In the end, Finn shrugged. ‘Naewhere tae gae. Said ah’d be gaen a hot meal wi’ real meat. An we did too. Once.’
‘We?’ Peter interrupted. ‘How many of you were there altogether?’
‘More an’ all ma fingers and toes.’
Brendon swore softly. ‘Ower twenty bairns.’
‘Why is MacFarlane using children in a mine he supposedly closed years ago? Surely, they’re too small to be of much use.’
‘It be too narrow fer the biguns,’ Finn piped up. 'They cannae get doon small enough.’ He crouched down to show them what he meant.
‘There must be verra little gold left,’ Brendon commented.
‘Harder to get to clearly,’ Peter mused. ‘He must be desperate.’
‘How is it the children taken weren’t missed?’ Jennifer asked.
‘Do ye have parents, Finn?’ The lad shook his head. ‘Any family at all?’ Another shake. Brendon sighed. ‘Ye have your answer.’
‘And the others, were they orphans too?’ the Reverend asked, an unaccustomed lump in his throat.
‘Aye, most o’ em.’ The lad gave another shrug. ‘Some wa’ sold.’
Reverend Shackleford sagged. He was well aware that child slavery was widespread, especially in the big cities. But not on land belonging to the Duke of Blackmore. Nicholas Sinclair would never turn a blind eye to such horror. He looked after his own.
‘What be the name of your village, Finn?’ Malcolm asked.
‘Ah’m frae Banalan, but th’others frae lots o’ places.’
‘That gives us the excuse we need to act,’ Peter declared, grim satisfaction clearly evident in his voice. ‘We can be certain MacFarlane knows Banalan is ours.’
‘He kens alright, but he dinnae want tae ken, if yer get ma meanin’.’ Brendon shook his head. ‘Forgive me ma lord, but meetin’ the MacFarlane whan ye be full o’ anger – ye’ll be playin’ intae the bastart’s hands.’ The steward looked over at Malcolm. ‘Ye ken Alistair MacFarlane, be off his heid.’
Malcolm nodded. ‘I was there when he killed his brother. The varmint should have been cropped then.’ He turned to Peter. ‘Have ye sent the missive to yer father, laddie?’
Peter shook his head. ‘I thought to wait until we’d spoken with the boy. My intention is to pen it as soon as we’ve finished here and send it immediately.’ The Viscount turned back to Finn who was staring round the table, wide eyed.
‘Ye’ll nae be makin’ me gae back there, will ye Maister?’
Peter gave an emphatic shake of his head but softened it with a smile. ‘Can you tell us where you were kept when you weren’t down the mine, Finn?’
The boy bit his lip. ‘Mostly we stayed doon thare.’
‘You slept in the mine?’ Peter queried, aghast.
Finn nodded. ‘Thare’s a wee chamber. Ah dinnae ken whare it be. It was ayewis dark.’
For a second there was a horrified silence, then Jennifer gave a small moan.
‘Gifford, would you take Finn back to the kitchen. I’m certain Mrs. Darroch will find him something special to eat. We’ll speak with him again tomorrow.’
‘Aye, ah saw a bit o’ tablet jus fer ye,’ Gifford declared. Finn’s eyes lit up, and he willingly went with the elderly steward.
‘I suggest we continue the conversation when Gifford returns,’ Peter declared as soon as the door closed behind them. ‘Would anyone like more tea?’
Nobody wished for more refreshment, and a tense silence ensued while they waited for the elderly steward to come back. Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long.
‘We cannot simply sit on our hands while we wait for Father’s reply,’ Jennifer declared as soon as Gifford reentered the room. ‘How many more children could die while we’re dithering?’
