‘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-heiditSassenachGod walloper.’
The Reverend narrowed his eyes. ‘And I’ll nae… I mean Iwill notbe accepting any such apology from a lily-liveredSawny.’
‘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.
