any further details. He was relieved to see his da get to his feet and take off his bonnet. ‘Honoured tae meet ye,' he said with a small, unexpected flourish.

After swallowing his surprise at his da's much improved manners, Brendon saw Mrs. Mackenzie cast a quick look towards her husband and gave an inward sigh. Clearly, they'd already been apprised of his father's reputation.

‘How is the boy?' Jennifer asked, smiling a welcome at Dougal. As the lady of the house, she had not been introduced.

‘I suspect Gifford has gone to find out,' Peter answered.

‘I've already told Felicity all about my unexpected swim,' Jennifer went on, ‘but from the looks on your faces there are more sobering details to come.'

Peter turned to Brendon. ‘Would you tell your story to the ladies?' he requested. At Brendon's raised eyebrows, he added drily, ‘If you are going to be working for the Sinclair family, you will have to get used to the fact that its female members are, in the main, forceful and dreadfully brash.'

‘Eminent qualities in any personable female, as I'm sure you'll agree Mr. Galbraith.' Jennifer's quip was deliberately goading him, Brendon realised and to his surprise and discomfort he felt an instant stirring in his breeches. Bloody hell, that was all he needed.

With an uncomfortable cough, he recounted the events at the abandoned mine.

‘Why that's monstrous,' Jennifer declared when he'd finished. The horror in her voice was unfeigned.

‘Indeed,' Felicity added sadly, ‘but not unusual I fear. Your father is a good and generous master, ensuring that everyone under his care is well looked after. However, unfortunately, he's very much in the minority. Most landowners have no concerns over those they employ, and working someone to death, whatever age they are, is more common than you think.'

‘There is no school for the children?' Jennifer asked Brendon. He shook his head.

‘Ah suspect most o' the bairns MacFarlane employs in his mine be orphans. Ah've asked aroond several villages hereaboot and more'an one hae told me bairns hae disappeared wi' nae warnin'. He sighed and shrugged. ‘Naebodie cared. One less mouth tae feed.'

‘Was Banalan one of the villages with children missing?' Peter enquired. At Brendon's nod, the Viscount looked around the table. ‘Banalan is on Blackmore land. At the very least, this MacFarlane had no right to take children from there.'

‘Ye didnae gie a rat's arse aboot the bairns afore milady here fell ower one,' Dougal announced with a glower.

Brendon gritted his teeth and glared at his father. He knew the old bampot's silence had been too good to last.

‘We weren't aware, that's true,' Peter responded carefully. ‘And I fully accept that it has been far too long since our last visit – we must indeed accept full blame for not taking sufficient care of our own. However, to say that we do not care? Well, nothing could be further from the truth, I assure you.'

‘You'd do well to keep your breath to cool your deuced porridge,' Reverend Shackleford declared in outrage. ‘Indeed, if I didn't have better manners,' I'd be calling you a beetle headed bumpkin and telling you to stubble it.'

‘An ah'll be tellin' ye, yer all arse an' parsley an' giein ye a skelpit lug.'

‘Give me back my dog.'

‘Ye can ha yer wee mongrel. She's nae use fer anythin ower than catchin midges.'

The two men glared at each other while Flossy snored on oblivious. Neither attempted to move the little dog.

‘Da, ye'll gie the paster an apologie noo,' Brendon grated, his tone low and furious.

‘Ah'll nae be sayin' sorry tae a toom-heidit Sassenach God walloper.'

The Reverend narrowed his eyes. ‘And I'll nae… I mean I will not be accepting any such apology from a lily-livered Sawny.'

‘Enough!' Peter slammed his hand down on the table to emphasise his command. The two men jumped like guilty children.

‘If you have nothing useful to add and are unable to be civil to one another, I will simply ask you both to leave the table. And that goes for you too, Grandfather.' Peter's voice was cold, and he sounded so much like his father that the Reverend's indignant retort died on his lips.

Fortunately at that moment, Gifford reappeared with the housekeeper, Mrs. Darroch, and two housemaids in tow. A huge plate of shortbread was placed in the middle of the table along with some other unfamiliar tid-bits. ‘Ah be thinkin' ye might keep the heid wi' a bit o' sugar inside ye,' the housekeeper declared briskly. Clearly, she'd heard the altercation.

‘How's the bairn?' Malcolm asked, helping himself to some shortbread.

‘He's haein' a wee bath. It's takin' fower men to haud the hallion down. Any more o' his cheek an' ah'll be skelpin' his wee behind.' She handed Malcolm a dish of tea with pursed lips.

‘Do you think he'll be well enough to speak with us once he's clean and dry?' Jennifer asked, helping herself to a slice of what looked a little like fudge.

The housekeeper's face softened as she shook her head in a complete about turn. ‘He's fair puckled, the puir wee bairn. Ah reckon ye'll nae get any sense frae him until the morn.'

‘Do you have someone who can sit with him?' asked Felicity.

‘Aye, dinnae fash yersel m'lady. Ah'll sit wi' him maself.'

