Page 3 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“God will protect me,” Clara replied with a smile.

“Well, of all the daft,” Mrs Macready began, only to turn pinker than usual and stammer an apology. “I do beg yer pardon, Miss Halliday—”

“Oh, please don’t,” Clara said cheerfully. “I’m quite used to my father’s ways, I assure you and it is no more than I expected. I never had a chaperone in Thorney, you know. I’m quite used to going about alone. Pray do not trouble yourself on my account. In truth, I’m sure he’s correct. I don’t doubt everyone does know I’m the new vicar’s daughter and that will be protection enough.”

Mrs Macready looked doubtful and shook her head. “Perhaps I ought to go with ye,” she said fretfully.

“Indeed, you will not. You have enough to do as it is without babysitting me,” Clara said at once, finding she did not wish for the lady’s company as she explored the town.

“Ye will nay go down to the harbour then, Miss. ’Tis a rough place. Sailors and fishermen and the like,” she added, pressing her lips together in a disapproving line.

“I promise I shall not,” Clara agreed easily, as Mrs Macready helped her into her cloak. Once her bonnet was in place and she had pulled on her gloves, Clara gathered the pamphlets her father had given her about the evils of drinking. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death—” Clara intoned solemnly.

Mrs Macready choked, shocked into laughter. “Stop that! ’Tis a sight too close to blasphemy for comfort, ye wicked creature.”

Clara grinned at her. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. I’ll be back before you know it,” she added, closing the kitchen door behind her.

Hurrying through the back garden, Clara glanced over her shoulder to make sure Mrs Macready wasn’t watching and tapped on the door of the small outbuilding. “Jimmy? It’s me.”

The door opened and Jimmy’s freckled face peered out at her. “Here,” she said, handing him a small parcel containing three currant buns and a wrinkled apple. “I’m certain Mrs Macready thinks I have a most unnatural appetite,” she added ruefully.

“Well, me belly thinks me throat’s been cut, so I don’t care about that,” Jimmy said frankly, biting into the bun with relish.

“You wretched creature, don’t make out like you’re starving when I gave you all that mutton pie last night,” she said with a laugh. “You’ll get no sympathy here, my lad. Not when you eat like a starved elephant.”

“What’s a heliphant?” he demanded, wrinkling his nose.

“A huge creature the size of a house,” Clara told him. “I’ve a picture of one in a book somewhere. If I find it, I shall show you. Now tuck yourself back inside for now. Later on, we shall go on a little walk about the town, but I have an errand to run now.”

“In the town?” Jimmy demanded.

“Yes. And no, you may not go with me, not this time,” she told him.

“But, miss—”

“Later, Jimmy. I’m quite safe and do not need a knight in shining armour just now. Eat your breakfast and practise your letters or I shan’t take you later either.”

“Yes, miss,” he said sulkily, before closing the door on her.

Clara let out a breath of relief. Though she knew a respectable young woman should never walk alone in a town, no matter her father’s opinion, she could not deny a little thrill of excitement at the prospect. Walking alone in the little village she had grown up in had been quite unexceptional, mostly because there was nowhere to go and few people to socialise with. Here, though…

Picking up her pace, Clara walked briskly, following the directions her father had given her and looking about her with interest. The buildings were rugged and handsome, using the local Caithness sandstone, and the streets laid out in a grid pattern that made it relatively easy to navigate. Rather to her discomfort, people noted her progress as she walked, staring unashamedly, and the busier the streets grew, the bolder the interest. In Thorney, everyone knew everyone’s business, but everyone made a pretence of not being the least interested in what their neighbours were up to. Though many of the friendly greetings and nods from the people of the town might gladden her heart, they also put her into something of a quandary about how to respond, for it was strictly forbidden for a young woman to acknowledge someone she had not been introduced to. Though Clara’s upbringing had been sheltered, she had been well versed by the matrons of the village who had taken her under their wings in the ways in which a young lady comported herself in society. In their opinion, the vicar was ill-equipped to raise a proper young lady, and they had been quite correct. However, this was Wick, not Mayfair, and the place in which she was to make her home.

