Page 61 of Walk on the Wildsyde

Chapter 16

Dearest Tilly,

My poor little monster. How dreadful, and I do not blame you in the least for dropping your ice in her lap. I should have done just the same, I’m afraid, but I was a terrible little girl and not at all the kind you should try to emulate. Luckily for you, your Pops adores terrible little girls, so we all get away with murder.

I shall come to town next week, and we shall be perfectly dreadful together.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Hon’ble Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ St Just, Marchioness of Kilbane to her niece Miss Ottilie Barrington.

6thJune 1850, Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

“Ye great numpty, what the devil are ye playing at?” Hamilton muttered crossly to himself as he strode away from the vicarage. He knew the rules. You didn’t mess around with innocent girls unless you meant to marry them. You certainly didn’t flirt and act like a great gowk with a vicar’s daughter. A vicar’s daughter! He slapped a hand to his forehead and rubbed it over his face, groaning inwardly. “Yer brains are all in yer nether regions, Hamilton Anderson, and that’s a fact.”

But he had wanted to kiss her so badly it had overridden good sense, and teasing her a little, getting her to admit that she had wanted him to stay had been too easy, too natural. She liked him, despite herself. Arrogant he might be, but he knew when a woman fancied him and, whilst she might disapprove of a good deal about him, the proper Miss Halliday had wanted him to kiss her. The knowledge only made him growl inwardly for now he was all riled up and bothered by a tormenting itch there was no possible way of scratching. He ought to be visiting Moyra, not getting himself in a lather over Miss Halliday. He thought he’d left his pocket watch when he was there last and it would be a chance to retrieve it, but knowing he was going to her with another woman in his mind would be an appalling thing to do and she deserved better than that. He would have to end things with her, and the truth of that only made him even more irritable.

Instead, he turned into the next street and headed towards Macrae’s, pushing inside the tavern and responding to the calls of greeting and offers to buy him a drink. In his opinion, the very best thing he could do was put Miss Halliday far out of his mind, and he intended to do it.

Clara was relieved to have the house to herself that evening, giving her time to settle her nerves and scold herself for the fiftieth time for acting like such a nitwit. Honestly, it served her right. What she had been thinking, she could not imagine. Well, she hadn’t been thinking, and that was a fact. Mr Anderson’s handsome face and winning smile had addled her brain like she was the veriest ninny, and she had not only allowed him to do it but had made a complete fool of herself in the process. Then there was the terrible scene with Mr Stewart, her stomach lurched as she wondered what might have happened if she had not got away from him. She had been a fool on too many counts today. Clara realised now that she was far from the sensible, mature woman she had believed herself to be. Indeed, she had shown herself up to be naïve and inexperience where men were concerned. Her pride was smarting, and she felt irritable and out of sorts and quite unfit company for anyone. She had been relieved to say goodbye to Mrs Macready when she took herself off to her own home, for the lady’s gaze was far too knowing and full of sympathy and only made Clara feel a great deal worse.

With her thoughts full of reproaches and resolutions to behave better in the future, she made her way up the stairs to bed, though it was far too early. She was too fidgety to read or sew, however, and the sooner this day was over, the better. She had made it barely halfway up the stairs, candle in hand, when someone began hammering on the front door. Startled, Clara stilled and called out.

“Who’s there?”

Her father still had not returned from yet another demonstration in the town, with his temperance army barricading the doors of Galbraith’s tavern a few streets away, and her first thought was that something had happened to him.

“It’s Tommy Brodie, Miss Halliday. I’m sorry for disturbing ye, but me mam said to fetch the reverend. Grandpa is breathing his last, so he is, and he wants to make peace afore he goes.”

“Lud,” Clara said in dismay, relieved her father was in no difficulty but wishing he was at home to receive his caller. She opened the door to see Tommy’s usually cheerful face, wan and serious in the candlelight. He was a gawky lad a year or two older than Jimmy, though Jimmy said he was not terribly bright. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I’m afraid my father is not here, Tommy. I believe he’s at Galbraith’s and—”

“And would ye fetch him then, miss?” the boy said anxiously. “I dinnae want to leave me mam all alone if Grandpa goes, ye see.”

“No, no, of course you must not do so. I’ll find my father and fetch him to you at once.”

“Oh, thank ye, miss,” the lad said in relief, and ran off again before she could reply.

As fast as she could, Clara put on her coat and bonnet, and went out of the front door, hoping she could remember the way to Galbraith’s. By the time she had gone three streets, she knew she had made an error. Everything looked so different in the dark, though. Turning to retrace her footsteps, Clara gasped as a slender figure barged into her.

“Ooof! Blimey, what did you do that for? You nearly broke me nose,” Jimmy complained, rubbing that appendage fiercely.

“Jimmy? Are you following me?” Clara demanded.

“Of course I am,” Jimmy said indignantly. “Can’t have you gallivanting about at night on yer ownsome, can I? Not with you as innocent as a lamb and not knowing what’s lurking in the darkness.”

“As far as I can see,” Clara said tartly. “The only thing lurking is you.”

“I ain’t lurking, I was guarding,” Jimmy replied, looking offended.

Clara softened, aware that he had sought to protect her as best he could. “I know that, Jimmy, and it was thoughtful of you. The truth is, you’re right, for I’m lost. I’m trying to find Galbraith’s. Papa is there tonight, and old Mr Brodie is dying. He wishes to see Papa at once.”

“Thought I heard Tommy’s voice at the door,” Jimmy said, nodding. “All right. Well, it’s this way, then.”

Obediently, Clara followed Jimmy through the darkness, crossing the street as he led her on the opposite side of the road from Macrae’s tavern. The sound of masculine laughter came from within, the windows fogged up as light blazed from them. Clara looked over at the building as the sound grew suddenly louder, the door opening as two figures stepped out. The second and largest man paused for a moment, drawing in a deep breath before their eyes met across the street.

Clara stiffened. Well, of all the ill luck.

“Hurry up,” she instructed Jimmy.

“’Ere, don’t push,” he grumbled. “Where’s the fire? I’m going as fast as I can.”