Page 24 of Walk on the Wildsyde

Chapter 8

Dearest Auntie Cat,

When will you come to town? I’m feeling cross and crotchety and even Harris is at her wits' end. Papa is looking for a wife and I’m afraid I behaved rather badly yesterday. He took me to a garden party and though everyone was very nice to my face, I knew they were staring at me and gossiping.

Papa was talking to a lady, and she was very pretty but she kept giggling like a complete ninny and batting her eyelashes. If he thinks such a nincompoop could ever be a mama to me, he is much mistaken. So, I accidentally on purpose dropped my ice in her lap. You should have heard her scream!

I am in disgrace now, of course, and it’s worse because today Papa has gone on an outing by himself, and I cannot even get a glimpse of the women he is making fall in love with him. I hate everyone. Except you and Harris. Please come.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Ottilie Barrington to her aunt, The Most Hon’ble Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ St Just, Marchioness of Kilbane.

30th May 1850, Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

“Good morning, Mr Stewart. My father is expecting you,” Clara said, smiling as she took the man’s hat and gloves.

“Thank you, Miss Halliday, and may I say how lovely you look this morning?”

Clara, who had spent much of the morning in the kitchen and knew she was flushed and sweaty, strongly doubted this, but she smiled politely and invited Mr Stewart to follow her.

“Did you never receive the letter I sent you?” he asked in an urgent whisper, making Clara start with surprise.

“I did, sir,” she replied, feeling suddenly uneasy. She had forgotten all about the letter after her run in with Mr Anderson. “But you must know, it was very wrong to write to me in such a clandestine manner.”

“But I want to see you,” he said, surprising her by grasping hold of her hand. “I have thought of nothing but you since the moment I laid eyes on you. Won’t you come for a walk with me? I promise there is nothing but respect for you in my heart, but I would give a great deal to have your company, even for a short while.”

Cara tugged her hand free, a little startled by the passionate nature of his words. She supposed it was the poetic side of him that made him so easily excited but then she wondered why she was not pleased by such conduct. Mr Anderson had flirted with her, and despite his dreadful behaviour, she could not help but like him. Mr Steward’s overtures, by contrast, made her skin creep, when he was everything she had thought she had wanted. Suddenly, Mr Anderson’s warning came back to her, and she wondered if she ought to give him more credit. “If you wish for me to walk with you, I think you had better ask permission of my father,” she replied coolly, surprising herself by feeling quite relieved to be able to do so. She wanted to marry, yes, but perhaps Miss Fleming had a point. She did not believe for one moment that the fellow had formed a passion for her in the instant of their first meeting. Not a real one, at least.

“I shall then,” he said, standing a little straighter.

“Then we shall see,” Clara replied, before knocking on the study door. “Papa, Mr Stewart is here.”

“Ah, good. Yes, come in, come in, Mr Stewart, a pleasure to meet you. Do sit down. Clara, would you have Mrs Macready send up a tray?”

“Of course, Papa,” Clara said, before excusing herself and leaving the two men alone.

It was perhaps an hour later before Clara heard her father’s voice as he saw Mr Stewart to the door. Passing the parlour door, her father knocked and stuck his head in, smiling at her as he found her sewing by the light of the window.

“Ah, Clara, my dear. Mr Stewart is leaving now, but we have arranged a little walking party for you young people to the Old Man of Wick. It’s a charming setting, I understand. If the weather permits, of course. This Saturday afternoon, if you have no commitments already?”

“I should be delighted if you would come,” Mr Stewart said, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

Clara smiled, surprised by her father’s agreeing to such a scheme, and amused and rather touched that Mr Stewart had persevered. For she did not doubt it had taken a good deal of persuasion. Indeed, she could not imagine how he had done it.

“A walking party, Papa? Who else is coming?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

Mr Stewart smiled at her. “I shall invite Miss Fleming, which I know will please you, and she has a neighbour, Mr Fraser, who will make up the numbers, and also my brother Angus and his wife, Mary, to chaperone so it will be quite proper. Do say you will come, Miss Halliday,” he said, his expression so hopeful he looked like an eager puppy.

“I shall, Mr Stewart, and I thank you for your kindness in creating such a scheme. I shall look forward to it,” which was nothing but the truth. A day in the company of other young people, out in the fresh air, and to such a romantic location as a ruined castle sounded lovely and a welcome change from her usual routine.

“Excellent!” Mr Stewart replied, beaming and looking like all his Christmases had come at once. “Then I shall see you on Saturday.”

“Ah, but you will see me tomorrow,” her father said, wagging a finger at him. “Don’t forget. Six pm on the dot and bring the supplies you promised me.”

“Aye. Of course. I’ll be there,” he said hurriedly, before leaving them with polite expressions of thanks for their hospitality.

“What’s happening tomorrow?” Clara asked as her father closed the door.

Grinning, her father tapped the side of his nose, looking pleased with himself. “A little surprise, my dear. You shall just have to wait and see.”