Page 26 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“Aye, but they’re reasonable men. Murray is a hot heid and a deal too fond of making money to take a scene like that in stride,” Hamilton observed, frowning.

As he spoke, the man himself pushed outside, elbowing and shoving the women as he went.

“Ach, to the devil with him,” Hamilton muttered. “Come on, Angus. I may have need of yer diplomacy skills.”

“Get off my property and back to yer homes before I make yer sorry for causing such a spectacle of yerselves!” Clyde Murray bellowed, shaking his fist at the gathering before his tavern.

“You keep a civil tongue in your head in front of the ladies,” Reverend Halliday said, with rather more spirit than Hamilton had credited him with.

“Ladies? Ha!” Murray said in disgust. “What do ye think ye are playing at, Janet MacDonald? Ye are nae better than a fishwife and ye need a slap.”

“Try it!” the woman yelled back, as the reverend held onto her with difficulty.

“Stay calm, Mrs MacDonald! Do not let the devil temp you into violence and behaviour unbecoming to a lady.”

“Will ye just pack it in?” Murray shouted, growing increasingly red in the face.

“Stop pouring that filth down Rory’s neck and inviting him to bide in the gutter and I will,” shouted a stocky, red-haired woman, shoving her placard in Murray’s face. “Woe to him that gives his neighbour drink!”

Murray shoved back, and the woman staggered and would have fallen if not for those around her keeping her on her feet.

“Ye are a spineless little weasel!” she yelled angrily as Murray raised his fist.

“Ye’ll nae be doing that,” Hamilton said, catching hold of the man’s wrist. “I should think even a sorry specimen as yerself would ken better than to lay hands on a woman.”

“She’s a damned harpy,” Murray said, spitting on the ground in front of him. “And I’ll nae have them bankrupt me by keeping my clients from my door.”

“I dinnae think one night is gonnae ruin ye,” Hamilton told the man.

“Not at the prices he charges,” Angus muttered, gaining himself a glare from Hamilton, who did not think the comment terribly helpful.

“I’m an honest man, making an honest wage,” Murray said, his ruddy face redder than ever in the light of his fury. “And they’ve nae right to stop me. The law says I can sell whisky, and I mean to do so.”

“Aye, and what do you mean to do to stop them? For if ye lay a hand on any of the ladies here, I shall have to take issue with ye, Clyde,” Hamilton told him frankly.

“And ye would nae mind if they were causing havoc in front of yer fancy new place, then?” Clyde demanded, glaring at him.

“Nae. They have the right to make themselves heard, but they cannae close every bar every night. Just haud yer wheesht and let them have their say, aye?”

Murray looked like he was gritting his teeth so hard he might break something, but he turned on his heel and went back into the tavern, slamming the door behind him. Hamilton let out a breath.

“Thank ye, Mr Anderson,” said one of the women close to him, who he recognised as Aileen Carson.

“Nae bother,” he replied, about to turn and leave.

“You, sir, are a hypocrite!”

Hamilton turned, eyeing Reverend Halliday with a sigh of dismay. “Oh, aye?”

“You pretend to support these women while you are no better than Mr Murray.”

“Ye reckon?” Hamilton replied evenly, his temper rising. “For I have nae raised a hand to a woman in my life. Nor a man of God.”

“You are sending the demon drink out into the world to destroy the lives of men,” the reverend told him, his eyes alight with condemnation.

Hamilton reminded himself this man was Clara’s father, and she would not thank him for getting into a public row. Taking a deep breath, he tried for reason. “I dinnae sell the cheap gut rot that passes for whisky in these places,” he told the vicar. “I trade only in the finest, mature whisky, and there’s little of that drunk here. It’s nae the kind of thing a fellow swills by the bottle, aye?”

“So, you have no responsibility to the people of this town, then?” the reverend demanded. “You think opening another tavern to tempt them into spending their hard-earned wages in is a good business opportunity?”

Hamilton bristled. “I employ more men and women in this town than anyone else,” he said, his voice rising as he felt Angus lay a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I do my bit, and I’m a fair employer. Generous, too. Aye, lassies?”

To his relief, the women agreed, remarking that there were few like him and that he did a good deal for the people of Wick.

“Not enough to satisfy God,” the reverend retorted with satisfaction. He might have said more, but Flora Cameron took his arm.

“That’ll do, Reverend. A row in the street when passions are high will help nae one. Why don’t we sing a hymn, loud enough for God himself to hear us?” she suggested with a smile.

“A splendid idea as always, Mrs Cameron,” the reverend agreed warmly, before turning his back on Hamilton and leading the women in a spirited rendition that ought to have Murray tearing his hair out.

“Well, of all the—” Hamilton began, only to be steered away by Angus.

“Leave him be. The reverend is ripe for a fight, and not the kind ye usually enjoy,” Angus said, smiling at him.

“Ach, the wee bodach,” Hamilton said in frustration.

“Come along. Mary will be pleased to see ye, aye?”

“Aye,” Hamilton replied, frowning as he followed Angus home to take supper with him and his wife, yet the nagging sensation that the reverend might have a point left a sour sensation in his guts.