‘That's indeed kind of you, Mrs. Darroch,' Jennifer smiled as she sipped gratefully at her tea. ‘By the way, what is this exactly?' She held up the large piece of fudge she'd been nibbling on.

The housekeeper chuckled. ‘Tablet, m'lady. Ye'll certainly hae more aboot yer wi' a bit o' that in yer belly.'

‘It's delicious,' Jennifer enthused, taking a large bite.

‘Aye, an' especially good if yer partial tae holes in yer teeth,' Malcolm interrupted drily.

‘I think we may be better to delay forming a plan of action until the morning when we can possibly get some sense out of the lad.' Peter's tone made it perfectly clear that he did not intend to allow MacFarlane's evil practices to continue. Malcolm stared at the Viscount for a second then nodded his head reluctantly. ‘I'll pen a letter to my father,' Peter conceded. ‘If the messenger changes horses, I would expect a reply within a sennight.'

Malcolm gave a rueful chuckle. ‘Ah ken yer yer father's son, ma lord, but Nicholas would ne'er forgive me if I let anythin' happen to ye.'

Peter turned to Brendon. ‘Well, Galbraith, I think we've established that you're a man of character, and I'd very much like your assistance with this unpleasant matter. To that end, I'd like Gifford to begin your employment immediately…' He paused, then added, ‘I know we haven't discussed what your duties will be as steward of Caerlaverock, but I trust Gifford will get to that once we've put this unsavoury problem to bed.'

Brendon felt relief swamp him, so much so that he almost sagged back into his chair. He hadn't realised quite how anxious he was. He swallowed, nodded his head, and stood up. ‘Ah ken ye willnae regret yer decision, ma lord.' Then, giving a small bow, added, ‘Until the morra.' He turned to his father who was busy making short work of what was left of the shortbread and tablet.

‘It's time we be leaving, Da. Will ye gie yer thanks tae his lordship for not throwin' yer out on yer eejit ear?'

On hearing his name, Dougal hurriedly broke the last piece of tablet in two, shoved one half in his pocket and gave the other to Flossy who was looking up at him adoringly. Finally, he offered a muttered, ‘Thank ye.' Then lifting the little dog off his lap with a sniff he added, ‘Ye be a braw wee dog. I ken ye cannae help wha yer maister is,' before plonking her onto the Reverend's lap and climbing to his feet.

Augustus Shackleford hmphed and muttered, ‘Aside from her having a peculiar partiality for chuckleheaded, bony kneed men in a deuced skirt.'

‘What have you done with your dog?' Jennifer asked Brendon abruptly before another argument could erupt.

‘What dog?' Peter frowned.

As soon as her brother spoke, Jennifer realised her mistake. There had been no dog with Brendon when he'd come to her rescue with Peter. She felt herself begin to colour up. Hot headed, she might be, but she'd never been a good liar.

To her surprise, the new steward came to her rescue. ‘Did ye see Fergus frae yer bedchamber?' he asked pointedly. ‘Ah thought it best tae leave him ootside. He'd hae cleared the table wi'oot breakin' a sweat.'

Jennifer nodded gratefully. ‘So his name is Fergus? It suits him.'

Brendon turned back to Peter. ‘He'll nae cause any bother,' he assured the Viscount.

‘There have always been dogs in our family,' Peter replied nonchalantly. ‘As you can see, my grandfather has Flossy and before that a foxhound called Freddy. My uncle too has a three-legged mutt he named Nelson. And that's just for starters. I can't remember all the names of my aunts' and cousins' furred companions.' He gave a smiling shrug. ‘We're a large family.'

At the Viscount's words, Brendon found himself beset by an abrupt longing so acute, it nearly took him to his knees. What must it be like to be part of a large family? Turning hastily away from the table, he started towards the door. ‘Are ye wi' me, Da?'

As Dougal gave one last scowl towards the Reverend, Peter cleared his throat and said, ‘Before you go, just one more thing, Mr. Galbraith. Perhaps you could tell me how you managed to gain entrance to the house without anyone seeing you?'

Clearly Peter Sinclair was speaking to his father. Brendon's heart sank as he turned back. All eyes were on Dougal enquiringly. The elderly Scot had the grace to look uncomfortable as he fidgeted with his cap.

‘Ah foond a door.' He waved in the vague direction he supposed said door to be and darted a furtive glance towards Gifford who'd gone a little pale. ‘Ah saw twa lasses come oot o it – ah reckon they was emptyin' the … err... ye ken, the err… whatever doon the jaw-hole, if yer understan' ma meanin'.' He stopped, tapped his nose and nodded towards the ladies. ‘Ah sneakt in after they'd gaun.'

Dougal felt, rather than saw Gifford's relieved stance and knew he wouldn't be using that entrance again. Still, nae matter, he had one ower the old bampot now. He looked over at the old steward and gave a brief sly wink over Peter Sinclair's head as the Viscount turned to request the door be locked at all times to prevent any further unwanted visitors.