Page 47 of Walk on the Wildsyde

She still could not believe she had allowed him such liberties. What had she been thinking? What might she have allowed if Jimmy had not appeared to rescue her from her own lack of moral fibre? The boy had believed she’d been taken advantage of, bless him, and had even run her through a few moves that would get her out of trouble if ever the need arose. But she hadn’t wanted to be out of trouble last night. Clara let out a low groan and then chided herself as Mrs Macready turned back to her.

“Are ye ailing, lassie?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes at Clara. “Ye have nae gone and caught another fever, I hope? Ye are looking a wee bit flushed.”

Oh, good heavens!

“No! Nothing of the sort, I promise,” Clara said in a rush.

“Eat yer porridge, then,” Mrs Macready said, watching her closely as she poured them both a cup of tea. Once she’d prepared the brew to both their likings, she sat down opposite Clara, her intelligent blue eyes sharper than usual.

“I’m nae a gossip,” she said, her tone firm. “And if somebody was to confide a secret to me, I’d keep it close, aye, and take it to my eternal rest. So, if somebody had something on their minds that perhaps they couldnae speak to anyone else about, I’d be a good person to talk to, aye?”

“I’m sure,” Clara said faintly, her heart beating very hard.

“Ye went out to dinner last night, then? How was it?”

“Oh, lovely. A wonderful meal and good company. I met Mrs Scott, do you know her? She was very kind to me, and I also met a Mr Harold Barker.”

“Mrs Scott, aye?” Mrs Macready said thoughtfully, her eyebrows tugging together. “And Harold is a gentleman, an excellent sort. He’d make a good husband, aye.”

“Oh, well, I had not thought of—” Clara began, laughing unsteadily.

“Nae, ye are too caught up with Hamilton Anderson to think of anyone else,” Mrs Macready said with a wry smile.

Clara stared at her and then let out a groan, putting her head in her hands. “I’m such a fool,” she said wretchedly. “You warned me and… and I knew! I knew he was dangerous. I mean, any fool can see it. He’s handsome and charming and funny and—”

“And ye are thinking ye will never meet anyone better than him so long as ye live.”

“Yes,” Clara said in despair. “I’m to spend my life here where there are few eligible men, and he’s one of them, and… and…”

“What happened?” Mrs Macready said, folding her arms. “Come, lassie, out with it. I’ll have the whole, for I cannae judge if ye dinnae tell me all of it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!” Clara said, horrified by the idea.

“Aye, I reckoned it was like that,” Mrs Macready said with a snort, shaking her head. “Nae that I blame ye. If such a bonnie laddie was to make up to me, I’d reckon I’d be a puddle at his feet too. Some men just have a knack for melting our brains, that’s all there is to it.”

“Yes!” Clara exclaimed in frustration. “That’s exactly it. I knew… I knew what he was about and yet…”

“And yet,” Mrs Macready said, laughing softly. “The lament of many a lassie. Still, I’ll say this: he’s a gentleman despite his wicked ways. He’d nae trifle with a girl of your sort if he had nae serious intentions.”

“You really think so?” Clara said dubiously.

“I do. What was the last thing he said to ye before he took himself off last night? I’m assuming he walked ye home, ye see,” she added with a smirk.

Clara blushed and then blushed harder as she remembered the wretched man wishing her sweet dreams. The horrid creature must have known her dreams would be quite indecent and filled with his wicked voice, tempting her in the darkness. “He said… oh! He said he would be calling on me,” Clara said, her hopes lifting as the memory returned to her.

How dreadful of her to have forgotten such an important bit of information because she’d been consumed with thoughts of everything else he’d said and done.

“Ah, there ye are then. He’ll be wanting to walk out with ye.”

“Oh, but Papa—” Clara said helplessly.

“If ye want my advice, lassie, ye will leave yer da to Hamilton. He’s the kind who can charm the birds from the trees. Well, ye ken that well enough by now, I reckon,” she added with a wicked chuckle.

Clara sighed. “I do,” she said wistfully as her eyes drifted to the clock over the mantelpiece. “Oh, lud! Look at the time. I promised Papa to help him this morning. I was supposed to be there before nine and it’s ten past already. Excuse me, Mrs Macready, I must dash.”

Clara pushed open the doors to the church hall and admitted herself surprised as she was enveloped in the sound of feminine laughter and chatter. Her surprise only deepened as she viewed her father, standing in the middle of a group of ladies, beaming with pleasure.

“Mrs Aitken, you are teasing me,” he said reproachfully, but with obvious good humour.