Page 17 of Walk on the Wildsyde

The lads exchanged nervous glances, and Hamilton snorted. “Aye, I reckoned not. It’s all right picking on a wee laddie who cannae fight back, but someone bigger than ye is another matter. What kind of men are ye to become if battering someone weaker than ye is something ye take a pride in?”

Colour crept into the boy’s faces, and they hung their heads, scuffing the toes of their worn boots.

“I’m not weaker than any of ‘em,” the lad Hamilton was holding up said crossly, with perhaps more spirit than sense. “If it were a fair fight, I’d show ‘em.”

“Aye, reckon ye might at that, laddie, but there’ll be nae more fighting. Ye are all going to shake hands like gentlemen, or I’ll skelp the lot of ye myself.”

With this terrible threat hanging over them, the boys united in a common goal and needed little persuasion to shake hands and introduce themselves properly. The wee Sassenach was called Jimmy, and Hamilton watched with approval as the boys looked at each other with less hostility and something approaching a friendly manner.

“We sometimes play football,” Jock said to the lad, giving Hamilton a wary glance. “There’s a flat piece of ground over that way. Where that big old house fell down. We’ll be there tomorrow if ye would like to play wi’ us?”

“After school, aye?” Hamilton said, quirking one eyebrow.

“Aye,” Jock said grimly, having plainly meant nothing of the sort.

“Reckon I might,” Jimmy said. “If you play a decent game,” he added with a challenging note.

“Ye will all play fair and there’ll be nae violence, or I’ll be hearing about it,” Hamilton said firmly, knowing all too well that the Scottish version of football was closer kin to warfare than any game played in England.

“Aye, Mr Anderson,” the boys replied in unison.

“Aye. Away with ye now. I’ll see the lad home and ye can see how grand that black eye of his is developing tomorrow.”

The lads grinned, tossed a few cheeky but well-meaning insults at Jimmy, which he took in the spirit they were intended, and ran off.

“Well, laddie. Ye are a sight and no mistake. Ye ma will likely tan ye hide harder than the lads would have done for turning up in such a state.”

“That’d be a fine sight. She’s been dead since the day I was born,” Jimmy remarked, smirking.

“Yer da, then?”

“Don’t have one,” he retorted, with all the insouciance of a boy used to having no one to answer to.

Hamilton studied the lad thoughtfully. He’d never seen the boy before, and it was clear the lads beating on him hadn’t either. Jimmy was new in town, and there was only one English family that had arrived in recent weeks.

“What about the Reverend Halliday?”

To Hamilton’s dismay, the boy turned chalk white and looked like he might boke. He shook his head, his throat working. Hamilton frowned and crouched down, taking the boy by the shoulders.

“It’s all right, laddie. Calm yerself. I will nae breathe a word to him. I swear it.”

“It’s not for my own sake,” Jimmy replied, putting his chin up. “I’m no coward, right? But Clara… that is, Miss Halliday, she’ll be in the basket if the old devil realises she brought me wiv her.”

Hamilton’s eyebrows went up. “Miss Halliday brought ye here, and her da doesnae ken aught about it?”

Jimmy nodded. “She’s a great gun. Reckon I’d be pushin’ up daisies if she’d not taken me in. The reverend told her to send me back to London where I come from, and she pretended to do what he said, but she never. I lived wiv her at the vicarage in Thorney for a bit, hidden like, then she paid the driver what brought all their boxes and stuff to bring me too. Used her own money, and it cost a pretty penny. No one never did nothing for me before, not ever, but she did all that,” he added in wonder, his voice wobbling a bit.

Hamilton stared at the lad, his estimation of Clara Halliday’s character rising higher by the moment. Having been on the receiving end of the Reverend Halliday’s particular brand of Christian charity, he could well believe the man would have sent a grubby street boy back where he’d come from without a second thought. That Miss Halliday had not only lied to her father but used her own savings to bring him with her, spoke of a woman of courage and one with a strong sense of right and wrong. Rubbing the back of his neck, Hamilton considered the situation.

“Reckon I ought to return ye to the lady, then, and explain ye had a bit of rough and tumble with the local lads but that’s all’s well, aye?”

“Oh, would you?” Jimmy said, the relief in his eyes plain to see. “I’d not want her to fret, and if I turn up all bashed about, she might not let me out again and I’ll be queer in my attic afore the week is out if I have to stay cooped up in the kitchen all day and all night.”

“Mrs Macready kens ye are there, then?” Hamilton asked with interest.

“She does, and she’s a corker too,” Jimmy said, grinning. “Merry as a grig, she is, and the grub she serves is like nothing I ever tasted afore.” The lad put his fingers to his lips and made a kissing sound, which made Hamilton snort with laughter.

“Ye are a wee scoundrel, I reckon, and ye have fallen into clover, but I dinnae blame ye for making the most of it. Come along, then, Jimmy. I’ll return ye to the lovely Miss Halliday and explain a bit. Reckon she might look kindly on me for having done ye a good turn?” he asked, giving the lad a sideways glance.