Upon entering, Trevor could see the furnishings once had been of fine quality. Not now. Most of the chairs were either broken, or the fabric was soiled and barren. The wooden floor held no rugs. And chips of paint from the walls were noticeably visible. Apparently, the man had fallen on bad times. Regardless, Trevor didn’t want to sit on anything the man had to offer.
“Forgive me for the mess,” the man muttered. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“I don’t plan on staying long, I assure you. I just need some answers.” Trevor folded his arms. “Are you indeed Featherspoon?”
“Yes.”
“Did you used to live in Scotland?”
“I have another house there, yes.”
“What occupation is it that you do, may I ask?”
“I… um, well, you see, my lord, I take in orphaned children and place them in other homes.”
“How very interesting. Tell me, Featherspoon, how do you know these children are orphans? Have you firsthand knowledge their families are dead?”
“Indeed, I do.”
“So how is it,” Trevor said as he slowly circled the older man, “that Norman Boyd’s family is still alive? I assume you remember Norman Boyd from three years ago?” The man slowly nodded. “Splendid. Now I want to know why you told the boy his family had died in a house fire when that was false information.”
At first Featherspoon’s eyes widened in panic, then his face reddened. “What are you accusing me of, Your Grace?”
“I’m accusing you of lying. I stumbled across a vagabond yesterday by the name of Norman Boyd. He explained you were the one who told him about the demise of his parents before taking him to Scotland. Yet, when the boy told me where his family had lived, I took him there and they were alive. Even the house you had told him burned down, still stood.” He stepped closer, not taking his stare off the older man. “So now I wonder why you lied to him.”
Featherspoon huffed and squared his shoulders. “I did not lie, my lord.”
“Then please tell me why I was able to reunite Norman with his family last evening, after being separated from them for three long, miserable years.”
“Apparently, I had gotten the wrong information about the boy.”
“From whom do you get your information, may I ask?”
“From… from the local constable, of course.”
“Do you work directly through one man?”
“Of course not. I work through many.”
Trevor scratched his chin, not removing his eyes from the pathetic creature in front of him. “Tell me, do you remember assisting a lovely girl by the name of Louisa several yearspassed? Apparently, her family had died in a house fire, similar to the story you gave Norman.”
Featherspoon waved an unsteady hand through the air before stumbling toward a half empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the table. “I’ll have you know, my lord, that I help several…manychildren a year. I do not recall anyone by the name of Louisa.” He grasped the liquor with an unsteady hand, placed the bottle to his lips and drank.
“She is probably in her twentieth year now.” Trevor growled and clutched the man’s shirt, pulling the man’s attention back to Trevor instead of the bottle. “You had better start remembering or I will not give you a shilling of what’s in the coin bag.”
A bead of sweat formed on the man’s face and he gulped. “I faintly recall a girl by the name of Louisa, but I do think her family really died.”
Trevor tightened his fingers in Featherspoon’s shirt and glared. “And how am I to trust your word when you gave Norman false information?”
“I—I—I don’t know what to tell you, my lord.”
“The truth! That’s what I want.”
“I don’t remember.” Featherspoon shook his head.
Cussing under his breath, Trevor pushed the man away. Featherspoon fell to the floor, landing on his buttocks. The bottle dropped out of his hands and rolled, liquid spilling in its journey.
Trevor expelled a pent-up breath as he scrubbed his face. Pacing the floor, his mind scrambled to think of other things to ask. Then again, the man lied. How would Trevor ever know the truth?
