Page 5 of Return to Wildsyde

Having no funds with which to continue their stay at their father’s temporary lodgings, and being now your responsibility, I am sending them with their belongings to you at Wildsyde Castle. Please be so good as to expect them on the 13th day of this month.

―Excerpt of a letter to The Right Hon’ble Lyall Anderson, Viscount Buchanan from Burke, Scaly and Privet, Solicitors.

9th May 1845, The offices of Burke, Scaly and Privet, Solicitors, Camden, London.

“I beg your pardon?” Luella said numbly, staring at Mr Burke.

She had awoken that morning with a sense of deep foreboding and no amount of looking on the bright side had shaken it off. Of course, that their father was dead and had more than likely left them without a feather to fly with was bad enough. She thought she had been prepared for that. It seemed, however, that things were worse than she could have imagined.

“It is all here, in black and white,” the man said, sliding several daunting looking sheets of paper with a good deal of spidery black writing in her direction.

Luella read, the sense of impending doom growing with each word that penetrated her reeling brain. “B-But he can’t do that,” she said, looking up at the man.

He was a thin fellow with grey hair that badly needed a trim, as did the quantity that protruded from his ears and nose. Luella found it hard to look at him. He seemed to feel the same way, for his manner had been cold and indifferent from the moment she had entered his office. She did not doubt her father had somehow conned the man into drawing up his will for free or for a bargain price, which probably explained his manner.

“He could, and he did. As your father and legal guardian, it is his right to name your next guardian on the event of his death. As your father had recently had an apoplexy that I understand the doctor told him he was lucky to survive, it is only natural he thought to make provision for his dependents.”

“But I am one and twenty and therefore of age,” Luella protested. “Surely I cannot be subject to the requirements of a guardianship?”

“Yes, but the money he has put in trust for you is not to be yours before you are four and twenty, and your brother, of course, is only twelve.”

“M-Money?” Luella said numbly. “There’s money? But Papa didn’t have a penny to his name.”

The look Mr Burke sent her confirmed her suspicion that he had either not been paid or had been swindled.

“It is not a large sum, but there is an amount put aside.”

“How much?” Luella demanded.

“Under the terms of the will, I am not at liberty to tell you that.”

“Oh!” Luella fumed. How like her father, still controlling her life even from beyond the grave. “Well, it does not matter. We shall not go haring off to the wilds of Scotland to live with a man who must despise us.”

“I am afraid you have little choice in the matter,” the man said, not without some satisfaction if Luella was any judge. “Your rent is in arrears, and your brother is a minor and therefore must live with Lord Buchanon until he is of age. You are, of course, at liberty to go your own way, but… do you have any funds, Miss Fulbright?”

Luella glared at the old devil, resentment and fury burning in her gut like acid. “No,” she bit out. Not that she, for any amount, would leave Jack to the tender care of a man who must hate him on principle.

Mr Burke returned a smile devoid of warmth or any human feeling. “Then,” he said with satisfaction. “It looks like you will go to live at Wildsyde Castle.”

Luella stared at him, fear prickling down her back as she considered what that might mean for her, to put herself into the hands of a man who had every reason to revile her. “W-Wildsyde?” she repeated, the fear resolving itself into a knot of terror that sat in her belly like lead. “Where is that?”

“Oh, about as far north as one can get, a stone’s throw from John O’Groats,” Mr Burke said, looking almost cheerful now. “A wild and windswept place. Remote,” he added with relish.

“Oh, Papa,” Luella said faintly. “What have you done?”

10th May 1845, Wildsyde Castle, The Highlands of Scotland.

The bellow of fury was such that it rattled the windows in their frames and Hamilton’s mother set down her teacup with a clatter and an exclamation.

“What on earth…” she began, but Hamilton was on his feet already, hurrying from the breakfast parlour to the study whence the sound had erupted.

Though Lyall’s greeting had been less than enthusiastic, Hamilton was not about to be sent away by a few short words. His older brother had always kept himself to himself and had never been one to share his thoughts easily with his brothers. Hamilton and Muir were much closer in temperament and, whilst they had fought like cat and dog when they were boys, they were thick as thieves. Lyall was something of a conundrum to them both. Hamilton was not a fool, however, and his brother’s demeanour had been less than reassuring. So, he meant to stay until he was satisfied Lyall was really back to himself, whatever that was.

It wasn’t this, he thought with a sigh, on bursting into the study to discover Lyall, white-faced with rage, a letter crumpled in his fist as though he could strangle the sender by proxy.

“Lyall, whatever is the matter?” his mother demanded, hurrying up to him.

Lyall thrust the crumpled mess into her hands and stalked to the door. “Read it,” he said, as his mother tried to smooth out the mess and follow him at the same time.