Page 5 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“What do you know of Hamilton Anderson, Mrs Macready?”

“Mr Anderson?” Mrs Macready said, looking a little startled. Rather to Clara’s surprise, the lady blushed and seemed somewhat flustered. “Oh, well, a charming rogue that one is. If ye will nae mind me giving ye a wee bit of advice, ye would do well to stay clear of him. There’s many a lassie in these parts lost her heart to the dreadful creature.”

“Really?” Clara said, instantly intrigued by this information. “Do you mean to say he trifles with their affections?”

“Oh!” Mrs Macready looked rather shocked by this and shook her head. “Nae, I dinnae mean to say anything of that sort, leastways, not that I ever heard of. It’s only he has such a way about him. It’s hard to explain, only, when he talks to ye, he… well, he has a voice like mellow honey and it’s like ye are the only woman in the world and—” Mrs Macready blushed a deeper shade of pink and subsided into confusion, saying brusquely, “Well, he’s a handsome fellow too, ye ken.”

“My father seems to think he’s the devil incarnate,” Clara said, emptying the teapot before adding the tea leaves, turning her back on Mrs Macready to give the lady a moment to gather her scattered wits. Whoever this Mr Anderson was, he certainly seemed to be a dangerous fellow, if even a sensible woman of Mrs Macready’s age could melt into a puddle of goo at the very mention of him. “As if it isn’t bad enough, what with his business supplying whisky to the town, but now it seems he has bought the public house over the road too. Papa seems to think drunken orgies will go on in the street at all hours.”

“Miss Halliday!” the lady said in shocked tones, covering Jimmy’s ears. “Ye must nae say such things, especially before the wee laddie.”

Privately, Clara suspected Jimmy’s harsh upbringing had given him a sight more information about such goings on than she had herself, for her notions of what such a wicked gathering might involve were a little vague. Still, she apologised most sincerely and promised not to speak of it again.

Jimmy looked from Mrs Macready to Clara in confusion. “What’s that?”

“Nothing, love,” Clara said. “Eat up, or you’ll upset Mrs Macready.”

Jimmy flashed a grin that showed he had no intention of upsetting such a splendid cook and dove back in.

“Has he really bought the Fisherman’s Retreat? Well, that’s nae a bad thing if ye ask me. It was a dreadful place,” Mrs Macready said, having got over her shock. She curled her lip at the thought of the last landlord. “I heard how as old Mr Brown was packing it in, and not before time in my opinion, but that was only a day or two ago. That laddie moves fast, I’ll give him that,” she said, and Clara detected a note of admiration in her voice.

“So, do you think my father is wrong to want to drive him from the town?” Clara asked, tugging a cosy around the teapot while it brewed.

“Drive him out!” Mrs Macready said in alarm, almost dropping the china bowl she’d just taken down from a shelf. She gave a crack of startled laughter and then covered her mouth with her hand. “I beg your pardon. How unladylike of me, I cannae think what came over me. Only the idea of the reverend… Oh dear. Dear me. If ye will forgive me for saying so, I ken the reverend has the best of intentions, and I am right behind him in believing there is a deal too much ungodliness and drinking in the town. Something must certainly be done, but I would advise him to stay clear of Mr Anderson.”

“Why?” Clara asked suspiciously. “Do you think he would cause my father trouble?”

Mrs Macready pursed her lips, apparently searching for a diplomatic way of replying. “Lassie, if anyone succeeded in driving Hamilton Anderson from Wick, there would be a riot in the town, for he’s the fellow everyone here looks to. He’s popular and admired, and powerful too. And if a riot dinnae bring him back, Himself would come, and Lord, then we’d see fireworks.”

Clara was about to ask who Himself was, but the bell rang, and Clara looked up to see the irritable jangle hailed from the study and was her father wanting his tea and shortbread.

“I’d best take this up to him,” she said with a sigh, pouring the tea and arranging a generous selection of shortbread biscuits on a plate. On her way up the stairs, she reflected on all she had learned about the wicked Mr Anderson and admitted herself more than a little curious to meet the fellow in the flesh.

“Christ,” Hamilton said in disgust as he stared down at the crumpled heap snoring in the alley behind the Drovers where he’d been drinking.

He’d had a skinful himself, for the manager of his distillery had just become a father for the fifth time, finally a boy. The fellow had been so happy and excited, and so keen for Hamilton to share in his joy, he’d not had the heart to leave before the proud father had thoroughly wet the baby's head. He’d not seen Malcolm inside; he rarely spent time this side of the river, preferring Pultney town for his bad behaviour, but the place had been filled to the rafters so he may have avoided notice. However, for Angus’ sake, Hamilton did not want the people of the town seeing the boys’ schoolteacher howling drunk and out cold in the gutter.

“Up ye come, ye roaster. I’ve a good mind to toss ye into the river and have done with ye,” he grumbled, grimacing as the stench of stale perfume wafted from his clothes and confirmed the kind of night the man had spent. Hamilton hauled the fellow to his feet, giving his face a couple of firm slaps. “Wake up, or I shall send ye to the devil and let him have the trouble of ye.”

Malcolm groaned and swatted lethargically at Hamilton’s hand. “Stop that, wassa trouble?”

“Ye are the trouble,” Hamilton told him firmly and anchored an arm around his waist as he part carried, part dragged the fellow along the street. He was halfway to the academy where Malcolm’s lodgings were when Angus appeared, his kindly face careworn and anxious. He’d clearly been out hunting for his troublesome sibling.

“Oh, dear,” he said, hurrying forward to share Hamilton’s burden.

“Aye,” Hamilton said sourly. “I’d have put it a wee bit stronger than that, but the sentiment is close enough.”

Between them, they carried Malcolm to the school, got him inside, and put him to bed.

“He’ll be in no state to teach the bairns tomorrow,” Hamilton said, raking a hand through his hair.

“No,” Angus said, shaking his head. “Lord, what am I to do? I cannot afford for him to lose this position. If the children go home or get into mischief, it’s bound to be reported.”

Hamilton sighed, knowing that Angus, kind-hearted fellow that he was, would kill himself working two jobs if that was the only way to support his reprobate sibling. “Ach, I’ll call in on the laddies in the morning. Reckon I can deal with them for an hour or two.”

Angus stared at him as if he’d suggested he take holy orders. Hamilton bristled a little. “What? I’m nae an eejit. I went to university in Edinburgh, did I nae?”

“Oh, it’s n-not that!” Angus said at once, colouring. “I… I just… You would do that for Malcolm?”

“Nae, I wouldnae do it for that sorry excuse for a man!” Hamilton said in disgust. “I’ll do it for ye and for the bairns, though, just this once, mind. But they deserve a teacher, do they nae?”

“Yes. Yes, indeed they do and… and that’s terribly decent of you, sir. Truly, I—”

“Stow it,” Hamilton said irritably. “I’m away to my bed. I’m like to have a heid on me in the morning and I need my beauty sleep if I’m to face a schoolroom full of grubby boys.”

“Yes, sir,” Angus said, grinning, and clearly entertained by the notion. Shaking his head and wondering what on earth he’d just volunteered for, Hamilton wended his way home.