Page 29 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“He’s nae business trifling with that lassie.”

“Well, I don’t know that taking her for a walk in company constitutes trifling,” Angus said with a frown.

Hamilton returned a stony look. “Do ye trust yer brother with Miss Halliday, Angus?”

Angus sighed. “Not entirely. That’s why I’m going. Though he did ask me, and surely that shows he intends to treat her with respect. Perhaps he means to turn over a new leaf.”

“Hmph,” was all Hamilton could find to say on that point. He thrust the papers at Angus. “Here. Mind ye keep yer eye on her or ye will have me to answer to.”

“Yes, of course,” Angus said as Hamilton stalked off.

6th June 1850, The Old Man of Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

The weather had been kind, a thing Clara suspected was not often said of the region, but today the sky was as clear a blue as she had ever seen, the sun sparkling so brightly on the water it almost hurt her eyes. The Old Man of Wick was a little underwhelming in truth, the ruins of a castle that had once been mighty but now was little more than the base of a square tower. The jut of land on which the castle stood, and the narrow gully into which the sea seethed and thrashed below, however, were spectacular. Every way she turned, the views were dramatic and glorious and made her wish she had even a little skill with a paintbrush for such a scene must call to the artist in everyone. Her heart lifted at the beauty of the scene, and it made her think unexpectedly of Mr Anderson, and his advice to hold on to such moments of happiness and keep them with you. She smiled, thinking she would tell him about it the next time she saw him, and then remembered she was cross with him for being a shocking flirt and her happiness dimmed.

“Are you glad you came?”

Clara turned to discover Mr Stewart beside her. She smiled at him.

“Very,” she said truthfully. “It was a lovely walk and I’m looking forward to the picnic. We’ve been so fortunate with the weather, too,” she added, turning her face up to the sun to enjoy the warmth. It was windy on the cliff’s edge, but she had taken the precaution of tying her hair securely and fastening her bonnet on with extra hat pins just in case, so that she could appreciate the buffeting of the wind with no fears.

“I’m glad you came,” Mr Stewart said, lowering his voice. “So glad. You can have no notion of how beautiful you look with your face turned up to the sun. Like a rose turning towards the warmth of a new day.”

Clara looked away, feeling a little awkward. She knew she ought to be flattered by such a poetic turn of phrase. That had been the sort of thing she had hoped for, hadn’t it? Yet the reality of it felt different, and she wondered if she was being fickle, if perhaps she was merely a shallow girl whose head had been turned by the handsome Mr Anderson. Unease stirred in her belly. “We should join the others,” she said, sending him a cheerful smile. “Miss Fleming will want help with the picnic.”

“Miss Fleming has never lifted a finger in her life before. Mary is seeing to the picnic,” he said wryly. “Don’t be such a goose. Come along with me, just for a little walk to the castle, we’ll be in plain view all the way. By the time we return, it will all be ready.”

Clara hesitated. It seemed churlish to refuse when he had arranged this day entirely for her pleasure. He had also taken pains to be agreeable and had entertained them all with stories of what his boys had been up to. Malcolm Stewart was everything she had believed she had wanted, so ought she not give him a chance? They would be in plain view, as he said.

“Just a short walk then,” she agreed, taking his arm.

“That’s the girl,” he approved. “Now, tell me how you like Wick. I’m afraid it must seem rather rough and ready after Cambridgeshire.”

“A little,” Clara admitted. “But I like it. I love being by the sea, and the people have been friendly, though I still don’t know many of them well. I was so glad to get to know Miss Fleming, and Mr Frazer seems an amiable man. Thank you for inviting him. I’m so pleased to have been introduced.”

“Yes, he’s decent enough. A bit stodgy, in more ways than one,” he added with a laugh, which Clara thought rather unkind. She had very much liked Mr Frazer, who seemed a kind and jovial young man. He was rather plump, and the walk had made him perspire dreadfully and become very red in the face.

“Do you intend to go home often?” he asked with interest.

“No, I don’t think so. It isn’t home any longer, after all,” she added with a smile. “We had a few friends there, but in all honesty there’s not much to return for.”

“But your family is there, your grandfather?”

“My grandfather?” Clara repeated in confusion.

“Your grandfather, Baron Marsham?” he said, smiling.

“Oh,” Clara said in surprise. “Well, yes, he is still there, I believe. Not that I’ve ever met him.”

“Never met him?” he repeated, sounding shocked. “Why not?”

Clara frowned, a little put out by the bold enquiry which was none of his business. “My father does not see eye to eye with him, I believe. They have not spoken in many years.”

Mr Stewart considered this as they walked. “But that sounds like exactly the sort of situation which a doting daughter would take the trouble to remedy. Surely you wish to know the rest of your family? Would you not like to meet your grandfather before he goes to his eternal rest?”

Slanting him a curious glance, Clara considered the question. “I would be curious, I suppose, but everything I have heard of the man from my father and my aunt leads me to believe he has far less interest in me than I have in him. Indeed, he appears to be a cold man who was content to cut my father off.”

“Cut him off?” Mr Stewart said in surprise.