After about five minutes, Finn came slowly up the narrow stairs. In the daylight, the boy looked even worse. He was filthy, his ribs sticking out through the rags he wore. But more than that, the filth was black, covering him from head to toe. Abruptly Brendon realised where the lad had come from.
There was little doubt. Finn had somehow escaped from MacFarlane’s mine.
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 hissister 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With the unexpected arrival of Finn, the interview for the new steward had been replaced by concern for the boy.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 chiefwho’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 beenworkin’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.