Having decided on her own course of action, as she generally did, Clara acknowledged the greetings from the ladies with an inclination of her head and a polite ‘good morning’ and ignored those from the men, for surely they ought to know better than to expect her to reply.

Having made her way to the boys’ academy without incident, Clara knocked on the door and waited. After a protracted wait, the door swung open as if snatched, and Clara caught her breath. Before her stood the embodiment of her daydream. Tall and slender, with the look of a consumptive poet, the man regarded her with as much astonishment as she did him. What had at first glance appeared to be a look of deep irritation died on his face, and pushing his spectacles up his nose, the fellow hurriedly smoothed his tousled black hair.

“M-Miss Halliday,” he stammered, in a voice far more English than she had expected, with only a trace of a Scottish accent.

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” she said, once she could find her tongue again.

He laughed at that, and then hurriedly arranged his face into something a little more serious. “I beg your pardon, I am Malcolm Stewart, teacher here at the academy. It’s only that everyone has been gossiping about the Reverend Halliday, and I was fortunate enough to glimpse you for myself yesterday at the moment of your arrival. I have been much in demand to recount what the beautiful Miss Halliday looks like, I assure you.”

Clara opened and closed her mouth, uncertain of how to respond to this gallantry. On the one hand, she had never been called beautiful by a man she had only just met, which was rather gratifying, though she knew finding pleasure in such a thing was wicked of her. On the other, that people were gossiping about her made her feel like a goldfish in a bowl, though it was only what she’d expected. Deciding she had best ignore what was certainly flirtation—for the moment—she returned what she hoped was a friendly smile and held up the pamphlets.

“My father asked me to deliver these to you, to give to the boys.”

Mr Stewart looked at them with a frown. Taking the stack from her hand, he perused the small, closely printed sheets.

She thought perhaps his lips twitched, though she could not fathom why. Admittedly, she privately thought her father’s rather grandiose style of prose was entirely the wrong tack to take when warning people of the evils of drink, but she was not about to admit to that. She thought it wrong of Mr Stewart not to hide his opinion better, though.

When he looked up, there was a twinkle in his eye. “You understand, Miss Halliday, that I teach boys between the ages of six and twelve? They’re mostly barely literate and, though there is a deal of wickedness in the creatures, I do not think they have yet succumbed to drink.”

Miss Halliday regarded him, wondering if he was trying to be amusing to entertain her, or if he was simply a little dim. Deciding to err on the side of caution, she smiled and replied gently, “I rather think he hoped the children would give the pamphlets to their parents.”

Mr Stewart coloured, pink cresting his high cheekbones, which answered her question. A shame. Though on closer inspection he looked heavy-eyed, as if he had slept little or badly for some time. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, for he did not look to be properly awake yet, she spoke rapidly to disperse his embarrassment.

“My father will give a lecture in the church hall on the subject on Friday evening at six. There will be posters going up around the town but perhaps you could relay the information to your class.”

“Of course,” he said at once, gathering himself.

“Thank you,” Clara replied, before bidding him a good morning. She turned and walked away, content that her mission had been accomplished and determined to have a better look at the town. The High Street was a narrow, crooked street on the north side of the river and Clara was much struck by the number of shops selling far more luxurious goods than she had expected.

Indeed, the town seemed to be very prosperous. There were no shortage of dressmakers and tailors, milliners and the like, and she spent a happy half an hour window shopping and wondering how far she could make her meagre allowance stretch. The delicious aroma coming from the bakery was irresistible, and since her father wouldn't scold her for spending money on cakes and biscuits, as long as he got to eat most of them, she treated them all to something for their tea.

All in all, Clara decided she was well pleased with Wick, and felt certain that her new life would bring her much to look forward to.