Page 6 of Return to Wildsyde

“But where are you going?” she demanded.

“To see that useless solicitor of ours and make him get me out of this damned mess,” he thundered, slamming the front door behind him.

Hamilton turned to his mother, who was reading the mangled letter and growing paler by the second. She put a hand to her breast, her swift intake of breath confirming Hamilton’s suspicion that this was bad.

“Oh, my word,” she said faintly, looking so much as if she might faint that Hamilton reached for her and put an arm about her waist, guiding her to a chair.

It must be bad indeed for his indomitable mother to be so affected.

“Ma!” he said once she was sitting down. “Tell me before I run mad.”

His mother only shook her head and handed him the letter. Hamilton read it with growing astonishment.

“Holy God!” He turned and stared at her, aghast. “But the old devil can’t, it can nae be legal. Surely?”

His mother looked up at him, her face pale but once more composed.

“We shall see,” she said calmly, and with that, he had to be satisfied.

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

Lyall paced the room as his parents and Hamilton waited for him to explain what the solicitor had said. He felt trapped, caught all over again by Lilith, but this time by her wretched uncle and cousins. The brass face of the man, to make Lyall responsible for his children when he had left them nigh on penniless, was beyond anything he could imagine.

“The Court of Chancery could overturn the decision, but the old windbag thought it unlikely they would, and that it would nae do me any favours after the death of my young wife, to be seen to cast the two of them out when they have nae sixpence between them. I could turn the girl off anyway, as she’s of age, but the boy I’m stuck with. I can nae just send a girl out alone into the world, though, can I? So, I’m stuck with her too.”

“But what of the inheritance?” his mother asked.

Lyall strode to the fire, staring down at the flames. Though it had been a fine day, fires were lit in the castle most months of the year, for the walls were too thick to notice any change in the temperature outside.

“Inheritance,” Lyall said in disgust. “If ye call two pounds sixteen shillings and a scrubby bit of worthless land an inheritance.”

“Two pounds!” Hamilton exclaimed. “They could nae live on that.”

Lyall shook his head. “No, which begs the question of what the devil I am to do with them. I don’t doubt they will come here intent on wheedling every penny they can from me, but they’ll nae get it. If I must keep them, I will, but under my terms, and if they dinnae like it, they can take themselves off to swindle some other poor devil with my blessing. How am I ever to get them off my hands, though? That’s the question.”

He stopped pacing, arrested by his mother’s face. She seemed lost in thought, but she was gazing at him with a speculative look in her eyes.

“They might not be like Lilith,” she ventured.

“Ma!” Lyall said, his disgust with this sentiment too forceful to say more without shocking her.

“Ach, Ruth, be sensible,” his father said, shaking his head. “Since that wicked girl came into our lives, we’ve all heard the talk. Lilith’s father swindled thousands from those that invested in that sham railway scheme, and everyone knows it. We know the brother was a conniving devil, too, though a deal less successful. Lilith was made in her parents’ image. Do ye really think these two won’t have been trained as she was?”

His mother nodded, giving a sigh. “When you put it like that, but the boy is only twelve, Gordy, a child. There’s a chance we could make something of him.”

“We?” his father said with the lift of one eyebrow.

Lyall snorted and returned a wry smile. “Dinnae fash yerself, Da. I would nae foist them upon ye. ’Tis my problem and I shall deal with it.”

“As if we would leave you to—”

“Ruth,” his father said, his tone mild, but firm. “Lyall will do as he sees fit, aye?”

His mother said nothing, but returned a look that promised his father that he had not heard the last of the subject. Lyall shot the man a grateful smile. Whatever these two orphans were expecting of him, if they were imagining a bleeding heart or an open wallet to greet them, they were to be sorely disappointed.

Chapter 3

Dear diary,