Page 49 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“With a conundrum,” he said, watching her too closely for her comfort. “What to do when someone I care about is making a fool of themselves.”

Clara stiffened. “Unless that person is a family member, I should proceed with extreme caution,” she said coolly.

“But it would surely be a sin to say nothing when an innocent girl is being lured into a situation she does not comprehend? Are you certain you don’t wish to close the door, Clara? Someone might overhear us?” he said gently, with a blatantly false show of solicitude.

Clara glared at him, certain now that he meant to continue making trouble for Mr Anderson and herself. “No, I thank you, I shall keep it open. In the first place, I am Miss Halliday to you, sir. In the second, you seem determined to have your say, so pray, do so and speak plain rather than making disgusting insinuations.”

His face hardened at her forthright reply and, when he spoke, there was obvious satisfaction in the words. “I was not, as my brother believed, entirely out of my senses last night. It was simply a ruse so your devoted Mr Anderson would not trouble himself about my whereabouts. Once Angus and that old woman Barker had left me, I climbed out the window, and I followed you, Clara.”

Clara felt the blood drain from her face as she considered what he might have seen.

“Ah, yes, I see that your holier-than-thou attitude has suffered a blow. Well, you had best be prepared for another, my dear, for your lover is not only vile enough to take advantage of an innocent girl, but he went straight from you to his mistress.”

“You are the most reprehensible man I have ever had the misfortune to come across,” Clara exclaimed, too appalled and shocked to modify her words or to think clearly. “How dare you spread such vile gossip?”

He simply shrugged, looking disgustingly smug. “I’m reprehensible? When Hamilton Anderson held you in his arms one moment, and then went directly to Mrs Scott and bedded her.”

Clara gasped, disbelieving that he could say such a thing out loud, or that he could implicate a woman who had been kind to her just last night. “I don’t believe you,” she said furiously. “And I will not listen to any further slander. Shame on you, Malcolm Stewart. Your brother and Mary would be deeply ashamed if they knew how far you have sunk because of your jealousy towards Mr Anderson.”

Clara turned on her heel, wanting nothing more than to be out of his company as quickly as possible but he reached for her, grasping her arm and tugging her into the room, closing the door behind them. Clara sucked in a breath of shock, her heart pounding too fast.

“I wonder what the reverend would say if he knew what liberties you allowed that man last night?” he demanded, his voice harsh, his breath on her face a hot rush of stale wine fumes that filled her senses and made her want to wretch.

Clara faced him defiantly. “If you think to blackmail me, sir, you may think again. Tell my father if it pleases you, and you’ll see me married to Mr Anderson before the end of the week. A situation which would suit me very well,” she added, satisfied to see the flash of anger in his eyes that told her she had aimed well.

“Why, you little…” Grasping her by the arms, he pushed her up against the wall, pressing his body against hers, and for a moment Clara’s brain froze with terror. His mouth pressed against hers and she made a sound of disgust, turning her head away as she suddenly remembered Jimmy’s advice for unwanted male attention. Steeling her resolve, she raised her knee with a sharp jerk. Rather to her surprise, it worked just as Jimmy had promised it would, and Mr Stewart stumbled back, clutching his privates, his mouth open in a silent scream as tears sprang to his eyes.

Clara lunged for the door, but it opened just as she reached it, and she stared in horror as she saw Mrs Cameron on the other side. The lady’s face darkened as she stared at Mr Stewart.

“Are ye all right, lassie?” she asked Clara gently, her expression one of concern.

“Y-yes,” Clara said breathlessly, relieved that Mrs Cameron had guessed correctly, though she did not feel at all well.

“Run along then. I’ll keep an eye on this one and make sure he doesnae follow ye,” she added, standing back to let Clara pass. “And dinnae fret. I’ll say nothing about it to anyone. I’ll make sure ye are nae left alone with him again.”

“Thank you, Mrs Cameron.” Holding her head up, Clara stalked out of the church hall, caring nothing for the fact she had not told her father where she was going or what she was about. She walked blindly, her heart crashing in her chest as the awful suspicion that Mr Stewart might know something she didn’t ran wild in her mind. The scene with Malcolm Stewart had been vile and frightening, but it was hardly a surprise to discover he was a filthy lecher and would take advantage of a woman by force if the opportunity arose. Hamilton Anderson, however, she had come to trust, to care for, more than care for, and her heart broke at the idea she might have misjudged him yet again. Images of Hamilton holding Mrs Scott’s voluptuous form in his arms tortured her. Why wouldn’t he prefer a woman like that, one who was experienced and sophisticated? She’d been married and was clearly a woman of the world. She would know how to kiss, how to please a man. Had they laughed over Clara’s ineptitude, her clumsy kisses and ignorance?

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she told herself she was getting herself in a sorry state for no reason. Malcolm Stewart was a disgusting excuse for a man and had done everything in his power to hurt her and drive a wedge between her and Mr Anderson. She would not allow him to do so. Yet the pain in her heart would not ease, the horrid seed of misgiving he had sown taking root despite her best efforts.

Too distracted to look where she was going, Clara turned a corner and collided with someone before she could avoid it. The scent of ambergris surrounded her, gentle hands gripped her arms, steadying her, and with an appalling sense of inevitability, Clara found herself staring into Mrs Scott’s deep brown eyes.

“Why, Miss Halliday, whatever is the matter? You are as white as a sheet. Are you unwell?” Her rich voice was gentle and filled with concern and Clara was momentarily overcome with the terrible desire to scratch her eyes out. She steadied herself, shaking her head.

“No, not unwell,” she managed, wishing her voice didn’t sound so unsteady.

“Well, something is the matter,” Mrs Scott said, narrowing her eyes. “I think you need a stiff drink, my dear.”

“Is Hamilton Anderson your lover?” Clara clapped a hand over her mouth, realising too late she had said the awful words out loud. Her cheeks blazed with mortification as Mrs Scott stared at her, eyes wide. “Forgive me,” Clara said, and would have turned and fled, but Mrs Scott grabbed hold of her hand.

“Not so fast,” she said, her grasp surprisingly strong. “I think someone has been causing trouble. I suspect I could take a guess who it is, but I’d rather you told me. Come along, Miss Halliday. I think it’s time you and I got better acquainted.”

Born along by a will stronger than her own, Clara submitted, following Mrs Scott meekly back to her home, an elegant and modern affair with high ceilings. There, they were greeted by a discreet butler who settled them both in a beautifully decorated parlour and left them alone.

Clara looked around the room with interest, taking in the luxurious fabrics and the many artworks decorating the walls. This was a woman of taste and one who was used to making her own decisions, dealing with her own money, and making her own way in the world. In comparison, Clara felt gauche and silly, and she wished she had not come.

“Here,” Mrs Scott said, handing her a glass with a small measure of amber liquid in it. “I ought to give you whisky, I suppose, but I confess I can’t stand the stuff. Don’t tell anyone. It’s sacrilege in these parts. Give me a good cognac any day, however. Much better for the digestion, too,” she added, smiling at Clara.

Mrs Scott sat down on a settee covered in a rich green damask fabric and patted the space beside her. “Come here, pet.”