Page 33 of The Not So Perfect Duke

“This property also includes the farm and mill, which I assume is not far from this place,” Althea stated.

“It’s but half a mile away. But there has been no money to pay the tenant farmer, so he left months ago. The fields have foundered. We have done what we can, but having young children working in the fields is not ideal. We managed to grow a few carrots, but that is all. We need food, Your Grace; the children are hungry. I’ve made appeals in Barking, and a kindhearted merchant, Mr. Penn, gave us food donations, days-old bread, and the like, but I cannot keep asking them for contributions.”

“We will address the situation immediately,” he replied. “Perhaps before speaking further, you should take us on a tour of this place. How many children are here at the moment?”

“Altogether? Seventeen. Three girls aged 6 and 7, two boys aged 6, seven boys between the ages of 10 and 13, four girls between the ages of 10 and 13, and one 15-year-old girl. Come with me, then,” Mrs. Seddon replied in a low tone. “If they are not adopted by the age of eight, we start with training toward certain occupations.”

The first room they entered must be a schoolroom. Damon counted ten children working studiously at their tables.

“Please stand and greet His Grace.”

They did, and all eyes swiveled toward him. Out of the ten children in the room, three of them were blond with blue eyes. They were thin, and their prominent cheekbones were all the more evident from malnutrition. Their eyes were lifeless, and Damon felt a pain shoot through him as if a hot poker had been slipped under his ribs.

How many of these poor children were related to him?

A potent fury overtook him. A rage was borne from disgust at his father’s reckless behavior. For his own ignorance and the fact that he never bothered to care how others lived—or barely lived. Damon had his comforts; when had he been concerned about others? Shame joined the rage, and it deepened his ire.

He grasped Mrs. Seddon’s arm and pulled her none-too-gently toward the sitting room. Once they were all inside, he slammed the door. “This was—and is—a mill for my father’s illegitimate children. I will wager these donors you speak of also send their unwanted progeny here for a fee. The babies were sold for a profit, and the older children were adopted or sent into service or other occupations when trained for further fees. Do I have the gist of it, Mrs. Seddon?” Damon roared.

Mrs. Seddon flinched at his tone, but Damon hardly cared. “Or were the children sold for more nefarious purposes? I would not put it past my miserable bastard father.”

Mrs. Seddon’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, never! I would never allow or condone such a scheme. You must believe me, Your Grace. You see, I was the brothel madam at Nicky’s in Whitechapel. I understand the life and would never permit it. I followed up on all the children under my care. I swear to you that they were placed in either loving homes or good work situations. I can’t answer about what went on before I arrived.”

“I want to see all the records, every transaction. I wager my penny-pinching father kept meticulous accounts to squeeze out every farthing. Collect them, Mrs. Seddon, now!”

The woman jumped to her feet and dashed from the room.

Damon’s fists clenched, his insides in turmoil. He needed to smash something. Immediately.

As if sensing that very thing, Althea came to stand beside him and gently laid her hand over his tightly clenched fist. “Stay calm, Damon. We will get to the bottom of this. Together.”

Once again, she kept him from that horrible drowning feeling. Taking her hands in his, he turned to face her and touched his forehead to hers. “Good God, what have I found here?” he whispered, his voice revealing the misery he was experiencing.

He felt all at sea, and Althea was his lifeline.

Chapter 11

Althea had no idea what to say. For she came to the same immediate conclusion that Damon had, that this isolated place in the woods was a haven for the illegitimate offspring of the late duke and his select list of elite friends and other wealthy acquaintances. A mill churning out homeless and abandoned children, selling them for profit to either adoptive families or businesses. How the scheme worked was still a mystery, but as she said, they would get to the bottom of it.

Since 1863? Thirty-five years?

Just how many children could Edward Cranston produce in that span of time? With multiple women, it didn’t bear thinking about. Even if there were two a year, that could mean—seventy children? No, surely not. But they could be looking at thirty, forty—or more. Or perhaps the children numbered in the hundreds. That was the more likely scenario. But who was to know?

Althea gazed up at Damon. He looked livid, crestfallen, and weary all at once. Quite the potent mix.

With the backs of her fingers, she gently stroked his flushed cheek. “What you have found is the dark underbelly of the Victorian era. Where the wealthy and powerful do as they please without a thought for others or society at large. The abject recklessness. The arrogance. And the fact that there is no price to pay, no consequences for these corrupt men, is a stain upon humanity. This, my dear Damon, is your legacy, I am sorry to say.”

Damon took her hand and kissed it. “Don’t be sorry. You are right. It is a stain, one that will never wash off. And it is my legacy. I cheerfully followed the same path, thinking it was expected of me. I knew no other way, and I never bothered to learn any other way. As you said, arrogance. I am thoroughly disgusted with my fellow men. With myself.”

Releasing her hand, he growled and kicked the chair Mrs. Seddon had been sitting on, and it clattered across the floor and hit the wall.

Mrs. Seddon entered the room and flinched at the noise. She clutched a ledger close to her chest. “This is all I have,” she squeaked, “However, your father kept a safe here, and I do not have the combination.” She held out the ledger, and Althea took it from her.

Althea flipped through the pages. The entries began in 1863, and the information was vague. It stated whether the child was a boy or girl, where they came from, and some even listed the mother’s name. Althea stopped on the year 1869.

“Damon, look.”

She pointed to the entry, and he came to stand and look over her shoulder.